EAST LYNNE

by Mrs. Henry Wood

 PREPARER'S NOTE

 This text was prepared from an 1883 edition, New York: John B. Alden, Publisher. 

EAST LYNNE

CHAPTER I. 

THE LADY ISABEL. 

In an easy-chair of the spacious and handsome library of his town-house, sat William, Earl of Mount Severn. His hair was gray, the smoothnessof his expansive brow was defaced by premature wrinkles, and his onceattractive face bore the pale, unmistakable look of dissipation. One ofhis feet was cased in folds of linen, as it rested on the soft velvetottoman, speaking of gout as plainly as any foot ever spoke yet. Itwould seem--to look at the man as he sat there--that he had grown oldbefore his time. And so he had. His years were barely nine and forty, yet in all save years, he was an aged man. 

A noted character had been the Earl of Mount Severn. Not that he hadbeen a renowned politician, or a great general, or an eminent statesman, or even an active member in the Upper House; not for any of these hadthe earl's name been in the mouths of men. But for the most recklessamong the reckless, for the spendthrift among spendthrifts, for thegamester above all gamesters, and for a gay man outstripping the gay--bythese characteristics did the world know Lord Mount Severn. It wassaid his faults were those of his head; that a better heart or a moregenerous spirit never beat in human form; and there was much truth inthis. It had been well for him had he lived and died plain William Vane. Up to his five and twentieth year, he had been industrious and steady, had kept his terms in the Temple, and studied late and early. Thesober application of William Vane had been a by word with the embryobarristers around; Judge Vane, they ironically called him; and theystrove ineffectually to allure him away to idleness and pleasure. But young Vane was ambitious, and he knew that on his own talents andexertions must depend his own rising in the world. He was of excellentfamily, but poor, counting a relative in the old Earl of Mount Severn. The possibility of his succeeding to the earldom never occurred to him, for three healthy lives, two of them young, stood between him andthe title. Yet those have died off, one of apoplexy, one of fever, in Africa, the third boating at Oxford; and the young Temple student, William Vane, suddenly found himself Earl of Mount Severn, and thelawful possessor of sixty thousand a year. 

His first idea was, that he should never be able to spend the money;that such a sum, year by year, could _not_ be spent. It was a wonderhis head was not turned by adulation at the onset, for he was courted, flattered and caressed by all classes, from a royal duke downward. Hebecame the most attractive man of his day, the lion in society;for independent of his newly-acquired wealth and title, he was ofdistinguished appearance and fascinating manners. But unfortunately, theprudence which had sustained William Vane, the poor law student, in hissolitary Temple chambers entirely forsook William Vane, the young Earlof Mount Severn, and he commenced his career on a scale of speed sogreat, that all staid people said he was going to ruin and the deuceheadlong. 

But a peer of the realm, and one whose rent-roll is sixty thousand perannum, does not go to ruin in a day. There sat the earl, in his librarynow, in his nine-and-fortieth year, and ruin had not come yet--that is, it had not overwhelmed him. But the embarrassments which had clungto him, and been the destruction of his tranquility, the bane of hisexistence, who shall describe them? The public knew them pretty well, his private friends knew better, his creditors best; but none, savehimself knew, or could ever know, the worrying torment that was hisportion, wellnigh driving him to distraction. Years ago, by dint oflooking things steadily in the face, and by economizing, he might haveretrieved his position; but he had done what most people do in suchcases--put off the evil day _sine die_, and gone on increasing hisenormous list of debts. The hour of exposure and ruin was now advancingfast. 

Perhaps the earl himself was thinking so, as he sat there before anenormous mass of papers which strewed the library table. His thoughtswere back in the past. That was a foolish match of his, that GretnaGreen match for love, foolish so far as prudence went; but the countesshad been an affectionate wife to him, had borne with his follies andhis neglect, had been an admirable mother to their only child. One childalone had been theirs, and in her thirteenth year the countess haddied. If they had but been blessed with a son--the earl moaned over thelong-continued disappointment still--he might have seen a way out of hisdifficulties. The boy, as soon as he was of age, would have joined withhim in cutting off the entail, and----

"My lord, " said a servant entering the room and interrupting the earl'scastles in the air, "a gentleman is asking to see you. "

"Who?" cried the earl, sharply, not perceiving the card the man wasbringing. No unknown person, although wearing the externals of a foreignambassador, was ever admitted unceremoniously to the presence of LordMount Severn. Years of duns had taught the servants caution. 

"His card is here, my lord. It is Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne. "

"Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne, " groaned the earl, whose foot just then hadan awful twinge, "what does he want? Show him up. "

The servant did as he was bid, and introduced Mr. Carlyle. Look at thevisitor well, reader, for he will play his part in this history. He wasa very tall man of seven and twenty, of remarkably noble presence. Hewas somewhat given to stooping his head when he spoke to any one shorterthan himself; it was a peculiar habit, almost to be called a bowinghabit, and his father had possessed it before him. When told of it hewould laugh, and say he was unconscious of doing it. His features weregood, his complexion was pale and clear, his hair dark, and his fulleyelids drooped over his deep gray eyes. Altogether it was a countenancethat both men and women liked to look upon--the index of an honorable, sincere nature--not that it would have been called a handsome face, so much as a pleasing and a distinguished one. Though but the son of acountry lawyer, and destined to be a lawyer himself, he had receivedthe training of a gentleman, had been educated at Rugby, and takenhis degree at Oxford. He advanced at once to the earl, in thestraightforward way of a man of business--of a man who has come onbusiness. 

"Mr. Carlyle, " said the latter, holding out his hand--he was alwaysdeemed the most affable peer of the age--"I am happy to see you. Youperceive I cannot rise, at least without great pain and inconvenience. My enemy, the gout, has possession of me again. Take a seat. Are youstaying in town?"

"I have just arrived from West Lynne. The chief object of my journey wasto see your lordship. "

"What can I do for you?" asked the earl, uneasily; for a suspicion hadcrossed his mind that Mr. Carlyle might be acting for some one of hismany troublesome creditors. 

Mr. Carlyle drew his chair nearer to the earl, and spoke in a lowtone, --

"A rumor came to my ears, my lord, that East Lynne was in the market. "

"A moment, sir, " exclaimed the earl, with reserve, not to say hauteurin his tone, for his suspicions were gaining ground; "are we toconverse confidentially together, as men of honor, or is there somethingconcealed behind?"

"I do not understand you, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"In a word--excuse my speaking plainly, but I must feel my ground--areyou here on the part of some of my rascally creditors, to pumpinformation out of me, that otherwise they would not get?"

"My lord, " uttered the visitor, "I should be incapable of sodishonorable an action. I know that a lawyer gets credit for possessingbut lax notions on the score of honor, but you can scarcely suspect thatI should be guilty of underhand work toward you. I never was guilty ofa mean trick in my life, to my recollection, and I do not think I evershall be. "

"Pardon me, Mr. Carlyle. If you knew half the tricks and _ruses_ playedupon me, you would not wonder at my suspecting all the world. Proceedwith your business. "

"I heard that East Lynne was for private sale; your agent dropped half aword to me in confidence. If so, I should wish to be the purchaser. "

"For whom?" inquired the earl. 

"Myself. "

"You!" laughed the earl. "Egad! Lawyering can't be such bad work, Carlyle. "

"Nor is it, " rejoined Mr. Carlyle, "with an extensive, first-classconnection, such as ours. But you must remember that a good fortune wasleft me by my uncle, and a large one by my father. "

"I know. The proceeds of lawyering also. "

"Not altogether. My mother brought a fortune on her marriage, and itenabled my father to speculate successfully. I have been looking out foran eligible property to invest my money upon, and East Lynne will suitme well, provided I can have the refusal of it, and we can agree aboutthe terms. "

Lord Mount Severn mused for a few moments before he spoke. "Mr. Carlyle, " he began, "my affairs are very bad, and ready money I mustfind somewhere. Now East Lynne is not entailed, neither is it mortgagedto anything like its value, though the latter fact, as you may imagine, is not patent to the world. When I bought it at a bargain, eighteenyears ago, you were the lawyer on the other side, I remember. "

"My father, " smiled Mr. Carlyle. "I was a child at the time. "

"Of course, I ought to have said your father. By selling East Lynne, afew thousands will come into my hands, after claims on it are settled; Ihave no other means of raising the wind, and that is why I have resolvedto part with it. But now, understand, if it were known abroad that EastLynne is going from me, I should have a hornet's nest about my ears; sothat it must be disposed of _privately_. Do you comprehend?"

"Perfectly, " replied Mr. Carlyle. 

"I would as soon you bought it as anyone else, if, as you say, we canagree about terms. "

"What does your lordship expect for it--at a rough estimate?"

"For particulars I must refer you to my men of business, Warburton &Ware. Not less than seventy thousand pounds. "

"Too much, my lord, " cried Mr. Carlyle, decisively. 

"And that's not its value, " returned the earl. 

"These forced sales never do fetch their value, " answered theplain-speaking lawyer. "Until this hint was given me by Beauchamp, I hadthought East Lynne was settled upon your lordship's daughter. "

"There's nothing settled on her, " rejoined the earl, the contractionon his brow standing out more plainly. "That comes of your thoughtlessrunaway marriages. I fell in love with General Conway's daughter, andshe ran away with me, like a fool; that is, we were both fools togetherfor our pains. The general objected to me and said I must sow my wildoats before he would give me Mary; so I took her to Gretna Green, andshe became Countess of Mount Severn, without a settlement. It was anunfortunate affair, taking one thing with another. When her elopementwas made known to the general, it killed him. "

"Killed him!" interrupted Mr. Carlyle. 

"It did. He had disease of the heart, and the excitement brought on thecrisis. My poor wife never was happy from that hour; she blamed herselffor her father's death, and I believe it led to her own. She was ill foryears; the doctors called it consumption; but it was more like a wastinginsensibly away, and consumption never had been in her family. No luckever attends runaway marriages; I have noticed it since, in many, manyinstances; something bad is sure to turn up from it. "

"There might have been a settlement executed after the marriage, "observed Mr. Carlyle, for the earl had stopped, and seemed lost inthought. 

"I know there might; but there was not. My wife had possessed nofortune; I was already deep in my career of extravagance, and neitherof us thought of making provision for our future children; or, if wethought of it, we did not do it. There is an old saying, Mr. Carlyle, that what may be done at any time is never done. "

Mr. Carlyle bowed. 

"So my child is portionless, " resumed the earl, with a suppressed sigh. "The thought that it may be an embarrassing thing for her, were I to diebefore she is settled in life, crosses my mind when I am in a seriousmood. That she will marry well, there is little doubt, for she possessesbeauty in a rare degree, and has been reared as an English girl shouldbe, not to frivolity and foppery. She was trained by her mother, whosave for the mad act she was persuaded into by me, was all goodness andrefinement, for the first twelve years of her life, and since then byan admirable governess. No fear that she will be decamping to GretnaGreen. "

"She was a very lovely child, " observed the lawyer; "I remember that. "

"Ay; you have seen her at East Lynne, in her mother's lifetime. But, to return to business. If you become the purchaser of the East Lynneestate, Mr. Carlyle, it must be under the rose. The money that itbrings, after paying off the mortgage, I must have, as I tell you, formy private use; and you know I should not be able to touch a farthing ofit if the confounded public got an inkling of the transfer. In the eyesof the world, the proprietor of East Lynne must be Lord Mount Severn--atleast for some little time afterwards. Perhaps you will not object tothat. "

Mr. Carlyle considered before replying; and then the conversation wasresumed, when it was decided that he should see Warburton and Ware thefirst thing in the morning, and confer with them. It was growing latewhen he rose to leave. 

"Stay and dine with me, " said the earl. 

Mr. Carlyle hesitated, and looked down at his dress--a plain, gentlemanly, morning attire, but certainly not a dinner costume for apeer's table. 

"Oh, that's nothing, " said the earl; "we shall be quite alone, except mydaughter. Mrs. Vane, of Castle Marling, is staying with us. She cameup to present my child at the last drawing-room, but I think I heardsomething about her dining out to-day. If not, we will have it byourselves here. Oblige me by touching the bell, Mr. Carlyle. "

The servant entered. 

"Inquire whether Mrs. Vane dines at home, " said the earl. 

"Mrs. Vane dines out, my lord, " was the man's immediate reply. "Thecarriage is at the door now. "

"Very well. Mr. Carlyle remains. "

At seven o'clock the dinner was announced, and the earl wheeled into theadjoining room. As he and Mr. Carlyle entered it at one door, some oneelse came in by the opposite one. Who--what--was it? Mr. Carlyle looked, not quite sure whether it was a human being--he almost thought it morelike an angel. 

A light, graceful, girlish form; a face of surpassing beauty, beautythat is rarely seen, save from the imagination of a painter; darkshining curls falling on her neck and shoulders, smooth as a child's;fair, delicate arms decorated with pearls, and a flowing dress of costlywhite lace. Altogether the vision did indeed look to the lawyer as onefrom a fairer world than this. 

"My daughter, Mr. Carlyle, the Lady Isabel. "

They took their seats at the table, Lord Mount Severn at its head, inspite of his gout and his footstool. And the young lady and Mr. Carlyleopposite each other. Mr. Carlyle had not deemed himself a particularadmirer of women's beauty, but the extraordinary loveliness of the younggirl before him nearly took away his senses and his self-possession. Yetit was not so much the perfect contour or the exquisite features thatstruck him, or the rich damask of the delicate cheek, or the luxuriantfalling hair; no, it was the sweet expression of the soft dark eyes. Never in his life had he seen eyes so pleasing. He could not keep hisgaze from her, and he became conscious, as he grew more familiar withher face, that there was in its character a sad, sorrowful look; only attimes was it to be noticed, when the features were at repose, and it laychiefly in the very eyes he was admiring. Never does this unconsciouslymournful expression exist, but it is a sure index of sorrow andsuffering; but Mr. Carlyle understood it not. And who could connectsorrow with the anticipated brilliant future of Isabel Vane?

"Isabel, " observed the earl, "you are dressed. "

"Yes, papa. Not to keep old Mrs. Levison waiting tea. She likes to takeit early, and I know Mrs. Vane must have kept her waiting dinner. It washalf-past six when she drove from here. "

"I hope you will not be late to-night, Isabel. "

"It depends upon Mrs. Vane. "

"Then I am sure you will be. When the young ladies in this fashionableworld of ours turn night into day, it is a bad thing for their roses. What say you, Mr. Carlyle?"

Mr. Carlyle glanced at the roses on the cheeks opposite to him; theylooked too fresh and bright to fade lightly. 

At the conclusion of dinner a maid entered the room with a whitecashmere mantle, placing it over the shoulders of her young lady, as shesaid the carriage was waiting. 

Lady Isabel advanced to the earl. "Good-bye, papa. "

"Good-night, my love, " he answered, drawing her toward him, and kissingher sweet face. "Tell Mrs. Vane I will not have you kept out tillmorning hours. You are but a child yet. Mr. Carlyle, will you ring? I amdebarred from seeing my daughter to the carriage. "

"If your lordship will allow me--if Lady Isabel will pardon theattendance of one little used to wait upon young ladies, I shall beproud to see her to her carriage, " was the somewhat confused answer ofMr. Carlyle as he touched the bell. 

The earl thanked him, and the young lady smiled, and Mr. Carlyleconducted her down the broad, lighted staircase and stood bareheaded bythe door of the luxurious chariot, and handed her in. She put out herhand in her frank, pleasant manner, as she wished him good night. Thecarriage rolled on its way, and Mr. Carlyle returned to the earl. 

"Well, is she not a handsome girl?" he demanded. 

"Handsome is not the word for beauty such as hers, " was Mr. Carlyle'sreply, in a low, warm tone. "I never saw a face half so beautiful. "

"She caused quite a sensation at the drawing-room last week--as I hear. This everlasting gout kept me indoors all day. And she is as good as sheis beautiful. "

The earl was not partial. Lady Isabel was wondrously gifted by nature, not only in mind and person but in heart. She was as little like afashionable young lady as it was well possible to be, partly because shehad hitherto been secluded from the great world, partly from the carebestowed upon her training. During the lifetime of her mother, she hadlived occasionally at East Lynne, but mostly at a larger seat ofthe earl's in Wales, Mount Severn; since her mother's death, she hadremained entirely at Mount Severn, under the charge of a judiciousgoverness, a very small establishment being kept for them, and the earlpaying them impromptu and flying visits. Generous and benevolent shewas, timid and sensitive to a degree, gentle, and considerate to all. Donot cavil at her being thus praised--admire and love her whilst you may, she is worthy of it now, in her innocent girlhood; the time will comewhen such praise would be misplaced. Could the fate that was to overtakehis child have been foreseen by the earl, he would have struck her downto death, in his love, as she stood before him, rather than suffer herto enter upon it. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE BROKEN CROSS. 

Lady Isabel's carriage continued its way, and deposited her at theresidence of Mrs. Levison. Mrs. Levison was nearly eighty years of age, and very severe in speech and manner, or, as Mrs. Vane expressed it, "crabbed. " She looked the image of impatience when Isabel entered, withher cap pushed all awry, and pulling at the black satin gown, for Mrs. Vane had kept her waiting dinner, and Isabel was keeping her from hertea; and that does not agree with the aged, with their health or withtheir temper. 

"I fear I am late, " exclaimed Lady Isabel, as she advanced to Mrs. Levison; "but a gentleman dined with papa to-day, and it made us ratherlonger at table. "

"You are twenty-five minutes behind your time, " cried the old ladysharply, "and I want my tea. Emma, order it in. "

Mrs. Vane rang the bell, and did as she was bid. She was a little womanof six-and-twenty, very plain in face, but elegant in figure, veryaccomplished, and vain to her fingers' ends. Her mother, who was dead, had been Mrs. Levison's daughter, and her husband, Raymond Vane, waspresumptive heir to the earldom of Mount Severn. 

"Won't you take that tippet off, child?" asked Mrs. Levison, who knewnothing of the new-fashioned names for such articles, mantles, burnous, and all the string of them; and Isabel threw it off and sat down by her. 

"The tea is not made, grandmamma!" exclaimed Mrs. Vane, in an accent ofastonishment, as the servant appeared with the tray and the silver urn. "You surely do not have it made in the room. "

"Where should I have it made?" inquired Mrs. Levison. 

"It is much more convenient to have it brought in, ready made, " saidMrs. Vane. "I dislike the _embarass_ of making it. "

"Indeed!" was the reply of the old lady; "and get it slopped over in thesaucers, and as cold as milk! You always were lazy, Emma--and given touse those French words. I'd rather stick a printed label on my forehead, for my part, 'I speak French, ' and let the world know it in that way. "

"Who makes tea for you in general?" asked Mrs. Vane, telegraphing acontemptuous glance to Isabel behind her grandmother. 

But the eyes of Lady Isabel fell timidly and a blush rose to her cheeks. She did not like to appear to differ from Mrs. Vane, her senior, and herfather's guest, but her mind revolted at the bare idea of ingratitude orridicule cast on an aged parent. 

"Harriet comes in and makes it for me, " replied Mrs. Levison; "aye, andsits down and takes it with me when I am alone, which is pretty often. What do you say to that, Madame Emma--you, with your fine notions?"

"Just as you please, of course, grandmamma. "

"And there's the tea-caddy at your elbow, and the urn's fizzing away, and if we are to have any tea to-night, it had better be made. "

"I don't know how much to put in, " grumbled Mrs. Vane, who had thegreatest horror of soiling her hands or her gloves; who, in short, had aparticular antipathy to doing anything useful. 

"Shall I make it, dear Mrs. Levison?" said Isabel, rising with alacrity. "I had used to make it quite as often as my governess at Mount Severn, and I make it for papa. "

"Do, child, " replied the old lady. "You are worth ten of her. "

Isabel laughed merrily, drew off her gloves, and sat down to the table;and at that moment a young and elegant man lounged into the room. He wasdeemed handsome, with his clearly-cut features, his dark eyes, his ravenhair, and his white teeth; but to a keen observer those features had notan attractive expression, and the dark eyes had a great knack of lookingaway while he spoke to you. It was Francis, Captain Levison. 

He was grandson to the old lady, and first cousin to Mrs. Vane. Few menwere so fascinating in manners, at times and seasons, in face and inform, few men won so completely upon their hearers' ears, and few wereso heartless in their hearts of hearts. The world courted him, andsociety honored him; for, though he was a graceless spendthrift, and itwas known that he was, he was the presumptive heir to the old and richSir Peter Levison. 

The ancient lady spoke up, "Captain Levison, Lady Isabel Vane. " Theyboth acknowledged the introduction; and Isabel, a child yet in the waysof the world, flushed crimson at the admiring looks cast upon her by theyoung guardsman. Strange--strange that she should make the acquaintanceof these two men in the same day, almost in the same hour; the two, ofall the human race, who were to exercise so powerful an influence overher future life!

"That's a pretty cross, child, " cried Mrs. Levison as Isabel stood byher when tea was over, and she and Mrs. Vane were about to depart ontheir evening visit. 

She alluded to a golden cross, set with seven emeralds, which Isabelwore on her neck. It was of light, delicate texture, and was suspendedfrom a thin, short, gold chain. 

"Is it not pretty?" answered Isabel. "It was given me by my dear mammajust before she died. Stay, I will take it off for you. I only wear itupon great occasions. "

This, her first appearance at the grand duke's, seemed a very greatoccasion to the simply-reared and inexperienced girl. She unclasped thechain, and placed it with the cross in the hands of Mrs. Levison. 

"Why, I declare you have nothing on but that cross and some rubbishingpearl bracelets!" uttered Mrs. Vane to Isabel. "I did not look at youbefore. "

"Mamma gave me both. The bracelets are those she used frequently towear. "

"You old-fashioned child! Because your mamma wore those bracelets, yearsago, is that a reason for your doing so?" retorted Mrs. Vane. "Why didyou not put on your diamonds?"

"I--did--put on my diamonds; but I--took them off again, " stammeredIsabel. 

"What on earth for?"

"I did not like to look too fine, " answered Isabel, with a laugh and ablush. "They glittered so! I feared it might be thought I had put themon _to look_ fine. "

"Ah! I see you mean to set up in that class of people who pretend todespise ornaments, " scornfully remarked Mrs. Vane. "It is the refinementof affectation, Lady Isabel. "

The sneer fell harmlessly on Lady Isabel's ear. She only believedsomething had put Mrs. Vane out of temper. It certainly had; and thatsomething, though Isabel little suspected it, was the evident admirationCaptain Levison evinced for her fresh, young beauty; it quite absorbedhim, and rendered him neglectful even of Mrs. Vane. 

"Here, child, take your cross, " said the old lady. "It is verypretty; prettier on your neck than diamonds would be. You don't wantembellishing; never mind what Emma says. "

Francis Levison took the cross and chain from her hand to pass them toLady Isabel. Whether he was awkward, or whether her hands were full, forshe held her gloves, her handkerchief, and had just taken up her mantle, certain it is that it fell; and the gentleman, in his too quick effortto regain it, managed to set his foot upon it, and the cross was brokenin two. 

"There! Now whose fault was that?" cried Mrs. Levison. 

Isabel did not answer; her heart was very full. She took the brokencross, and the tears dropped from her eyes; she could not help it. 

"Why! You are never crying over a stupid bauble of a cross!" utteredMrs. Vane, interrupting Captain Levison's expression of regret at hisawkwardness. 

"You can have it mended, dear, " interposed Mrs. Levison. 

Lady Isabel chased away the tears, and turned to Captain Levison witha cheerful look. "Pray do not blame yourself, " she good-naturedly said;"the fault was as much mine as yours; and, as Mrs. Levison says, I canget it mended. "

She disengaged the upper part of the cross from the chain as she spoke, and clasped the latter round her throat. 

"You will not go with that thin string of gold on, and nothing else!"uttered Mrs. Vane. 

"Why not?" returned Isabel. "If people say anything, I can tell them anaccident happened to the cross. "

Mrs. Vane burst into a laugh of mocking ridicule. "'If people sayanything!'" she repeated, in a tone according with the laugh. "Theyare not likely to 'say anything, ' but they will deem Lord Mount Severn'sdaughter unfortunately short of jewellery. "

Isabel smiled and shook her head. "They saw my diamonds at thedrawing-room. "

"If you had done such an awkward thing for me, Frank Levison, " burstforth the old lady, "my doors should have been closed against you for amonth. There, if you are to go, Emma, you had better go; dancing off tobegin an evening at ten o'clock at night! In my time we used to go atseven; but it's the custom now to turn night into day. "

"When George the Third dined at one o'clock upon boiled muttonand turnips, " put in the graceless captain, who certainly held hisgrandmother in no greater reverence than did Mrs. Vane. 

He turned to Isabel as he spoke, to hand her downstairs. Thus she wasconducted to her carriage the second time that night by a stranger. Mrs. Vane got down by herself, as she best could, and her temper was notimproved by the process. 

"Good-night, " said she to the captain. 

"I shall not say good-night. You will find me there almost as soon asyou. "

"You told me you were not coming. Some bachelor's party in the way. "

"Yes, but I have changed my mind. Farewell for the present, LadyIsabel. "

"What an object you will look, with nothing on your neck but aschoolgirl's chain!" began Mrs. Vane, returning to the grievance as thecarriage drove on. 

"Oh, Mrs. Vane, what does it signify? I can only think of my brokencross. I am sure it must be an evil omen. "

"An evil--what?"

"An evil omen. Mamma gave me that cross when she was dying. She told meto let it be to me as a talisman, always to keep it safely; and when Iwas in any distress, or in need of counsel, to look at it and strive torecall what her advice would be, and to act accordingly. And now it isbroken--broken!"

A glaring gaslight flashed into the carriage, right into the face ofIsabel. "I declare, " uttered Mrs. Vane, "you are crying again! I tellyou what it is, Isabel, I am not going to chaperone red eyes to theDuchess of Dartford's, so if you can't put a stop to this, I shall orderthe carriage home, and go on alone. "

Isabel meekly dried her eyes, sighing deeply as she did so. "I can havethe pieces joined, I dare say; but it will never be the same cross to meagain. "

"What have you done with the pieces?" irascibly asked Mrs. Vane. 

"I folded them in the thin paper Mrs. Levison gave me, and put it insidemy frock. Here it is, " touching the body. "I have no pocket on. "

Mrs. Vane gave vent to a groan. She never had been a girl herself--shehad been a woman at ten; and she complimented Isabel upon being littlebetter than an imbecile. "Put it inside my frock!" she uttered in atorrent of scorn. "And you eighteen years of age! I fancied you left off'frocks' when you left the nursery. For shame, Isabel!"

"I meant to say my dress, " corrected Isabel. 

"Meant to say you are a baby idiot!" was the inward comment of Mrs. Vane. 

A few minutes and Isabel forgot her grievance. The brilliant rooms wereto her as an enchanting scene of dreamland, for her heart was in itsspringtide of early freshness, and the satiety of experience had notcome. How could she remember trouble, even the broken cross, as she bentto the homage offered her and drank in the honeyed words poured forthinto her ear?

"Halloo!" cried an Oxford student, with a long rent-roll in prospective, who was screwing himself against the wall, not to be in the way of thewaltzers, "I thought you had given up coming to these places?"

"So I had, " replied the fast nobleman addressed, the son of a marquis. "But I am on the lookout, so am forced into them again. I think aball-room the greatest bore in life. "

"On the lookout for what?"

"For a wife. My governor has stopped supplies, and has vowed by hisbeard not to advance another shilling, or pay a debt, till I reform. Asa preliminary step toward it, he insists upon a wife, and I am trying tochoose one for I am deeper in debt than you imagine. "

"Take the new beauty, then. "

"Who is she?"

"Lady Isabel Vane. "

"Much obliged for the suggestion, " replied the earl. "But one likes arespectable father-in-law, and Mount Severn is going to smash. He and Iare too much in the same line, and might clash, in the long run. "

"One can't have everything; the girl's beauty is beyond common. I sawthat rake, Levison, make up to her. He fancies he can carry all beforehim, where women are concerned. "

"So he does, often, " was his quiet reply. 

"I hate the fellow! He thinks so much of himself, with his curled hairand shining teeth, and his white skin; and he's as heartless as an owl. What was that hushed-up business about Miss Charteris?"

"Who's to know? Levison slipped out of the escapade like an eel, andthe woman protested that he was more sinned against than sinning. Three-fourths of the world believed them. "

"And she went abroad and died; and Levison here he comes! And MountSevern's daughter with him. "

They were approaching at that moment, Francis Levison and Lady Isabel. He was expressing his regret at the untoward accident of the cross forthe tenth time that night. "I feel that it can never be atoned for, "whispered he; "that the heartfelt homage of my whole life would not besufficient compensation. "

He spoke in a tone of thrilling gentleness, gratifying to the ear butdangerous to the heart. Lady Isabel glanced up and caught his eyesgazing upon her with the deepest tenderness--a language hers had neveryet encountered. A vivid blush again arose to her cheek, her eyelidsfell, and her timid words died away in silence. 

"Take care, take care, my young Lady Isabel, " murmured the Oxonian underhis breath, as they passed him, "that man is as false as he is fair. "

"I think he is a rascal, " remarked the earl. 

"I know he is; I know a thing or two about him. He would ruin her heartfor the renown of the exploit, because she's a beauty, and then fling itaway broken. He has none to give in return for the gift. "

"Just as much as my new race-horse has, " concluded the earl. "She isvery beautiful. "

CHAPTER III. 

BARBARA HARE. 

West Lynne was a town of some importance, particularly in its own eyes, though being neither a manufacturing one nor a cathedral one, nor eventhe chief town of the county, it was somewhat primitive in its mannersand customs. Passing out at the town, toward the east, you came uponseveral detached gentleman's houses, in the vicinity of which stood thechurch of St. Jude, which was more aristocratic, in the matter of itscongregation, than the other churches of West Lynne. For about amile these houses were scattered, the church being situated at theircommencement, close to that busy part of the place, and about a milefurther on you came upon the beautiful estate which was called EastLynne. 

Between the gentlemen's houses mentioned and East Lynne, the mile ofroad was very solitary, being much overshadowed with trees. One housealone stood there, and that was about three-quarters of a mile beforeyou came to East Lynne. It was on the left hand side, a square, ugly, red brick house with a weathercock on the top, standing some littledistance from the road. A flat lawn extended before it, and close tothe palings, which divided it from the road, was a grove of trees, someyards in depth. The lawn was divided by a narrow middle gravel path, towhich you gained access from the portico of the house. You enteredupon a large flagged hall with a reception room on either hand, andthe staircase, a wide one, facing you; by the side of the staircase youpassed on to the servants' apartments and offices. That place was calledthe Grove, and was the property and residence of Richard Hare, Esq. , commonly called Mr. Justice Hare. 

The room to the left hand, as you went in, was the general sitting-room;the other was very much kept boxed up in lavender and brown Holland, tobe opened on state occasions. Justice and Mrs. Hare had three children, a son and two daughters. Annie was the elder of the girls, and hadmarried young; Barbara, the younger was now nineteen, and Richard theeldest--but we shall come to him hereafter. 

In this sitting-room, on a chilly evening, early in May, a few dayssubsequent to that which had witnessed the visit of Mr. Carlyle to theEarl of Mount Severn, sat Mrs. Hare, a pale, delicate woman, buriedin shawls and cushions: but the day had been warm. At the window sat apretty girl, very fair, with blue eyes, light hair, a bright complexion, and small aquiline features. She was listlessly turning over the leavesof a book. 

"Barbara, I am sure it must be tea-time now. "

"The time seems to move slowly with you, mamma. It is scarcely a quarterof an hour since I told you it was but ten minutes past six. "

"I am so thirsty!" announced the poor invalid. "Do go and look at theclock again, Barbara. "

Barbara Hare rose with a gesture of impatience, not suppressed, openedthe door, and glanced at the large clock in the hall. "It wants nine andtwenty minutes to seven, mamma. I wish you would put your watch on of aday; four times you have sent me to look at that clock since dinner. "

"I am so thirsty!" repeated Mrs. Hare, with a sort of sob. "If seveno'clock would but strike! I am dying for my tea. "

It may occur to the reader, that a lady in her own house, "dying for hertea, " might surely order it brought in, although the customary hour hadnot struck. Not so Mrs. Hare. Since her husband had first brought herhome to that house, four and twenty-years ago, she had never dared toexpress a will in it; scarcely, on her own responsibility, to givean order. Justice Hare was stern, imperative, obstinate, andself-conceited; she, timid, gentle and submissive. She had loved himwith all her heart, and her life had been one long yielding of her willto his; in fact, she had no will; his was all in all. Far was she fromfeeling the servitude a yoke: some natures do not: and to do Mr. Harejustice, his powerful will that _must_ bear down all before it, was infault: not his kindness: he never meant to be unkind to his wife. Of histhree children, Barbara alone had inherited his will. 

"Barbara, " began Mrs. Hare again, when she thought another quarter of anhour at least must have elapsed. 

"Well, mamma?"

"Ring, and tell them to be getting it in readiness so that when sevenstrikes there may be no delay. "

"Goodness, mamma! You know they do always have it ready. And there'sno such hurry, for papa may not be at home. " But she rose, and rang thebell with a petulant motion, and when the man answered it, told him tohave tea in to its time. 

"If you knew dear, how dry my throat is, how parched my mouth, you wouldhave more patience with me. "

Barbara closed her book with a listless air, and turned listlessly tothe window. She seemed tired, not with fatigue but with what the Frenchexpress by the word _ennui_. "Here comes papa, " she presently said. 

"Oh, I am so glad!" cried poor Mrs. Hare. "Perhaps he will not mindhaving the tea in at once, if I told him how thirsty _I_ am. "

The justice came in. A middle sized man, with pompous features, and apompous walk, and a flaxen wig. In his aquiline nose, compressed lips, and pointed chin, might be traced a resemblance to his daughter; thoughhe never could have been half so good-looking as was pretty Barbara. 

"Richard, " spoke up Mrs. Hare from between her shawls, the instant heopened the door. 

"Well?"

"Would you please let me have tea in now? Would you very much mindtaking it a little earlier this evening? I am feverish again, and mytongue is so parched I don't know how to speak. "

"Oh, it's near seven; you won't have long to wait. "

With this exceedingly gracious answer to an invalid's request, Mr. Harequitted the room again and banged the door. He had not spoken unkindlyor roughly, simply with indifference. But ere Mrs. Hare's meek sighof disappointment was over, the door re-opened, and the flaxen wig wasthrust in again. 

"I don't mind if I do have it now. It will be a fine moonlight night andI am going with Pinner as far as Beauchamp's to smoke a pipe. Order itin, Barbara. "

The tea was made and partaken of, and the justice departed for Mr. Beauchamp's, Squire Pinner calling for him at the gate. Mr. Beauchampwas a gentleman who farmed a great deal of land, and who was also LordMount Severn's agent or steward for East Lynne. He lived higher up theroad some little distance beyond East Lynne. 

"I am so cold, Barbara, " shivered Mrs. Hare, as she watched the justicedown the gravel path. "I wonder if your papa would say it was foolish ofme, if I told them to light a bit of fire?"

