know who has said, that "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick." There
have been many such cases in the world, but I question, I say, if we
can quite realize them. However, the end had come--the certainty of
disappointment; and Mr. Channing was already beginning to be thankful
that suspense, at any rate, was over.

He was the head of an office--or it may be more correct to say the head
of the Helstonleigh branch of it, for the establishment was a London
one--a large, important concern, including various departments of
Insurance. Hamish was in the same office; and since Mr. Channing's
rheumatism had become chronic, it was Hamish who chiefly transacted the
business of the office, generally bringing home the books when he left,
and going over them in the evening with his father. Thus the work was
effectually transacted, and Mr. Channing retained his salary. The
directors were contented that it should be so, for Mr. Channing
possessed their thorough respect and esteem.

After the ill news was communicated to them, the boys left the parlour,
and assembled in a group in the study, at the back of the house, to
talk it over. Constance was with them, but they would not admit
Annabel. A shady, pleasant, untidy room was that study, opening to a
cool, shady garden. It had oil-cloth on the floor instead of carpeting,
and books and playthings were strewed about it.

"What an awful shame that there should be so much injustice in the
world!" spoke passionate Tom, flinging his Euripides on the table.

"But for one thing, I should be rather glad the worry's over," cried
Hamish. "We know the worst now--that we have only ourselves to trust
to."