Captain Thorn explained his dilemma, and Mr. Carlyle told him what to do in it. "Were you not at West Lynne some ten years ago?" he suddenly inquired, at the close of the conversation. "You denied it to me once at my house; but I concluded from an observation you let fall, that you had been here."

"Yes, I was," replied Captain Thorn, in a confidential tone. "I don't mind owning it to you in confidence, but I do not wish it to get abroad.

I was not at West Lynne, but in its neighborhood. The fact is, when I was a careless young fellow, I was stopping a few miles from here, and got into a sc.r.a.pe, through a--a--in short it was an affair of gallantry.

I did not show out very well at the time, and I don't care that it should be known in the country again."

Mr. Carlyle's pulse--for Richard Hare's sake--beat a shade quicker. The avowal of "an affair of gallantry" was almost a confirmation of his suspicions.

"Yes," he pointedly said. "The girl was Afy Hallijohn."

"Afy--who?" repeated Captain Thorn, opening his eyes, and fixing them on Mr. Carlyle's.

"Afy Hallijohn."

Captain Thorn continued to look at Mr. Carlyle, an amused expression, rather than any other, predominant on his features. "You are mistaken,"

he observed. "Afy Hallijohn? I never heard the name before in my life."

"Did you ever hear or know that a dreadful tragedy was enacted in this place about that period?" replied Mr. Carlyle, in a low, meaning tone.

"That Afy Hallijohn's father was--"

"Oh, stay, stay, stay," hastily interrupted Captain Thorn. "I am telling a story in saying I never heard her name. Afy Hallijohn? Why, that's the girl Tom Herbert was telling me about--who--what was it?--disappeared after her father was murdered."

"Murdered in his own cottage--almost in Afy's presence--murdered by--by- ---" Mr. Carlyle recollected himself; he had spoken more impulsively than was his custom. "Hallijohn was my father's faithful clerk for many years," he more calmly concluded.

"And he who committed the murder was young Hare, son of Justice Hare, and brother to that attractive girl, Barbara. Your speaking of this has recalled, what they told me to my recollection, the first evening I was at the Herberts. Justice Hare was there, smoking--half a dozen pipes there were going at once. I also saw Miss Barbara that evening at your park gates, and Tom told me of the murder. An awful calamity for the Hares. I suppose that is the reason the young lady is Miss Hare still.

One with her good fortune and good looks ought to have changed her name ere this."

"No, it is not the reason," returned Mr. Carlyle.

"What is the reason, then?"

A faint flush tinged the brow of Mr. Carlyle. "I know more than one who would be glad to get Barbara, in spite of the murder. Do not depreciate Miss Hare."

"Not I, indeed; I like the young lady too well," replied Captain Thorn.

"The girl, Afy, has never been heard of since, has she?"

"Never," said Mr. Carlyle. "Do you know her well?" he deliberately added.

"I never knew her at all, if you mean Afy Hallijohn. Why should you think I did? I never heard of her till Tom Herbert amused me with the history."

Mr. Carlyle most devoutly wished he could tell whether the man before him was speaking the truth or falsehood. He continued,--

"Afy's favors--I speak in no invidious sense--I mean her smiles and chatter--were pretty freely dispersed, for she was heedless and vain.

Amidst others who got the credit for occasional basking in her rays, was a gentleman of the name of Thorn. Was it not yourself?"

Captain Thorn stroked his moustache with an air that seemed to say he could boast of his share of such baskings: in short, as if he felt half inclined to do it. "Upon my word," he simpered, "you do me too much honor; I cannot confess to having been favored by Miss Afy."

"Then she was not the--the damsel you speak of, who drove you--if I understand aright--from the locality?" resumed Mr. Carlyle, fixing his eyes upon him, so as to take in every tone of the answer and shade of countenance as he gave it.

"I should think not, indeed. It was a married lady, more's the pity; young, pretty, vain and heedless, as you represent this Afy. Things went smoother after a time, and she and her husband--a stupid country yeoman- -became reconciled; but I have been ashamed of it since I have grown wiser, and I do not care ever to be recognized as the actor in it, or to have it raked up against me."