"Have it lighted if you like, " responded Barbara, ringing the bell. "Papa will know nothing about it, one way or the other, for he won't behome till after bedtime. Jasper, mamma is cold, and would like a firelighted. "

"Plenty of sticks, Jasper, that it may burn up quickly, " said Mrs. Hare, in a pleading voice, as if the sticks were Jasper's and not hers. 

Mrs. Hare got her fire, and she drew her chair in front, and put herfeet on the fender, to catch its warmth. Barbara, listless still, wentinto the hall, took a woolen shawl from the stand there, threw it overher shoulders, and went out. She strolled down the straight formal path, and stood at the iron gate, looking over it into the public road. Notvery public in that spot, and at that hour, but as lonely as one couldwish. The night was calm and pleasant, though somewhat chilly for thebeginning of May, and the moon was getting high in the sky. 

"When will he come home?" she murmured, as she leaned her head upon thegate. "Oh, what would life be like without him? How miserable these fewdays have been! I wonder what took him there! I wonder what is detaininghim! Corny said he was only gone for a day. "

The faint echo of footsteps in the distance stole upon her ear, andBarbara drew a little back, and hid herself under the shelter of thetrees, not choosing to be seen by any stray passer-by. But, as they drewnear, a sudden change came over her; her eyes lighted up, hercheeks were dyed with crimson, and her veins tingled with excess ofrapture--for she knew those footsteps, and loved them, only too well. 

Cautiously peeping over the gate again, she looked down the road. A tallform, whose very height and strength bore a grace of which its owner wasunconscious, was advancing rapidly toward her from the direction of WestLynne. Again she shrank away; true love is ever timid; and whatever mayhave been Barbara Hare's other qualities, her love at least was trueand deep. But instead of the gate opening, with the firm quick motionpeculiar to the hand which guided it, the footsteps seemed to pass, andnot to have turned at all toward it. Barbara's heart sank, and she stoleto the gate again, and looked out with a yearning look. 

Yes, sure enough he was striding on, not thinking of her, not coming toher; and she, in the disappointment and impulse of the moment, called tohim, --

"Archibald!"

Mr. Carlyle--it was no other--turned on his heel, and approached thegate. 

"Is it you, Barbara! Watching for thieves and poachers? How are you?"

"How are you?" she returned, holding the gate open for him to enter, ashe shook hands, and striving to calm down her agitation. "When did youreturn?"

"Only now, by the eight o'clock train, which got in beyond its time, having drawled unpardonably at the stations. They little thought theyhad me in it, as their looks betrayed when I got out. I have not beenhome yet. "

"No! What will Cornelia say?"

"I went to the office for five minutes. But I have a few words to say toBeauchamp, and am going up at once. Thank you, I cannot come in now; Iintend to do so on my return. "

"Papa has gone up to Mr. Beauchamp's. "

"Mr. Hare! Has he?"

"He and Squire Pinner, " continued Barbara. "They have gone to have asmoking bout. And if you wait there with papa, it will be too late tocome in, for he is sure not to be home before eleven or twelve. "

Mr. Carlyle bent his head in deliberation. "Then I think it is of littleuse my going on, " said he, "for my business with Beauchamp is private. Imust defer it until to-morrow. "

He took the gate out of her hand, closed it, and placed the handwithin his own arm, to walk with her to the house. It was done ina matter-of-fact, real sort of way; nothing of romance or sentimenthallowed it; but Barbara Hare felt that she was in Eden. 

"And how have you all been, Barbara, these few days?"

"Oh, very well. What made you start off so suddenly? You never said youwere going, or came to wish us good-bye. "

"You have just expressed it, Barbara--'suddenly. ' A matter of businesssuddenly arose, and I suddenly went upon it. "

"Cornelia said you were only gone for a day. "

"Did she? When in London I find so many things to do! Is Mrs. Harebetter?"

"Just the same. I think mamma's ailments are fancies, half of them; ifshe would rouse herself she would be better. What is in that parcel?"

"You are not to inquire, Miss Barbara. It does not concern you. It onlyconcerns Mrs. Hare. "

"Is it something you have brought for mamma, Archibald?"

"Of course. A countryman's visit to London entails buying presents forhis friends; at least, it used to be so, in the old-fashioned days. "

"When people made their wills before starting, and were a fortnightdoing the journey in a wagon, " laughed Barbara. "Grandpapa used to tellus tales of that, when we were children. But is it really something formamma?"

"Don't I tell you so? I have brought something for you. "

"Oh! What is it?" she uttered, her color rising, and wondering whetherhe was in jest or earnest. 

"There's an impatient girl! 'What is it?' Wait a moment, and you shallsee what it is. "

He put the parcel or roll he was carrying upon a garden chair, andproceeded to search his pockets. Every pocket was visited, apparently invain. 

"Barbara, I think it is gone. I must have lost it somehow. "

Her heart beat as she stood there, silently looking up at him in themoonlight. _Was_ it lost? _What_ had it been?

But, upon a second search, he came upon something in the pocket of hiscoat-tail. "Here it is, I believe; what brought it there?" He opened asmall box, and taking out a long, gold chain, threw it around her neck. A locket was attached to it. 

Her cheeks' crimson went and came; her heart beat more rapidly. Shecould not speak a word of thanks; and Mr. Carlyle took up the roll, andwalked on into the presence of Mrs. Hare. 

Barbara followed in a few minutes. Her mother was standing up, watchingwith pleased expectation the movements of Mr. Carlyle. No candles werein the room, but it was bright with firelight. 

"Now, don't laugh at me, " quoth he, untying the string of the parcel. "It is not a roll of velvet for a dress, and it is not a roll ofparchment, conferring twenty thousand pounds a year. But it is--an aircushion!"

It was what poor Mrs. Hare, so worn with sitting and lying, had oftenlonged for. She had heard such a luxury was to be bought in London, but never remembered to have seen one. She took it almost with a greedyhand, casting a grateful look at Mr. Carlyle. 

"How am I to thank you for it?" she murmured through her tears. 

"If you thank me at all, I will never bring you anything again, " criedhe, gaily. "I have been telling Barbara that a visit to London entailsbringing gifts for friends, " he continued. "Do you see how smart I havemade her?"

Barbara hastily took off the chain, and laid it before her mother. 

"What a beautiful chain!" muttered Mrs. Hare, in surprise. "Archibald, you are too good, too generous! This must have cost a great deal; thisis beyond a trifle. "

"Nonsense!" laughed Mr. Carlyle. "I'll tell you both how I happened tobuy it. I went into a jeweller's about my watch, which has taken to loselately in a most unceremonious fashion, and there I saw a whole displayof chains hanging up; some ponderous enough for a sheriff, some lightand elegant enough for Barbara. I dislike to see a thick chain on alady's neck. They put me in mind of the chain she lost, the day she andCornelia went with me to Lynchborough, which loss Barbara persisted indeclaring was my fault, for dragging her through the town sight-seeing, while Cornelia did her shopping--for it was then the chain was lost. "

"But I was only joking when I said so, " was the interruption of Barbara. "Of course it would have happened had you not been with me; the linkswere always snapping. "

"Well, these chains in the shop in London put me in mind of Barbara'smisfortune, and I chose one. Then the shopman brought forth somelockets, and enlarged upon their convenience for holding deceasedrelatives' hair, not to speak of sweethearts', until I told him hemight attach one. I thought it might hold that piece of hair you prize, Barbara, " he concluded, dropping his voice. 

"What piece?" asked Mrs. Hare. 

Mr. Carlyle glanced round the room, as if fearful the very walls mighthear his whisper. "Richard's. Barbara showed it me one day when she wasturning out her desk, and said it was a curl taken off in that illness. "

Mrs. Hare sank back in her chair, and hid her face in her hands, shivering visibly. The words evidently awoke some poignant source ofdeep sorrow. "Oh, my boy! My boy!" she wailed--"my boy! My unhappy boy!Mr. Hare wonders at my ill-health, Archibald; Barbara ridicules it; butthere lies the source of all my misery, mental and bodily. Oh, Richard!Richard!"

There was a distressing pause, for the topic admitted of neither hopenor consolation. "Put your chain on again, Barbara, " Mr. Carlylesaid, after a while, "and I wish you health to wear it out. Health andreformation, young lady!"

Barbara smiled and glanced at him with her pretty blue eyes, so full oflove. "What have you brought for Cornelia?" she resumed. 

"Something splendid, " he answered, with a mock serious face; "only Ihope I have not been taken in. I bought her a shawl. The venders vowedit was true Parisian cashmere. I gave eighteen guineas for it. "

"That is a great deal, " observed Mrs. Hare. "It ought to be a very goodone. I never gave more than six guineas for a shawl in all my life. "

"And Cornelia, I dare say, never more than half six, " laughed Mr. Carlyle. "Well, I shall wish you good evening, and go to her; for if sheknows I am back all this while, I shall be lectured. "

He shook hands with them both. Barbara, however, accompanied him to thefront door, and stepped outside with him. 

"You will catch cold, Barbara. You have left your shawl indoors. "

"Oh, no, I shall not. How very soon you are leaving. You have scarcelystayed ten minutes. "

"But you forget I have not been at home. "

"You were on your road to Beauchamp's, and would not have been at homefor an hour or two in that case, " spoke Barbara, in a tone that savoredof resentment. 

"That was different; that was upon business. But, Barbara, I think yourmother looks unusually ill. "

"You know she suffers a little thing to upset her; and last night shehad what she calls one of her dreams, " answered Barbara. "She says thatit is a warning that something bad is going to happen, and she has beenin the most unhappy, feverish state possible all day. Papa has beenquite angry over her being so weak and nervous, declaring that she oughtto rouse herself out of her 'nerves. ' Of course we dare not tell himabout the dream. "

"It related to--the----"

Mr. Carlyle stopped, and Barbara glanced round with a shudder, and drewcloser to him as she whispered. He had not given her his arm this time. 

"Yes, to the murder. You know mamma has always declared that Bethel hadsomething to do with it; she says her dreams would have convinced herof it, if nothing else did; and she dreamt she saw him with--with--youknow. "

"Hallijohn?" whispered Mr. Carlyle. 

"With Hallijohn, " assented Barbara, with a shiver. "He was standingover him as he lay on the floor; just as he _did_ lay on it. And thatwretched Afy was standing at the end of the kitchen, looking on. "

"But Mrs. Hare ought not to suffer dreams to disturb her peace by day, "remonstrated Mr. Carlyle. "It is not to be surprised at that she dreamsof the murder, because she is always dwelling upon it; but she shouldstrive and throw the feeling from her with the night. "

"You know what mamma is. Of course she ought to do so, but she does not. Papa wonders what makes her get up so ill and trembling of a morning;and mamma has to make all sorts of evasive excuses; for not a hint, asyou are aware, must be breathed to him about the murder. "

Mr. Carlyle gravely nodded. 

"Mamma does so harp about Bethel. And I know that dream arose fromnothing in the world but because she saw him pass the gate yesterday. Not that she thinks that it was he who did it; unfortunately, there isno room for that; but she will persist that he had a hand in it in someway, and he haunts her dreams. "

Mr. Carlyle walked on in silence; indeed there was no reply that hecould make. A cloud had fallen upon the house of Mr. Hare, and it was anunhappy subject. Barbara continued, --

"But for mamma to have taken it into her head that 'some evil is goingto happen, ' because she had this dream, and to make herself miserableover it, is so absurd, that I have felt quite cross with her all day. Such nonsense, you know, Archibald, to believe that dreams give signs ofwhat is going to happen, so far behind these enlightened days!"

"Your mamma's trouble is great, Barbara; and she is not strong. "

"I think all our troubles have been great since--since that darkevening, " responded Barbara. 

"Have you heard from Anne?" inquired Mr. Carlyle, willing to change thesubject. 

"Yes, she is very well. What do you think they are going to name thebaby? Anne; after her mamma. So very ugly a name! Anne!"

"I do not think so, " said Mr. Carlyle. "It is simple and unpretending, I like it much. Look at the long, pretentious names of ourfamily--Archibald! Cornelia! And yours, too--Barbara! What a mouthfulthey all are!"

Barbara contracted her eyebrows. It was equivalent to saying that he didnot like her name. 

They reached the gate, and Mr. Carlyle was about to pass out of it whenBarbara laid her hand on his arm to detain him, and spoke in a timidvoice, --

"Archibald!"

"What is it?"

"I have not said a word of thanks to you for this, " she said, touching the chain and locket; "my tongue seemed tied. Do not deem meungrateful. "

"You foolish girl! It is not worth them. There! Now I am paid. Good-night, Barbara. "

He had bent down and kissed her cheek, swung through the gate, laughing, and strode away. "Don't say I never gave you anything, " he turned hishead round to say, "Good-night. "

All her veins were tingling, all her pulses beating; her heart wasthrobbing with its sense of bliss. He had never kissed her, that shecould remember, since she was a child. And when she returned indoors, her spirits were so extravagantly high that Mrs. Hare wondered. 

"Ring for the lamp, Barbara, and you can get to your work. But don'thave the shutters closed; I like to look out on these light nights. "

Barbara, however, did not get to her work; she also, perhaps, liked"looking out on a light night, " for she sat down at the window. Shewas living the last half hour over again. "'Don't say I never gave youanything, '" she murmured; "did he allude to the chain or to the--kiss?Oh, Archibald, why don't you say that you love me?"

Mr. Carlyle had been all his life upon intimate terms with the Harefamily. His father's first wife--for the late lawyer Carlyle had beentwice married--had been a cousin of Justice Hare's, and this had causedthem to be much together. Archibald, the child of the second Mrs. Carlyle, had alternately teased and petted Anne and Barbara Hare, boyfashion. Sometimes he quarreled with the pretty little girls, sometimeshe caressed them, as he would have done had they been his sisters; andhe made no scruple of declaring publicly to the pair that Anne was hisfavorite. A gentle, yielding girl she was, like her mother; whereasBarbara displayed her own will, and it sometimes clashed with youngCarlyle's. 

The clock struck ten. Mrs. Hare took her customary sup of brandy andwater, a small tumbler three parts full. Without it she believedshe could never get to sleep; it deadened unhappy thought, she said. Barbara, after making it, had turned again to the window, but she didnot resume her seat. She stood right in front of it, her forehead bentforward against its middle pane. The lamp, casting a bright light, wasbehind her, so that her figure might be distinctly observable from thelawn, had any one been there to look upon it. 

She stood there in the midst of dreamland, giving way to all itsenchanting and most delusive fascinations. She saw herself, inanticipation, the wife of Mr. Carlyle, the envied, thrice envied, of allWest Lynne; for, like as he was the dearest on earth to her heart, sowas he the greatest match in the neighborhood around. Not a mother butwhat coveted him for her child, and not a daughter but would have said, "Yes, and thank you, " to an offer from the attractive Archibald Carlyle. "I never was sure, quite sure of it till to-night, " murmured Barbara, caressing the locket, and holding it to her cheek. "I always thought hemeant something, or he might mean nothing: but to give me this--to kissme--oh Archibald!"

A pause. Barbara's eyes were fixed upon the moonlight. 

"If he would but say he loved me! If he would but save the suspenseof my aching heart! But it must come; I know it will; and if thatcantankerous toad of a Corny--"

Barbara Hare stopped. What was that, at the far end of the lawn, just inadvance of the shade of the thick trees? Their leaves were not causingthe movement, for it was a still night. It had been there some minutes;it was evidently a human form. What _was_ it? Surely it was making signsto her!

Or else it looked as though it was. That was certainly its arm moving, and now it advanced a pace nearer, and raised something which it woreon its head--a battered hat with a broad brim, a "wide-awake, " encircledwith a wisp of straw. 

Barbara Hare's heart leaped, as the saying runs, into her mouth, andher face became deadly white in the moonlight. Her first thought was toalarm the servants; her second, to be still; for she remembered the fearand mystery that attached to the house. She went into the hall, shuttingher mamma in the parlor, and stood in the shade of the portico, gazingstill. But the figure evidently followed her movement with its sight, and the hat was again taken off, and waved violently. 

Barbara Hare turned sick with utter terror. _She_ must fathom it; shemust see who, and what it was; for the servants she dared not call, andthose movements were imperative, and might not be disregarded. Butshe possessed more innate courage than falls to the lot of some youngladies. 

"Mamma, " she said, returning to the parlor and catching up her shawl, while striving to speak without emotion. "I shall just walk down thepath and see if papa is coming. "

Mrs. Hare did not reply. She was musing upon other things, in thatquiescent happy mood, which a small portion of spirits will impart toone weak in body; and Barbara softly closed the door, and stole outagain to the portico. She stood a moment to rally her courage, and againthe hat was waved impatiently. 

Barbara Hare commenced her walk towards it in dread unutterable, anundefined sense of evil filling her sinking heart; mingling with which, came, with a rush of terror, a fear of that other undefinable evil--theevil Mrs. Hare had declared was foreboded by her dream. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE MOONLIGHT INTERVIEW. 

Cold and still looked the old house in the moonbeams. Never was the moonbrighter; it lighted the far-stretching garden, it illuminated even theweathercock aloft, it shone upon the portico, and upon one who appearedin it. Stealing to the portico from the house had come Barbara Hare, hereyes strained in dread affright on the grove of trees at the foot of thegarden. What was it that had stepped out of that groove of trees, andmysteriously beckoned to her as she stood at the window, turning herheart to sickness as she gazed? Was it a human being, one to bringmore evil to the house, where so much evil had already fallen? Was it asupernatural visitant, or was it but a delusion of her own eyesight? Notthe latter, certainly, for the figure was now emerging again, motioningto her as before; and with a white face and shaking limbs, Barbaraclutched her shawl around her and went down that path in the moonlight. The beckoning form retreated within the dark recess as she neared it, and Barbara halted. 

"Who and what are you?" she asked, under her breath. "What do you want?"

"Barbara, " was the whispered, eager answer, "don't you recognize me?"

Too surely she did--the voice at any rate--and a cry escaped her, telling more of sorrow than of joy, though betraying both. Shepenetrated the trees, and burst into tears as one in the dress of afarm laborer caught her in his arms. In spite of his smock-frock and hisstraw-wisped hat, and his false whiskers, black as Erebus, she knew himfor her brother. 

"Oh, Richard! Where have you come from? What brings you here?"

"Did you know me, Barbara?" was his rejoinder. 

"How was it likely--in this disguise? A thought crossed my mind that itmight be some one from you, and even that made me sick with terror. How could you run such a risk as to come here?" she added, wringing herhands. "If you are discovered, it is certain death; death--upon--youknow!"

"Upon the gibbet, " returned Richard Hare. "I do know it, Barbara. "

"Then why risk it? Should mamma see you it will kill her outright. "

"I can't live on as I am living, " he answered, gloomily. "I have beenworking in London ever since--"

"In London!" interrupted Barbara. 

"In London, and have never stirred out of it. But it is hard work forme, and now I have an opportunity of doing better, if I can get a littlemoney. Perhaps my mother can let me have it; it is what I have come toask for. "

"How are you working? What at?"

"In a stable-yard. "

"A stable-yard!" she uttered, in a deeply shocked tone. "Richard!"

"Did you expect it would be as a merchant, or a banker, or perhaps assecretary to one of her majesty's ministers--or that I was a gentlemanat large, living on my fortune?" retorted Richard Hare, in a tone ofchafed anguish, painful to hear. "I get twelve shillings a week, andthat has to find me in everything!"

"Poor Richard, poor Richard!" she wailed, caressing his hand and weepingover it. "Oh, what a miserable night's work that was! Our only comfortis, Richard, that you must have committed the deed in madness. "

"I did not commit it at all, " he replied. 

"What!" she exclaimed. 

"Barbara, I swear that I am innocent; I swear I was not present whenthe man was murdered; I swear that from my own positive knowledge, myeyesight, I know no more who did it than you. The guessing at it isenough for me; and my guess is as sure and true a one as that the moonis in the heavens. "

Barbara shivered as she drew close to him. It was a shivering subject. "You surely do not mean to throw the guilt on Bethel?"

"Bethel!" lightly returned Richard Hare. "He had nothing to do with it. He was after his gins and his snares, that night, though, poacher as heis!"

"Bethel is no poacher, Richard. "

"Is he not?" rejoined Richard Hare, significantly. "The truth as to whathe is may come out, some time. Not that I wish it to come out; the manhas done no harm to me, and he may go on poaching with impunity tilldoomsday for all I care. He and Locksley--"

"Richard, " interrupted his sister, in a hushed voice, "mamma entertainsone fixed idea, which she cannot put from her. She is certain thatBethel had something to do with the murder. "

"Then she is wrong. Why should she think so?"

"How the conviction arose at first, I cannot tell you; I do not thinkshe knows herself. But you remember how weak and fanciful she is, and since that dreadful night she is always having what she calls'dreams'--meaning that she dreams of the murder. In all these dreamsBethel is prominent; and she says she feels an absolute certainty thathe was, in some way or other, mixed up in it. "

"Barbara, he was no more mixed up in it than you. "

"And--you say that you were not?"

"I was not even at the cottage at the time; I swear it to you. The manwho did the deed was Thorn. "

"Thorn!" echoed Barbara, lifting her head. "Who is Thorn?"

"I don't know who. I wish I did; I wish I could unearth him. He was afriend of Afy's. "

Barbara threw back her neck with a haughty gesture. "Richard!"

"What?"

"You forget yourself when you mention that name to me. "

"Well, " returned Richard. "It was not to discuss these things that I putmyself in jeopardy; and to assert my innocence can do no good; it cannotset aside the coroner's verdict of 'Wilful murder against Richard Hare, the younger. ' Is my father as bitter against me as ever?"

"Quite. He never mentions your name, or suffers it to be mentioned; hegave his orders to the servants that it never was to be spoken in thehouse again. Eliza could not, or would not remember, and she persistedin calling your room 'Mr. Richard's. ' I think the woman did itheedlessly, not maliciously, to provoke papa; she was a good servant, and had been with us three years you know. The first time shetransgressed, papa warned her; the second, he thundered at her as Ibelieve nobody else in the world can thunder; and the third he turnedher from the doors, never allowing her to get her bonnet; one of theothers carrying her bonnet and shawl to the gate, and her boxes weresent away the same day. Papa took an oath--did you hear of it?"

"What oath? He takes many. "

"This was a solemn one, Richard. After the delivery of the verdict, he took an oath in the justice-room, in the presence of his brothermagistrates, that if he could find you he would deliver you up tojustice, and that he _would_ do it, though you might not turn up for tenyears to come. You know his disposition, Richard, and therefore may besure he will keep it. Indeed, it is most dangerous for you to be here. "

"I know that he never treated me as he ought, " cried Richard, bitterly. "If my health was delicate, causing my poor mother to indulge me, oughtthat to have been a reason for his ridiculing me on every possibleoccasion, public and private? Had my home been made happier I should nothave sought the society I did elsewhere. Barbara, I must be allowed aninterview with my mother. "

Barbara Hare reflected before she spoke. "I do not see how it can bemanaged. "

"Why can't she come out to me as you have done? Is she up, or in bed?"

"It is impossible to think of it to-night, " returned Barbara in analarmed tone. "Papa may be in at any moment; he is spending the eveningat Beauchamp's. "

"It is hard to have been separated from her for eighteen months, and togo back without seeing her, " returned Richard. "And about the money? Itis a hundred pounds that I want. "

"You must be here again to-morrow night, Richard; the money, no doubt, can be yours, but I am not so sure about your seeing mamma. I amterrified for your safety. But, if it is as you say, that you areinnocent, " she added, after a pause, "could it not be proved?"

"Who is to prove it? The evidence is strong against me; and Thorn, did Imention him, would be as a myth to other people; nobody knew anything ofhim. "

"Is he a myth?" said Barbara, in a low voice. 

"Are you and I myths?" retorted Richard. "So, even you doubt me?"

"Richard, " she suddenly exclaimed, "why not tell the whole circumstancesto Archibald Carlyle? If any one can help you, or take measures toestablish your innocence, he can. And you know that he is true assteel. "

"There's no other man living should be trusted with the secret that I amhere, except Carlyle. Where is it they suppose that I am, Barbara?"

"Some think that you are dead; some that you are in Australia; the veryuncertainty has nearly killed mamma. A report arose that you had beenseen at Liverpool, in an Australian-bound ship, but we could not traceit to any foundation. "

"It had none. I dodged my way to London, and there I have been. "

"Working in a stable-yard?"

"I could not do better. I was not brought up to anything, and I didunderstand horses. Besides, a man that the police-runners were aftercould be more safe in obscurity, considering that he was a gentleman, than--"

Barbara turned suddenly, and placed her hand upon her brother's mouth. "Be silent for your life, " she whispered, "here's papa. "

Voices were heard approaching the gate--those of Justice Hare and SquirePinner. The latter walked on; the former came in. The brother and sistercowered together, scarcely daring to breathe; you might have heardBarbara's heart beating. Mr. Hare closed the gate and walked on up thepath. 

"I must go, Richard, " said Barbara, hastily; "I dare not stay anotherminute. Be here again to-morrow night, and meanwhile I will see what canbe done. "

She was speeding away, but Richard held her back. "You did not seem tobelieve my assertion of innocence. Barbara, we are here alone in thestill night, with God above us; as truly as that you and I must sometimemeet Him face to face, I told you the truth. It was Thorn murderedHallijohn, and I had nothing whatever to do with it. "

Barbara broke out of the trees and flew along, but Mr. Hare was alreadyin, locking and barring the door. "Let me in, papa, " she called out. 

The justice opened the door again, and thrusting forth his flaxen wig, his aquiline nose, and his amazed eyes, gazed at Barbara. 

"Halloo! What brings you out at this time of night, young lady?"

"I went down to the gate to look for you, " she panted, "andhad--had--strolled over to the side path. Did you not see me?"

Barbara was truthful by nature and habit; but in such a cause, how couldshe avoid dissimulation?

"Thank you, papa, " she said, as she went in. 

"You ought to have been in bed an hour ago, " angrily responded Mr. Justice Hare. 

CHAPTER V. 

MR. CARLYLE'S OFFICE. 

In the centre of West Lynne stood two houses adjoining each other, onelarge, the other much smaller. The large one was the Carlyle residence, and the small one was devoted to the Carlyle offices. The name ofCarlyle bore a lofty standing in the county; Carlyle and Davidson wereknown as first-class practitioners; no pettifogging lawyers were they. It was Carlyle & Davidson in the days gone by; now it was ArchibaldCarlyle. The old firm were brothers-in-law--the first Mrs. Carlylehaving been Mr. Davidson's sister. She had died and left one child. The second Mrs. Carlyle died when her son was born--Archibald; and hishalf-sister reared him, loved him and ruled him. She bore for him allthe authority of a mother; the boy had known no other, and, when alittle child he had called her Mamma Corny. Mamma Corny had done herduty by him, that was undoubted; but Mamma Corny had never relaxed herrule; with an iron hand she liked to rule him now, in great things as insmall, just as she had done in the days of his babyhood. And Archibaldgenerally submitted, for the force of habit is strong. She was a womanof strong sense, but, in some things, weak of judgment; and the rulingpassions of her life were love of Archibald and love of saving money. Mr. Davidson had died earlier than Mr. Carlyle, and his fortune--he hadnever married--was left equally divided between Cornelia and Archibald. Archibald was no blood relation to him, but he loved the open-heartedboy better than his niece Cornelia. Of Mr. Carlyle's property, a smallportion only was bequeathed to his daughter, the rest to his son; and inthis, perhaps there was justice, since the 20, 000 pounds brought toMr. Carlyle by his second wife had been chiefly instrumental in theaccumulation of his large fortune. 

Miss Carlyle, or, as she was called in town, Miss Corny, had nevermarried; it was pretty certain she never would; people thought that herintense love of her young brother kept her single, for it was not likelythat the daughter of the rich Mr. Carlyle had wanted for offers. Othermaidens confess to soft and tender impressions. Not so Miss Carlyle. Allwho had approached her with the lovelorn tale, she sent quickly to theright-about. 

Mr. Carlyle was seated in his own private room in his office the morningafter his return from town. His confidential clerk and manager stoodnear him. It was Mr. Dill, a little, meek-looking man with a bald head. He was on the rolls, had been admitted years and years ago, but he hadnever set up for himself; perhaps he deemed the post of head managerin the office of Carlyle & Davidson, with its substantial salary, sufficient for his ambition; and manager he had been to them when thepresent Mr. Carlyle was in long petticoats. He was a single man, andoccupied handsome apartments near. 

Between the room of Mr. Carlyle and that of the clerks, was a smallsquare space or hall, having ingress also from the house passage;another room opened from it, a narrow one, which was Mr. Dill's ownpeculiar sanctum. Here he saw clients when Mr. Carlyle was out orengaged, and here he issued private orders. A little window, not largerthan a pane of glass, looked out from the clerk's office; they calledit old Dill's peep-hole and wished it anywhere else, for his spectaclesmight be discerned at it more frequently than was agreeable. The oldgentleman had a desk, also, in their office, and there he frequentlysat. He was sitting there, in state, this same morning, keeping a sharplookout around him, when the door timidly opened, and the pretty face ofBarbara Hare appeared at it, rosy with blushes. 

"Can I see Mr. Carlyle?"

Mr. Dill rose from his seat and shook hands with her. She drew him intothe passage and he closed the door. Perhaps he felt surprised, for itwas _not_ the custom for ladies, young and single, to come there afterMr. Carlyle. 

"Presently, Miss Barbara. He is engaged just now. The justices are withhim. "

"The justices!" uttered Barbara, in alarm; "and papa one? Whatevershall I do? He must not see me. I would not have him see me here for theworld. "

An ominous sound of talking; the justices were evidently coming forth. Mr. Dill laid hold of Barbara, whisked her through the clerks' room, not daring to take her the other way, lest he should encounter them, andshut her in his own. "What the plague brought papa here at this moment?"thought Barbara, whose face was crimson. 

A few minutes and Mr. Dill opened the door again. "They are gone now, and the coast's clear, Miss Barbara. "

"I don't know what opinion you must form of me, Mr. Dill, " shewhispered, "but I will tell you, in confidence, that I am here on someprivate business for mamma, who was not well enough to come herself. Itis a little private matter that she does not wish papa to know of. "

"Child, " answered the manager, "a lawyer receives visits from manypeople; and it is not the place of those about him to 'think. '"

He opened the door as he spoke, ushered her into the presence of Mr. Carlyle, and left her. The latter rose in astonishment. 

"You must regard me as a client, and pardon my intrusion, " said Barbara, with a forced laugh, to hide her agitation. "I am here on the part ofmamma--and I nearly met papa in your passage, which terrified me out ofmy senses. Mr. Dill shut me into his room. "

Mr. Carlyle motioned to Barbara to seat herself, then resumed his ownseat, beside his table. Barbara could not help noticing how differenthis manners were in his office from his evening manners when he was "offduty. " Here he was the staid, calm man of business. 

"I have a strange thing to tell you, " she began, in a whisper, "but--itis impossible that any one can hear us, " she broke off, with a look ofdread. "It would be--it might be--death!"

"It is quite impossible, " calmly replied Mr. Carlyle. "The doors aredouble doors; did you notice that they were?"

Nevertheless, she left her chair and stood close to Mr. Carlyle, restingher hand upon the table. He rose, of course. 

"Richard is here!"

"Richard!" repeated Mr. Carlyle. "At West Lynne!"

"He appeared at the house last night in disguise, and made signs to mefrom the grove of trees. You may imagine my alarm. He has been in Londonall this while, half starving, working--I feel ashamed to mention it toyou--in a stable-yard. And, oh, Archibald! He says he is innocent. "

Mr. Carlyle made no reply to this. He probably had no faith in theassertion. "Sit down, Barbara, " he said drawing her chair closer. 

Barbara sat down again, but her manner was hurried and nervous. "Is itquite sure that no stranger will be coming in? It would look so peculiarto see me here; but mamma was too unwell to come herself--or rather, shefeared papa's questioning, if he found out that she came. "

"Be at ease, " replied Mr. Carlyle; "this room is sacred from theintrusion of strangers. What of Richard?"

"He says that he was not in the cottage at the time the murder wascommitted; that the person who really did it was a man of the name ofThorn. "

"What Thorn?" asked Mr. Carlyle, suppressing all signs of incredulity. 

"I don't know; a friend of Afy's, he said. Archibald, he swore to itin the most solemn manner; and I believe, as truly as that I am nowrepeating it to you, that he was speaking the truth. I want you to seeRichard, if possible; he is coming to the same place to-night. If he cantell his own tale to you, perhaps you may find out a way by which hisinnocence may be made manifest. You are so clever, you can do anything. "

Mr. Carlyle smiled. "Not quite anything, Barbara. Was this the purportof Richard's visit--to say this?"

"Oh, no! He thinks it is of no use to say it, for nobody would believehim against the evidence. He came to ask for a hundred pounds; he sayshe has an opportunity of doing better, if he can have that sum. Mammahas sent me to you; she has not the money by her, and she dare not askpapa for it, as it is for Richard. She bade me say that if you willkindly oblige her with the money to-day, she will arrange with you aboutthe repayment. "

"Do you want it now?" asked Mr. Carlyle. "If so, I must send to thebank. Dill never keeps much money in the house when I'm away. "

"Not until evening. Can you manage to see Richard?"

"It is hazardous, " mused Mr. Carlyle; "for him, I mean. Still, if he isto be in the grove to-night, I may as well be there also. What disguiseis he in?"

"A farm laborer's, the best he could adopt about here, with large blackwhiskers. He is stopping about three miles off, he said, in some obscurehiding-place. And now, " continued Barbara, "I want you to advise me; hadI better inform mamma that Richard is here, or not?"

Mr. Carlyle did not understand, and said so. 

"I declare I am bewildered, " she exclaimed. "I should have premised thatI have not yet told mamma it is Richard himself who is here, but thathe has sent a messenger to beg for this money. Would it be advisable toacquaint her?"

"Why should you not? I think you ought to do so. "

"Then I will; I was fearing the hazard for she is sure to insist uponseeing him. Richard also wishes for an interview. "

"It is only natural. Mrs. Hare must be thankful to hear so far, that heis safe. "

"I never saw anything like it, " returned Barbara; "the change is akinto magic; she says it has put life into her anew. And now for the lastthing; how can we secure papa's absence from home to-night? It mustbe accomplished in some way. You know his temper: were I or mamma tosuggest to him, to go and see some friend, or to go to the club, hewould immediately stop at home. Can you devise any plan? You see Iappeal to you in all my troubles, " she added, "like I and Anne used todo when we were children. "

It may be questioned if Mr. Carlyle heard the last remark. He haddropped his eyelids in thought. "Have you told me all?" he askedpresently, lifting them. 

"I think so. "

"Then I will consider it over, and--"

"I shall not like to come here again, " interrupted Barbara. "It--itmight excite suspicions; some one might see me, too, and mention it topapa. Neither ought you to send to our house. "

"Well--contrive to be in the street at four this afternoon. Stay, that'syour dinner hour; be walking up the street at three, three precisely; Iwill meet you. "

He rose, shook hands, and escorted Barbara through the small hall, alongthe passage to the house door; a courtesy probably not yet shown to anyclient by Mr. Carlyle. The house door closed upon her, and Barbara hadtaken one step from it, when something large loomed down upon her, likea ship in full sail. 

She must have been the tallest lady in the world--out of a caravan. Afine woman in her day, but angular and bony now. Still, in spite ofthe angles and the bones, there was majesty in the appearance of MissCarlyle. 

"Why--what on earth!" began she, "have _you_ been with Archibald for?"

Barbara Hare, wishing Miss Carlyle over in Asia, stammered out theexcuse she had given Mr. Dill. 

"Your mamma sent you on business! I never heard of such a thing. TwiceI have been to see Archibald, and twice did Dill answer that he wasengaged and must not be interrupted. I shall make old Dill explain hismeaning for observing a mystery over it to me. "

"There is no mystery, " answered Barbara, feeling quite sick lest MissCarlyle should proclaim there was, before the clerks, or her father. "Mamma wanted Mr. Carlyle's opinion upon a little private business, andnot feeling well enough to come herself, she sent me. "

Miss Carlyle did not believe a word. "What business?" asked sheunceremoniously. 

"It is nothing that could interest you. A trifling matter, relating to alittle money. It's nothing, indeed. "

"Then, if it's nothing, why were you closeted so long with Archibald?"

"He was asking the particulars, " replied Barbara, recovering herequanimity. 

Miss Carlyle sniffed, as she invariably did, when dissenting from aproblem. She was sure there was some mystery astir. She turned andwalked down the street with Barbara, but she was none the more likely toget anything out of her. 

Mr. Carlyle returned to his room, deliberated a few moments, and thenrang his bell. A clerk answered it. 

"Go to the Buck's Head. If Mr. Hare and the other magistrates are there, ask them to step over to me. "

The young man did as he was bid, and came back with the noted justicesat his heels. They obeyed the summons with alacrity, for they believedthey had got themselves into a judicial scrape, and that Mr. Carlylealone could get them out of it. 

"I will not request you to sit down, " began Mr. Carlyle, "for it isbarely a moment I shall detain you. The more I think about thisman's having been put in prison, the less I like it; and I have beenconsidering that you had better all five, come and smoke your pipes atmy house this evening, when we shall have time to discuss what must bedone. Come at seven, not later, and you will find my father's old jarreplenished with the best broadcut, and half a dozen churchwarden pipes. Shall it be so?"

The whole five accepted the invitation eagerly. And they were filing outwhen Mr. Carlyle laid his finger on the arm of Justice Hare. 

"_You_ will be sure to come, Hare, " he whispered. "We could not get onwithout you; all heads, " with a slight inclination towards those goingout, "are not gifted with the clear good sense of yours. "

"Sure and certain, " responded the gratified justice; "fire and watershouldn't keep me away. "

Soon after Mr. Carlyle was left alone another clerk entered. 

"Miss Carlyle is asking to see you, sir, and Colonel Bethel's comeagain. "

"Send in Miss Carlyle first, " was the answer. "What is it, Cornelia?"

"Ah! You may well ask what? Saying this morning that you could not dineat six, as usual, and then marching off, and never fixing the hour. Howcan I give my orders?"

"I thought business would have called me out, but I am not going now. Wewill dine a little earlier, though, Cornelia, say a quarter before six. I have invited--"

"What's up, Archibald?" interrupted Miss Carlyle. 

"Up! Nothing that I know of. I am very busy, Cornelia, and ColonelBethel is waiting; I will talk to you at dinner-time. I have invited aparty for to-night. "

"A party!" echoed Miss Carlyle. 

"Four or five of the justices are coming in to smoke their pipes. Youmust put out your father's leaden tobacco-box, and--"

"They shan't come!" screamed Miss Carlyle. "Do you think I'll bepoisoned with tobacco smoke from a dozen pipes?"

"You need not sit in the room. "

"Nor they either. Clean curtains are just put up throughout the house, and I'll have no horrid pipes to blacken them. "

"I'll buy you some new curtains, Cornelia, if their pipes spoil these, "he quietly replied. "And now, Cornelia, I really must beg you to leaveme. "

"When I have come to the bottom of this affair with Barbara Hare, "resolutely returned Miss Corny, dropping the point of the contest as tothe pipes. "You are very clever, Archie, but you can't do me. I askedBarbara what she came here for; business for mamma, touching moneymatters, was her reply. I ask you: to hear your opinion about the scrapethe bench have got into, is yours. Now, it's neither one nor the other;and I tell you, Archibald, I'll hear what it is. I should like to knowwhat you and Barbara do with a secret between you. "

Mr. Carlyle knew her and her resolute expression well, and he took hiscourse, to tell her the truth. She was, to borrow the words Barbara hadused to her brother with regard to him, true as steel. Confide to MissCarlyle a secret, and she was trustworthy and impervious as he could be;but let her come to suspect that there was a secret which was being keptfrom her, and she would set to work like a ferret, and never stop untilit was unearthed. 

Mr. Carlyle bent forward and spoke in a whisper. "I will tell you, ifyou wish, Cornelia, but it is not a pleasant thing to hear. Richard Harehas returned. "

Miss Carlyle looked perfectly aghast. "Richard Hare! Is he mad?"

"It is not a very sane proceeding. He wants money from his mother, andMrs. Hare sent Barbara to ask me to manage it for her. No wonder poorBarbara was flurried and nervous, for there's danger on all sides. "

"Is he at their house?"

"How could he be there and his father in it? He is in hiding two orthree miles off, disguised as a laborer, and will be at the groveto-night to receive this money. I have invited the justices to getMr. Hare safe away from his own house. If he saw Richard, he wouldundoubtedly give him up to justice, and--putting graver considerationsaside--that would be pleasant for neither you nor for me. To have aconnection gibbeted for a willful murder would be an ugly blot on theCarlyle escutcheon, Cornelia. "

Miss Carlyle sat in silence revolving the news, a contraction on herample brow. 

"And now you know all, Cornelia, and I do beg you to leave me, for I amoverwhelmed with work to-day. "

CHAPTER VI. 

RICHARD HARE, THE YOUNGER. 

The bench of justices did not fail to keep their appointment; at seveno'clock they arrived at Miss Carlyle's, one following closely uponthe heels of another. The reader may dissent from the expression "MissCarlyle's, " but it is the correct one, for the house was hers, not herbrother's; though it remained his home, as it had been in his father'stime, the house was among the property bequeathed to Miss Carlyle. 

Miss Carlyle chose to be present in spite of the pipes and the smoke, and she was soon as deep in the discussion as the justices were. It wassaid in the town, that she was as good a lawyer as her father had been;she undoubtedly possessed sound judgment in legal matters, and quickpenetration. At eight o'clock a servant entered the room and addressedhis master. 

"Mr. Dill is asking to see you, sir. "

Mr. Carlyle rose, and came back with an open note in his hand. 

"I am sorry to find that I must leave you for half an hour; someimportant business has arisen, but I will be back as soon as I can. "

"Who has sent for you;" immediately demanded Miss Corny. 

He gave her a quiet look which she interpreted into a warning not toquestion. "Mr. Dill is here, and will join you to talk the affair over, "he said to his guests. "He knows the law better than I do; but I willnot be long. "

He quitted his house, and walked with a rapid step toward the Grove. Themoon was bright as on the previous evening. After he had left the townbehind him, and was passing the scattered villas already mentioned, hecast an involuntary glance at the wood, which rose behind them on hisleft hand. It was called Abbey Wood, from the circumstance that inold days an abbey had stood in its vicinity, all traces of which, savetradition, had passed away. There was one small house, or cottage, justwithin the wood, and in that cottage had occurred the murder for whichRichard Hare's life was in jeopardy. It was no longer occupied, fornobody would rent it or live in it. 

Mr. Carlyle opened the gate of the Grove, and glanced at the trees oneither side of him, but he neither saw nor heard any signs of Richard'sbeing concealed there. Barbara was at the window, looking out, and shecame herself and opened the door to Mr. Carlyle. 

"Mamma is in the most excited state, " she whispered to him as heentered. "I knew how it would be. "

"Has he come yet?"

"I have no doubt of it; but he has made no signal. "

Mrs. Hare, feverish and agitated, with a burning spot on her delicatecheeks, stood by the chair, not occupying it. Mr. Carlyle placed apocket-book in her hands. "I have brought it chiefly in notes, " he said:"they will be easier for him to carry than gold. "

Mrs. Hare answered only by a look of gratitude, and clasped Mr. Carlyle's hand in both hers. "Archibald, I _must_ see my boy; how can itbe managed? Must I go into the garden to him, or may he come in here?"

"I think he might come in; you know how bad the night air is for you. Are the servants astir this evening?"

"Things seem to have turned out quite kindly, " spoke up Barbara. "Ithappens to be Anne's birthday, so mamma sent me just now into thekitchen with a cake and a bottle of wine, desiring them to drink herhealth. I shut the door and told them to make themselves comfortable;that if we wanted anything we would ring. "

"Then they are safe, " observed Mr. Carlyle, "and Richard may come in. "

"I will go and ascertain whether he is come, " said Barbara. 

"Stay where you are, Barbara; I will go myself, " interposed Mr. Carlyle. "Have the door open when you see us coming up the path. "

Barbara gave a faint cry, and, trembling, clutched the arm of Mr. Carlyle. "There he is! See! Standing out from the trees, just oppositethis window. "

Mr. Carlyle turned to Mrs. Hare. "I shall not bring him in immediately;for if I am to have an interview with him, it must be got over first, that I may go back home to the justices, and keep Mr. Hare all safe. "

He proceeded on his way, gained the trees, and plunged into them; and, leaning against one, stood Richard Hare. Apart from his disguise, and the false and fierce black whiskers, he was a blue-eyed, fair, pleasant-looking young man, slight, and of middle height, and quite asyielding and gentle as his mother. In her, this mild yieldingness ofdisposition was rather a graceful quality; in Richard it was regardedas a contemptible misfortune. In his boyhood he had been nicknamed LeafyDick, and when a stranger inquired why, the answer was that, as a leafwas swayed by the wind, so he was swayed by everybody about him, neverpossessing a will of his own. In short, Richard Hare, though of anamiable and loving nature, was not over-burdened with what the worldcalls brains. Brains he certainly had, but they were not sharp ones. 

"Is my mother coming out to me?" asked Richard, after a few interchangedsentences with Mr. Carlyle. 

"No. You are to go indoors. Your father is away, and the servants areshut up in the kitchen and will not see you. Though if they did, they could never recognize you in that trim. A fine pair of whiskers, Richard. "

"Let us go in, then. I am all in a twitter till I get away. Am I to havethe money?"

"Yes, yes. But, Richard, your sister says you wish to disclose to me thetrue history of that lamentable night. You had better speak while we arehere. "

"It was Barbara herself wanted you to hear it. I think it of littlemoment. If the whole place heard the truth from me, it would do no good, for I should get no belief--not even from you. "

"Try me, Richard, in as few words as possible. "

"Well, there was a row at home about my going so much to Hallijohn's. The governor and my mother thought I went after Afy; perhaps I did, andperhaps I didn't. Hallijohn had asked me to lend him my gun, and thatevening, when I went to see Af--when I went to see some one--nevermind--"

"Richard, " interrupted Mr. Carlyle, "there's an old saying, and it issound advice: 'Tell the whole truth to your lawyer and your doctor. ' IfI am to judge whether anything can be attempted for you, you must tellit to me; otherwise, I would rather hear nothing. It shall be sacredtrust. "

"Then, if I must, I must, " returned the yielding Richard. "I did lovethe girl. I would have waited till I was my own master to make her mywife, though it had been for years and years. I could not do it, youknow, in the face of my father's opposition. "

"Your wife?" rejoined Mr. Carlyle, with some emphasis. 

Richard looked surprised. "Why, you don't suppose I meant anything else!I wouldn't have been such a blackguard. "

"Well, go on, Richard. Did she return your love?"

"I can't be certain. Sometimes I thought she did, sometimes not; sheused to play and shuffle, and she liked too much to be with--him. Iwould think her capricious--telling me I must not come this evening, andI must not come the other; but I found out they were the evenings whenshe was expecting him. We were never there together. "

"You forget that you have not indicted 'him' by any name, Richard. I amat fault. "

Richard Hare bent forward till his black whiskers brushed Mr. Carlyle'sshoulder. "It was that cursed Thorn. "

Mr. Carlyle remembered the name Barbara had mentioned. "Who was Thorn? Inever heard of him. "

"Neither had anybody else, I expect, in West Lynne. He took preciousgood care of that. He lives some miles away, and used to come over insecret. "

"Courting Afy?"

"Yes, he did come courting her, " returned Richard, in a savage tone. "Distance was no barrier. He would come galloping over at dusk, tie hishorse to a tree in the wood, and pass an hour or two with Afy. In thehouse, when her father was not at home; roaming about the woods withher, when he was. "

"Come to the point, Richard--to the evening. "

"Hallijohn's gun was out of order, and he requested the loan of mine. Ihad made an appointment with Afy to be at her house that evening, and Iwent down after dinner, carrying the gun with me. My father called afterme to know where I was going; I said, out with young Beauchamp, notcaring to meet his opposition; and the lie told against me at theinquest. When I reached Hallijohn's, going the back way along thefields, and through the wood-path, as I generally did go, Afy cameout, all reserve, as she could be at times, and said she was unable toreceive me then, that I must go back home. We had a few words about it, and as we were speaking, Locksley passed, and saw me with the gun in myhand; but it ended in my giving way. She could do just what she likedwith me, for I loved the very ground she trod on. I gave her the gun, telling her it was loaded, and she took it indoors, shutting me out. Idid not go away; I had a suspicion that she had got Thorn there, thoughshe denied it to me; and I hid myself in some trees near the house. Again Locksley came in view and saw me there, and called out to know whyI was hiding. I shied further off, and did not answer him--what were myprivate movements to him?--and that also told against me at the inquest. Not long afterwards--twenty minutes, perhaps--I heard a shot, whichseemed to be in the direction of the cottage. 'Somebody having a latepop at the partridges, ' thought I; for the sun was then setting, and atthe moment I saw Bethel emerge from the trees, and run in the directionof the cottage. That was the shot that killed Hallijohn. "

There was a pause. Mr. Carlyle looked keenly at Richard there in themoonlight. 

"Very soon, almost in the same moment, as it seemed, some one camepanting and tearing along the path leading from the cottage. It wasThorn. His appearance startled me: I had never seen a man show moreutter terror. His face was livid, his eyes seemed starting, and his lipswere drawn back from his teeth. Had I been a strong man I should surelyhave attacked him. I was mad with jealousy; for I then saw that Afy hadsent me away that she might entertain him. "

"I thought you said this Thorn never came but at dusk, " observed Mr. Carlyle. 

"I never knew him to do so until that evening. All I can say is, he wasthere then. He flew along swiftly, and I afterwards heard the sound ofhis horse's hoofs galloping away. I wondered what was up that he shouldlook so scared, and scutter away as though the deuce was after him; Iwondered whether he had quarreled with Afy. I ran to the house, leapedup the two steps, and--Carlyle--I fell over the prostrate body ofHallijohn! He was lying just within, on the kitchen floor, dead. Bloodwas round about him, and my gun, just discharged, was thrown near. Hehad been shot in the side. "

Richard stopped for breath. Mr. Carlyle did not speak. 

"I called to Afy. No one answered. No one was in the lower room; andit seemed that no one was in the upper. A sort of panic came over me, afear. You know they always said at home I was a coward: I could not haveremained another minute with that dead man, had it been to save my ownlife. I caught up the gun, and was making off, when--"

"Why did you catch up the gun?" interrupted Mr. Carlyle. 

"Ideas pass through our minds quicker than we can speak them, especiallyin these sorts of moments, " was the reply of Richard Hare. "Some vaguenotion flashed on my brain that _my gun_ ought not to be found nearthe murdered body of Hallijohn. I was flying from the door, I say, whenLocksley emerged from the wood, full in view; and what possessed me Ican't tell, but I did the worst thing I could do--flung the gun indoorsagain, and got away, although Locksley called after me to stop. "

"Nothing told against you so much as that, " observed Mr. Carlyle. "Locksley deposed that he had seen you leave the cottage, gun inhand, apparently in great commotion; that the moment you saw him, youhesitated, as from fear, flung back the gun, and escaped. "

Richard stamped his foot. "Aye; and all owing to my cursed cowardice. They had better have made a woman of me, and brought me up inpetticoats. But let me go on. I came upon Bethel. He was standing inthat half-circle where the trees have been cut. Now I knew that Bethel, if he had gone straight in the direction of the cottage, must have metThorn quitting it. 'Did you encounter that hound?' I asked him. 'Whathound?' returned Bethel. 'That fine fellow, that Thorn, who comes afterAfy, ' I answered, for I did not mind mentioning her name in my passion. 'I don't know any Thorn, ' returned Bethel, 'and I did not know anybodywas after Afy but yourself. ' 'Did you hear a shot?' I went on. 'Yes, I did, ' he replied; 'I suppose it was Locksley, for he's about thisevening, ' 'And I saw you, ' I continued, 'just at the moment the shotwas fired, turn round the corner in the direction of Hallijohn's. ' 'So Idid, ' he said, 'but only to strike into the wood, a few paces up. What'syour drift?' 'Did you not encounter Thorn, running from the cottage?'I persisted. 'I have encountered no one, ' he said, 'and I don't believeanybody's about but ourselves and Locksley. ' I quitted him, and cameoff, " concluded Richard Hare. "He evidently had not seen Thorn, and knewnothing. "

"And you decamped the same night, Richard; it was a fatal step. "

"Yes, I was a fool. I thought I'd wait quiet, and see how things turnedout; but you don't know all. Three or four hours later, I went to thecottage again, and I managed to get a minute's speech with Afy. I nevershall forget it; before I could say one syllable she flew out at me, accusing me of being the murderer of her father, and she fell intohysterics out there on the grass. The noise brought people from thehouse--plenty were in it then--and I retreated. 'If _she_ can think meguilty, the world will think me guilty, ' was my argument; and that nightI went right off, to stop in hiding for a day or two, till I saw my wayclear. It never came clear; the coroner's inquest sat, and the verdictfloored me over. And Afy--but I won't curse her--fanned the flameagainst me by denying that any one had been there that night. 'She hadbeen at home, ' she said, 'and had strolled out at the back door, to thepath that led from West Lynne, and was lingering there when she hearda shot. Five minutes afterward she returned to the house, and foundLocksley standing over her dead father. '"

Mr. Carlyle remained silent, rapidly running over in his mind the chiefpoints of Richard Hare's communication. "Four of you, as I understandit, were in the vicinity of the cottage that night, and from one orthe other the shot no doubt proceeded. You were at a distance, you say, Richard; Bethel, also, could not have been--"

"It was not Bethel who did it, " interrupted Richard; "it was animpossibility. I saw him, as I tell you, in the same moment that the gunwas fired. "

"But now, where was Locksley?"

"It is equally impossible that it could have been Locksley. He waswithin my view at the same time, at right angles from me, deep in thewood, away from the paths altogether. It was Thorn did the deed, beyondall doubt, and the verdict ought to have been willful murder againsthim. Carlyle, I see you don't believe my story. "

"What you say has startled me, and I must take time to consider whetherI believe it or not, " said Mr. Carlyle, in his straightforward manner. "The most singular thing is, if you witnessed this, Thorn's running fromthe cottage in the manner you describe, that you did not come forwardand denounce him. "

"I didn't do it, because I was a fool, a weak coward, as I have been allmy life, " rejoined Richard. "I can't help it; it was born with me, andwill go with me to my grave. What would my word have availed that it wasThorn, when there was nobody to corroborate it? And the discharged gun, mine, was a damnatory proof against me. "

"Another thing strikes me as curious, " cried Mr. Carlyle. "If this man, Thorn, was in the habit of coming to West Lynne, evening after evening, how was it that he never was observed? This is the first time I haveheard any stranger's name mentioned in connection with the affair, orwith Afy. "

"Thorn chose by-roads, and he never came, save that once, but at duskand dark. It was evident to me at the time that he was striving to do iton the secret. I told Afy so, and that it augured no good for her. Youare not attaching credit to what I say, and it is only as I expected;nevertheless, I swear that I have related the facts. As surely as thatwe--I, Thorn, Afy and Hallijohn, must one day meet together before ourMaker, I have told you the truth. "

The words were solemn, their tone earnest, and Mr. Carlyle remainedsilent, his thoughts full. 

"To what end, else, should I say this?" went on Richard. "It can dome no service; all the assertion I could put forth would not go a jottoward clearing me. "

"No, it would not, " assented Mr. Carlyle. "If ever you are cleared, itmust be by proofs. But--I will keep my thought on the matter, and shouldanything arise----What sort of a man was this Thorn?"

"In age he might be three or four and twenty, tall and slender; anout-and-out aristocrat. "

"And his connections? Where did he live?"

"I never knew. Afy, in her boasting way, would say he had come fromSwainson, a ten mile ride. "

"From Swainson?" quickly interrupted Mr. Carlyle. 

"Could it be one of the Thorns of Swainson?"

"None of the Thorns that I know. He was a totally different sort of man, with his perfumed hands, and his rings, and his dainty gloves. That hewas an aristocrat I believe, but of bad taste and style, displaying aprofusion of jewellery. "

A half smile flitted over Carlyle's face. 

"Was it real, Richard?"

"It was. He would wear diamond shirt-studs, diamond rings, diamond pins;brilliants, all of the first water. My impression was, that he put themon to dazzle Afy. She told me once that she could be a grander lady, if she chose, than I could ever make her. 'A lady on the cross, ' Ianswered, 'but never on the square. ' Thorn was not a man to entertainhonest intentions to one in the station of Afy Hallijohn; but girls aresimple as geese. "

"By your description, it could not have been one of the Thorns ofSwainson. Wealthy tradesmen, fathers of young families, short, stout, and heavy as Dutchmen, staid and most respectable. Very unlikely men arethey, to run into an expedition of that sort. "

"What expedition?" questioned Richard. "The murder?"

"The riding after Afy. Richard, where is Afy?"

Richard Hare lifted his eyes in surprise. "How should I know? I was justgoing to ask you. "

Mr. Carlyle paused. He thought Richard's answer an evasive one. "Shedisappeared immediately after the funeral; and it was thought--in short, Richard, the neighborhood gave her credit for having gone after andjoined you. "

"No! did they? What a pack of idiots! I have never seen or heard of her, Carlyle, since that unfortunate night. If she went after anybody, it wasafter Thorn. "

"Was the man good-looking?"

"I suppose the world would call him so. Afy thought such an Adonis hadnever been coined, out of fable. He had shiny black hair and whiskers, dark eyes and handsome features. But his vain dandyism spoilt him; wouldyou believe that his handkerchiefs were soaked in scent? They were ofthe finest cambric, silky as a hair, as fine as the one Barbara boughtat Lynneborough and gave a guinea for; only hers had a wreath ofembroidery around it. "

Mr. Carlyle could ascertain no more particulars, and it was time Richardwent indoors. They proceeded up the path. "What a blessing it is theservants' windows don't look this way, " shivered Richard, treading onMr. Carlyle's heels. "If they should be looking out upstairs!"

His apprehensions were groundless, and he entered unseen. 

Mr. Carlyle's part was over; he left the poor banned exile to his shortinterview with his hysterical and tearful mother, Richard nearly ashysterical as she, and made the best of his way home again, ponderingover what he had heard. 

The magistrates made a good evening of it. Mr. Carlyle entertained themto supper--mutton chops and bread and cheese. They took up their pipesfor another whiff when the meal was over, but Miss Carlyle retired tobed; the smoke, to which she had not been accustomed since her father'sdeath, had made her head ache and her eyes smart. About eleven theywished Mr. Carlyle good-night, and departed, but Mr. Dill, in obedienceto a nod from his superior, remained. 

"Sit down a moment, Dill; I want to ask you a question. You are intimatewith the Thorns, of Swainson; do they happen to have any relative, anephew or cousin, perhaps, a dandy young fellow?"

"I went over last Sunday fortnight to spend the day with young Jacob, "was the answer of Mr. Dill, one wider from the point than he generallygave. Mr. Carlyle smiled. 

"_Young_ Jacob! He must be forty, I suppose. "

"About that. But you and I estimate age differently, Mr. Archibald. Theyhave no nephew; the old man never had but those two children, Jacob andEdward. Neither have they any cousin. Rich men they are growing now. Jacob has set up his carriage. "

Mr. Carlyle mused, but he expected the answer, for neither had heheard of the brothers Thorn, tanners, curriers, and leather-dressers, possessing a relative of the name. "Dill, " said he, "something hasarisen which, in my mind, casts a doubt upon Richard Hare's guilt. Iquestion whether he had anything to do with the murder. "

Mr. Dill opened his eyes. "But his flight, Mr. Archibald, And hisstopping away?"

"Suspicious circumstances, I grant. Still, I have good cause to doubt. At the time it happened, some dandy fellow used to come courting AfyHallijohn in secret; a tall, slender man, as he is described to me, bearing the name of Thorn, and living at Swainson. Could it have beenone of the Thorn family?"

"Mr. Archibald!" remonstrated the old clerk; "as if those two respectedgentlemen, with their wives and babies, would come sneaking after thatflyaway Afy!"

"No reflection on them, " returned Mr. Carlyle. "This was a young man, three or four and twenty, a head taller than either. I thought it mightbe a relative. "

"I have repeatedly heard them say that they are alone in the world;that they are the two last of the name. Depend upon it, it was nobodyconnected with them;" and wishing Mr. Carlyle good-night, he departed. 

The servant came in to remove the glasses and the obnoxious pipes. Mr. Carlyle sat in a brown study; presently he looked round at the man. 

"Is Joyce gone to bed?"

"No, sir. She is just going. "

"Send her here when you have taken away those things. "

Joyce came in--the upper servant at Miss Carlyle's. She was of middleheight, and would never see five and thirty again; her forehead wasbroad, her gray eyes were deeply set, and her face was pale. Altogethershe was plain, but sensible-looking. She was the half-sister of AfyHallijohn. 

"Shut the door, Joyce. "

Joyce did as she was bid, came forward, and stood by the table. 

"Have you ever heard from your sister, Joyce?" began Mr. Carlyle, somewhat abruptly. 

"No, sir, " was the reply; "I think it would be a wonder if I did hear. "

"Why so?"

"If she would go off after Richard Hare, who had sent her father intohis grave, she would be more likely to hide herself and her doings thanto proclaim them to me, sir. "

"Who was that other, that fine gentleman, who came after her?"

The color mantled in Joyce's cheeks, and she dropped her voice. 

"Sir! Did you hear of him?"

"Not at that time. Since. He came from Swainson, did he not?"

"I believe so, sir. Afy never would say much about him. We did not agreeupon the point. I said a person of his rank would do her no good; andAfy flew out when I spoke against him. "

Mr. Carlyle caught her up. "His rank. What was his rank?"

"Afy bragged of his being next door to a lord; and he looked like it. Ionly saw him once; I had gone home early, and there sat him and Afy. Hiswhite hands were all glittering with rings, and his shirt was finishedoff with shining stones where the buttons ought to be. "

"Have you seen him since?"

"Never since, never but once; and I don't think I should know him if Idid see him. He got up, sir, as soon as I went into the parlor, shookhands with Afy, and left. A fine, upright man he was, nearly as tall asyou, sir, but very slim. Those soldiers always carry themselves well. "

"How do you know he was a soldier?" quickly rejoined Mr. Carlyle. 

"Afy told me so. 'The Captain' she used to call him; but she said he wasnot a captain yet awhile--the next grade to it, a--a----"

"Lieutenant?" suggested Mr. Carlyle. 

"Yes, sir, that was it--Lieutenant Thorn. "

"Joyce, " said Mr. Carlyle, "has it never struck you that Afy is morelikely to have followed Lieutenant Thorn than Richard Hare?"

"No, sir, " answered Joyce; "I have felt certain always that she is withRichard Hare, and nothing can turn me from the belief. All West Lynne isconvinced of it. "

Mr. Carlyle did not attempt to "turn her from her belief. " He dismissedher, and sat on still, revolving the case in all its bearings. 

Richard Hare's short interview with his mother had soon terminated. Itlasted but a quarter of an hour, both dreading interruptions from theservants; and with a hundred pounds in his pocket, and desolation in hisheart, the ill-fated young man once more quitted his childhood's home. Mrs. Hare and Barbara watched him steal down the path in the telltalemoonlight, and gain the road, both feeling that those farewell kissesthey had pressed upon his lips would not be renewed for years, and mightnot be forever. 

CHAPTER VII. 

MISS CARLYLE AT HOME. 

The church clocks at West Lynne struck eight one lovely morning in July, and then the bells chimed out, giving token that it was Sunday. 

East Lynne had changed owners, and now it was the property of Mr. Carlyle. He had bought it as it stood, furniture and all; but thetransfer had been conducted with secrecy, and was suspected by none, save those engaged in the negotiations. Whether Lord Mount Severnthought it might prevent any one getting on the scent, or whether hewished to take farewell of a place he had formerly been fond of, certainit is that he craved a week or two's visit to it. Mr. Carlyle mostreadily and graciously acquiesced; and the earl, his daughter, andretinue had arrived the previous day. 

West Lynne was in ecstacies. It called itself an aristocratic place, andit indulged hopes that the earl might be intending to confer permanentlythe light of his presence, by taking up his residence again at EastLynne. The toilettes prepared to meet his admiring eyes were prodigiousand pretty Barbara Hare was not the only young lady who had thereby toencounter the paternal storm. 

Miss Carlyle was ready for church at the usual time, plainly, butwell dressed. As she and Archibald were leaving their house, they sawsomething looming up the street, flashing and gleaming in the sun. Apink parasol came first, a pink bonnet and feather came behind it, agray brocaded dress and white gloves. 

"The vain little idiot!" ejaculated Miss Carlyle. But Barbara smiled upthe street toward them, unconscious of the apostrophe. 

"Well done, Barbara!" was the salutation of Miss Carlyle. "The justicemight well call out--you are finer than a sunbeam!"

"Not half so fine as many another in the church will be to-day, "responded Barbara, as she lifted her shy blue eyes and blushing faceto answer the greetings of Mr. Carlyle. "West Lynne seems bent onout-dressing the Lady Isabel. You should have been at the milliner'syesterday morning, Miss Carlyle. "

"Is all the finery coming out to-day?" gravely inquired Mr. Carlyle, asBarbara turned with them toward the church, and he walked by her sideand his sister's, for he had an objection, almost invincible as aFrenchman's, to give his arm to two ladies. 

"Of course, " replied Barbara. "First impression is everything, you know, and the earl and his daughter will be coming to church. "

"Suppose she should not be in peacock's plumes?" cried Miss Carlyle, with an imperturbable face. 

"Oh! But she is sure to be--if you mean richly dressed, " cried Barbara, hastily. 

"Or, suppose they should not come to church?" laughed Mr. Carlyle. "Whata disappointment to the bonnets and feathers!"

"After all, Barbara, what are they to us, or we to them?" resumed MissCarlyle. "We may never meet. We insignificant West Lynne gentry shallnot obtrude ourselves into East Lynne. It would scarcely be fitting--orbe deemed so by the earl and Lady Isabel. "

"That's just how papa went on, " grumbled Barbara. "He caught sight ofthis bonnet yesterday; and when, by way of excuse, I said I had it tocall on them, he asked whether I thought the obscure West Lynne familieswould venture to thrust their calls on Lord Mount Severn, as though theywere of the county aristocracy. It was the feather that put him out. "

"It is a very long one, " remarked Miss Carlyle, grimly surveying it. 

Barbara was to sit in the Carlyle pew that day, for she thought thefarther she was from the justice the better; there was no knowing but hemight take a sly revengeful cut at the feather in the middle of service, and so dock its beauty. Scarcely were they seated when some strangerscame quietly up the aisle--a gentleman who limped as he walked, with afurrowed brow and gray hair; and a young lady. Barbara looked roundwith eagerness, but looked away again; they could not be the expectedstrangers, the young lady's dress was too plain--a clear-looking muslindress for a hot summer's day. But the old beadle in his many-caped coat, was walking before them sideways with his marshalling baton, and hemarshaled them into the East Lynne pew, unoccupied for so many years. 

"Who in the world can they be?" whispered Barbara to Miss Carlyle. "Thatold stupid is always making a mistake and putting people into the wrongplaces. "

"The earl and Lady Isabel. "

The color flushed into Barbara's face, and she stared at Miss Corny. "Why, she has no silks, and no feathers, and no anything!" criedBarbara. "She's plainer than anybody in the church!"

"Plainer than any of the fine ones--than you, for instance. The earl ismuch altered, but I should have known them both anywhere. I should haveknown her from the likeness to her poor mother--just the same eyes andsweet expression. "

Aye, those brown eyes, so full of sweetness and melancholy; few who hadonce seen could mistake or forget them; and Barbara Hare, forgettingwhere she was, looked at them much that day. 

"She is very lovely, " thought Barbara, "and her dress is certainly thatof a lady. I wish I had not had this streaming pink feather. What finejackdaws she must deem us all!"

The earl's carriage, an open barouche, was waiting at the gate, at theconclusion of the service. He handed his daughter in, and was puttinghis gouty foot upon the step to follow her, when he observed Mr. Carlyle. The earl turned and held out his hand. A man who could purchaseEast Lynne was worthy of being received as an equal, though he was but acountry lawyer. 

Mr. Carlyle shook hands with the earl, approached the carriage andraised his hat to Lady Isabel. She bent forward with her pleasant smile, and put her hand into his. 

"I have many things to say to you, " said the earl. "I wish you would gohome with us. If you have nothing better to do, be East Lynne's guestfor the remainder of the day. "

He smiled peculiarly as he spoke, and Mr. Carlyle echoed it. EastLynne's guest! That is what the earl was at present. Mr. Carlyle turnedaside to tell his sister. 

"Cornelia, I shall not be home to dinner; I am going with Lord MountSevern. Good-day, Barbara. "

Mr. Carlyle stepped into the carriage, was followed by the earl, and itdrove away. The sun shone still, but the day's brightness had gone outfor Barbara Hare. 

"How does he know the earl so well? How does he know Lady Isabel?" shereiterated in her astonishment. 

"Archibald knows something of most people, " replied Miss Corny. "He sawthe earl frequently, when he was in town in the spring, and Lady Isabelonce or twice. What a lovely face hers is!"

Barbara made no reply. She returned home with Miss Carlyle, but hermanner was as absent as her heart, and that had run away to East Lynne. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

MR. KANE'S CONCERT. 

Before Lord Mount Severn had completed the fortnight of his proposedstay, the gout came on seriously. It was impossible for him to move awayfrom East Lynne. Mr. Carlyle assured him he was only too pleased that heshould remain as long as might be convenient, and the earl expressed hisacknowledgments; he hoped soon to be re-established on his legs. 