Captain Thorn rose and took a somewhat hasty leave. Was he, or was he not, the man? Mr. Carlyle could not solve the doubt.

Mr. Dill came in as he disappeared, closed the door, and advanced to his master, speaking in an under tone.

"Mr. Archibald, has it struck you that the gentleman just gone out may be the Lieutenant Thorn you once spoke to me about--he who had used to gallop over from Swainson to court Afy Hallijohn?"

"It has struck me so, most forcibly," replied Mr. Carlyle. "Dill, I would give five hundred pounds out of my pocket this moment to be a.s.sured of the fact--if he is the same."

"I have seen him several times since he has been staying with the Herberts," pursued the old gentleman, "and my doubts have naturally been excited as to whether it could be the man in question. Curious enough, Bezant, the doctor, was over here yesterday from Swainson; and as I was walking with him, arm-in-arm, we met Captain Thorn. The two recognized each other and bowed, merely as distant acquaintances. 'Do you know that gentleman?' said I to Bezant. 'Yes,' he answered, 'it is Mr. Frederick.'

'Mr. Frederick with something added on to it,' said I; 'his name is Thorn.' 'I know that,' returned Bezant; 'but when he was in Swainson some years ago, he chose to drop the Thorn, and the town in general knew him only as Mr. Frederick.' 'What was he doing there, Bezant?' I asked.

'Amusing himself and getting into mischief,' was the answer; 'nothing very bad, only the random sc.r.a.pes of young men.' 'Was he often on horseback, riding to a distance?' was my next question. 'Yes, that he was,' replied Bezant; 'none more fond of galloping across the country than he; I used to tell him he'd ride his horse's tail off.' Now, Mr.

Archibald, what do you think?" concluded the old clerk; "and so far as I could make out, this was about the very time of the tragedy at Hallijohn's."

"Think?" replied Mr. Carlyle. "What can I think but that it is the same man. I am convinced of it now."

And, leaning back into his chair, he fell into a deep reverie, regardless of the parchments that lay before him.

The weeks went on--two or three--and things seemed to be progressing backward, rather than forward--if that's not Irish. Francis Levison's affairs--that is, the adjustment of them--did not advance at all.

Another thing that may be said to be progressing backward, for it was going on fast to bad, instead of good, was the jealousy of Lady Isabel.

How could it be otherwise, kept up, as it was, by Barbara's frequent meetings with Mr. Carlyle, and by Captain Levison's exaggerated whispers of them. Discontented, ill at ease with herself and with everybody about her, Isabel was living now in a state of excitement, a dangerous resentment against her husband beginning to rise up in her heart. That very day--the one of Captain Levison's visit to Levison Park--in driving through West Lynne in the pony carriage, she had come upon her husband in close converse with Barbara Hare. So absorbed were they, that they never saw her, though her carriage pa.s.sed close to the pavement where they stood.

On the morning following this, as the Hare family were seated at breakfast, the postman was observed coming toward the house. Barbara sprang from her seat to the open window, and the man advanced to her.

"Only one miss. It is for yourself."

"Who is it from?" began the justice, as Barbara returned to her chair.

In letters as in other things, he was always curious to know their contents, whether they might be addressed to himself or not.

"It is from Anne, papa," replied Barbara, as she laid the letter by her side on the table.

"Why don't you open it and see what she says?"

"I will, directly; I am just going to pour out some more tea for mamma."

Finally the justice finished his breakfast, and strolled out into the garden.

Barbara opened her letter; Mrs. Hare watched her movements and her countenance. She saw the latter flush suddenly and vividly, and then become deadly pale; she saw Barbara crush the note in her hand when read.

"Oh, mamma!" she uttered.

The flush of emotion came also into Mrs. Hare's delicate cheeks.

"Barbara, is it bad news?"

"Mamma, it--it--is about Richard," she whispered, glancing at the door and window, to see that none might be within sight or hearing. "I never thought of him; I only fancied Anne might be sending me some bit of news concerning her own affairs. Good Heavens! How fortunate--how providential that papa did not see the paper fall; and that you did not persist in your inquiries. If he--"

"Barbara, you are keeping me in suspense," interrupted Mrs. Hare, who had also grown white. "What should Anne know about Richard?"