But he was not. The gout came, and the gout went--not positively layinghim up in bed, but rendering him unable to leave his rooms; and thiscontinued until October, when he grew much better. The county familieshad been neighborly, calling on the invalid earl, and occasionallycarrying off Lady Isabel, but his chief and constant visitor had beenMr. Carlyle. The earl had grown to like him in no common degree, and wasdisappointed if Mr. Carlyle spent an evening away from him, so that hebecame, as it were, quite domesticated with the earl and Isabel. "I amnot quite equal to general society, " he observed to his daughter, "and it is considerate and kind of Carlyle to come here and cheer myloneliness. "

"Extremely kind, " said Isabel. "I like him very much, papa. "

"I don't know anybody that I like half as well, " was the rejoinder ofthe earl. 

Mr. Carlyle went up as usual the same evening, and, in the course of it, the earl asked Isabel to sing. 

"I will if you wish, papa, " was the reply, "but the piano is so much outof tune that it is not pleasant to sing to it. Is there any one in WestLynne who could come here and tune my piano, Mr. Carlyle?" she added, turning to him. 

"Certainly there is. Kane would do it. Shall I send him to-morrow?"

"I should be glad, if it would not be giving you too much trouble. Notthat tuning will benefit it greatly, old thing that it is. Were we to bemuch at East Lynne, I should get papa to exchange it for a good one. "

Little thought Lady Isabel that that very piano was Mr. Carlyle's, andnot hers. The earl coughed, and exchanged a smile and a glance with hisguest. 

Mr. Kane was the organist of St. Jude's church, a man of embarrassmentand sorrow, who had long had a sore fight with the world. When hearrived at East Lynne, the following day, dispatched by Mr. Carlyle, Lady Isabel happened to be playing, and she stood by, and watched himbegin his work. She was courteous and affable--she was so to everyone--and the poor music master took courage to speak of his own affairs, and to prefer a humble request--that she and Lord Mount Severn wouldpatronize and personally attend a concert he was about to give thefollowing week. A scarlet blush came into his thin cheeks as heconfessed that he was very poor, could scarcely live, and he was gettingup this concert in his desperate need. If it succeeded well, he couldthen go on again; if not, he should be turned out of his home, andhis furniture sold for the two years' rent he owed--and he had sevenchildren. 

Isabel, all her sympathies awakened, sought the earl. "Oh, papa! I haveto ask you the greatest favor. Will you grant it?"

"Ay, child, you don't ask them often. What is it?"

"I want you to take me to a concert at West Lynne. "

The earl fell back in surprise, and stared at Isabel. "A concert at WestLynne!" he laughed. "To hear the rustics scraping the fiddle! My dearIsabel!"

She poured out what she had just heard, with her own comments andadditions. "Seven children, papa! And if the concert does not succeed hemust give up his home, and turn out into the streets with them--it is, you see, almost a matter of life or death with him. He is very poor. "

"I am poor myself, " said the earl. 

"I was so sorry for him when he was speaking. He kept turning red andwhite, and catching up his breath in agitation; it was painful to him totell of his embarrassments. I am sure he is a gentleman. "

"Well, you may take a pound's worth of tickets, Isabel, and give them tothe upper servants. A village concert!"

"Oh, papa, it is not--can't you see it is not? If we, you and I, willpromise to be present, all the families round West Lynne will attend, and he will have the room full. They will go because we do--he said so. Make a sacrifice for once, dearest papa, and go, if it be only foran hour. _I_ shall enjoy it if there's nothing but a fiddle and atambourine. "

"You gipsy! You are as bad as a professional beggar. There--go and tellthe fellow we will look in for half an hour. "

She flew back to Mr. Kane, her eyes dancing. She spoke quietly, as shealways did, but her own satisfaction gladdened her voice. 

"I am happy to tell you that papa has consented. He will take fourtickets and we will attend the concert. "

The tears rushed into Mr. Kane's eyes; Isabel was not sure but they werein her own. He was a tall, thin, delicate-looking man, with long, whitefingers, and a long neck. He faltered forth his thanks with an inquirywhether he might be allowed to state openly that they would be present. 

"Tell everybody, " said she, eagerly. "Everybody you come across, if, asyou think, it will be the means of inducing people to attend. I shalltell all friends who call upon me, and ask them to go. "

When Mr. Carlyle came up in the evening, the earl was temporarily absentfrom the room. Isabel began to speak of the concert. 

"It is a hazardous venture for Mr. Kane, " observed Mr. Carlyle. "I fearhe will only lose money, and add to his embarrassments. "

"Why do you fear that?" she asked. 

"Because, Lady Isabel, nothing gets patronized at West Lynne--nothingnative; and people have heard so long of poor Kane's necessities, thatthey think little of them. "

"Is he so very poor?"

"Very. He is starved half his time. "

"Starved!" repeated Isabel, an expression of perplexity arising to herface as she looked at Mr. Carlyle, for she scarcely understood him. "Doyou mean that he does not have enough to eat?"

"Of bread he may, but not much better nourishment. His salary, asorganist, is thirty pounds, and he gets a little stray teaching. Buthe has his wife and children to keep, and no doubt serves them beforehimself. I dare say he scarcely knows what it is to taste meat. "

The words brought a bitter pang to Lady Isabel. 

"Not enough to eat! Never to taste meat!" And she, in her carelessness, her ignorance, her indifference--she scarcely knew what term to giveit--had not thought to order him a meal in their house of plenty! He hadwalked from West Lynne, occupied himself an hour with her piano, and setoff to walk back again, battling with his hunger. A word from her, anda repast had been set before him out of their superfluities such as henever sat down to, and that word she had not spoken. 

"You are looking grave, Lady Isabel. "

"I'm taking contrition to myself. Never mind, it cannot now be helped, but it will always be a dark spot on my memory. "

"What is it?"

She lifted her repentant face to his and smiled. "Never mind, I say, Mr. Carlyle; what is past cannot be recalled. He looks like a gentleman. "

"Who? Kane? A gentleman bred; his father was a clergyman. Kane's ruinwas his love of music--it prevented his settling to any better paidprofession; his early marriage also was a drawback and kept him down. Heis young still. "

"Mr. Carlyle I would not be one of your West Lynne people for the world. Here is a young gentleman struggling with adversity, and you won't putout your hand to help him!"

He smiled at her warmth. "Some of us will take tickets--I, for one; butI don't know about attending the concert. I fear few would do that. "

"Because that's just the thing that would serve him? If one went, another would. Well, I shall try and show West Lynne that I don't takea lesson from their book; I shall be there before it begins, and nevercome out till the last song's over. I am not too grand to go, if WestLynne is. "

"You surely do not think of going?"

"I surely do think of it; and papa goes with me--I persuaded him; and Ihave given Mr. Kane the promise. "

Mr. Carlyle paused. "I am glad to hear it; it will be a perfect boonto Kane. If it once gets abroad that Lord Mount Severn and Lady Isabelintend to honor the concert, there won't be standing room. "

She danced round with a little gleeful step. "What high and mightypersonages Lord Mount Severn and Lady Isabel seem to be! If you had anygoodness of heart, Mr. Carlyle, you would enlist yourself in the causealso. "

"I think I will, " he smiled. 

"Papa says you hold sway at West Lynne. If you proclaim that you mean togo, you will induce others. "

"I will proclaim that you do, " he answered; "that will be allsufficient. But, Lady Isabel, you must not expect much gratificationfrom the performance. "

"A tambourine will be quite enough for me; I told papa so, I shan'tthink of music; I shall think of poor Mr. Kane. Mr. Carlyle I knowyou can be kind if you like; I know you would rather be kind thanotherwise--it is to be read in your face. Try and do what you can forhim. "

"Yes, I will, " he warmly answered. 

Mr. Carlyle sold no end of tickets the following day, or rather causedthem to be sold. He praised up the concert far and wide, and proclaimedthat Lord Mount Severn and his daughter would not think of missing it. Mr. Kane's house was besieged for tickets, faster than he could writehis signature in their corner; and when Mr. Carlyle went home toluncheon at midday, which he did not often do, he laid down two at MissCorny's elbow. 

"What's this? Concert tickets! Archibald, you have never gone and boughtthese!"

What would she have said had she known that the two were not the extentof his investment?

"Ten shillings to throw away upon two paltry bits of cardboard!" chafedMiss Carlyle. "You always were a noodle in money matters, Archibald, andalways will be. I wish I had the keeping of your purse!"

"What I have given will not hurt me, Cornelia, and Kane is badly off. Think of his troop of children. "

"Oh, dear!" said Miss Corny. "I imagine he should think of them. Isuppose it was his own fault they came. That's always it. Poor folks geta heap of children about them, and then ask for pity. I should say itwould be more just if they asked for blame. "

"Well, there the tickets are, bought and paid for, so they may as wellbe used. You will go with me, Cornelia. "

"And stick ourselves there upon empty benches, like two geese, and sitstaring and counting the candles! A pleasant evening?"

"You need not fear empty benches. The Mount Severns are going, and WestLynne is in a fever, racing after tickets. I suppose you have got a--acap, " looking at the nondescript article decorating his sister's head, "that will be suitable to go in, Cornelia; if not you had better orderone. "

This suggestion put up Miss Carlyle. "Hadn't you better have yourhair curled, and your coat tails lined with white satin, and a goldopera-glass, and a cocked hat?" retorted she. "My gracious me! A finenew cap to go to their mess of a concert in, after paying ten shillingsfor the tickets! The world's coming to something. "

Mr. Carlyle left her and her grumbling to return to the office. LordMount Severn's carriage was passing at the moment, and Isabel Vanewas within it. She caused it to stop when she saw Mr. Carlyle, and headvanced to her. 

"I have been to Mr. Kane's myself for the tickets, " said she, with abeaming look. "I came into West Lynne on purpose. I told the coachman tofind out where he lived, and he did. I thought if the people saw me andthe carriage there, they would guess what I wanted. I do hope he willhave a full concert. "

"I am sure he will, " replied Mr. Carlyle, as he released her hand. AndLady Isabel signed to the carriage to drive on. 

As Mr. Carlyle turned away, he met Otway Bethel, a nephew of ColonelBethel's, who was tolerated in the colonel's house because he had noother home, and appeared incapable to making himself one. Some personspersisted in calling him a gentleman--as he was by birth--others a_mauvais sujet_. The two are united sometimes. He was dressed in avelveteen suit, and had a gun in his hand. Indeed, he was rarely seenwithout a gun, being inordinately fond of sport; but, if all taleswhispered were true, he supplied himself with game in other ways thanby shooting, which had the credit of going up to London dealers. For thelast six months or near upon it, he had been away from West Lynne. 

"Why, where have you been hiding yourself?" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle. "Thecolonel has been inconsolable. "

"Come, no gammon, Carlyle. I have been on the tramp through France andGermany. Man likes a change sometimes. As to the revered colonel, hewould not be inconsolable if he saw me nailed up in a six-foot box, andcarried out feet foremost. "

"Bethel, I have a question to ask you, " continued Mr. Carlyle, droppinghis light manner and his voice together. "Take your thoughts back to thenight of Hallijohn's murder. "

"I wish you may get it, " cried Mr. Bethel. "The reminiscence is notattractive. "

"You'll do it, " quietly said Mr. Carlyle. "It has been told me, thoughit did not appear at the inquest, that Richard Hare held a conversationwith you in the wood a few minutes after the deed was done. Now--"

"Who told you that?" interrupted Bethel. 

"That is not the question. My authority is indisputable. "

"It is true that he did. I said nothing about it, for I did not want tomake the case worse against Dick Hare than it already was. He certainlydid accost me, like a man flurried out of his life. "

"Asking if you had seen a certain lover of Afy's fly from the cottage. One Thorn. "

"That was the purport. Thorn, Thorn--I think Thorn was the name hementioned. My opinion was, that Dick was either wild or acting a part. "

"Now, Bethel, I want you to answer me truly. The question cannot affectyou either way, but I must know whether you did see this Thorn leave thecottage. "

Bethel shook his head. "I know nothing whatever about any Thorn, andI saw nobody but Dick Hare. Not but what a dozen Thorns might have runfrom the cottage without my seeing them. "

"You heard the shot fired?"

"Yes; but I never gave a thought to mischief. I knew Locksley was inthe wood, and supposed it came from him. I ran across the path, bearingtoward the cottage, and struck into the wood on the other side. Byand by, Dick Hare pitched upon me, like one startled out of his sevensenses, and asked if I had seen Thorn leave the cottage. Thorn--that_was_ the name. "

"And you had not?"

"I had seen nobody but Dick, excepting Locksley. My impression was, thatnobody else was about; I think so still. "

"But Richard--"

"Now look you here, Carlyle, I won't do Dick Hare an injury, even by asingle word, if I can help it; and it is of no use setting me on to it. "

"I should be the last to set you on to injure any one, especiallyRichard Hare, " rejoined Mr. Carlyle; "and my motive is to do RichardHare good, not harm. I hold a suspicion, no matter whence gathered, thatit was not Richard Hare who committed the murder, but another. Can youthrow any light upon the subject?"

"No, I can't. I have always thought poor wavering Dick was nobody'senemy but his own; but, as to throwing any light on that night's work, I can't do it. Cords should not have dragged me to the inquest to giveevidence against Dick, and for that reason I was glad Locksley never letout that I was on the spot. How the deuce it got about afterward that Iwas, I can't tell; but that was no matter; _my_ evidence did not helpon the verdict. And talking of that, Carlyle, how has it come to yourknowledge that Richard Hare accosted me? I have not opened my lips uponit to mortal man. "

"It is of no consequence now, " repeated Mr. Carlyle; "I do know it, andthat is sufficient. I was in hopes you had really seen this man Thornleave the cottage. "

Otway Bethel shook his head. "I should not lay too much stress uponany Thorns having been there, were I you, Carlyle. Dick Hare was as onecrazy that night, and might see shapes and forms where there were none. "

CHAPTER IX. 

THE SONG AND THE DIRGE. 

The concert was to take place on Thursday, and on the following SaturdayLord Mount Severn intended finally to quit East Lynne. The necessarypreparations for departure were in progress, but when Thursday morningdawned, it appeared a question whether they would not once more berendered nugatory. The house was roused betimes, and Mr. Wainwright, the surgeon from West Lynne, summoned to the earl's bedside; he hadexperienced another and a violent attack. The peer was exceedinglyannoyed and vexed, and very irritable. 

"I may be kept here a week--a month--a fortnight--a month longer, now!"he uttered fretfully to Isabel. 

"I am very sorry, papa. I dare say you do find East Lynne dull. "

"Dull! That's not it; I have other reasons for wishing East Lynne to bequit of us. And now you can't go to the concert. "

Isabel's face flushed. "Not go, papa?"

"Why, who is to take you. I can't get out of bed. "

"Oh, papa, I must be there. Otherwise it would like almost as though--asthough we had announced what we did not mean to perform. You know it wasarranged that we should join the Ducies; the carriage can still take meto the concert room, and I can go in with them. "

"Just as you please. I thought you would have jumped at any plea forstaying away. "

"Not at all, " laughed Isabel. "I should like West Lynne to see that Idon't despise Mr. Kane and his concert. "

Later in the day the earl grew alarmingly worse; his paroxysms of painwere awful. Isabel, who was kept from the room, knew nothing of thedanger, and the earl's groans did not penetrate to her ears. She dressedherself in a gleeful mode, full of laughing willfulness, Marvel, hermaid, superintending in stiff displeasure, for the attire chosen did notmeet her approbation. When ready, she went into the earl's room. 

"Shall I do, papa?"

Lord Mount Severn raised his swollen eyelids and drew the clothes fromhis flushed face. A shining vision was standing before him, a beauteousqueen, a gleaming fairy; he hardly knew what she looked like. She hadput on a white lace hat and her diamonds; the dress was rich, and thejewels gleamed from her delicate arms: and her cheeks were flushed andher curls were flowing. 

The earl stared at her in amazement. "How could you dress yourself offlike that for a concert? You are out of yours senses, Isabel. "

"Marvel thinks so, too, " was the gay answer; "she has had a crossface since I told her what to put on. But I did it on purpose, papa;I thought I would show those West Lynne people that _I_ think the poorman's moment worth going to, and worth dressing for. "

"You will have the whole room gaping at you. "

"I don't mind. I'll bring you word all about it. Let them gape. "

"You vain child! You have so dressed yourself to please your vanity. But, Isabel, you--oooh!"

Isabel started as she stood; the earl's groan of pain was dreadful. 

"An awful twinge, child. There, go along; talking makes me worse. "

"Papa, shall I stay at home with you?" she gravely asked. "Everyconsideration should give way to illness. If you would like me toremain, or if I can do any good, pray let me. "

"Quite the contrary; I had rather you were away. You can do no earthlygood, for I could not have you in the room. Good-bye, darling. If yousee Carlyle, tell him I shall hope to see him to-morrow. "

The room was partly full when Mrs. Ducie, her two daughters, and LadyIsabel entered, and were conducted to seats by Mr. Kane--seats hehad reserved for them at the upper end, near the orchestra. The samedazzling vision which had burst on the sight of Lord Mount Severn fellon that of the audience, in Isabel, with her rich, white dress, herglittering diamonds, her flowing curls, and her wondrous beauty. TheMisses Ducie, plain girls, in brown silks, turned up their noses worsethan nature had done it for them, and Mrs. Ducie heaved an audible sigh. 

"The poor motherless girl is to be pitied, my dears, " she whispered;"she has nobody to point out to her suitable attire. This ridiculousdecking out must have been Marvel's doings. "

But she looked like a lily among poppies and sunflowers whether the"decking out" was ridiculous or not. Was Lord Mount Severn right, whenhe accused her of dressing so in self-gratification? Very likely, forhas not the great preacher said that childhood and youth are vanity?

Miss Carlyle, the justice, and Barbara also had seats near theorchestra; for Miss Carlyle, in West Lynne, was a person to beconsidered, and not hidden behind others. Mr. Carlyle, however, preferred to join the gentlemen who congregated and stood round aboutthe door inside and out. There was scarcely standing room in the place;Mr. Kane had, as was anticipated, got a bumper, and the poor man couldhave worshipped Lady Isabel, for he knew he owed it to her. 

It was very long--country concerts generally are--and was about threeparts over when a powdered head, larger than any cauliflower ever grown, was discerned ascending the stairs, behind the group of gentlemen; whichhead, when it brought its body in full view, was discovered to belongto one of the footmen of Lord Mount Severn. The calves alone, cased intheir silk stockings, were a sight to be seen; and these calvesbetook themselves inside the concert room, with a deprecatory bow forpermission to the gentlemen they had to steer through--and there theycame to a standstill, the cauliflower extending forward and turningitself about from right to left. 

"Well, I'll be jiffled!" cried an astonished old fox-hunter, who hadbeen elbowed by the footman; "the cheek these fellows have!"

The fellow in question did not appear, however, to be enjoying any greatamount of cheek just at that moment, for he looked perplexed, humble anduneasy. Suddenly his eye fell upon Mr. Carlyle, and it lighted up. 

"Beg pardon, sir; could you happen to inform me where-abouts my younglady is sitting?"

"At the other end of the room, near the orchestra. "

"I'm sure I don't know however I am to get to her, then, " returned theman more in self-soliloquy than to Mr. Carlyle. "The room is choke full, and I don't like crushing by. My lord is taken alarmingly worse, sir, "he explained in an awe-stricken tone; "it is feared he is dying. "

Mr. Carlyle was painfully startled. 

"His screams of pain were awful, sir. Mr. Wainwright and another doctorfrom West Lynne are with him, and an express has gone to Lynneboro' forphysicians. Mrs. Mason said we were to fetch my young lady right home, and not lose a moment; and we brought the carriage, sir, Wells gallopinghis horses all the way. "

"I will bring Lady Isabel, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"I am sure, sir, I should be under everlasting obligations if youwould, " returned the man. 

He worked his way through the concert room--he was tall andslender--many looking daggers at him, for a pathetic song was justthen being given by a London lady. He disregarded all, and stood beforeIsabel. 

"I thought you were not coming to speak to me to-night. Is it not afamous room? I am so pleased!"

"More than famous, Lady Isabel, " choosing his words, that they might notalarm her, "Lord Mount Severn does not find himself so well, and he hassent the carriage for you. "

"Papa not so well!" she quickly exclaimed. 

"Not quite. At any rate, he wishes you to go home. Will you allow me topilot you through the room?"

"Oh, my dear, considerate papa!" she laughed. "He fears I shall beweary, and would emancipate me before the time. Thank you, Mr. Carlyle, but I will wait till the conclusion. "

"No, no, Lady Isabel, it is not that. Lord Mount Severn is indeedworse. "

Her countenance changed to seriousness; but she was not alarmed. "Verywell. When the song is over--not to disturb the room. "

"I think you had better lose no time, " he urged. "Never mind the songand the room. "

She rose instantly, and put her arm within Mr. Carlyle's. A hasty wordof explanation to Mrs. Ducie, and he led her away, the room, in itssurprise, making for them what space it might. Many an eye followedthem, but none more curiously and eagerly than Barbara Hare's. "Where ishe going to take her to?" involuntarily uttered Barbara. 

"How should I know?" returned Miss Corny. "Barbara, you have donenothing but fidget all the night; what's the matter with you? Folks cometo a concert to listen, not to talk and fidget. "

Isabel's mantle was procured from the ante-room where it had been left, and she descended the stairs with Mr. Carlyle. The carriage was drawn upclose to the entrance, and the coachman had his reins gathered, readyto start. The footman--not the one who had gone upstairs--threw open thecarriage door as he saw her. He was new in the service, a simple countrynative, just engaged. She withdrew her arm from Mr. Carlyle's, and stooda moment before stepping in, looking at the man. 

"Is papa much worse?"

"Oh, yes, my lady; he was screaming shocking. But they think he'll livetill morning. "

With a sharp cry, she seized the arm of Mr. Carlyle--seized it forsupport in her shock of agony. Mr. Carlyle rudely thrust the man away;he would willingly have flung him at full length on the pavement. 

"Oh, Mr. Carlyle, why did you not tell me?" she shivered. 

"My dear Lady Isabel, I am grieved that you are told now. But takecomfort; you know how ill he frequently is, and this may be but anordinary attack. Step in. I trust we shall find it nothing more. "

"Are you going home with me?"

"Certainly; I shall not leave you to go alone. "

She moved to the other side of the chariot, making room for him. 

"Thank you. I will sit outside. "

"But the night is cold. "

"Oh, no. " He closed the door, and took his seat by the coachman; thefootman got up behind, and the carriage sped away. Isabel gatheredherself into her corner, and moaned aloud in her suspense andhelplessness. 

The coachman drove rapidly, and soon whipped his horses through thelodge-gates. 

The housekeeper, Mrs. Mason, waited at the hall-door to receive LadyIsabel. Mr. Carlyle helped her out of the carriage, and gave her his armup the steps. She scarcely dared to inquire. 

"Is he better? May I go to his room?" she panted. 

Yes, the earl was better--better, in so far as that he was quiet andsenseless. She moved hastily toward his chamber. Mr. Carlyle drew thehousekeeper aside. 

"Is there any hope?"

"Not the slightest, sir. He is dying. "

The earl knew no one; pain was gone for the present, and he lay on hisbed, calm; but his face, which had death in it all too plainly, startledIsabel. She did not scream or cry; she was perfectly quiet, save thatshe had a fit of shivering. 

"Will he soon be better?" she whispered to Mr. Wainwright, who stoodthere. 

The surgeon coughed. "Well, he--he--we must hope it, my lady. "

"But why does his face look like that? It is pale--gray; I never sawanybody else look so. "

"He has been in great pain, my lady, and pain leaves its traces on thecountenance. "

Mr. Carlyle, who had come, and was standing by the surgeon, touched hisarm to draw him from the room. He noticed the look on the earl's face, and did not like it; he wished to question the surgeon. Lady Isabel sawthat Mr. Carlyle was about to quit the room, and beckoned to him. 

"Do not leave the house, Mr. Carlyle. When he wakes up, it may cheer himto see you here; he liked you very much. "

"I will not leave it, Lady Isabel. I did not think of doing so. "

In time--it seemed an age--the medical men arrived fromLynneborough--three of them--the groom had thought he could not summontoo many. It was a strange scene they entered upon: the ghastly peer, growing restless again now, battling with his departing spirit, and thegala robes, the sparkling gems adorning the young girl watching at hisside. They comprehended the case without difficulty; that she had beensuddenly called from some scene of gayety. 

They stooped to look at the earl, and felt his pulse, and touched hisheart, and exchanged a few murmured words with Mr. Wainwright. Isabelhad stood back to give them place, but her anxious eyes followedtheir every movement. They did not seem to notice her, and she steppedforward. 

"Can you do anything for him? Will he recover?"

They all turned at the address, and looked at her. One spoke; it was anevasive answer. 

"Tell me the truth!" she implored, with feverish impatience: "you mustnot trifle with me. Do you not know me? I am his only child, and I amhere alone. "

The first thing was to get her away from the room, for the great changewas approaching, and the parting struggle between the body and thespirit might be one of warfare--no sight for her. But in answer to theirsuggestion that she should go, she only leaned her head upon the pillowby her father and moaned in despair. 

"She must be got out of the room, " cried one of the physicians, almostangrily. "Ma'am, " turning suddenly upon Mrs. Mason, "are there noreserves in the house--no one who can exert influence over the younglady?"

"She has scarcely any relatives in the world, " replied the housekeeper;"no near ones; and we happen to be, just now, quite alone. "

But Mr. Carlyle, seeing the urgency of the case, for the earl, withevery minute, grew more excited, approached and whispered her: "You areas anxious as we can be for your father's recovery?"

"_As_ anxious!" she uttered reproachfully. 

"You know what I would imply. Of course our anxiety can be as nothing toyours. "

"As nothing--_as nothing_. I think my heart will break. "

"Then--forgive me--you should not oppose the wishes of his medicalattendants. They wish to be alone with him, and time is being lost. "

She rose up; she placed her hands on her brow, as if to collect thesense of the words, and then she addressed the doctors, --

"Is it really necessary that I should leave the room--necessary _forhim_?"

"It is necessary, my lady--absolutely essential. "

She broke into a passion of tears and sobs as Mr. Carlyle lead her toanother apartment. 

"He is my dear father; I have but him in the wide world!" she exclaimed. 

"I know--I know; I feel for you all that you are feeling. Twenty timesthis night I have wished--forgive me the thought--that you were mysister, so that I might express my sympathy more freely and comfortyou. "

"Tell me the truth, then, why I am kept away. If you can show mesufficient cause, I will be reasonable and obey; but do not say again Ishould be disturbing him, for it is not true. "

"He is too ill for you to see him--his symptoms are too painful. Infact, it would not be proper; and were you to go in in defiance ofadvice, you would regret it all your after life. "

"Is he dying?"

Mr. Carlyle hesitated. Ought he to dissemble with her as the doctors haddone? A strong feeling was upon him that he ought not. 

"I trust to you not to deceive me, " she simply said. 

"I fear he is--I believe he is. "

She rose up--she grasped his arm in the sudden fear that flashed overher. 

"You are deceiving me, and he is dead!"

"I am not deceiving you, Lady Isabel. He is not dead, but--it may bevery near. "

She laid her face down upon the soft pillow. 

"Going forever from me--going forever? Oh, Mr. Carlyle, let me see himfor a minute--just one farewell! Will you not try for me!"

He knew how hopeless it was, but he turned to leave the room. 

"I will go and see. But you will remain here quietly--you will notcome. "

She bowed her head in acquiescence, and he closed the door. Had sheindeed been his sister, he would probably have turned the key upon her. He entered the earl's chamber, but not many seconds did he remain in it. 

"It is over, " he whispered to Mrs. Mason, whom he met in the corridor, "and Mr. Wainwright is asking for you. "

"You are soon back, " cried Isabel, lifting her head. "May I go?"

He sat down and took her hand, shrinking from his task. 

"I wish I could comfort you!" he exclaimed, in a tone of deep emotion. 

Her face turned of a ghastly whiteness--as white as another's not faraway. 

"Tell me the worst, " she breathed. 

"I have nothing to tell you but the worst. May God support you, dearLady Isabel!"

She turned to hide her face and its misery away from him, and a low wailof anguish broke from her, telling its own tale of despair. 

The gray dawn of morning was breaking over the world, advent of anotherbustling day in life's history; but the spirit of William Vane, Earl ofMount Severn, had soared away from it forever. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE KEEPERS OF THE DEAD. 

Events, between the death of Lord Mount Severn and his interment, occurred quickly; and to one of them the reader may feel inclined todemur, as believing that it could have no foundation in fact, in theactions of real life, but must be a wild creation of the author's brain. He would be wrong. The author is no more fond of wild creations than thereader. The circumstance did take place. 

The earl died on Friday morning at daylight. The news spread rapidly. Itgenerally does on the death of a peer, if he has been of note, whethergood or bad, in the world, and was known in London before the day wasover--the consequence of which was, that by Saturday morning, early, ashoal of what the late peer would have called harpies, had arrived, tosurround East Lynne. There were creditors of all sorts; for small sumsand for great, for five or ten pounds up to five or ten thousand. Somewere civil, some impatient, some loud and rough and angry; some came toput in executions on the effects, and some--_to arrest the body_!

This last act was accomplished cleverly. Two men, each with a remarkablyhooked nose, stole away from the hubbub of the clamorous, and peeringcunningly about, made their way to the side or tradesman's entrance. Akitchen-maid answered their gentle appeal at the bell. 

"Is the coffin come yet?" said they. 

"Coffin--no!" was the girl's reply. "The shell ain't here yet. Mr. Jonesdidn't promise that till nine o'clock, and it haven't gone eight. "

"It won't be long, " quoth they; "its on it's road. We'll go up to hislordship's room, please, and be getting ready for it. "

The girl called the butler. "Two men from Jones', the undertaker's, sir, " announced she. "The shell's coming on and they want to go up andmake ready for it. "

The butler marshaled them upstairs himself, and introduced them to theroom. "That will do, " said they, as he was about to enter with them, "wewon't trouble you to wait. " And closing the door upon the unsuspiciousbutler, they took up their station on either side of the dead, like acouple of ill-omened mutes. They had placed an arrest upon the corpse;it was theirs until their claim was satisfied, and they sat down to thuswatch and secure it. Pleasant occupation!

It may have been an hour later that Lady Isabel, leaving her ownchamber, opened noiselessly that of the dead. She had been in it severaltimes during the previous day; at first with the housekeeper; afterward, when the nameless dread was somewhat effaced, alone. But she feltnervous again this morning, and had gained the bed before she venturedto lift her eyes from the carpet and encounter the sight. Then shestarted, for there sat two strange-looking men--and not attractive meneither. 

It darted through her mind that they must be people from theneighborhood, come to gratify an idle and unpardonable curiosity. Herfirst impulse was to summon the butler; her second, to speak to themherself. 

"Do you want anything here?" she quietly said. 

"Much obleeged for the inquiry, miss. We are all right. "

The words and tone struck her as being singular in the extreme; and theykept their seats, too, as though they had a right to be there. 

"Why are you here?" she repeated. "What are you doing?"

"Well, miss, I don't mind telling you, for I suppose you are hisdaughter"--pointing his left thumb over his shoulder at the latepeer--"and we hear he have got no other relative anigh him. We have beenobleeged, miss, to perform an unpleasant dooty and secure him. "

The words were like Greek to her, and the men saw that they were. 

"He unfortunately owed a slight amount of money, miss--as you, perhaps, be aware on, and our employers is in, deep. So, as soon as they heardwhat had happened, they sent us down to arrest the dead corpse, and wehave done it. "

Amazement, horror, fear, struggled together in the shocked mind of LadyIsabel. Arrest the dead. She had never heard of a like calamity: norcould she have believed in such. Arrest it for what purpose? What to do?To disfigure it?--to sell it? With a panting heart and ashy lips, sheturned from the room. Mrs. Mason happened to be passing near the stairs, and Isabel flew to her, laying hold of her with both hands, in herterror, as she burst into a fit of nervous tears. 

"Those men--in there!" she gasped. 

"What men, my lady?" returned Mrs. Mason, surprised. 

"I don't know; I don't know. I think they are going to stop there; theysay they have taken papa. "

After a pause of bewildered astonishment, the housekeeper left herstanding where she was, and went to the earl's chamber, to see ifshe could fathom the mystery of the words. Isabel leaned against thebalustrades; partly for support, partly that she seemed afraid to stirfrom them; and the ominous disturbances downstairs reached her ears. Strangers, interlopers, appeared to be in the hall, talking vehemently, and complaining in bitter tones. More and more terrified, she held herbreath to listen. 

"Where's the good of your seeing the young lady?" cried the butler, ina tone of remonstrance. "She knows nothing about the earl's affairs; sheis in grief enough just now, without any other worry. "

"I will see her, " returned a dogged voice. "If she's too start-up andmighty to come down and answer a question or two, why I'll find my wayon to her. Here we are a shameful crowd of us, swindled out of our own, told there's nobody we can speak to; nobody here but the young lady, andshe must not be troubled. She didn't find it trouble to help to spendour money. She has got no honor and feelings of a lady, if she don'tcome and speak to us. There. "

Repressing her rebellious emotions, Lady Isabel glided partly downthe staircase, and softy called to the butler. "What is all this?" sheasked. "I must know. "

"Oh, my lady, don't go amongst those rough men! You can't do any good;pray go back before they see you. I have sent for Mr. Carlyle, andexpect him here momentarily. "

"Did Papa owe them _all_ money?" she said, shivering. 

"I'm afraid he did, my lady. "

She went swiftly on; and passing through the few stragglers in the hall, entered the dining-room, where the chief mass had congregated, and thehubbub was loudest. All anger, at least external anger, was hushed ather sight. She looked so young, so innocent, so childlike in her prettymorning dress of peach-colored muslin, her fair face shaded by itsfalling curls, so little fit to combat with, or understand _their_business, that instead of pouring forth complaints, they hushed theminto silence. 

"I heard some one calling out that I ought to see you, " she began, heragitation causing the words to come forth in a jerking manner. "What didyou want with me?"

Then they poured forth their complaints, but not angrily, and shelistened till she grew sick. There were many and formidable claims;promissory notes and I O Us, overdue bills and underdue bills; heavyoutstanding debts of all sorts, and trifles, comparatively speaking, forhousekeeping, servants' liveries, out-door servants' wages, bread andmeat. 

What was Isabel Vane to answer? What excuse to offer? What hope orpromise to give? She stood in bewilderment, unable to speak, turningfrom one to the other, her sweet eyes full of pity and contrition. 

"The fact is, young lady, " spoke up one who bore the exterior of agentleman, "we should not have come down troubling you--at least, I cananswer for myself--but his lordship's men of business, Warburton & Ware, to whom many of us hastened last evening, told us there would not bea shilling for anybody unless it could be got from furniture. Whenit comes to that, it is 'first come, first served, ' and I got down bymorning light, and levied an execution. "

"Which was levied before you came, " put in a man who might be brotherto the two upstairs, to judge by his nose. "But what's such furniture asthis to our claims--if you come to combine 'em? No more than a bucket ofwater is to the Thames. "

"What can I do?" shivered Lady Isabel. "What is it you wish me to do? Ihave no money to give you, I--"

"No, miss, " broke in a quiet, pale man; "if report tells me, you areworse wronged than we are, for you won't have a roof to put your headunder, or a guinea to call your own. "

"He has been a scoundrel to everybody, " interrupted an intemperatevoice; "he has ruined thousands. "

The speech was hissed down; even they were not men gratuitously toinsult a delicate young lady. 

"Perhaps you'll just answer us a question, miss, " persisted the voice, in spite of the hisses. "Is there any ready money that can--"

But another person had entered the room--Mr. Carlyle. He caught sight ofthe white face and trembling hands of Isabel, and interrupted the lastspeaker with scant ceremony. 

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, in a tone of authority. "What do you want?"

"If you are a friend of the late peer's, you ought to know what wewant, " was the response. "We want our debts paid. "

"But this is not the place to come to, " returned Mr. Carlyle; "yourcoming here flocking in this extraordinary manner, will do no good. Youmust go to Warburton & Ware. "

"We have been to them and received their answer--a cool assurance thatthere'll be nothing for anybody. "

"At any rate, you'll get nothing here, " observed Mr. Carlyle, to theassembly, collectively. "Allow me to request that you leave the house atonce. "

It was little likely that they would for him, and they said it. 

"Then I warn you of the consequences of a refusal, " quietly said Mr. Carlyle; "you are trespassing upon a stranger's property. This house isnot Lord Mount Severn's; he sold it some time back. "

They knew better. Some laughed, and said these tricks were stale. 

"Listen, gentlemen, " rejoined Mr. Carlyle, in the plain, straightforwardmanner that carried its own truth. "To make an assertion that couldbe disproved when the earl's affairs come to be investigated, would besimply foolish. I give you my word of honor as a gentleman--nay, as afellow-man--that this estate, with the house and all it contains, passedmonths ago, from the hands of Lord Mount Severn; and, during his recentsojourn here, he was a visitor in it. Go and ask his men of business. "

"Who purchased it?" was the inquiry. 

"Mr. Carlyle, of West Lynne. Some of you may possibly know him byreputation. "

Some of them did. 

"A cute young lawyer, " observed a voice; "as his father was before him. "

"I am he, " proceeded Mr. Carlyle; "and, being a 'cute lawyer, ' as you dome the honor to decide, you cannot suppose I should risk my money uponany sale not perfectly safe and legal. I was not an agent in the affair;I employed agents; for it was my own money that I invested, and EastLynne is mine. "

"Is the purchase money paid over?" inquired more than one. 

"It was paid over at the time--last June. "

"What did Lord Mount Severn do with the money?"

"I do not know, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "I am not cognizant of Lord MountSevern's private affairs. "

Significant murmurs arose. "Strange that the earl should stop two orthree months at a place that wasn't his. "

"It may appear so to you, but allow me to explain, " returned Mr. Carlyle. "The earl expressed a wish to pay East Lynne a few days' visit, by way of farewell, and I acceded. Before the few days were over, he wastaken ill, and remained, from that time, too ill to quit it. This veryday--this day, gentlemen, as we stand here, was at length fixed for hisdeparture. "

"And you tell us you bought the furniture?"

"Everything as it stands. You need not doubt my word, for the proofswill be forthcoming. East Lynne was in the market for sale; I heard ofit, and became the purchaser--just as I might have bought an estate fromany of you. And now, as this is my house, and you have no claim upon me, I shall be obliged to you to withdraw. "

"Perhaps you'll claim the horses and carriages next, sir, " cried the manwith the hooked nose. 

Mr. Carlyle raised his head haughtily. "What is mine is mine, legallypurchased and paid for--a fair, just price. The carriages and horses Ihave nothing to do with; Lord Mount Severn brought them down with him. "

"And I have got a safe watcher over them in the out premises, to seeas they don't run away, " nodded the man, complacently; "and if I don'tmistake, there's a safe watcher over something else upstairs. "

"What a cursed scoundrel Mount Severn was. "

"Whatever he may have been, it does not give you the right to outragethe feelings of his daughter, " warmly interrupted Mr. Carlyle; "and Ishould have thought that men, calling themselves Englishmen, would havedisdained the shame. Allow me, Lady Isabel, " he added, imperativelytaking her hand to lead her from the room. "I will remain and deal withthis business. "

But she hesitated and stopped. The injury her father had done these menwas telling painfully on her sense of right, and she essayed to speak aword of apology, of sorrow; she thought she ought to do so; she did notlike them to deem her quite heartless. But it was a painful task, andthe color went and came in her pale face, and her breath was laboredwith the excess of her tribulation. 

"I am very sorry, " she stammered; and with the effort of speaking, emotion quite got the better of her, and she burst into tears. "I didnot know anything of all this; my father's affairs were not spoken ofbefore me. I believe I have not anything; if I had, I would divide itamongst you as equally as I could. But, should the means ever be inmy power--should money ever be mine, I will thankfully pay all yourclaims. "

_All_ your claims! Lady Isabel little thought what that "all" wouldcomprise. However, such promises, made at such a moment, fell heedlesslyupon the ear. Scarcely one present but felt sympathy and sorrow forher, and Mr. Carlyle drew her from the room. He closed the door upon thenoisy crew, and then sobs came forth hysterically. 

"I am so grieved, Lady Isabel! Had I foreseen this annoyance, you shouldhave been spared it. Can you go upstairs alone, or shall I call Mrs. Mason?"

"Oh, yes! I can go alone; I am not ill, only frightened and sick. Thisis not the worst, " she shivered. "There are two men up--up--with papa. "

"Up with papa. " Mr. Carlyle was puzzled. He saw that she was shakingfrom head to foot, as she stood before him. 

"I cannot understand it, and it terrifies me, " she continued, attemptingan explanation. "They are sitting in the room, close to him: they havetaken him, they say. "

A blank, thunderstruck pause. Mr. Carlyle looked at her--he did notspeak; and then he turned and looked at the butler, who was standingnear. But the man only responded by giving his head a half shake, andMr. Carlyle saw that it was an ominous one. 

"I will clear the house of these, " he said to Lady Isabel, pointing backto the dining-room, "and then join you upstairs. "

"Two ruffians, sir, and they have got possession of the body, " whisperedthe butler in Mr. Carlyle's ear, as Lady Isabel departed. "They obtainedentrance to the chamber by a sly, deceitful trick, saying they were theundertaker's men, and that he can't be buried unless their claims arepaid, if it's for a month to come. It has upset all our stomachs, sir;Mrs. Mason while telling me--for she was the first one to know it--wasas sick as she could be. "

At present Mr. Carlyle returned to the dining-room, and bore the bruntof the anger of those savages, and it may be said, ill-used men. Notthat it was vented upon him--quite the contrary--but on the memory ofthe unhappy peer, who lay overhead. A few had taken the precaution toinsure the earl's life, and they were the best off. They left thehouse after a short space of time; for Mr. Carlyle's statement wasindisputable, and they knew the law better than to remain, trespasserson his property. 

But the custodians of the dead could not be got rid of. Mr. Carlyleproceeded to the death-chamber, and examined their authority. A similarcase had never occurred under his own observation, though it had underhis father's, and Mr. Carlyle remembered hearing of it. The body of achurch dignitary, who had died deeply in debt, was arrested as it wasbeing carried through the cloisters to its grave in the cathedral. Thesemen, sitting over Lord Mount Severn, enforced heavy claims; and therethey must sit until the arrival of Mr. Vane from Castle Marling--now theEarl of Mount Severn. 

On the following morning, Sunday, Mr. Carlyle proceeded again to EastLynne, and found, to his surprise, that there was no arrival. Isabel satin the breakfast-room alone, the meal on the table untouched, and sheshivering--as it seemed--on a low ottoman before the fire. She looked soill that Mr. Carlyle could not forbear remarking upon it. 

"I have not slept, and I am very cold, " she answered. "I did not closemy eyes all night, I was so terrified. "

"Terrified at what?" he asked. 

"At those men, " she whispered. "It is strange that Mr. Vane has notcome. "

"Is the post in?"

"I don't know, " she apathetically replied. "I have received nothing. "

She had scarcely spoke when the butler entered with his salver full ofletters, most of them bearing condolence with Lady Isabel. She singledout one and hastened to open it, for it bore the Castle Marlingpost-mark. "It is Mrs. Vane's handwriting, " she remarked to Mr. Carlyle. 

CASTLE MARLING, Saturday. 

"MY DEAR ISABEL--I am dreadfully grieved and shocked at the newsconveyed in Mr. Carlyle's letter to my husband, for he has gone cruisingin his yacht, and I opened it. Goodness knows where he may be, round thecoast somewhere, but he said he should be home for Sunday, and as he ispretty punctual in keeping his word, I expect him. Be assured he willnot lose a moment in hastening to East Lynne. 

"I cannot express what I feel for you, and am too _bouleversee_ to writemore. Try and keep up your spirits, and believe me, dear Isabel, withsincere sympathy and regret, faithfully yours, "EMMA MOUNT SEVERN. "

The color came into Isabel's pale cheek when she read the signature. She thought, had she been the writer, she should, in that first, earlyletter, have still signed herself Emma Vane. Isabel handed the note toMr. Carlyle. "It is very unfortunate, " she sighed. 

Mr. Carlyle glanced over it as quickly as Mrs. Vane's illegible writingallowed him, and drew in his lips in a peculiar manner when he came tothe signature. Perhaps at the same thought which had struck Isabel. 

"Had Mrs. Vane been worth a rush, she would have come herself, knowingyour lonely situation, " he uttered, impulsively. 

Isabel leaned her head upon her hand. All the difficulties andembarrassments of her position came crowding on her mind. No orders hadbeen given in preparation for the funeral, and she felt that she hadno right to give any. The earls of Mount Severn were buried at MountSevern; but to take her father thither would involve great expense;would the present earl sanction that? Since the previous morning, sheseemed to have grown old in the world's experience; her ideas werechanged, the bent of her thoughts had been violently turned from itscourse. Instead of being a young lady of high position, of wealth andrank, she appeared to herself more in the light of an unfortunate pauperand interloper in the house she was inhabiting. It has been the customin romance to present young ladies, especially if they be handsome andinteresting, as being entirely oblivious of matter-of-fact caresand necessities, supremely indifferent to future prospects ofpoverty--poverty that brings hunger and thirst and cold and nakedness;but, be assured, this apathy never existed in real life. Isabel Vane'sgrief for her father--whom, whatever may have been the aspect he worefor others, _she_ had deeply loved and reverenced--was sharply poignant;but in the midst of that grief, and of the singular troubles his deathhad brought forth, she could not shut her eyes to her own future. Its blank uncertainty, its shadowed-forth embarrassments did obtrudethemselves and the words of that plain-speaking creditor kept ringing inher ears: "You won't have a roof to put your head under, or a guinea tocall your own. " Where was she to go? With whom to live? She was in Mr. Carlyle's house now. And how was she to pay the servants? Money wasowing to them all. 

"Mr. Carlyle, how long has this house been yours?" she asked, breakingthe silence. 

"It was in June that the purchase was completed. Did Lord Mount Severnnever tell you he had sold it to me?"

"No, never. All these things are yours?" glancing round the room. 

"The furniture was sold with the house. Not these sort of things, " headded, his eye falling on the silver on the breakfast table; "not theplate and linen. "

"Not the plate and linen! Then those poor men who were here yesterdayhave a right to them, " she quickly cried. 

"I scarcely know. I believe the plate goes with the entail--and thejewels go also. The linen cannot be of consequence either way. "

"Are my clothes my own?"

He smiled as he looked at her; smiled at her simplicity, and assured herthat they were nobody's else. 

"I did not know, " she sighed; "I did not understand. So many strangethings have happened in the last day or two, that I seem to understandnothing. "

Indeed, she could not understand. She had no definite ideas on thesubject of this transfer of East Lynne to Mr. Carlyle; plenty ofindefinite ones, and they were haunting her. Fears of debt to him, andof the house and its contents being handed over to him in liquidation, perhaps only partial, were working in her brain. 

"Does my father owe you any money?" she breathed in a timid tone. 

"Not any, " he replied. "Lord Mount Severn was never indebted to me inhis life. "

"Yet you purchased East Lynne?"

"As any one else might have done, " he answered, discerning the drift ofher thoughts. "I was in search of an eligible estate to invest money in, and East Lynne suited me. "

"I feel my position, Mr. Carlyle, " she resumed, the rebellious fearsforcing themselves to her eyes; "thus to be intruding upon you for ashelter. And I cannot help myself. "

"You can help grieving me, " he gently answered, "which you do much whenyou talk of obligation. The obligation is on my side, Lady Isabel; andwhen I express a hope that you will continue at East Lynne while it canbe of service, however prolonged that period may be, I assure you, I sayit in all sincerity. "

"You are very kind, " she faltered; "and for a few days; until I canthink; until--Oh, Mr. Carlyle, are papa's affairs really so bad as theysaid yesterday?" she broke off, her perplexities recurring to her withvehement force. "Is there nothing left?"

Now Mr. Carlyle might have given the evasive assurance that there wouldbe plenty left, just to tranquilize her. But to have used deceit withher would have pricked against every feeling of his nature; and he sawhow implicitly she relied upon his truth. 

"I fear things are not very bright, " he answered. "That is, so far as wecan see at present. But there may have been some settlement effected foryou that you do not know of. Warburton & Ware--"

"No, " she interrupted: "I never heard of a settlement, and I am surethere is none. I see the worst plainly. I have no home, no home and nomoney. This house is yours; the town house and Mount Severn go to Mr. Vane; and I have nothing. "

"But surely Mr. Vane will be delighted to welcome you to your old home. The houses pass to him--it almost seems as though you had the greaterright in them, than he or Mrs. Vane. "

"My home with them!" she retorted, as if the words had stung her. "Whatare you saying, Mr. Carlyle?"

"I beg your pardon, Lady Isabel. I should not have presumed to touchupon these points myself, but--"

"Nay, I think I ought to beg yours, " she interrupted, more calmly. "I amonly grateful for the interest you take in them--the kindness you haveshown. But I could not make my home with Mrs. Vane. "

Mr. Carlyle rose. He could do no good by remaining, and did not think itwell to intrude longer. He suggested that it might be more pleasant ifIsabel had a friend with her; Mrs. Ducie would no doubt be willing tocome, and she was a kind, motherly woman. 

Isabel shook her head with a passing shudder. "Have strangers, here, with--all--that--in papa's chamber!" she uttered. "Mrs. Ducie droveover yesterday, perhaps to remain--I don't know; but I was afraid ofquestions, and would not see her. When I think of--that--I feel thankfulthat I am alone. "

The housekeeper stopped Mr. Carlyle as he was going out. 

"Sir, what is the news from Castle Marling? Pound said there was aletter. Is Mr. Vane coming?"

"He was out yachting. Mrs. Vane expected him home yesterday, so it is tobe hoped he will be here to-day. "

"Whatever will be done if he does not come?" she breathed. "The leadencoffin ought to be soldered down, for you know, air, the state he was inwhen he died. "

"It can be soldered down without Mr. Vane. "

"Of course--without Mr. Vane. It's not that, sir. Will those men allowit to be done? The undertakers were here this morning at daybreak, andthose men intimated that they were not going to _lose sight_ ofthe dead. The words sounded significant to us, but we asked them noquestions. Have they a right to prevent it, sir?"

"Upon my word I cannot tell, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "The proceeding is sorare a one, that I know little what right of law they have or have not. Do not mention this to Lady Isabel. And when Mr. Va--when Lord MountSevern arrives, send down to apprise me of it. "

CHAPTER XI. 

THE NEW PEER--THE BANK-NOTE

A post-chaise was discerned thundering up the avenue that Sundayafternoon. It contained the new peer, Lord Mount Severn. The more directline of rail from Castle Marling, brought him only to within fivemiles of West Lynne, and thence he had travelled in a hired chaise. Mr. Carlyle soon joined him, and almost at the same time Mr. Warburtonarrived from London. Absence from town at the period of the earl's deathhad prevented Mr. Warburton's earlier attendance. Business was enteredupon immediately. 

The present earl knew that his predecessor had been an embarrassed man, but he had no conception of the extent of the evil; they had not beenintimate, and rarely came in contact. As the various items of news werenow detailed to him--the wasteful expenditure, the disastrous ruin, thetotal absence of provision for Isabel--he stood petrified and aghast. He was a tall stout man, of three-and-forty years, his nature honorable, his manner cold, and his countenance severe. 

"It is the most iniquitous piece of business I ever heard of!" heexclaimed to the two lawyers. "Of all the reckless fools, Mount Severnmust have been the worst!"

"Unpardonably improvident as regards his daughter, " was the assentingremark. 

"Improvident! It must have been rank madness!" retorted the earl. "Noman in his senses could leave a child to the mercy of the world, as hehas left her. She has not a shilling--literally, not a shilling in herpossession. I put the question to her, what money there was in the housewhen the earl died. Twenty or twenty-five pounds, she answered, whichshe had given to Mason, who required it for housekeeping purposes. Ifthe girl wants a yard of ribbon for herself, she has not the pence topay for it! Can you realize such a case to the mind?" continued theexcited peer. "I will stake my veracity that such a one never occurredyet. "

"No money for her own personal wants!" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle. 

"Not a halfpenny in the world. And there are no funds, and will be none, that I can see, for her to draw upon. "

"Quite correct, my lord, " nodded Mr. Warburton. "The entailed estatesgo to you, and what trifling matter of personal property may be left thecreditors will take care of. "

"I understand East Lynne is yours, " cried the earl, turning sharply uponMr. Carlyle; "Isabel has just said so. "

"It is, " was the reply. "It became mine last June. I believe hislordship kept the fact a close secret. "

"He was obliged to keep it a secret, " interposed Mr. Warburton, addressing Lord Mount Severn, "for not a stiver of the purchase moneycould he have fingered had it got wind. Except ourselves and Mr. Carlyle's agents, the fact was made known to none. "

"It is strange, sir, that you could not urge the claims of his childupon the earl, " rejoined the new peer to Mr. Warburton, his tone one ofharsh reproof. "You were in his confidence; you knew the state of hisaffairs; it was in your line of duty to do it. "

"Knowing the state of his affairs, my lord, we knew how useless theurging it would be, " returned Mr. Warburton. "Your lordship has but afaint idea of the burdens Lord Mount Severn had upon him. The interestalone upon his debts was frightful--and the deuce's own work it was toget it. Not to speak of the kites he let loose; he would fly them, andnothing could stop him; and they had to be provided for. "

"Oh, I know, " replied the earl, with a gesture of contempt. "Drawing onebill to cover another; that was his system. "

"Draw!" echoed Mr. Warburton. "He would have drawn a bill on Aldgatepump. It was a downright mania with him. "

"Urged to it by his necessities, I conclude, " put in Mr. Carlyle. 

"He had no business to have such necessities, sir, " cried the earl, wrathfully. "But let us proceed to business. What money is there lyingat his banker's, Mr. Warburton? Do you know?"

"None, " was the blank reply. "We overdrew the account ourselves, afortnight ago, to meet one of his pressing liabilities. We hold alittle; and, had he lived a week or two longer, the autumn rents wouldhave been paid in--though they must have been as quickly paid outagain. "

"I'm glad there's something. What is the amount?"

"My lord, " answered Mr. Warburton, shaking his head in a self-condolingmanner, "I am sorry to tell you that what we hold will not half satisfyour own claims; money actually paid out of our pockets. "

"Then where on earth is the money to come from, sir? For thefuneral--for the servants' wages--for everything, in fact?"

"There is none to come from anywhere, " was the reply of Mr. Warburton. 

Lord Mount Severn strode the carpet more fiercely. "Wicked improvidence!Shameful profligacy; callous-hearted man! To live a rogue and die abeggar--leaving his daughter to the charity of strangers!"

"Her case presents the worst feature of the whole, " remarked Mr. Carlyle. "What will she do for a home?"

"She must, of course, find it with me, " replied his lordship; "and, Ishould hope, a better one than this. With all these debts and duns athis elbow, Mount Severn's house could not have been a bower of roses. "

"I fancy she knew nothing of the state of affairs; had seen little, ifanything, of the embarrassments, " returned Mr. Carlyle. 

"Nonsense!" said the peer. 

"Mr. Carlyle is right, my lord, " observed Mr. Warburton, looking overhis spectacles. "Lady Isabel was in safety at Mount Severn till thespring, and the purchase money from East Lynne--what the earl couldtouch of it--was a stop-gap for many things, and made matters easy forthe moment. However, his imprudences are at an end now. "

"No, they are not at an end, " returned Lord Mount Severn; "they leavetheir effects behind them. I hear there was a fine scene yesterdaymorning; some of the unfortunate wretches he has taken in made theirappearance here, all the way from town. "

"Oh, they are Jews half of them, " slightingly spoke Mr. Warburton. "Ifthey do lose a little, it will be an agreeable novelty to them. "

"Jews have as much right to their own as we have, Mr. Warburton, " wasthe peer's angry reprimand. "And if they were Turks and infidels, itwould not excuse Mount Severn's practices. Isabel says it was you, Mr. Carlyle, who contrived to get rid of them. "

"By convincing them that East Lynne and its furniture belonged to me. But there are those two men upstairs, in possession of--of him; I couldnot get rid of them. "

The earl looked at him. "I do not understand you. "

"Did you not know that they have seized the corpse?" asked Mr. Carlyle, dropping his voice. "Two men have been posted over it, like sentinels, since yesterday morning. And there's a third in the house, I hear, whorelieves each other by turn, that they may go down in the hall and taketheir meals. "

The earl had halted in his walk and drawn near to Mr. Carlyle, hismouth open, his face a marvel of consternation. "By George!" was all Mr. Warburton uttered, and snatched off his glasses. 

"Mr. Carlyle, do I understand you aright--that the body of the late earlhas been seized for a debt?" demanded the peer, solemnly. "Seize a deadbody! Am I awake or dreaming?"

"It is what they have done. They got into the room by stratagem. "

"Is it possible that transactions so infamous are permitted by our law?"ejaculated the earl. "Arrest a dead man! I never heard of such a thing. I am shocked beyond expression. Isabel said something about two men, Iremember; but she was so full of grief and agitation altogether, that Ibut half comprehended what she did say upon the subject. Why, what willbe done? Can't we bury him?"

"I fancy not. The housekeeper told me, this morning, she feared theywould not even suffer the coffin to be closed down. And that ought to bedone with all convenient speed. "

"It is perfectly horrible!" uttered the earl. 

"Who has done it--do you know?" inquired Mr. Warburton. 

"Somebody of the name of Anstey, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "In the absenceof any member of the family, I took upon myself to pay the chamber avisit and examine into the men's authority. The claim is about threethousand pounds. "

"If it's Anstey who has done it it is a personal debt of the earl's, really owing, every pound of it, " observed Mr. Warburton. "A sharp man, though, that Anstey, to hit upon such a scheme. "

"And a shameless and a scandalous man, " added Lord Mount Severn. "Well, this is a pretty thing. What's to be done?"

While they consult, let us look for a moment at Lady Isabel. She satalone, in great perplexity, indulging the deepest grief. Lord MountSevern had intimated to her, kindly and affectionately, that henceforthshe must find her home with him and his wife. Isabel returned a faint"Thank you" and as soon as he left her, burst into a paroxysm ofrebellious tears. "Have her home with Mrs. Vane!" she uttered to her ownheart; "No, never; rather would she die--rather would she eat a crustand drink water!" and so on, and so on. Young demoiselles are somewhatprone to indulge in these flights of fancy; but they are in most casesimpracticable and foolish--exceedingly so in that of Lady Isabel Vane. Work for their living? It may appear very feasible in theory; but theoryand practice are as opposite as light and dark. The plain fact was, thatIsabel had no alternative whatever, save that of accepting a home withLady Mount Severn; and the conviction that it must be so stole over herspirit, even while her hasty lips were protesting that she would not. 

Two mourners only attended the funeral--the earl and Mr. Carlyle. Thelatter was no relative of the deceased, and but a very recent friend;but the earl had invited him, probably not liking the parading, solus, his trappings of woe. Some of the county aristocracy were pallbearers, and many private carriages followed. 

All was bustle on the following morning. The earl was to depart, andIsabel was to depart, but not together. In the course of the day thedomestics would disperse. The earl was speeding to London, and thechaise to convey him to the railway station at West Lynne was already atthe door when Mr. Carlyle arrived. 

"I was getting fidgety fearing you would not be here, for I have barelyfive minutes to spare, " observed the earl, as he shook hands. "You aresure you fully understood about the tombstone?"

"Perfectly, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "How is Lady Isabel?"

"Very down-hearted, I fear, poor child, for she did not breakfastwith me, " replied the earl. "Mason privately told me that she was ina convulsion of grief. A bad man, a _bad_ man, was Mount Severn, " heemphatically added, as he rose and rang the bell. 

"Let Lady Isabel be informed that I am ready to depart, and that I waitto see her, " he said the servant who answered it. "And while she iscoming, Mr. Carlyle, " he added, "allow me to express my obligations toyou. How I should have got along in this worrying business without you, I cannot divine. You have promised, mind, to pay me a visit, and I shallexpect it speedily. "

"Promised conditionally--that I find myself in your neighborhood, "smiled Mr. Carlyle. "Should--"

Isabel entered, dressed also, and ready, for she was to departimmediately after the earl. Her crape veil was over her face, but shethrew it back. 

"My time is up, Isabel, and I must go. Is there anything you wish to sayto me?"

She opened her lips to speak, but glanced at Mr. Carlyle and hesitated. He was standing at the window, his back towards them. 

"I suppose not, " said the earl, answering himself, for he was in a feverof hurry to be off, like many others are when starting on a journey. "You will have no trouble whatever, my dear; only mind you get somerefreshments in the middle of the day, for you won't be at CastleMarling before dinner-time. Tell Mrs. Va--tell Lady Mount Severn that Ihad no time to write, but will do so from town. "

But Isabel stood before him in an attitude of uncertainty--ofexpectancy, it may be said, her color varying. 

"What is it, you wish to say something?"

She certainly did wish to say something, but she did not know how. It was a moment of embarrassment to her, intensely painful, and thepresence of Mr. Carlyle did not tend to lessen it. The latter had noidea his absence was wished for. 

"Bless me, Isabel! I declare I forgot all about it, " cried the earl, ina tone of vexation. "Not being accustomed to--this aspect of affairs isso new--" He broke off his disjointed sentences, unbuttoned his coat, drew out his purse, and paused over its contents. 

"Isabel, I have run myself very short, and have but little beyond whatwill take me to town. You must make three pounds do for now, my dear. Once at Castle Marling--Pound has the funds for the journey--Lady MountSevern will supply you; but you must tell her, or she will not know. "

He shot some gold out of his purse as he spoke, and left two sovereignsand two half sovereigns on the table. "Farewell, my dear; make yourselfhappy at Castle Marling. I shall be home soon. "

Passing from the room with Mr. Carlyle, he stood talking with thatgentleman a minute, his foot on the step of the chaise, and the next wasbeing whisked away. Mr. Carlyle returned to the breakfast-room, whereIsabel, an ashy whiteness having replaced the crimson on her cheeks, waspicking up the gold. 

"Will you do me a favor, Mr. Carlyle?"

"I will do anything I can for you. "

She pushed a sovereign and a half toward him. "It is for Mr. Kane. Itold Marvel to send in and pay him, but it seems she forgot it, or putit off, and he is not paid. The tickets were a sovereign; the rest isfor tuning the piano. Will you kindly give it him? If I trust one of theservants it may be forgotten again in the hurry of their departure. "

"Kane's charge for tuning a piano is five shillings, " remarked Mr. Carlyle. 

"But he was a long time occupied with it, and did something with theleathers. It is not too much; besides I never ordered him anythingto eat. He wants money even worse than I do, " she added, with a poorattempt at a smile. "But for thinking of him I should not have musteredthe courage to beg of Lord Mount Severn, as you have just heard me do. In that case do you know what I should have done?"

"What should you have done?" he smiled. 

"I should have asked you to pay him for me, and I would have repaid youas soon as I had any money. I had a great mind to ask you, do you know;it would have been less painful than being obliged to beg of Lord MountSevern. "

"I hope it would, " he answered, in a low, earnest tone. "What else can Ido for you?"

She was about to answer "Nothing--that he had done enough, " but at thatmoment their attention was attracted by a bustle outside, and they movedto the window. 

It was the carriage coming round for Lady Isabel--the late earl'schariot, which was to convey her to the railway station six or sevenmiles off. It had four post-horses to it, the number having beendesignated by Lord Mount Severn, who appeared to wish Isabel to leavethe neighborhood in as much state as she had entered it. The carriagewas packed, and Marvel was perched outside. 

"All is ready, " she said, "and the time is come for me to go. Mr. Carlyle I am going to leave you a legacy--those pretty gold and silverfish that I bought a few weeks back. "

"But why do you not take them?"

"Take them to Lady Mount Severn! No, I would rather leave them with you. Throw a few crumbs into the globe now and then. "

Her face was wet with tears, and he knew that she was talking hurriedlyto cover her emotion. 

"Sit down a few minutes, " he said. 

"No--no. I had better go at once. "

He took her hand to conduct her to the carriage. The servants weregathered in the hall, waiting for her. Some had grown gray in herfather's service. She put out her hand, she strove to say a word ofthanks and of farewell, and she thought she would choke at the effortof keeping down the sobs. At length it was over; a kind look around, ayearning wave of the hand, and she passed on with Mr. Carlyle. 

Pound had ascended to his place by Marvel, and the postboys wereawaiting the signal to start, but Mr. Carlyle had the carriage door openagain, and was bending in holding her hand. 

"I have not said a word of thanks to you for all your kindness, Mr. Carlyle, " she cried, her breath very labored. "I am sure you have seenthat I could not. "

"I wish I could have done more; I wish I could have shielded you fromthe annoyances you have been obliged to endure!" he answered. "Should wenever meet again--"

"Oh, but we shall meet again, " she interrupted. "You promised Lord MountSevern. "

"True; we may so meet casually--once in a way; but our ordinary paths inlife lie far and wide apart. God forever bless you, dear Lady Isabel!"

The postboys touched their horses, and the carriage sped on. She drewdown the blinds and leaned back in an agony of tears--tears for thehouse she was leaving, for the father she had lost. Her last thoughtshad been of gratitude to Mr. Carlyle: but she had more cause to begrateful to him than she yet knew of. Emotion soon spent itself, and, as her eyes cleared, she saw a bit of crumpled paper lying on her lap, which appeared to have fallen from her hand. Mechanically she took it upand opened it; it was a bank-note for one hundred pounds. 

Ah, reader! You will say that this is a romance of fiction, and afar-fetched one, but it is verily and indeed true. Mr. Carlyle had takenit with him to East Lynne, that morning, with its destined purpose. 

Lady Isabel strained her eyes, and gazed at the note--gazed and gazedagain. Where could it have come from? What had brought it there?Suddenly the undoubted truth flashed upon her; Mr. Carlyle had left itin her hand. 

Her cheeks burned, her fingers trembled, her angry spirit rose up inarms. In that first moment of discovery, she was ready to resent it asan insult; but when she came to remember the sober facts of the last fewdays, her anger subsided into admiration of his wondrous kindness. Did he not know that she was without a home to call her own, withoutmoney--absolutely without money, save what would be given her incharity?

When Lord Mount Severn reached London, and the hotel which the Vaneswere in the habit of using, the first object his eyes lighted on was hisown wife, whom he had believed to be safe at Castle Marling. He inquiredthe cause. 

Lady Mount Severn gave herself little trouble to explain. She had beenup a day or two--could order her mourning so much better in person--andWilliam did not seem well, so she bought him up for a change. 

"I am sorry you came to town, Emma, " remarked the earl, after listening. "Isabel is gone to-day to Castle Marling. "

Lady Mount Severn quickly lifted her head, "What's she gone there for?"

"It is the most disgraceful piece of business altogether, " returnedthe earl, without replying to the immediate question. "Mount Severn hasdied, worse than a beggar, and there's not a shilling for Isabel. "

"It never was expected there would be much. "

"But there's nothing--not a penny; nothing for her own personalexpenses. I gave her a pound or two to-day, for she was completelydestitute!"

The countess opened her eyes. "Where will she live? What will become ofher?"

"She must live with us. She--"

"With us!" interrupted Lady Mount Severn, her voice almost reaching ascream. "That she never shall. "

"She must, Emma. There is nowhere else for her to live. I have beenobliged to decide it so; and she is gone, as I tell you, to CastleMarling to-day. "

Lady Mount Severn grew pale with anger. She rose from her seat andconfronted her husband, the table being between them. "Listen, Raymond;I _will not_ have Isabel Vane under my roof. I hate her. How could yoube cajoled into sanctioning such a thing?"

"I was not cajoled, and my sanction was not asked, " he mildly replied. "I proposed it. Where else is she to be?"

"I don't care where, " was the obstinate retort. "Never with us. "

"She is at Castle Marling now--gone to it as her home, " resumed theearl; "and even you, when you return, will scarcely venture to turn herout again into the road, or to the workhouse. She will not trouble youlong, " carelessly continued the earl. "One so lovely as Isabel will besure to marry early; and she appears as gentle and sweet-tempered a girlas I ever saw; so whence can arise your dislike to her, I don't pretendto guess. Many a man will be ready to forget her want of fortune for thesake of her face. "

"She shall marry the first who asks her, " snapped the angry lady; "I'lltake care of that. "

CHAPTER XII. 

LIFE AT CASTLE MARLING. 

Isabel had been in her new home about ten days, when Lord and Lady MountSevern arrived at Castle Marling, which was not a castle, you may aswell be told, but only the name of a town, nearly contiguous to whichwas their residence, a small estate. Lord Mount Severn welcomedIsabel; Lady Mount Severn also, after a fashion; but her manner wasso repellant, so insolently patronizing, that it brought the indignantcrimson to the cheeks of Lady Isabel. And if this was the case at thefirst meeting, what do you suppose it must have been as time went on?Galling slights, petty vexations, chilling annoyances were put upon her, trying her powers of endurance to the very length of their tether; shewould wring her hands when alone, and passionately wish that she couldfind another refuge. 

The earl and countess had two children, both boys, and in February theyounger one, always a delicate child, died. This somewhat altered theirplans. Instead of proceeding to London after Easter, as had been decidedupon, they would not go till May. The earl had passed part of the winterat Mount Severn, looking after the repairs and renovations that werebeing made there. In March he went to Paris, full of grief for the lossof his boy--far greater grief than was experienced by Lady Mount Severn. 

April approached and with it Easter. To the unconcealed dismay of LadyMount Severn, her grandmother, Mrs. Levison, wrote her word that sherequired change, and should pass Easter with her at Castle Marling. LadyMount Severn would have given her diamonds to have got out of it, butthere was no escape--diamonds that were once Isabel's--at least, thatIsabel had worn. On the Monday in Passion Week the old lady arrived, and with her Francis Levison. They had no other guests. Things went onpretty smoothly till Good Friday. 

On Good Friday afternoon, Isabel strolled out with little WilliamVane; Captain Levison joined them, and they never came in till nearlydinner-time, when the three entered together, Lady Mount Severn doingpenance all the time, and nursing her rage against Isabel, for Mrs. Levison kept her indoors. There was barely time to dress for dinner, andIsabel went straight to her room. Her dress was off, her dressing-gownon. Marvel was busy with her hair, and William chattering at her knee, when the door was flung open, and my lady entered. 

"Where have you been?" demanded she, shaking with passion. Isabel knewthe signs. 

"Strolling about in the shrubberies and grounds, " answered Isabel. 

"How dare you so disgrace yourself!"

"I do not understand you, " said Isabel, her heart beginning to beatunpleasantly. "Marvel, you are pulling my hair. "

When women liable to intemperate fits of passion give the reins to them, they neither know nor care what they say. Lady Mount Severn broke into atorrent of reproach and abuses, most degrading and unjustifiable. 

"Is it not sufficient that you are allowed an asylum in my house, butyou must also disgrace it! Three hours have you been hiding yourselfwith Francis Levison! You have done nothing but flirt with him from themoment he came; you did nothing else at Christmas. "

The attack was longer and broader, but that was the substance of it, andIsabel was goaded to resistance, to anger little less great than that ofthe countess. This!--and before her attendant! She, an earl's daughter, so much better born than Emma Mount Severn, to be thus insultinglyaccused in the other's mad jealousy. Isabel tossed her hair from thehands of Marvel, rose up and confronted the countess, constraining hervoice to calmness. 

"I do not flirt!" she said; "I have never flirted. I leave that"--andshe could not wholly suppress in tone the scorn she felt--"to marriedwomen; though it seems to me that it is a fault less venial in them thanin single ones. There is but one inmate of this house who flirts, sofar as I have seen since I have lived in it; is it you or I, Lady MountSevern?"

The home truth told on her ladyship. She turned white with rage, forgother manners, and, raising her right hand, struck Isabel a stinging blowupon the left cheek. Confused and terrified, Isabel stood in pain, andbefore she could speak or act, my lady's left hand was raised to theother cheek, and a blow left on that. Lady Isabel shivered as with asudden chill, and cried out--a sharp, quick cry--covered her outragedface, and sank down upon the dressing chair. Marvel threw up her handsin dismay, and William Vane could not have burst into a louder roarhad he been beaten himself. The boy--he was of a sensitive nature--wasfrightened. 

My good reader, are you one of the inexperienced ones who borrow notionsof "fashionable life" from the novels got in a library, taking theirhigh-flown contents for gospel, and religiously believing that lordsand ladies live upon stilts, speak, eat, move, breathe, by the rules ofgood-breeding only? Are you under the delusion--too many are--that thedays of dukes and duchesses are spent discussing "pictures, tastes, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses?"--that they are strung on politewires of silver, and can't get off the hinges, never giving vent toangry tempers, to words unorthodox, as commonplace mortals do? That willcome to pass when the Great Creator shall see fit to send men into theworld free from baneful tempers, evil passions, from the sins bequeathedfrom the fall of Adam. 

Lady Mount Severn finished up the scene by boxing William for his noise, jerked him out of the room, and told him he was a monkey. 

Isabel Vane lived through the livelong night, weeping tears of anguishand indignation. She would not remain at Castle Marling--who would, after so great an outrage? Yet where was she to go? Fifty times in thecourse of the night did she wish that she was laid beside her father, for her feelings obtained the mastery of her reason; in her calm momentsshe would have shrunk from the idea of death as the young and healthymust do. 

She rose on the Saturday morning weak and languid, the effects of thenight of grief, and Marvel brought her breakfast up. William Vane stoleinto her room afterward; he was attached to her in a remarkable degree. 

"Mamma's going out, " he exclaimed, in the course of the morning. "Look, Isabel. "

Isabel went to the window. Lady Mount Severn was in the pony carriage, Francis Levison driving. 

"We can go down now, Isabel, nobody will be there. "

She assented, and went down with William; but scarcely were they in thedrawing-room when a servant entered with a card on a salver. 

"A gentleman, my lady, wishes to see you. "

"To see me!" returned Isabel, in surprise, "or Lady Mount Severn?"

"He asked for you, my lady. "

She took up the card. "Mr. Carlyle. " "Oh!" she uttered, in a tone ofjoyful surprise, "show him in. "

It is curious, nay, appalling, to trace the thread in a human life;how the most trivial occurrences lead to the great events of existence, bringing forth happiness or misery, weal or woe. A client of Mr. Carlyle's, travelling from one part of England to the other, wasarrested by illness at Castle Marling--grave illness, it appeared tobe, inducing fears of death. He had not, as the phrase goes, settled hisaffairs, and Mr. Carlyle was telegraphed for in haste, to make his will, and for other private matters. A very simple occurrence it appeared toMr. Carlyle, this journey, and yet it was destined to lead to eventsthat would end only with his own life. 

Mr. Carlyle entered, unaffected and gentlemanly as ever, with his nobleform, his attractive face, and his drooping eyelids. She advanced tomeet him, holding out her hand, her countenance betraying her pleasure. 

"This is indeed unexpected, " she exclaimed. "How very pleased I am tosee you. "

"Business brought me yesterday to Castle Marling. I could not leave itagain without calling on you. I hear that Lord Mount Severn is absent. "

"He is in France, " she rejoined. "I said we should be sure to meetagain; do you remember, Mr. Carlyle? You----"

Isabel suddenly stopped; for with the word "remember, " she alsoremembered something--the hundred pound note--and what she was sayingfaltered on her tongue. Confused, indeed, grew she: for, alas! she hadchanged and partly spent it. _How_ was it possible to ask Lady MountSevern for money? And the earl was nearly always away. Mr. Carlyle sawher embarrassment, though he may not have detected its cause. 

"What a fine boy!" exclaimed he, looking at the child. 

"It is Lord Vane, " said Isabel. 

"A truthful, earnest spire, I am sure, " he continued, gazing at his opencountenance. "How old are you, my little man?"

"I am six, sir; and my brother was four. "

Isabel bent over the child--an excuse to cover her perplexity. "You donot know this gentleman, William. It is Mr. Carlyle, and he has beenvery kind to me. "

The little lord had turned his thoughtful eyes on Mr. Carlyle, apparently studying his countenance. "I shall like you, sir, if you arekind to Isabel. Are you kind to her?"

"Very, very kind, " murmured Lady Isabel, leaving William, and turning toMr. Carlyle, but not looking at him. "I don't know what to say; I oughtto thank you. I did not intend to use the--to use it; but I--I--"

"Hush!" he interrupted, laughing at her confusion. "I do not know whatyou are talking of. I have a great misfortune to break to you, LadyIsabel. "

She lifted her eyes and her glowing cheeks, somewhat aroused from herown thoughts. 

"Two of your fish are dead. The gold ones. "

"Are they?"

"I believe it was the frost killed them; I don't know what else it couldhave been. You may remember those bitter days we had in January; theydied then. "

"You are very good to take care of them all this while. How is EastLynne looking? Dear East Lynne! Is it occupied?"

"Not yet. I have spent some money upon it, and it repays the outlay. "

The excitement of his arrival had worn off, and she was looking herselfagain, pale and sad; he could not help observing that she was changed. 

"I cannot expect to look so well at Castle Marling as I did at EastLynne, " she answered. 

"I trust it is a happy home to you?" said Mr. Carlyle, speaking uponimpulse. 

She glanced up at him a look that he would never forget; it certainlytold of despair. "No, " she said, shaking her head, "it is a miserablehome, and I cannot remain in it. I have been awake all night, thinkingwhere I can go, but I cannot tell; I have not a friend in the wideworld. "

Never let people talk secrets before children, for be assured that theycomprehend a vast deal more than is expedient; the saying "that littlepitchers have great ears" is wonderfully true. Lord Vane held up hishand to Mr. Carlyle, --

"Isabel told me this morning that she should go away from us. Shall Itell you why? Mamma beat her yesterday when she was angry. "

"Be quiet, William!" interrupted Lady Isabel, her face in a flame. 

"Two great slaps upon her cheeks, " continued the young viscount; "andIsabel cried so, and I screamed, and then mamma hit me. But boys aremade to be hit; nurse says so. Marvel came into the nursery when we wereat tea, and told nurse about it. She says Isabel's too good-looking, andthat's why mamma--"

Isabel stopped the child's tongue, rang a peal on the bell, and marchedhim to the door, dispatching him to the nursery by the servant whoanswered it. 

Mr. Carlyle's eyes were full of indignant sympathy. "Can this be true?"he asked, in a low tone when she returned to him. "You do, indeed, wanta friend. "

"I must bear my lot, " she replied, obeying the impulse which promptedher to confide in Mr. Carlyle; "at least till Lord Mount Severnreturns. "

"And then?"

"I really do not know, " she said, the rebellious tears rising fasterthan she could choke them down. "He has no other home to offer me; butwith Lady Mount Severn I cannot and will not remain. She would breakmy heart, as she has already well-nigh broken my spirit. I have notdeserved it of her, Mr. Carlyle. "

"No, I am sure you have not, " he warmly answered. "I wish I could helpyou! What can I do?"

"You can do nothing, " she said. "What can any one do?"

"I wish, I wish I could help you!" he repeated. "East Lynne was not, take it for all in all, a pleasant home to you, but it seems you changedfor the worse when you left. "

"Not a pleasant home?" she echoed, its reminiscences appearingdelightful in that moment, for it must be remembered that all things areestimated by comparison. "Indeed it was; I may never have so pleasant aone again. Mr. Carlyle, do not disparage East Lynne to me! Would I couldawake and find the last few months but a hideous dream!--that I couldfind my dear father alive again!--that we were still living peacefullyat East Lynne. It would be a very Eden to me now. "

What was Mr. Carlyle about to say? What emotion was it that agitated hiscountenance, impeded his breath, and dyed his face blood-red? His bettergenius was surely not watching over him, or those words had never beenspoken. 

"There is but one way, " he began, taking her hand and nervously playingwith it, probably unconscious that he did so; "only one way in which youcould return to East Lynne. And that way--I may not presume, perhaps, topoint it out. "

She looked at him and waited for an explanation. 

"If my words offend you, Lady Isabel, check them, as their presumptiondeserves, and pardon me. May I--dare I--offer you to return to EastLynne as its mistress?"

She did not comprehend him in the slightest degree: the drift of hismeaning never dawned upon her. "Return to East Lynne as its mistress?"she repeated, in bewilderment. 

"And as my wife?"

No possibility of misunderstanding him now, and the shock and surprisewere great. She had stood there by Mr. Carlyle's side conversingconfidentially with him, esteeming him greatly, feeling as if hewere her truest friend on earth, clinging to him in her heart as toa powerful haven of refuge, loving him almost as she would a brother, suffering her hand to remain in his. _But to be his wife!_ the idea hadnever presented itself to her in any shape until this moment, and hermind's first emotion was one of entire opposition, her first movementto express it, as she essayed to withdraw herself and her hand away fromhim. 

But not so; Mr. Carlyle did not suffer it. He not only retained thathand, but took the other also, and spoke, now the ice was broken, eloquent words of love. Not unmeaning phrases of rhapsody, about heartsand darts and dying for her, such as somebody else might have givenutterance to, but earnest-hearted words of deep tenderness, calculatedto win upon the mind's good sense, as well as upon the ear and heart;and it may be that, had her imagination not been filled up with that"somebody else, " she would have said "Yes, " there and then. 

They were suddenly interrupted. Lady Mount Severn entered, and tookin the scene at a glance; Mr. Carlyle's bent attitude of devotion, his imprisonment of the hands, and Isabel's perplexed and blushingcountenance. She threw up her head and her little inquisitive nose, andstopped short on the carpet; her freezing looks demanded an explanation, as plainly as looks can do it. Mr. Carlyle turned to her, and by way ofsparing Isabel, proceeded to introduce himself. Isabel had just presenceof mind left to name her: "Lady Mount Severn. "

"I am sorry that Lord Mount Severn should be absent, to whom I have thehonor of being known, " he said. "I am Mr. Carlyle. "

"I have heard of you, " replied her ladyship, scanning his good looks, and feeling cross that his homage should be given where she saw it wasgiven, "but I had _not_ heard that you and Lady Isabel Vane were on theextraordinary terms of intimacy that--that----"

"Madam, " he interrupted as he handed a chair to her ladyship and tookanother himself, "we have never yet been on terms of extraordinaryintimacy. I was begging the Lady Isabel to grant that we may be; I wasasking her to become my wife. "

The avowal was as a shower of incense to the countess, and her illhumor melted into sunshine. It was a solution to her great difficulty, a loophole by which she might get rid of her _bete noire_, the hatedIsabel. A flush of gratification lighted her face, and she became fullof graciousness to Mr. Carlyle. 

"How very grateful Isabel must feel to you, " quoth she. "I speak openly, Mr. Carlyle, because I know that you were cognizant of the unprotectedstate in which she was left by the earl's improvidence, putting marriagefor her, at any rate, a high marriage, nearly out of the question. EastLynne is a beautiful place, I have heard. "

"For its size; it is not large, " replied Mr. Carlyle, as he rose forIsabel had also risen and was coming forward. 

"And pray what is Lady Isabel's answer?" quickly asked the countess, turning to her. 

Not to her did Isabel condescend to give an answer, but she approachedMr. Carlyle, and spoke in a low tone. 

"Will you give me a few hours for consideration?"

"I am only too happy that you should accord it consideration, for itspeaks to me of hope, " was his reply, as he opened the door for her topass out. "I will be here again this afternoon. "

It was a perplexing debate that Lady Isabel held with herself in thesolitude of her chamber, whilst Mr. Carlyle touched upon ways and meansto Lady Mount Severn. Isabel was little more than a child, and as achild she reasoned, looking neither far nor deep: the shallow palpableaspect of affairs alone presenting itself to her view. That Mr. Carlylewas not of rank equal to her own, she scarcely remembered; East Lynneseemed a very fair settlement in life, and in point of size, beauty andimportance, it was far superior to the house she was now in. She forgotthat her position in East Lynne as Mr. Carlyle's wife would not be whatit had been as Lord Mount Severn's daughter; she forgot that she wouldbe tied to a quiet house, shut out from the great world, the pompsand vanities to which she was born. She liked Mr. Carlyle much; sheexperienced pleasure in conversing with him; she liked to be with him;in short, but for that other ill-omened fancy which had crept over her, there would have been danger of her falling in love with Mr. Carlyle. And oh! to be removed forever from the bitter dependence on Lady MountSevern--East Lynne would in truth, after that, seem what she had calledit: Eden. 

"So far it looks favorable, " mentally exclaimed poor Isabel, "but thereis the other side of the question. It is not only that I do not love Mr. Carlyle, but I fear I do love, or very nearly love, Francis Levison. Iwish _he_ would ask me to be his wife!--or that I had never seen him. "

Isabel's soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Levison andthe countess. What the latter had said to the old lady to win her to thecause, was best known to herself, but she was eloquent in it. They bothused every possible argument to induce her to accept Mr. Carlyle: theold lady declaring that she had never been introduced to any one she wasso much taken with, and Mrs. Levison was incapable of asserting what wasnot true; that he was worth a dozen empty-headed men of the great world. 

Isabel listened, now swayed one way, now the other, and when afternooncame, her head was aching with perplexity. The stumbling block that shecould not get over was Francis Levison. She saw Mr. Carlyle approachfrom her window, and went down to the drawing-room, not in the leastknowing what her answer was to be; a shadowy idea was presenting itself, that she would ask him for longer time, and write her answer. 

In the drawing-room was Francis Levison, and her heart beat wildly;which said beating might have convinced her that she ought not to marryanother. 

"Where have you been hiding yourself?" cried he. "Did you hear of ourmishap with the pony carriage?"

"No, " was her answer. 

"I was driving Emma into town. The pony took fright, kicked, plunged andwent down upon his knees; she took fright in turn, got out, and walkedback. So I gave the brute some chastisement and a race, and brought himto the stables, getting home in time to be introduced to Mr. Carlyle. Heseems an out-and-out good fellow, Isabel, and I congratulate you. "

"What!" she uttered. 

"Don't start. We are all in the family, and my lady told; I won't betrayit abroad. She says East Lynne is a place to be coveted; I wish youhappiness, Isabel. "

"Thank you, " she returned in a sarcastic tone, though her throat beatand her lips quivered. "You are premature in your congratulations, Captain Levison. "

"Am I? Keep my good wishes, then, till the right man comes. I am beyondthe pale myself, and dare not think of entering the happy state, " headded, in a pointed tone. "I have indulged dreams of it, like others, but I cannot afford to indulge them seriously; a poor man, withuncertain prospects can only play the butterfly, perhaps to his life'send. "

He quitted the room as he spoke. It was impossible for Isabel tomisunderstand him, but a feeling shot across her mind, for the firsttime, that he was false and heartless. One of the servants appeared, showing in Mr. Carlyle; nothing false or heartless about _him_. Heclosed the door, and approached her, but she did not speak, and her lipswere white and trembling. Mr. Carlyle waited. 

"Well, " he said at length, in a gentle tone, "have you decided to grantmy prayer?"

"Yes. But--" She could not go on. What with one agitation and another, she had difficulty in conquering her emotion. "But--I was going to tellyou----"

"Presently, " he whispered, leading her to a sofa, "we can both afford towait now. Oh, Isabel, you have made me very happy!"

"I ought to tell you, I must tell you, " she began again, in the midstof hysterical tears. "Though I have said 'yes' to your proposal, I donot--yet----It has come upon me by surprise, " she stammered. "I like youvery much; I esteem and respect you; but I do not love you. "

"I should wonder if you did. But you will let me earn your love, Isabel?"

"Oh, yes, " she earnestly answered. "I hope so. "

He drew her closer to him, bent his face, and took from her lips hisfirst kiss. Isabel was passive; she supposed he had gained the right todo so. "My dearest! It is all I ask. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

A MOONLIGHT WALK. 

The sensations of Mr. Carlyle, when he returned to West Lynne, were muchlike those of an Eton boy, who knows he has been in mischief, and dreadsdetection. Always open as to his own affairs--for he had nothing toconceal--he yet deemed it expedient to dissemble now. He felt that hissister would be bitter at the prospect of his marrying; instinct hadtaught him that, years past; and he believed that, of all women, themost objectionable to her would be Lady Isabel, for Miss Carlylelooked to the useful, and had neither sympathy nor admiration for thebeautiful. He was not sure but she might be capable of endeavoringto frustrate the marriage should news of it reach her ears, and herindomitable will had caused many strange things in her life; therefore, you will not blame Mr. Carlyle for observing entire reticence as to hisfuture plans. 

A family of the name of Carew had been about taking East Lynne; theywished to rent it, furnished, for three years. Upon some of the minorarrangements they and Mr. Carlyle were opposed, but the latter declinedto give way. During his absence at Castle Marling, news had arrived fromthem--they had acceded to all his terms, and would enter upon East Lynneas soon as it was convenient. Miss Carlyle was full of congratulations;it was off their hands, she said; but the fist letter Mr. Carlyle wrotewas--to decline them. He did not tell this to Miss Carlyle. The finaltouches to the house were given, preparatory to the reception of itsinhabitants, and three maids and two men servants hired and sent there, upon board wages, until the family should arrive. 

One evening three weeks subsequent to Mr. Carlyle's visit to CastleMarling, Barbara Hare called at Miss Carlyle's, and found them going totea much earlier than usual. 

"We dined earlier, " said Miss Corny, "and I ordered tea as soon as thedinner went away. Otherwise, Archibald would have taken none. "

"I am as well without tea. And I have a mass of business to get throughyet. "

"You are not as well without it, " cried Miss Corny, "and I don't chooseyou should go without it. Take off your bonnet, Barbara. He does thingslike nobody else; he is off to Castle Marling to-morrow, and never couldopen his lips till just now that he was going. "

"Is that invalid--Brewster, or whatever his name is--laid up at CastleMarling, still?" exclaimed Barbara. 

"He is still there, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

Barbara sprang up the moment tea was over. 

"Dill is waiting for me in the office, and I have some hours' workbefore me. However, I suppose you won't care to put up with Peter'sattendance, so make haste with your bonnet, Barbara. "

She took his arm, and they walked on, Mr. Carlyle striking the hedge andthe grass with her parasol. Another minute, and the handle was in two. 

"I thought you would do it, " said Barbara, while he was regarding theparasol with ludicrous dismay. "Never mind, it is an old one. "

"I will bring you another to replace it. What is the color? Brown. Iwon't forget. Hold the relics a minute, Barbara. "

He put the pieces in her hand, and taking out a note case, made a notein pencil. 

"What's that for?" she inquired. 

He held it close to her eyes, that she might discern what he hadwritten: "Brown parasol. B. H. "

"A reminder for me, Barbara, in case I forget. "

Barbara's eyes detected another item or two already entered in the notecase: "piano, " "plate. "

"I jot down the things as they occur to me, that I must get in London, "he explained. "Otherwise I should forget half. "

"In London? I thought you were going in an opposite direction--to CastleMarling?"

It was a slip of the tongue, but Mr. Carlyle repaired it. 

"I may probably have to visit London as well as Castle Marling. Howbright the moon looks rising there, Barbara!"

"So bright--that or the sky--that I saw your secret, " answered she. "Piano! Plate! What can you want with either, Archibald?"

"They are for East Lynne, " he quietly replied. 

"Oh, for the Carews. " And Barbara's interest in the item was gone. 

They turned into the road just below the grove, and reached it. Mr. Carlyle held the gate open for Barbara. 

"You will come in and say good-night to mamma. She was saying to-daywhat a stranger you have made of yourself lately. "

"I have been busy; and I really have not the time to-night. You mustremember me to her instead. " And cordially shaking her by the hand, heclosed the gate. 

It was two or three mornings after the departure of Mr. Carlyle thatMr. Dill appeared before Miss Carlyle, bearing a letter. She was busyregarding the effect of some new muslin curtains, just put up, and didnot pay attention to him. 

"Will you please take the letter, Miss Cornelia? The postman left it inthe office with ours. It is from Mr. Archibald. "

"Why, what has he got to write to me about?" retorted Miss Corny. "Doeshe say when he is coming home?"

"You had better see, Miss Cornelia. Mine does not. "

"CASTLE MARLING, May 1st. 

"MY DEAR CORNELIA--I was married this morning to Lady Isabel Vane, andhasten briefly to acquaint you with the fact. I will write you morefully to-morrow or the next day, and explain all things. 

"Your ever affectionate brother, "ARCHIBALD CARLYLE. "

"It is a hoax, " was the first gutteral sound that escaped from MissCarlyle's throat when speech came to her. 

Mr. Dill only stood like a stone image. 

"It is a hoax, I say, " raved Miss Carlyle. "What are you standing therefor, like a gander on one leg?" she reiterated, venting her anger uponthe unoffending man. "_Is_ it a hoax or not?"

"I am overdone with amazement, Miss Corny. It is not a hoax; I have hada letter, too. "

"It can't be true--it _can't_ be true. He had no more thought of beingmarried when he left here, three days ago, than I have. "

"How can we tell that, Miss Corny? How are we to know he did not go tobe married? I fancy he did. "

"Go to be married!" shrieked Miss Corny, in a passion. "He would not besuch a fool. And to that fine lady-child! No--no. "

"He has sent this to be put in the county journals, " said Mr. Dill, holding forth a scrap of paper. "They are married, safe enough. "

Miss Carlyle took it and held it before her: her hand was cold as ice, and shook as if with palsy. 

"MARRIED. --On the 1st inst. , at Castle Marling, by the chaplain to theEarl of Mount Severn, Archibald Carlyle, Esquire, of East Lynne, tothe Lady Isabel Mary Vane, only child of William, late Earl of MountSevern. "

Miss Carlyle tore the paper to atoms and scattered it. Mr. Dillafterward made copies from memory, and sent them to the journal offices. But let that pass. 

"I will never forgive him, " she deliberately uttered, "and I will neverforgive or tolerate her. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE EARL'S ASTONISHMENT. 

The announcement of the marriage in the newspapers was the firstintimation of it Lord Mount Severn received. He was little lessthunderstruck than Miss Corny, and came steaming to England the sameday, thereby missing his wife's letter, which gave _her_ version of theaffair. He met Mr. Carlyle and Lady Isabel in London, where they werestaying at one of the west-end hotels--only for a day or two, however, for they were going further. Isabel was alone when the earl wasannounced. 

"What is the meaning of this, Isabel?" began he, without thecircumlocution of greeting. "You are married?"

"Yes, " she answered, with her pretty, innocent blush. "Some time ago. "

"And to Carlyle, the lawyer! How did it come about?"

Isabel began to think how it did come about, sufficiently to give aclear answer. "He asked me, " she said, "and I accepted him. He came toCastle Marling at Easter, and asked me then. I was very much surprised. "

The earl looked at her attentively. "Why was I kept in ignorance ofthis, Isabel?"

"I did not know you were kept in ignorance of it. Mr. Carlyle wrote toyou, as did Lady Mount Severn. "

Lord Mount Severn was a man in the dark, and looked like it. "I supposethis comes, " soliloquized he, aloud, "of your father's having allowedthe gentleman to dance daily attendance at East Lynne. And so you fellin love with him. "

"Indeed, no!" answered she, in an amused tone. "I never thought of sucha thing as falling in love with Mr. Carlyle. "

"Then don't you love him?" abruptly asked the earl. 

"No!" she whispered, timidly; "but I like him much--oh, very much! Andhe is so good to me!"

The earl stroked his chin and mused. Isabel had destroyed the onlyreasonable conclusion he had been able to come to as to the motives forthe hasty marriage. "If you do not love Mr. Carlyle, how comes it thatyou are so wise in the distinction between 'liking' and 'love?' Itcannot be that you love anybody else?"

The question turned home, and Isabel turned crimson. "I shall love myhusband in time, " was all she answered, as she bent her head, and playednervously with her watch chain. 

"My poor child!" involuntarily exclaimed the earl. But he was one wholiked to fathom the depth of everything. "Who has been staying at CastleMarling since I left?" he asked sharply. 

"Mrs. Levison came down. "

"I alluded to gentlemen--young men. "

"Only Francis Levison, " she replied. 

"Francis Levison! You have never been so foolish as to fall in love with_him_?"

The question was so pointed, so abrupt, and Isabel's self-consciousness, moreover, so great, that she betrayed lamentable confusion, and the earlhad no further need to ask. Pity stole into his hard eyes as they fixedthemselves on her downcast, glowing face. 

"Isabel, " he gravely began, "Captain Levison is not a good man; if everyou were inclined to think him one, dispossess your mind of the idea, and hold him at arm's distance. Drop his acquaintance--encourage nointimacy with him. "

"I have already dropped it, " said Isabel, "and I shall not take it upagain. But Lady Mount Severn must think well of him, or she would nothave him there. "

"She thinks none too well of him; none can of Francis Levison, " returnedthe earl significantly. 

Before Isabel could reply, Mr. Carlyle entered. He held out his hand tothe earl; the earl did not appear to see it. 

"Isabel, " said he, "I am sorry to turn you out, but I suppose you havebut this one sitting-room. I wish to say a few words to Mr. Carlyle. "

She quitted them, and the earl wheeled round and faced Mr. Carlyle, speaking in a stern, haughty tone. 

"How came this marriage about, sir? Do you possess so little honor, that, taking advantage of my absence, you must intrude yourself into myfamily, and clandestinely espouse Lady Isabel Vane?"

Mr. Carlyle stood confounded, and confused. He drew himself up to hisfull height, looking every whit as fearless and far more noble than thepeer. "My lord, I do not understand you. "

"Yet I speak plainly. What is it but a clandestine procedure to takeadvantage of a guardian's absence and beguile a young girl into amarriage beneath her?"

"There has been nothing clandestine in my conduct toward Lady IsabelVane; there shall be nothing but honor in my conduct toward Lady IsabelCarlyle. Your lordship has been misinformed. "

"I have not been informed at all, " retorted the earl. "I was allowed tolearn this from the public papers--I, the only relative of Lady Isabel. "

"When I proposed for Lady Isabel--"

"But a month ago, " sarcastically interrupted the earl. 

"But a month ago, " calmly repeated Mr. Carlyle, "my first action, afterIsabel accepted me, was to write to you. But that I imagine you may nothave received the letter, by stating you first heard of our marriagethrough the papers, I should say, the want of courtesy lay on yourlordship's side for having vouchsafed me no reply to it. "

"What were the contents of the letter?"

"I stated what had occurred, mentioning what I was able to do in the wayof settlements, and also that both Isabel and myself wished the ceremonyto take place as soon as might be. "

"And pray where did you address the letter?"

"Lady Mount Severn could not give me the address. She said if I wouldintrust the letter to her, she would forward it with the rest she wrote, for she expected daily to hear from you. I did give her the letter, and I heard no more of the matter, except that her ladyship sent mea message when Isabel was writing to me, that as you had returned noreply, you of course approved. "

"Is this the fact?" cried the earl. 

"My lord, " coldly replied Mr. Carlyle, "whatever may be my defectsin your eyes, I am at least a man of truth. Until this moment, thesuspicion that you were in ignorance of the contemplated marriage neveroccurred to me. "

"So far, then, I beg your pardon, Mr. Carlyle. But how came the marriageabout at all--how came it to be hurried over in this unseemly fashion?You made the offer at Easter, Isabel tells me, and you married her threeweeks after it. "

"And I would have married her and brought her away with me the day I didmake it, had it been practicable, " returned Mr. Carlyle. "I have actedthroughout for her comfort and happiness. "

"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed the earl, returning to his disagreeable tone. "Perhaps you will put me in possession of the facts, and of yourmotives. "

"I warn you that the facts to you will not bear a pleasant sound, LordMount Severn. "

"Allow me to be the judge of that, " said the earl. 

"Business took me to Castle Marling on Good Friday. On the following dayI called at your house; after your own and Isabel's invitation, it wasnatural I should; in fact, it would have been a breach of good feelingnot to do so, I found Isabel ill-treated and miserable; far fromenjoying a happy home in your house--"

"What, sir?" interrupted the earl. "Ill-treated and miserable?"

"Ill-treated even to blows, my lord. "

The earl stood as one petrified, staring at Mr. Carlyle. 

"I learnt it, I must premise, through the chattering revelations of yourlittle son; Isabel, of course, would not have mentioned it to me; butwhen the child had spoken, she did not deny it. In short she was toobroken-hearted, too completely bowed in spirit to deny it. It arousedall my feelings of indignation--it excited in me an irresistible desireto emancipate her from this cruel life, and take her where she wouldfind affection, and I hope happiness. There was only one way which Icould do this, and I risked it. I asked her to become my wife, and toreturn to her home at East Lynne. "

The earl was slowly recovering from his petrifaction. "Then, am I tounderstand, that when you called that day at my house, you carried nointention with you of proposing to Isabel?"

"Not any. It was an impromptu step, the circumstances under which Ifound her calling it forth. "

The earl paced the room, perplexed still, and evidently disturbed. "MayI inquire if you love her?" he abruptly said. 

Mr. Carlyle paused ere he spoke, and a red flush dyed his face. "Thosesort of feelings man rarely acknowledges to man, Lord Mount Severn, butI will answer you. I do love her, passionately and sincerely; I learntto love her at East Lynne; but I could have carried my love silentlywithin me to the end of my life and never betrayed it; and probablyshould have done so, but for the unexpected visit to Castle Marling. Ifthe idea of making her my wife had never previously occurred to me aspracticable, it was that I deemed her rank incompatible with my own. "

"As it was, " said the earl. 

"Country solicitors have married peers' daughters before now, " remarkedMr. Carlyle. "I only add another to the list. "

"But you cannot keep her as a peer's daughter, I presume?"

"East Lynne will be her home. Our establishment will be small and quiet, as compared with her father's. I explained to Isabel how quiet at thefirst, and she might have retracted had she wished. I explained also infull to Lady Mount Severn. East Lynne will descend to our eldest son, should we have children. My profession is most lucrative, my incomegood; were I to die to-morrow, Isabel would enjoy East Lynne and aboutthree thousand pounds per annum. I gave these details in the letter, which appears to have miscarried. "

The earl made no immediate reply; he was absorbed in thought. 

"Your lordship perceives, I hope, that there has been nothing'clandestine' in my conduct to Lady Isabel. "

Lord Mount Severn held out his hand. "I refused my hand when you camein, Mr. Carlyle, as you may have observed, perhaps you will refuse yoursnow, though I should be proud to shake it. When I find myself in thewrong, I am not above acknowledging the fact; and I must state myopinion that you have behaved most kindly and honorably. "

Mr. Carlyle smiled and put his hand into the earl's. The latter retainedit, while he spoke in a whisper. 

"Of course I cannot be ignorant that, in speaking of Isabel'sill-treatment, you alluded to my wife. Has it transpired beyondyourselves?"

"You may be sure that neither Isabel nor myself would mention it; weshall dismiss it from among our reminiscences. Let it be as though youhad never heard it; it is past and done with. "

"Isabel, " said the earl, as he was departing that evening, for heremained to spend the day with them, "I came here this morning almostprepared to strike your husband, and I go away honoring him. Be a goodand faithful wife to him, for he deserves it. "

"Of course I shall, " she answered, in surprise. 

Lord Mount Severn steamed on to Castle Marling, and there he had astormy interview with his wife--so stormy that the sounds penetratedto the ears of the domestics. He left again the same day, in anger, andproceeded to Mount Severn. 

"He will have time to cool down, before we meet in London, " was thecomment of my lady. 

CHAPTER XV. 

COMING HOME. 

Miss Carlyle, having resolved upon her course, quitted her own house, and removed to East Lynne with Peter and her handmaidens. In spite ofMr. Dill's grieved remonstrances, she discharged the servants whom Mr. Carlyle had engaged, all save one man. 

On a Friday night, about a month after the wedding, Mr. Carlyle and hiswife came home. They were expected, and Miss Carlyle went through thehall to receive them, and stood on the upper steps, between the pillarsof the portico. An elegant chariot with four post-horses was drawing up. Miss Carlyle compressed her lips as she scanned it. She was attired ina handsome dark silk dress and a new cap; her anger had had time to cooldown in the last month, and her strong common sense told her that thewiser plan would be to make the best of it. Mr. Carlyle came up thesteps with Isabel. 

"You here, Cornelia! That was kind. How are you? Isabel, this is mysister. "

Lady Isabel put forth her hand, and Miss Carlyle condescended to touchthe tips of her fingers. "I hope you are well, ma'am, " she jerked out. 

Mr. Carlyle left them together, and went back to search for some trifleswhich had been left in the carriage. Miss Carlyle led the way to asitting-room, where the supper-tray was laid. "You would like to goupstairs and take your things off before upper, ma'am?" she said, in thesame jerking tone to Lady Isabel. 

"Thank you. I will go to my rooms, but I do not require supper. We havedined. "

"Then what would you like to take?" asked Miss Corny. 

"Some tea, if you please, I am very thirsty. "

"Tea!" ejaculated Miss Corny. "So late as this! I don't know that theyhave boiling water. You'd never sleep a wink all night, ma'am, if youtook tea at eleven o'clock. "

"Oh, then, never mind, " replied Lady Isabel. "It is of no consequence. Do not let me give trouble. "

Miss Carlyle whisked out of the room; upon what errand was best known toherself; and in the hall she and Marvel came to an encounter. No wordspassed, but each eyed the other grimly. Marvel was very stylish, withfive flounces to her dress, a veil, and a parasol. Meanwhile, LadyIsabel sat down and burst into bitter tears and sobs. A chill had comeover her; it did not seem like coming to East Lynne. Mr. Carlyle enteredand witnessed the grief. 

"Isabel!" he uttered in amazement, as he hastened up to her. "Mydarling, what ails you?"

"I am tired, I think, " she gently answered; "and coming into the houseagain made me think of papa. I should like to go to my rooms, Archibald, but I don't know which they are. "

Neither did Mr. Carlyle know, but Miss Carlyle came whisking in again, and said: "The best rooms; those next the library. Should she go up withmy lady?"

Mr. Carlyle preferred to go himself, and he held out his arm to Isabel. She drew her veil over her face as she passed Miss Carlyle. 

The branches were not lighted, and the room looked cold and comfortless. "Things seem all sixes and sevens in the house, " remarked Mr. Carlyle. "I fancy the servants must have misunderstood my letter, and not haveexpected us until to-morrow night. "

On returning to the sitting-room Mr. Carlyle inquired the cause of theservants' negligence. 

"I sent them away because they were superfluous encumbrances, " hastilyreplied Miss Carlyle. "We have four in the house, and my lady hasbrought a fine maid, I see, making five. I have come up here to live. "

Mr. Carlyle felt checkmated. He had always bowed to the will of MissCorny, but he had an idea that he and his wife should be better withouther. "And your house?" he exclaimed. 

"I have let it furnished; the people enter to-day. So you cannot turnme out of East Lynne into the road, or to furnished lodgings, Archibald. There'll be enough expense without our keeping on two houses; and mostpeople in your place would jump at the prospect of my living here. Yourwife will be mistress. I do not intend to take her honors from her; butI will save her a world of trouble in management--be as useful to her asa housekeeper. She will be glad of that, inexperienced as she is. I daresay she never gave a domestic order in her life. "

This was a view of the case, to Mr. Carlyle, so plausibly put, that hebegan to think it might be all for the best. He had great reverence forhis sister's judgment; force of habit is strong upon all of us. Still hedid not know. 

"Did you buy that fine piano which has arrived?" angrily asked MissCarlyle. 

"It was my present to Isabel. "

Miss Corny groaned. "What did it cost?"

"The cost is of no consequence. The old piano here was a bad one, and Ibought a better. "

"What did it cost?" repeated Miss Carlyle. 

"A hundred and twenty guineas, " he answered. Obedience to her will wasyet powerful within him. 

Miss Corny threw up her hands and eyes. But at that moment Peter enteredwith some hot water which his master had rung for. Mr. Carlyle rose andlooked on the side-board. 

"Where is the wine, Peter?"

The servant put it out, port and sherry. Mr. Carlyle drank a glass, andthen proceeded to mix some wine and water. "Shall I mix some for you, Cornelia?" he asked. 

"I'll mix for myself if I want any. Who's that for?"

"Isabel. "

He quitted the room, carrying the wine and water, and entered hiswife's. She was sitting half buried, it seemed, in the arm-chair, her face muffled up. As she raised it, he saw that it was flushed andagitated; that her eyes were bright, and her frame was trembling. 

"What is the matter?" he hastily asked. 

"I got nervous after Marvel went, " she whispered, laying hold of him, asif for protection from terror. "I came back to the chair and covered myhead over, hoping some one would come up. "

"I have been talking to Cornelia. But what made you nervous?"

"Oh! I was very foolish. I kept thinking of frightful things. They wouldcome into my mind. Do not blame me, Archibald. This is the room papadied in. "

"Blame you, my darling, " he uttered with deep feeling. 

"I thought of a dreadful story about the bats, that the servants told--Idare say you never heard it; and I kept thinking. 'Suppose they were atthe windows now, behind the blinds. ' And then I was afraid to look atthe bed; I fancied I might see--you are laughing!"

Yes, he was smiling; for he knew that these moments of nervous fear arebest met jestingly. He made her drink the wine and water, and then heshowed her where the bell was, ringing it as he did so. Its position hadbeen changed in some late alterations to the house. 

"Your rooms shall be changed to-morrow, Isabel. "

"No, let us remain in these. I shall like to feel that papa was oncetheir occupant. I won't get nervous again. "

But, even as she spoke, her actions belied her words. Mr. Carlyle hadgone to the door and opened it, and she flew close up to him, coweringbehind him. 

"Shall you be gone very long, Archibald?" she whispered. 

"Not more than an hour, " he answered. But he hastily put back one of hishands, and held her tightly in his protecting grasp. Marvel was comingalong the corridor in answer to the ring. 

"Have the goodness to let Miss Carlyle know that I am not coming downagain to-night, " he said. 

"Yes, sir. "

Mr. Carlyle shut the door, and then looked at his wife and laughed. "Heis very kind to me, " thought Isabel. 

With the morning began the perplexities of Lady Isabel Carlyle. But, first of all, just fancy the group at breakfast. Miss Carlyle descendedin the startling costume the reader has seen, took her seat at thebreakfast-table, and there sat bolt upright. Mr. Carlyle came down next;and then Lady Isabel entered, in an elegant half-mourning dress, withflowing black ribbons. 

"Good morning, ma'am. I hope you slept well, " was Miss Carlyle'ssalutation. 

"Quite well, thank you, " she answered, as she took her seat oppositeMiss Carlyle. Miss Carlyle pointed to the top of the table. 

"That is your place, ma'am; but I will pour out the coffee, and save youthe trouble, if you wish it. "

"I should be glad if you would, " answered Lady Isabel. 

So Miss Carlyle proceeded to her duties, very stern and grim. The mealwas nearly over, when Peter came in, and said the butcher had come upfor orders. Miss Carlyle looked at Lady Isabel, waiting, of course, forher to give them. Isabel was silent with perplexity; she had never givensuch an order in her life. Totally ignorant was she of the requirementsof a household; and did not know whether to suggest a few pounds of meator a whole cow. It was the presence of that grim Miss Corny which puther out. Alone with her husband she would have said, "What ought I toorder, Archibald? Tell me. " Peter waited. 

"A----Something to roast and boil, if you please, " stammered LadyIsabel. 

She spoke in a low tone. Embarrassment makes cowards of us; and Mr. Carlyle repeated it after her. He knew no more about housekeeping thanshe did. 

"Something to roast and boil, tell the man, Peter. "

Up started Miss Corny; she could not stand that. "Are you aware, LadyIsabel, that an order such as that would only puzzle the butcher? ShallI give the necessary orders for to-day? The fishmonger will be herepresently!"

"Oh, I wish you would!" cried the relieved Lady Isabel. "I have not beenaccustomed to it, but I must learn. I don't think I know anything abouthousekeeping. "

Miss Corny's answer was to stalk from the room. Isabel rose from herchair, like a bird released from its cage, and stood by his side. "Haveyou finished, Archibald?"

"I think I have, dear. Oh! Here's my coffee. There; I have finishednow. "

"Let us go around the grounds. "

He rose, laid his hands playfully on her slender waist, and looked ather. "You may as well ask me to take a journey to the moon. It is pastnine, and I have not been to the office for a month. "

The tears rose in her eyes. "I wish you would be always with me! EastLynne will not be East Lynne without you. "

"I will be with you as much as ever I can, my dearest, " he whispered. "Come and walk with me through the park. "

She ran for her bonnet, gloves and parasol. Mr. Carlyle waited for herin the hall, and they went out together. 

He thought it a good opportunity to speak about his sister. "She wishesto remain with us, " he said. "I do not know what to decide. On the onehand I think she might save you the worry of household management; onthe other, I fancy we shall be happier by ourselves. "

Isabel's heart sank within her at the idea of that stern Miss Corny, mounted over her as resident guard; but, refined and sensitive, almostpainfully considerate of the feelings of others, she raised no word ofobjection. "As you and Miss Carlyle please, " she answered. 

"Isabel, " he said, "I wish it to be as you please; I wish matters to bearranged as may best please you: and I will have them so arranged. Mychief object in life now is your happiness. "

He spoke in all the sincerity of truth, and Isabel knew it: and thethought came across her that with him by her side, her loving protector, Miss Carlyle could not mar her life's peace. "Let her stay, Archibald;she will not incommode us. "

"At any rate it can be tried for a month or two, and we shall see how itworks, " he musingly observed. 

They reached the park gates. "I wish I could go with you and be yourclerk, " she cried, unwilling to release his hand. "I should not have allthat long way to go back by myself. "

He laughed and shook his head, telling her that she wanted to bribehim into taking her back, but it could not be. And away he went, aftersaying farewell. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 

Isabel wandered back, and then wandered through the rooms; they lookedlovely; not as they had seemed to look in her father's time. In herdressing-room knelt Marvel, unpacking. She rose when Lady Isabelentered. 

"Can I speak to you a moment, if you please my lady?"

"What is it?"

Then Marvel poured forth her tale. That she feared so small anestablishment would not suit her, and if my lady pleased, she would liketo leave at once--that day. Anticipating it, she had not unpacked herthings. 

"There has been some mistake about the servants, Marvel, but it will beremedied as soon as possible. And I told you before I married that Mr. Carlyle's establishment would be a limited one. "

"My lady perhaps I could put up with that; but I never could stop in thehouse with--" "that female Guy" had been on the tip of Marvel's tongue, but she remembered in time of whom she was speaking--"with Miss Carlyle. I fear, my lady, we have both got tempers that would slash, and might beflying at each other. I could not stop, my lady, for untold gold. And ifyou please to make me forfeit my running month's salary, why I must doit. So when I have set your ladyship's things to rights, I hope you'llallow me to go. "

Lady Isabel would not condescend to ask her to remain, but she wonderedhow she should manage the inconvenience. She drew her desk toward her. "What is the amount due to you?" she inquired, as she unlocked it. 

"Up to the end of the quarter, my lady?" cried Marvel, in a brisk tone. 

"No, " coldly answered Lady Isabel. "Up to to-day. "

"I have not had time to reckon, my lady. "

Lady Isabel took a pencil and paper, made out the account, and laidit down in gold and silver on the table. "It is more than you deserve, Marvel, " she remarked, "and more than you would get in most places. Youought to have given me proper notice. "

Marvel melted into tears, and began a string of excuses. "Sheshould never have wished to leave so kind a lady, but for attendantill-conveniences, and she hoped my lady would not object to testify toher character. "

Lady Isabel quitted the room in the midst of it; and in the course ofthe day Marvel took her departure, Joyce telling her that she ought tobe ashamed of herself. 

"I couldn't help myself, " retorted Marvel, "and I am sorry to leave her, for she's a pleasant young lady to serve. "

"Well, I know I'd have helped myself, " was Joyce's remark. "I would notgo off in this unhandsome way from a good mistress. "

"Perhaps you wouldn't, " loftily returned Marvel, "but my inside feelingsare delicate and can't bear to be trampled upon. The same house isnot going to hold me and that tall female image, who's more fit to becarried about at a foreign carnival than some that they do carry. "

So Marvel left. And when Lady Isabel went to her room to dress fordinner, Joyce entered it. 

"I am not much accustomed to a lady's maid's duties, " began she, "butMiss Carlyle has sent me, my lady, to do what I can for you, if you willallow me. "

Isabel thought it was kind of Miss Carlyle. 

"And if you please to trust me with the keys of your things, I willtake charge of them for you, my lady, until you are suited with a maid, "Joyce resumed. 

"I don't know anything about the keys, " answered Isabel; "I never keepthem. "

Joyce did her best, and Lady Isabel went down. It was nearly sixo'clock, the dinner hour, and she strolled to the park gates, hoping tomeet Mr. Carlyle. Taking a few steps out, she looked down the road, butcould not see him coming; so she turned in again, and sat down under ashady tree out of view of the road. It was remarkably warm weather forthe closing days of May. 

Half an hour, and then Mr. Carlyle came pelting up, passed the gates, and turned on to the grass. There he saw his wife. She had fallenasleep, her head leaning against the trunk of a tree. Her bonnet andparasol lay at her feet, her scarf had dropped, and she looked likea lovely child, her lips partly open, her cheeks flushed, and herbeautiful hair falling around. It was an exquisite picture, and hisheart beat quicker within him as he felt that it was all his own. Asmile stole to his lips as he stood looking at her. She opened her eyes, and for a minute could not remember where she was. Then she started up. 

"Oh, Archibald! Have I been asleep?"

"Ay; and might have been stolen and carried off. I could not affordthat, Isabel. "

"I don't know how it came about. I was listening for you. "

"What have you been doing all day?" he asked, as he drew her arm withinhis, and they walked on. 

"Oh, I hardly know, " she sighed. "Trying the new piano, and looking atmy watch, wishing the time would go quicker, that you might come home. The ponies and carriage have arrived, Archibald. "

"I know they have, my dear. Have you been out of doors much?"

"No, I waited for you. " And then she told him about Marvel. He feltvexed, saying she must replace her with all speed. Isabel said she knewof one, a young woman who had left Lady Mount Severn while she, Isabel, was at Castle Marling; her health was delicate, and Lady Mount Severn'splace too hard for her. She might suit. 

"Write to her, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

The carriage came round--a beautiful little equipage--and Isabel wasready. As Mr. Carlyle drove slowly down the dusty road, they came uponMiss Corny, striding along in the sun with a great umbrella over herhead. She would not turn to look at them. 

Once more, as in the year gone by, St. Jude's Church was in a flutter ofexpectation. It expected to see a whole paraphernalia of bridal finery, and again it was doomed to disappointment, for Isabel had not put offthe mourning for her father. She was in black--a thin gauze dress--andher white bonnet had small black flowers inside and out. For the firsttime in his life, Mr. Carlyle took possession of the pew belonging toEast Lynne, filling the place where the poor earl used to sit. Not soMiss Corny--she sat in her own. 

Barbara was there with the Justice and Mrs. Hare. Her face wore a gray, dusky hue, of which she was only too conscious, but could not subdue. Her covetous eyes would wander to that other face, with its singularloveliness and its sweetly earnest eyes, sheltered under the protectionof him for whose sheltering protection she had so long yearned. PoorBarbara did not benefit much by the services that day. 

Afterward they went across the churchyard to the west corner, wherestood the tomb of Lord Mount Severn. Isabel looked at the inscription, her veil shading her face. 

"Not here, and now, my darling, " he whispered, pressing her arm to hisside, for he felt her silent sobs. "Strive for calmness. "

"It seems but the other day he was at church with me, and now--here!"

Mr. Carlyle suddenly changed their places, so that they stood with theirbacks to the hedge, and to any staring stragglers who might be lingeringon the road. 

"There ought to be railings round the tomb, " she presently said, after asuccessful battle with her emotion. 

"I thought so, and I suggested it to Lord Mount Severn but he appearedto think differently. I will have it done. "

"I put you to great expense, " she said, "taking one thing with another. "

Mr. Carlyle glanced quickly at her, a dim fear penetrating his mind thathis sister might have been _talking_ in her hearing. "An expense I wouldnot be without for the whole world. You know it, Isabel. "

"And I have nothing to repay you with, " she sighed. 

He looked expressively amused, and, gazing into her face, the expressionof his eyes made her smile. "Here is John with the carriage, " sheexclaimed. "Let us go, Archibald. "

Standing outside the gates, talking to the rector's family, were severalladies, one of them Barbara Hare. She watched Mr. Carlyle place his wifein the carriage; she watched him drive away. Barbara's lips were white, as she bowed in return to his greeting. 

"The heat is so great!" murmured Barbara, when those around noticed herpaleness. 

"Ah! You ought to have gone in the phaeton, with Mr. And Mrs. Hare asthey desired you. "

"I wished to walk, " returned the unhappy Barbara. 

"What a pretty girl that is!" uttered Lady Isabel to her husband. "Whatis her name?"

"Barbara Hare. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

VISIT OF THE HARE FAMILY. 

The county carriages began to pour to East Lynne, to pay the weddingvisit, as it is called, to Mr. And Lady Isabel Carlyle. Of course theydisplayed themselves in their most courtly state. Mr. Carlyle, alwaysa popular man, had gained double his former importance by his marriagewith the daughter of the late Earl of Mount Severn. Among the earliestvisitors went Justice and Mrs. Hare, with Barbara. 

Isabel was in her dressing-gown, attended by Joyce, whom she was justasking to take the place of her late maid, if Miss Carlyle would consentto the transfer. 

Joyce's face lighted up with pleasure at the proposal. "Oh, my lady, youare very kind! I should so like it! I would serve you faithfully to thebest of my ability. "

Isabel laughed. "But Miss Carlyle may not be inclined to transfer you. "

"I think she would be, my lady. She said a day or two ago, that Iappeared to suit you, and you might have me altogether if you wished, provided I could still make her gowns. I make them to please her, yousee, my lady. "

"Do you make her caps also?" demurely asked Lady Isabel. 

Joyce smiled. "Yes, my lady; but I am allowed to make them onlyaccording to her own pattern. "

"Joyce, if you become my maid, you must wear smarter caps yourself. I donot wish you to be fine like Marvel. "

"Oh, my lady! I shall never be fine, " shuddered Joyce. And Joycebelieved she had cause to shudder at finery. 

She was about to speak further, when a knock came to the dressing-roomdoor. Joyce went to open it, and saw one of the housemaids, a girl whohad recently been engaged, a native of West Lynne. Isabel heard thecolloquy, --

"Is my lady there?"

"Yes. "

"Some visitors. Pete ordered me to come and tell you. I say, Joyce, it's the Hares. And _she's_ with them. I watched her get out of thecarriage. "

"Who?" sharply returned Joyce. 

"Why, Miss Barbara. Only fancy her coming to pay the wedding visit_here_. My lady had better take care that she don't get a bowl of poisonmixed for her. Master's out or else I'd have given a shilling to see theinterview between the three. "

Joyce sent the girl away, shut the door, and turned to her mistress, quite unconscious that the half-whispered conversation had been audible. 

"Some visitors are in the drawing-room, my lady, Susan says. Mr. JusticeHare and Mrs. Hare and Miss Barbara. "

Isabel descended, her mind full of the mysterious words spoken by Susan. The justice was in a new flaxen wig, obstinate-looking and pompous; Mrs. Hare, pale, delicate, and lady-like; Barbara beautiful; such was theimpression they made upon Isabel. 

They paid rather a long visit, Isabel quite falling in love with thegentle and suffering Mrs. Hare, and had risen to leave when Miss Carlyleentered. She wished them to remain longer--had something, she said, toshow Barbara. The justice declined; he had a brother justice coming todine with him at five, and it was then half-past four. Barbara mightstop if she liked. 

Barbara's faced turned crimson; but nevertheless she accepted theinvitation, immediately proffered her by Miss Carlyle to remain at EastLynne for the rest of the day. 

Dinner time approached, and Isabel went to dress for it. Joyce waswaiting, and entered upon the subject of the service. 

"My lady, I have spoken to Miss Carlyle, and she is willing that Ishould be transferred to you, but she says I ought first to acquaint youwith certain unpleasant facts in my history, and the same thought hadoccurred to me. Miss Carlyle is not over pleasant in manner, my lady, but she is very upright and just. "

"What facts?" asked Lady Isabel, sitting down to have her hair brushed. 

"My lady, I'll tell you as shortly as it can. My father was a clerk inMr. Carlyle's office--of course I mean the late Mr. Carlyle. My motherdied when I was eight years old, and my father afterwards married again, a sister of Mr. Kane's wife--"

"Mr. Kane, the music master?"

"Yes, my lady. She and Mrs. Kane were quite ladies; had beengovernesses. People said she lowered herself greatly in marrying myfather. However, they did marry, and at the end of the year my littlesister Afy was born. We lived in a pretty cottage in the wood and werehappy. But in twelve months more my step-mother died, and an aunt ofhers adopted Afy. I lived with my father, going to school, then to learndressmaking, and finally going out to work to ladies' houses. After manyyears. Afy came home. Her aunt had died and her income with her, but notthe vanity and love of finery that Afy had acquired. She did nothingbut dress herself and read novels. My father was angry; he said nogood could come of it. She had several admirers, Mr. Richard Hare, MissBarbara's own brother, " continued Joyce, lowering her voice, "andshe flirted with them all. My father used to go out to shoot on fineevenings after office, or to his duties as secretary to the library, andso Afy was generally all alone until I came home at nine o'clock; andwas free to flirt with her beaux. "

"Had she any she favored particularly, was it thought?" asked LadyIsabel. 

"The chief one, my lady, was Richard Hare. She got acquainted withsomebody else, a stranger, who used to ride over from a distance to seeher; but I fancy there was nothing in it--Richard was the one. And itwent on till--till--he killed her father. "

"Who?" uttered the startled Isabel. 

"Richard Hare, my lady. Father had told Afy that Mr. Richard should notcome there any longer, for when gentlemen go in secret after poor girls, it's well known they have not got marriage in their thoughts; fatherwould have interfered more than he did, but that he judged well of Mr. Richard, and did not think he was one to do Afy real harm, --but he didnot know how flighty she was. However, one day he heard people talkabout it in West Lynne, coupling her name and Mr. Richard's offensivelytogether, and at night he told Afy, before me, that it should not goon any longer, and she must not encourage him. My lady, the next nightRichard Hare shot my father. "

"How very dreadful!"

"Whether it was done on purpose, or that they had a scuffle, and the gunwent off accidentally and killed my father, no one can tell. Afy saidshe had been in the woods at the back of the house, and when she camein, father lay dead, and Mr. Locksley was standing over him. He said hehad heard the shot, and come up just in time to see Richard fly from thehouse, his shoes covered with blood. He has never been heard of since;but there is a judgment of murder out against him; and the fear andshame is killing his mother by inches. "

"And Afy?"

"The worst is to come my lady. Afy followed him directly after theinquest, and nothing has been known since of either of them. I was takenill, after all these shocks, with nervous fever, and Miss Carlyle tookcare of me, and I have remained with her ever since. This was what I hadto tell you, my lady, before you decided to take me into service; it isnot every lady who would like to engage one whose sister has turned outso badly. "

Lady Isabel did not see that it could make any difference, or that itought to. She said so; and then leaned back in her chair and mused. 

"What dress, my lady?"

"Joyce, what was that I heard you and Susan gossiping over at the door?"Lady Isabel suddenly asked. "About Miss Hare giving me a bowl of poison. Something in the dramatic line that would be. You should tell Susan notto make her whispers so loud. "

"It was only a bit of nonsense, my lady. These ignorant servants willtalk; and every one at West Lynne knew Miss Barbara was in love with Mr. Carlyle. But I don't fancy she would have been the one to make him happywith all her love. "

A hot flush passed over the brow of Lady Isabel; a sensation very likejealousy flew to her heart. No woman likes to hear of another's being, or having been attached to her husband: a doubt always arises whetherthe feeling may not have been reciprocated. 

Lady Isabel descended. She wore a costly black lace dress, its low bodyand sleeves trimmed with as costly white; and ornaments of jet. Shelooked inexpressibly beautiful, and Barbara turned from her with afeeling of sinking jealousy, from her beauty, from her attire, even fromthe fine, soft handkerchief, which displayed the badge of her rank--thecoronet of an earl's daughter. Barbara looked well, too; she was in alight blue silk robe, and her pretty cheeks were damask with hermind's excitement. On her neck she wore the gold chain given her by Mr. Carlyle--strange that she had not discarded that. 

They stood together at the window, looking at Mr. Carlyle as he cameup the avenue. He saw them, and nodded. Lady Isabel watched the damaskcheeks turn to crimson at sight of him. 

"How do you do, Barbara?" he cried, as he shook hands. "Come to pay usa visit at last? You have been rather tardy over it. And how are you, my darling?" he whispered over his wife; but she missed his kiss ofgreeting. Well, would she have had him give it her in public? No; butshe was in the mood to notice the omission. 

Dinner over, Miss Carlyle beguiled Barbara out of doors. Barbara wouldfar rather have remained in _his_ presence. Of course they discussedLady Isabel. 

"How do you like her?" abruptly asked Barbara, alluding to Lady Isabel. 

"Better than I thought I should, " acknowledged Miss Carlyle. "I hadexpected airs and graces and pretence, and I must say she is free fromthem. She seems quite wrapped up in Archibald and watches for his cominghome like a cat watches for a mouse. She is dull without him. "

Barbara compelled her manner to indifference. "I suppose it is natural. "

"I suppose it is absurd, " was the retort of Miss Carlyle. "I give themlittle of my company, especially in an evening. They go strolling outtogether, or she sings to him, he hanging over her as if she were ofgold: to judge by appearances, she is more precious to him than any goldthat was ever coined into money. I'll tell you what I saw last night. Archibald had what he is not often subject to, a severe headache, and hewent into the next room after dinner, and lay on the sofa. She carrieda cup of tea to him, and never came back, leaving her own on the tabletill it was perfectly cold. I pushed open the door to tell her so. Therewas my lady's cambric handkerchief, soaked in eau-de-Cologne, lying onhis forehead; and there was my lady herself, kneeling down and lookingat him, he with his arm thrown around her there. Now I just ask you, Barbara, whether there's any sense in fadding with a man like that? Ifever he did have a headache before he was married, I used to mix himup a good dose of salts and senna, and tell him to go to bed early andsleep the pain off. "

Barbara made no reply, but she turned her face from Miss Carlyle. 

On Barbara's return to the house, she found that Mr. Carlyle and LadyIsabel were in the adjoining room, at the piano, and Barbara had anopportunity of hearing that sweet voice. She did, as Miss Carlyleconfessed to have done, pushed open the door between the two rooms, andlooked in. It was the twilight hour, almost too dusk to see; but shecould distinguish Isabel seated at the piano, and Mr. Carlyle standingbehind her. She was singing one of the ballads from the opera of the"Bohemian Girl, " "When other Lips. "

"Why do you like that song so much, Archibald?" she asked when she hadfinished it. 

"I don't know. I never liked it so much until I heard it from you. "

"I wonder if they are come in. Shall we go into the next room?"

"Just this one first--this translation from the German--' 'Twere vain totell thee all I feel. ' There's real music in that song. "

"Yes, there is. Do you know, Archibald, your taste is just like papa's. He liked all these quiet, imaginative songs, and so do you. And so doI, " she laughingly added, "if I must speak the truth. "

She ceased and began the song, singing it exquisitely, in a low, sweet, earnest tone, the chords of the accompaniment, at its conclusion, dyingoff gradually into silence. 

"There, Archibald, I am sure I have sung you ten songs at least, " shesaid, leaning her head back against him, and looking at him from herupturned face. "You ought to pay me. "

He did pay her: holding the dear face to him, and taking from it someimpassioned kisses. Barbara turned to the window, a low moan of painescaping her, as she pressed her forehead on one of its panes, andlooked forth at the dusky night. Isabel came in on her husband's arm. 

"Are you here alone, Miss Hare? I really beg your pardon. I supposed youwere with Miss Carlyle. "

"Where is Cornelia, Barbara?"

"I have just come in, " was Barbara's reply. "I dare say she is followingme. "

So she was, for she entered a moment after, her voice raised in angerat the gardener, who had disobeyed her orders, and obeyed the wishes ofLady Isabel. 

The evening wore on to ten, and as the time-piece struck the hour, Barbara rose from her chair in amazement. 

"I did not think it was so late. Surely some one must have come for me. "

"I will inquire, " was Lady Isabel's answer, and Mr. Carlyle touched thebell. No one had come for Miss Hare. 

"Then I fear I must trouble Peter, " cried Barbara. "Mamma may be gone torest, tired, and papa must have forgotten me. It would never do for meto get locked out, " she gaily added. 

"As you were one night before, " said Mr. Carlyle, significantly. 

He alluded to the night when Barbara was in the grove of trees with herunfortunate brother, and Mr. Hare was on the point, unconsciously, of locking her out. She had given Mr. Carlyle the history, but itsrecollection now called up a smart pain, and a change passed over herface. 

"Oh! Don't, Archibald, " she uttered, in the impulse of the moment;"don't recall it. "

Isabel wondered. 

"Can Peter take me?" continued Barbara. 

"I had better take you, " said Mr. Carlyle. "It is late. "

Barbara's heart beat at the words; beat as she put her things on--as shesaid good-night to Lady Isabel and Miss Carlyle; it beat to throbbing asshe went out with him, and took his arm. All just as it used to be--onlynow that he was the husband of another. Only!

It was a warm, lovely June night, not moonlight, but bright with itssummer twilight. They went down the park into the road, which theycrossed, and soon came to a stile. From that stile there led a paththrough the fields which would pass the back of Justice Hare's. Barbarastopped at it. 

"Would you choose the field way to-night, Barbara? The grass will bedamp, and this is the longest way. "

"But we shall escape the dust of the road. "

"Oh, very well, if you prefer it. It will not make three minutes'difference. "

"He is very anxious to get home to _her_!" mentally exclaimed Barbara. "I shall fly out upon him, presently, or my heart will burst. "

Mr. Carlyle crossed the stile, helped over Barbara, and then gave herhis arm again. He had taken her parasol, as he had taken it the lastnight they had walked together--an elegant little parasol, this, ofblue silk and white lace, and he did not switch the hedges with it. Thatnight was present to Barbara now, with all its words and its delusivehopes; terribly present to her was their bitter ending. 

There are women of warm, impulsive temperaments who can scarcely help, in certain moments of highly wrought excitement, over-stepping thebounds of nature and decorum, and giving the reins to temper, tongue, and imagination--making a scene, in short. Barbara had been workingherself into this state during the whole evening. The affection ofIsabel for her husband, her voice, his caresses--seen through the halfopen doors--had maddened her. She felt it impossible to restrain herexcitement. 

Mr. Carlyle walked on, utterly unconscious that a storm was brewing. More than that, he was unconscious of having given cause for one, anddashed into an indifferent, common place topic in the most provokingmanner. 

"When does the justice begin haymaking, Barbara?"

There was no reply. Barbara was swelling and panting, and trying to keepher emotion down. Mr. Carlyle tried again, --

"Barbara, I asked you which day your papa cut his hay. "

Still no reply. Barbara was literally incapable of making one. Thesteam of excitement was on, nearly to its highest pitch. Her throat wasworking, the muscles of her mouth began to twitch, and a convulsive sob, or what sounded like it, broke from her. Mr. Carlyle turned his headhastily. 

"Barbara! are you ill? What is it?"

On it came, passion, temper, wrongs, and nervousness, all boiling overtogether. She shrieked, she sobbed, she was in strong hysterics. Mr. Carlyle half-carried, half-dragged her to the second stile, and placedher against it, his arm supporting her; and an old cow and two calves, wondering what the disturbance could mean at that sober time of night, walked up and stared at them. 

Barbara struggled with her emotion--struggled manfully--and the sobs andshrieks subsided; not the excitement or the passion. She put away hisarm, and stood with her back to the stile, leaning against it. Mr. Carlyle felt inclined to fly to the pond for water, but he had nothingbut his hat to get it in. 

"Are you better, Barbara? What can have caused it?"

"What can have caused it?" she burst forth, giving full swing to thereins, and forgetting everything. "_You_ can ask me that?"

Mr. Carlyle was struck dumb; but by some inexplicable laws of sympathy, a dim and very unpleasant consciousness of the truth began to steal overhim. 

"I don't understand you, Barbara. If I have offended you in any way, Iam truly sorry. "

"Truly sorry, no doubt!" was the retort, the sobs and the shrieksalarmingly near. "What do you care for me? If I go under the sodto-morrow, " stamping it with her foot, "you have your wife to care for;what am I?"

"Hush!" he interposed, glancing round, more mindful for her than she wasfor herself. 

"Hush, yes! You would like me to hush; what is my misery to you? I wouldrather be in my grave, Archibald Carlyle, than endure the life I haveled since you married her. My pain is greater than I well know how tobear. "

"I cannot affect to misunderstand you, " he said, feeling more at anonplus than he had felt for many a day, and heartily wishing the wholefemale creation, save Isabel, somewhere. "But my dear Barbara. I nevergave you cause to think I--that I--cared for you more than I did. "

"Never gave me cause!" she gasped. "When you have been coming to ourhouse constantly, almost like my shadow; when you gave me this" dashingopen her mantle, and holding up the locket to his view; "when you havebeen more intimate with me than a brother. "

"Stay, Barbara. There it is--a brother. I have been nothing else;it never occurred to me to be anything else, " he added, in hisstraightforward truth. 

"Ay, as a brother, nothing else!" and her voice rose once more with herexcitement; it seemed that she would not long control it. "What caredyou for my feelings? What recked you that you gained my love?"

"Barbara, hush!" he implored: "do be calm and reasonable. If I evergave you cause to think I regarded you with deeper feelings, I can onlyexpress to you my deep regret, my repentance, and assure you it was doneunconsciously. "

She was growing calmer. The passion was fading, leaving her face stilland white. She lifted it toward Mr. Carlyle. 

"You treated me ill in showing signs of love, if you felt it not. Whydid you kiss me?"

"I kissed you as I might kiss a sister. Or perhaps as a pretty girl;man likes to do so. The close terms on which our families have lived, excused, if it did not justify, a degree of familiarity that might havebeen unseemly in--"

"You need not tell me that, " hotly interrupted Barbara. "Had it been astranger who had won my love and then thrown me from him, do you supposeI would have reproached him as I am now reproaching you? No; I wouldhave died, rather than that he should have suspected it. If _she_ hadnot come between us, should you have loved me?"

"Do not pursue this unthankful topic, " he besought, almost wishing thestaring cow would run away with her. 

"I ask you, should you have loved me?" persisted Barbara, passing herhandkerchief over her ashy lips. 

"I don't know. How can I know? Do I not say to you, Barbara, that Ionly thought of you as a friend, a sister? I cannot tell what might havebeen. "

"I could bear it better, but that it was known, " she murmured. "All WestLynne had coupled us together in their prying gossip, and they haveonly pity to cast on me now. I would far rather you have killed me, Archibald. "

"I can but express to you my deep regret, " he repeated. "I can only hopeyou will soon forget it all. Let the remembrance of this conversationpass away with to-night; let us still be to each other as friends--asbrother and sister. Believe me, " he concluded, in a deeper tone, "theconfession has not lessened you in my estimation. "

He made a movement as though he would get over the stile, but Barbaradid not stir; the tears were silently coursing down her pallid face. Atthat moment there was an interruption. 

"Is that you, Miss Barbara?"

Barbara started as if she had been shot. On the other side of the stilestood Wilson, their upper maid. How long might she have been there? Shebegan to explain that Mr. Hare had sent Jasper out, and Mrs. Harehad thought it better to wait no longer for the man's return, so haddispatched her, Wilson, for Miss Barbara. Mr. Carlyle got over thestile, and handed over Miss Barbara. 

"You need not come any further now, " she said to him in a low tone. 

"I should see you home, " was his reply, and he held out his arm. Barbaratook it. 

They walked in silence. Arrived at the back gate of the grove, whichgave entrance to the kitchen garden, Wilson went forward. Mr. Carlyletook both Barbara's hands in his. 

"Good-night, Barbara. God bless you. "

She had had time for reflection, and the excitement gone, she saw heroutbreak in all its shame and folly. Mr. Carlyle noticed how subdued andwhite she looked. 

"I think I have been mad, " she groaned. "I must have been mad to saywhat I did. Forget that it was uttered. "

"I told you I would. "

"You will not betray me to--to--your wife?" she panted. 

"Barbara!"

"Thank you. Good-night. "

But he still retained her hands. "In a short time, Barbara, I trust youwill find one more worthy to receive your love than I have been. "

"Never!" she impulsively answered. "I do not love and forget so lightly. In the years to come, in my old age, I shall still be nothing butBarbara Hare. "

Mr. Carlyle walked away in a fit of musing. The revelation had given himpain, and possibly a little bit of flattery into the bargain, for he wasfond of pretty Barbara. Fond in his way--not hers--not with the sortof fondness he felt for his wife. He asked his conscience whether hismanner to her in the past days had been a tinge warmer than we bestowupon a sister, and he decided that it might have been, but he mostcertainly never cast a suspicion to the mischief it was doing. 

"I heartily hope she'll soon find somebody to her liking and forget me, "was his concluding thought. "As to living and dying Barbara Hare, that'sall moonshine, and sentimental rubbish that girls like to--"

"Archibald!"

He was passing the very last tree in the park, the nearest to his house, and the interruption came from a dark form standing under it. 

"Is it you, my dearest?"

"I came out to meet you. Have you not been very long?"

"I think I have, " he answered, as he drew his wife to his side, andwalked on with her. 

"We met one of the servants at the second stile, but I went on all theway. "

"You have been intimate with the Hares?"

"Quite so. Cornelia is related to them. "

"Do you think Barbara pretty?"

"Very. "

"Then--intimate as you were--I wonder you never fell in love with her. "

Mr. Carlyle laughed; a very conscious laugh, considering the recentinterview. 

"Did you, Archibald?"

The words were spoken in a low tone, almost, or he fancied it, a tone ofemotion, and he looked at her in amazement. "Did I what, Isabel?"

"You never loved Barbara Hare?"

"Loved _her_! What is your head running on, Isabel? I never loved butone; and that one I made my own, my cherished wife. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

MISS CARLYLE--ISABEL UNHAPPY. 

Another year came in. Isabel would have been altogether happy but forMiss Carlyle; that lady still inflicted her presence upon East Lynne, and made it the bane of its household. She deferred outwardly to LadyIsabel as the mistress; but the real mistress was herself. Isabel waslittle more than an automaton. Her impulses were checked, her wishesfrustrated, her actions tacitly condemned by the imperiously-willedMiss Carlyle. Poor Isabel, with her refined manners and her timid andsensitive temperament, had no chance against the strong-minded woman, and she was in a state of galling subjection in her own house. 

Not a day passed but Miss Carlyle, by dint of hints and innuendoes, contrived to impress upon Lady Isabel the unfortunate blow to his owninterests that Mr. Carlyle's marriage had been, the ruinous expense shehad entailed upon the family. It struck a complete chill to Isabel'sheart, and she became painfully impressed with the incubus she must beto Mr. Carlyle--so far as his pocket was concerned. Lord Mount Severn, with his little son, had paid them a short visit at Christmas and Isabelhad asked him, apparently with unconcern, whether Mr. Carlyle had puthimself very much out to the way to marry her; whether it had entailedon him an expense and a style of living he would not otherwise havedeemed himself justified in affording. Lord Mount Severn's reply was anunfortunate one: his opinion was, that it had, he said; and that Isabelought to feel grateful to him for his generosity. She sighed as shelistened, and from thenceforth determined to put up with Miss Carlyle. 

More timid and sensitive by nature than many would believe or canimagine, reared in seclusion more simply and quietly than falls to thegeneral lot of peers' daughters, completely inexperienced, Isabelwas unfit to battle with the world--totally unfit to battle with MissCarlyle. The penniless state in which she was left at her father'sdeath, the want of a home save that accorded her at Castle Marling, eventhe hundred-pound note left in her hand by Mr. Carlyle, all had imbuedher with a deep consciousness of humiliation, and, far from rebelling ator despising the small establishment, comparatively speaking, providedfor her by Mr. Carlyle, she felt thankful to him for it. But to be toldcontinuously that this was more than he could afford, that she wasin fact a blight upon his prospects, was enough to turn her heart tobitterness. Oh, that she had had the courage to speak out openly to herhusband, that he might, by a single word of earnest love and assurance, have taken the weight from her heart, and rejoiced it with thetruth--that all these miserable complaints were but the phantoms of hisnarrow-minded sister! But Isabel never did; when Miss Corny lapsed intoher grumbling mood, she would hear in silence, or gently bend her achingforehead in her hands, never retorting. 

Never before Mr. Carlyle was the lady's temper vented upon her; plentyfell to his own share, when he and his sister were alone; and he hadbecome so accustomed to the sort of thing all his life--had got used toit, like the eels do to skinning--that it went, as the saying runs, inat one ear and out at the other, making no impression. He never dreamtthat Isabel also received her portion. 

It was a morning early in April. Joyce sat, in its gray dawn, overa large fire in the dressing-room of Lady Isabel Carlyle, her handsclasped to pain, and the tears coursing down her cheeks. Joyce wasfrightened; she had had some experience in illness; but illness of thisnature she had never witnessed, and she was fervently hoping never towitness it again. In the adjoining room lay Lady Isabel, sick nearlyunto death. 

The door from the corridor slowly opened, and Miss Carlyle slowlyentered. She had probably never walked with so gentle a step in all herlife, and she had got a thick-wadded mantle over her head and ears. Downshe sat in a chair quite meekly, and Joyce saw that her face looked asgray as the early dawn. 

"Joyce, " whispered she, "is there any danger?"

"Oh, ma'am, I trust not! But it's hard to witness, and it must be awfulto bear. "

"It is our common curse, Joyce. You and I may congratulate ourselvesthat we have not chose to encounter it. Joyce, " she added, after apause, "I trust there's no danger; I should not like her to die. "

Miss Carlyle spoke in a low, dread tone. Was she fearing that, ifher poor young sister-in-law did die, a weight would rest on her ownconscience for all time--a heavy, ever-present weight, whispering thatshe might have rendered her short year of marriage more happy, had shechosen; and that she had not so chosen, but had deliberately steeledevery crevice of her heart against her? Very probably; she lookedanxious and apprehensive in the morning's twilight. 

"If there's any danger, Joyce--"

"Why, do you think there's danger, ma'am?" interrupted Joyce. "Are otherpeople not as ill as this?"

"It is to be hoped they are not, " rejoined Miss Carlyle. "And why is theexpress gone to Lynneborough for Dr. Martin?"

Up started Joyce, awe struck. "An express for Dr. Martin! Oh, ma'am! Whosent it? When did it go?"

"All I know is, that's its gone. Mr. Wainwright went to your master, andhe came out of his room and sent John galloping to the telegraph officeat West Lynne; where could your ears have been, not to hear the horsetearing off? _I_ heard it, I know that, and a nice fright it put me in. I went to Mr. Carlyle's room to ask what was amiss, and he said he didnot know himself--nothing, he hoped. And then he shut his door againin my face, instead of stopping to speak to me as any other Christianwould. "

Joyce did not answer; she was faint with apprehension; and there wasa silence, broken only by the sounds from the next room. Miss Carlylerose, and a fanciful person might have thought she was shivering. 

"I can't stand this, Joyce; I shall go. If they want coffee, or anythingof that, it can be sent here. Ask. "

"I will presently, in a few minutes, " answered Joyce, with a realshiver. "You are not going in, are you, ma'am?" she uttered, inapprehension, as Miss Carlyle began to steal on tip-toe to theinner-door, and Joyce had a lively consciousness that her sight wouldnot be an agreeable one to Lady Isabel. "They want the room free; theysent me out. "

"Not I, " answered Miss Corny. "I could do no good; and those who cannot, are better away. "

"Just what Mr. Wainwright said when he dismissed me, " murmured Joyce. And Miss Carlyle finally passed into the corridor and withdrew. 

Joyce sat on; it seemed to her an interminable time. And then she heardthe arrival of Dr. Martin; heard him go into the next room. By and byMr. Wainwright came out of it, into the room where Joyce was sitting. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, and before she could bringout the ominous words, "Is there any danger?" he had passed through it. 

Mr. Wainwright was on his way to the apartment where he expected to findMr. Carlyle. The latter was pacing it; he had so paced it all the night. His pale face flushed as the surgeon entered. 

"You have little mercy on my suspense, Wainwright. Dr. Martin has beenhere this twenty minutes. What does he say?"

"Well, he cannot say any more than I did. The symptoms are critical, buthe hopes she will do well. There's nothing for it but patience. "

Mr. Carlyle resumed his weary walk. 

"I come now to suggest that you should send for Little. In theseprotracted cases--"

The speech was interrupted by a cry from Mr. Carlyle, half horror, halfdespair. For the Rev. Mr. Little was the incumbent of St. Jude's, andhis apprehensions had flown--he hardly knew to what they had flown. 

"Not for your wife, " hastily rejoined the surgeon--"what good should aclergyman do to her? I spoke on the score of the child. Should it notlive, it may be satisfactory to you and Lady Isabel to know that it wasbaptized. "

"I thank you--I thank you, " said Mr. Carlyle grasping his hand, in hisinexpressible relief. "Little shall be sent for. "

"You jumped to the conclusion that your wife's soul was flitting. PleaseGod, she may yet live to bear you other children, if this one does die. "

"Please God!" was the inward aspiration of Mr. Carlyle. 

"Carlyle, " added the surgeon, in a musing sort of tone, as he laid hishand on Mr. Carlyle's shoulder, which his own head scarcely reached, "I am sometimes at death-beds where the clergyman is sent for in thisdesperate need to the fleeting spirit, and I am tempted to ask myselfwhat good another man, priest though he be, can do at the twelfth hour, where accounts have not been made up previously?"

It was hard upon midday. The Rev. Mr. Little, Mr. Carlyle, and MissCarlyle were gathered in the dressing-room, round a table, on whichstood a rich china bowl, containing water for the baptism. Joyce, herpale face working with emotion, came into the room, carrying what lookedlike a bundle of flannel. Little cared Mr. Carlyle for the bundle, incomparison with his care for his wife. 

"Joyce, " he whispered, "is it well still?"

"I believe so, sir. "

The services commenced. The clergyman took the child. "What name?" heasked. 

Mr. Carlyle had never thought about the name. But he replied, prettypromptly. 

"William;" for he knew it was a name revered and loved by Lady Isabel. 

The minister dipped his fingers in the water. Joyce interrupted in muchconfusion, looking at her master. 

"It is a little girl, sir. I beg your pardon, I'm sure I thought I hadsaid so; but I'm so flurried as I never was before. "

There was a pause, and then the minister spoke again. "Name the child. "

"Isabel Lucy, " said Mr. Carlyle. Upon which a strange sort of resentfulsniff was heard from Miss Corny. She had probably thought to hear himmention her own; but he had named it after his wife and his mother. 

Mr. Carlyle was not allowed to see his wife until evening. His eyelashesglistened, as he looked down at her. She detected his emotion, and afaint smile parted her lips. 

"I fear I bore it badly, Archibald; but let us be thankful that it isover. How thankful, none can know, save those who have gone through it. "

"I think they can, " he murmured. "I never knew what thankfulness wasuntil this day. "

"That the baby is safe?"

"That _you_ are safe, my darling; safe and spared to me, Isabel, " hewhispered, hiding his face upon hers. "I never, until to-day, knew whatprayer was--the prayer of a heart in its sore need. "

"Have you written to Lord Mount Severn?" she asked after a while. 

"This afternoon, " he replied. 

"Why did you give baby my name--Isabel?"

"Do you think I could have given it a prettier one? I don't. "

"Why do you not bring a chair, and sit down by me?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I wish I might. But they limited my staywith you to four minutes, and Wainwright has posted himself outside thedoor, with his watch in his hand. "

Quite true. There stood the careful surgeon, and the short interview wasover almost as soon as it had begun. 

The baby lived, and appeared likely to live, and of course the nextthing was to look out for a maid for it. Isabel did not get strong veryquickly. Fever and weakness had a struggle with each other and withher. One day, when she was dressing and sitting in her easy chair, MissCarlyle entered. 

"Of all the servants in the neighborhood, who should you suppose is comeup after the place of nurse?"

"Indeed, I cannot guess. "

"Why, Wilson, Mrs. Hare's maid. Three years and five months she has beenwith them, and now leaves in consequence of a fall out with Barbara. Will you see her?"

"Is she likely to suit? Is she a good servant?"

"She's not a bad servant, as servants go, " responded Miss Carlyle. "She's steady and respectable; but she has got a tongue as long as fromhere to Lynneborough. "

"That won't hurt baby, " said Lady Isabel. "But if she has lived aslady's maid, she probably does not understand the care of infants. "

"Yes she does. She was upper servant at Squire Pinner's before going toMrs. Hare's. Five years she lived there. "

"I will see her, " said Lady Isabel. 

Miss Carlyle left the room to send the servant in, but came back firstalone. 

"Mind, Lady Isabel, don't you engage her. If she is likely to suit you, let her come again for the answer, and meanwhile I will go down toMrs. Hare's and learn the ins and outs of her leaving. It is all veryplausible for her to put upon Barbara, but that is only one side of thequestion. Before engaging her, it may be well to hear the other. "

Of course this was but right. Isabel acquiesced, and the servant wasintroduced; a tall, pleasant-looking woman, with black eyes. Lady Isabelinquired why she was leaving Mrs. Hare's. 

"My lady, it is through Miss Barbara's temper. Latterly--oh, for thisyear past, nothing has pleased her; she had grown nearly as imperiousas the justice himself. I have threatened many times to leave, and lastevening we came to another outbreak, and I left this morning. "

"Left entirely?"

"Yes, my lady. Miss Barbara provoked me so, that I said last night Iwould leave as soon as breakfast was over. And I did so. I should bevery glad to take your situation, my lady, if you would please to tryme. "

"You have been the upper maid at Mrs. Hare's?"

"Oh, yes, my lady. "

"Then possibly this situation might not suit you so well as you imagine. Joyce is the upper servant here, and you would, in a manner, be underher. I have great confidence in Joyce; and in case of my illness orabsence, Joyce would superintend the nursery. "

"I should not mind that, " was the applicant's answer. "We all likeJoyce, my lady. "

A few more questions, and then the girl was told to come again in theevening for her answer. Miss Carlyle went to the Grove for the "ins andouts" of the affair, where Mrs. Hare frankly stated that she had nothingto urge against Wilson, save her hasty manner of leaving, and believedthe chief blame to be due to Barbara. Wilson, therefore, was engaged, and was to enter upon her new service the following morning. 

In the afternoon succeeding to it, Isabel was lying on the sofa in herbedroom, asleep, as was supposed. In point of fact, she was in thatstate, half asleep, half wakeful delirium, which those who suffer fromweakness and fever know only too well. Suddenly she was aroused from itby hearing her own name mentioned in the adjoining room, where sat Joyceand Wilson, the latter holding the sleeping infant on her knee, theformer sewing, the door between the rooms being ajar. 

"How ill she does look, " observed Wilson. 

"Who?" asked Joyce. 

"Her ladyship. She looks just as if she'd never get over it. "

"She is getting over it quickly, now, " returned Joyce. "If you had seenher but a week ago, you would not say she was looking ill now, speakingin comparison. "

"My goodness! Would not somebody's hopes be up again if anything shouldhappen?"

"Nonsense!" crossly rejoined Joyce. 

"You may cry out 'nonsense' forever, Joyce, but they would, " went onWilson. "And she would snap him up to a dead certainty; she'd never lethim escape her a second time. She is as much in love with him as sheever was!"

"It was all talk and fancy, " said Joyce. "West Lynne must be busy. Mr. Carlyle never cared for her. "

"That's more than you know. I have seen a little, Joyce; I have seen himkiss her. "

"A pack of rubbish!" remarked Joyce. "That tells nothing. "

"I don't say it does. There's not a young man living but what's fond ofa sly kiss in the dark, if he can get it. He gave her that locket andchain she wears. "

"Who wears?" retorted Joyce, determined not graciously to countenancethe subject. "I don't want to hear anything about it. "

"'Who, ' now! Why, Miss Barbara. She has hardly had it off her necksince, my belief is she wears it in her sleep. "

"More simpleton she, " returned Joyce. 

"The night before he left West Lynne to marry Lady Isabel--and didn'tthe news come upon us like a thunderclap!--Miss Barbara had been atMiss Carlyle's and he brought her home. A lovely night it was, the moonrising, and nearly as light as day. He somehow broke her parasol incoming home, and when they got to our gate there was a love scene. "

"Were you a third in it?" sarcastically demanded Joyce. 

"Yes--without meaning to be. It was a regular love scene; I could hearenough for that. If ever anybody thought to be Mrs. Carlyle, Barbara didthat night. "

"Why, you great baby! You have just said it was the night before he wentto get married!"

"I don't care, she did. After he was gone, I saw her lift up her handsand her face in ecstacy, and say he would never know how much she lovedhim until she was his wife. Be you very sure, Joyce, many a love-passagehad passed between them two; but I suppose when my lady was thrown inhis way he couldn't resist her rank and her beauty, and the old love wascast over. It is in the nature of man to be fickle, specially those thatcan boast of their own good looks, like Mr. Carlyle. "

"Mr. Carlyle's not fickle. "

"I can tell you more yet. Two or three days after that, Miss Cornycame up to our house with the news of his marriage. I was in mistress'sbedroom, and they were in the room underneath, the windows open, andI heard Miss Corny tell the tale, for I was leaning out. Up came MissBarbara upon an excuse and flew into her room, and I went into thecorridor. A few moments and I heard a noise--it was a sort of wail, or groan--and I opened the door softly, fearing she might be fainting. Joyce, if my heart never ached for anybody before, it ached then. Shewas lying upon the floor, her hands writhed together, and her poor faceall white, like one in mortal agony. I'd have given a quarter's wagesto be able to say a word of comfort to her; but I didn't dare interferewith such sorrow as that. I came out again and shut the door without herseeing me. "

"How thoroughly stupid she must have been!" uttered Joyce, "to go caringfor one who did not care for her. "

"I tell you, Joyce, you don't know that he did not care. You are asobstinate as the justice, and I wish to goodness you wouldn't interruptme. They came up here to pay the wedding visit--master, mistress, andshe, came in state in the grand chariot, with the coachman and Jasper. If you have got any memory at all, you can't fail to recollect it. MissBarbara remained behind at East Lynne to spend the rest of the day. "

"I remember it. "

"I was sent to fetch her home in the evening, Jasper being out. I camethe field way; for the dust by the road was enough to smother one, andby the last stile but one, what do you think I came upon?"

Joyce lifted her eyes. "A snake perhaps. "

"I came upon Miss Barbara and Mr. Carlyle. What had passed, nobody knowsbut themselves. She was leaning back against the stile, crying; low, soft sobs breaking from her, like one might expect to hear from abreaking heart. It seemed as if she had been reproaching him, as if someexplanation had passed, and I heard him say that from henceforth theycould only be brother and sister. I spoke soon, for fear they should seeme, and Mr. Carlyle got over the stile. Miss Barbara said to him that heneed not come any further, but he held out his arm, and came with her toour back gate. I went on then to open the door, and I saw him with hishead bent down to her, and her two hands held in his. We don't know howit is between them, I tell you. "

"At any rate, she is a downright fool to suffer herself to love himstill!" uttered Joyce, indignantly. 

"So she is, but she does do it. She'll often steal out to the gate aboutthe time she knows he'll be passing, and watch him by, not letting himsee her. It is nothing but her unhappiness, her jealousy of Lady Isabel, that makes her cross. I assure you, Joyce, in this past year she had sochanged that she's not like the same person. If Mr. Carlyle should everget tired of my lady, and--"

"Wilson, " harshly interrupted Joyce, "have the goodness to recollectyourself. "

"What have I said not? Nothing but truth. Men are shamefully fickle, husbands worse than sweethearts, and I'm sure I'm not thinking ofanything wrong. But to go back to the argument that we began with--Isay that if anything happened to my lady, Miss Barbara, as sure as fate, would step into her shoes. "

"Nothing is going to happen to her, " continued Joyce, with composure. 

"I hope it is not, now or later--for the sake of this dear littleinnocent thing upon my lap, " went on the undaunted Wilson. "She wouldnot make a very kind stepmother, for it is certain that where the firstwife had been hated, her children won't be loved. She would turn Mr. Carlyle against them--"

"I tell you what it is, Wilson, " interrupted Joyce, in a firm, unmistakable tone, "if you think to pursue those sort of topics atEast Lynne, I shall inform my lady that you are unsuitable for thesituation. "

"I dare say!"

"And you know that when I make up my mind to a thing I do it, " continuedJoyce. "Miss Carlyle may well say you have the longest tongue in WestLynne; but you might have the grace to know that this subject is onemore unsuitable to it than another, whether you are eating Mr. Hare'sbread, or whether you are eating Mr. Carlyle's. Another word, Wilson;it appears to me that you have been carrying on a prying system in Mrs. Hare's house--do not attempt such a thing in this. "

"You were always one of the straight-laced sort, Joyce, " cried Wilson, laughing good-humoredly. "But now that I have had my say out, I shallstop; and you need not fear I shall be such a simpleton as to goprattling of this kind of thing to the servants. "

Now just fancy this conversation penetrating to Lady Isabel! She heardevery word. It is all very well to oppose the argument, "Who attends tothe gossip of the servants?" Let me tell you it depends upon what thesubject may be, whether the gossip is attended to or not. It might not, and indeed would not, have made so great an impression upon her had shebeen in strong health, but she was weak, feverish, and in a stateof partial delirium; and she hastily took up the idea that ArchibaldCarlyle had never loved her, that he had admired her and made her hiswife in his ambition, but that his heart had been given to Barbara Hare. 

A pretty state of excitement she worked herself into as she lay there, jealousy and fever, ay, and love too, playing pranks with her brain. Itwas near the dinner hour, and when Mr. Carlyle entered, he was startledto see her; her pallid cheeks were burning with a red hectic glow, andher eyes glistened with fever. 

"Isabel, you are worse!" he uttered, as he approached her with a quickstep. 

She partially rose from the sofa, and clasped hold of him in heremotion. "Oh, Archibald! Archibald!" she uttered, "don't marry her! Icould not rest in my grave. "

Mr. Carlyle, in his puzzled astonishment, believed her to be laboringunder some temporary hallucination, the result of weakness. He sethimself to soothe her, but it seemed that she could not be soothed. Sheburst into a storm of tears and began again--wild words. 

"She would ill-treat my child; she would draw your love from it, andfrom my memory. Archibald, you must not marry her!"

"You must be speaking from the influence of a dream, Isabel, " hesoothingly said; "you have been asleep and are not yet awake. Be still, and recollection will return to you. There, love; rest upon me. "

"To think of her as your wife brings pain enough to kill me, " shecontinued to reiterate. "Promise me that you will not marry her;Archibald, promise it!"

"I will promise you anything in reason, " he replied, bewildered with herwords, "but I do not know what you mean. There is no possibility of mymarrying any one, Isabel; you are my wife. "

"But if I die? I may--you know I may; and many think I shall--do not lether usurp my place. "

"Indeed she shall not--whoever you may be talking of. What have you beendreaming? Who is it that has been troubling your mind?"

"Archibald, do you need to ask? Did you love no one before you marriedme? Perhaps you have loved her since--perhaps you love her still?"

Mr. Carlyle began to discern "method in her madness. " He changed hischeering tone to one of grave earnestness. "Of whom to you speak, Isabel?"

"Of Barbara Hare. "

He knitted his brow; he was both annoyed and vexed. Whatever had putthis bygone nonsense into his wife's head? He quitted the sofa where hehad been supporting her, and stood upright before her, calm, dignified, almost solemn in his seriousness. 

"Isabel, what notion can you possibly have picked up about myself andBarbara Hare; I never entertained the faintest shadow of love for her, either before my marriage or since. You must tell me what has given riseto this idea in your mind. "

"But she loved you. "

A moment's hesitation; for, of course, Mr. Carlyle was conscious thatshe had; but, taking all the circumstances into consideration, moreespecially how he learnt the fact, he could not, in honor, acknowledgeit to his wife. "If it was so, Isabel, she was more reprehensiblyfoolish than I should have given Barbara's good sense could be; fora woman may almost as well lose herself as to suffer herself to loveunsought. If she did give her love to me, I can only say, I was entirelyunconscious of it. Believe me, you have as much cause to be jealous ofCornelia as you have of Barbara Hare. "

An impulse rose within her that she would tell him all; the few wordsdropped by Susan and Joyce, twelve months before, the conversation shehad just overheard; but in that moment of renewed confidence, it didappear to her that she must have been very foolish to attach importanceto it--that a sort of humiliation, in listening to the converse ofservants, was reflected on her, and she remained silent. 

There never was a passion in this world--there never will be one--sofantastic, so delusive, so powerful as jealousy. Mr. Carlyle dismissedthe episode from his thoughts; he believed his wife's emotion to havebeen simply from a feverish dream, and never supposed but that, withthe dream, its recollection would pass away from her. Not so. Implicitlyrelying upon her husband's words at the moment, feeling quite ashamedat her own suspicion, Lady Isabel afterward suffered the unhappy fear toregain its influence; the ill-starred revelations of Wilson reassertedtheir power, overmastering the denial of Mr. Carlyle. Shakspeare callsjealousy yellow and green; I think it may be called black and white forit most assuredly views white as black, and black as white. The mostfanciful surmises wear the aspect of truth, the greatest improbabilitiesappear as consistent realities. Not another word said Isabel to herhusband; and the feeling--you will understand this if you have ever beenfoolish enough to sun yourself in its delights--only caused her to growmore attached to him, to be more eager for his love. But certain it isthat Barbara Hare dwelt on her heart like an incubus. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

CAPTAIN THORN AT WEST LYNNE. 

"Barbara, how fine the day seems!"

"It is a beautiful day mamma. "

"I do think I should be all the better for going out. "

"I am sure you would, mamma, " was Barbara's answer. "If you went outmore, you would find the benefit. Every fine day you ought to do so. I will go and ask papa if he can spare Benjamin and the carriage. " Shewaltzed gaily out of the room, but returned in a moment. 

"Mamma, it is all right. Benjamin is gone to get the carriage ready. Youwould like a bit of luncheon before you go--I will order the tray. "

"Anything you please, dear, " said the sweet-tempered gentlewoman. "Idon't know why, but I feel glad to go out to-day; perhaps because it islovely. "

Benjamin made ready his carriage and himself, and drove out of the yardat the back, and brought the carriage round to the front gate. 

The carriage--or phaeton as it was often called--was a somewhat oldfashioned concern, as many country things are apt to be. A small box infront for the driver, and a wide seat with a head behind, accommodatingBarbara well between them when Mr. And Mrs. Hare both sat in. 

Benjamin drew the rug carefully over his mistress's knees--the servantsdid not like Mr. Hare, but would have laid down their lives forher--ascended to his box, and drove them to their destination, the linendraper's. It was an excellent shop, situated a little beyond the officeof Mr. Carlyle, and Mrs. Hare and Barbara were soon engaged in thatoccupation said to possess for all women a fascination. They had been inabout an hour, when Mrs. Hare discovered that her bag was missing. 

"I must have left it in the carriage, Barbara. Go and bring it, willyou, my dear? The pattern of that silk is in it. "

Barbara went out. The carriage and Benjamin and the sleek old horse wereall waiting drowsily together. Barbara could not see the bag, and sheappealed to the servant. 

"Find mamma's bag, Benjamin. It must be somewhere in the carriage. "

Benjamin got off his box and began to search. Barbara waited, gazinglistlessly down the street. The sun was shining brilliantly, and itsrays fell upon the large cable chain of a gentleman who was saunteringidly up the pavement, making its gold links and its drooping seal andkey glitter, as they crossed his waistcoat. It shone also upon theenameled gold studs of his shirt front, making _them_ glitter; and ashe suddenly raised his ungloved hand to stroke his moustache--by whichaction you know a vain man--a diamond ring he wore gleamed with a lightthat was positively dazzling. Involuntarily Barbara thought of thedescription her brother Richard had given of certain dazzling jewelsworn by another. 

She watched him advance! He was a handsome man of, perhaps, seven oreight and twenty, tall, slender and well made, his eyes and hair black. A very pleasant expression sat upon his countenance; and on the lefthand he wore a light buff kid glove, and was swinging its fellow by thefingers. But for the light cast at that moment by the sun, Barbara mightnot have noticed the jewellery, or connected it in her mind with theother jewellery in that unhappy secret. 

"Hallo, Thorn, is that you? Just step over here. "

The speaker was Otway Bethel, who was on the opposite side of thestreet; the spoken to, the gentleman with the jewellery. But the latterwas in a brown study, and did not hear. Bethel called out again, louder. 

"Captain Thorn!"

That was heard. Captain Thorn nodded, and turned short off across thestreet. Barbara stood like one in a dream, her brain, her mind, herfancy all in a confused mass together. 

"Here's the bag, Miss Barbara. It had got among the folds of the rug. "

Benjamin held it out to her, but she took no notice; she was unconsciousof all external things save one. That she beheld the real murderer ofHallijohn, she entertained no manner of doubt. In every particularhe tallied with the description given by Richard; tall, dark, vain, handsome, delicate hands, jewellery, and--Captain Thorn! Barbara'scheeks grew white and her heart turned sick. 

"The bag, Miss Barbara. "

Away tore Barbara, leaving Benjamin and the bag in wonder. She hadcaught sight of Mr. Wainwright, the surgeon, at a little distance, andsped toward him. 

"Mr. Wainwright, " began she, forgetting ceremony in her agitation, "yousee that gentleman talking to Otway Bethel--who is he?"

Mr. Wainwright had to put his glasses across the bridge of his nosebefore he could answer, for he was short-sighted. "That? Oh, it is aCaptain Thorn. He is visiting the Herberts, I believe. "

"Where does he come from? Where does he live?" reiterated Barbara in hereagerness. 

"I don't know anything about him. I saw him this morning with youngSmith, and he told me he was a friend of the Herberts. You are notlooking well, Miss Barbara. "

She made no answer. Captain Thorn and Mr. Bethel came walking down thestreet, and the latter saluted her, but she was too much confused torespond to it. Mr. Wainwright then wished her good day, and Barbarawalked slowly back. Mrs. Hare was appearing at the shop door. 

"My dear, how long you are! Cannot the bag be found?"

"I went to speak to Mr. Wainwright, " answered Barbara, mechanicallytaking the bag from Benjamin and giving it to her mother, her wholeheart and eyes still absorbed with that one object moving away in thedistance. 

"You look pale, child. Are you well?"

"Oh, yes, quite. Let us get our shopping over, mamma. "

She moved on to their places at the counter as she spoke, eager to "getit over" and be at home, that she might have time for thought. Mrs. Harewondered what had come to her; the pleased interest displayed in theirpurchases previously was now gone, and she sat inattentive and absorbed. 

"Now, my dear, it is only waiting for you to choose. Which of the twosilks will you have?"

"Either--any. Take which you like, mamma. "

"Barbara, what _has_ come to you?"

"I believe I am tired, " said Barbara, with a forced laugh, as shecompelled herself to pay some sort of attention. "I don't like thegreen; I will take the other. "

They arrived at home. Barbara got just five minutes alone in her chamberbefore the dinner was on the table. All the conclusion she could come towas, _she_ could do nothing save tell the facts to Archibald Carlyle. 

How could she contrive to see him? The business might admit of no delay. She supposed she must go to East Lynne that evening; but where would beher excuse for it at home? Puzzling over it, she went down to dinner. During the meal, Mrs. Hare began talking of some silk she had purchasedfor a mantle. She should have it made like Miss Carlyle's new one. WhenMiss Carlyle was at the grove, the other day, about Wilson's character, she offered her the pattern, and she, Mrs. Hare, would send one of theservants up for it after dinner. 

"Oh, mamma, let me go!" burst forth Barbara, and so vehemently spokeshe, that the justice paused in carving, and demanded what ailed her. Barbara made some timid excuse. 

"Her eagerness is natural, Richard, " smiled Mrs. Hare. "Barbara thinksshe shall get a peep at the baby, I expect. All young folks are fond ofbabies. "

Barbara's face flushed crimson, but she did not contradict the opinion. She could not eat her dinner--she was too full of poor Richard; sheplayed with it, and then sent away her plate nearly untouched. 

"That's through the finery she's been buying, " pronounced Justice Hare. "Her head is stuffed up with it. "

No opposition was offered to Barbara's going to East Lynne. She reachedit just as their dinner was over. It was for Miss Carlyle she asked. 

"Miss Carlyle is not at home, miss. She is spending the day out; and mylady does not receive visitors yet. "

It was a sort of checkmate. Barbara was compelled to say she would seeMr. Carlyle. Peter ushered her into the drawing-room, and Mr. Carlylecame to her. 

"I am so very sorry to disturb you--to have asked for you, " beganBarbara, with a burning face, for, somehow, a certain evening interviewof hers with him, twelve months before, was disagreeably present to her. Never, since that evening of agitation, had Barbara suffered herselfto betray emotion to Mr. Carlyle; her manner to him had been calm, courteous, and indifferent. And she now more frequently called him "Mr. Carlyle" than "Archibald. "

"Take a seat--take a seat, Barbara. "

"I asked for Miss Carlyle, " she continued, "for mamma is in want of apattern that she promised to lend her. You remember the Lieutenant Thornwhom Richard spoke of as being the real criminal?"

"Yes. "

"I think he is at West Lynne. "

Mr. Carlyle was aroused to eager interest. 

"He! The same Thorn?"

"It can be no other. Mamma and I were shopping to-day, and I went outfor her bag, which she left in the carriage. While Benjamin was gettingit, I saw a stranger coming up the street--a tall, good-looking, dark-haired man, with a conspicuous gold chain and studs. The sun wasfull upon him, causing the ornaments to shine, especially a diamondring which he wore, for he had one hand raised to his face. The thoughtflashed over me, 'That is just like the description Richard gave ofthe man Thorn. ' Why the idea should have occurred to me in that strangemanner, I do not know, but it most assuredly did occur, though I did notreally suppose him to be the same. Just then I heard him spoken to bysome one on the other side of the street; it was Otway Bethel, and hecalled him _Captain Thorn_. "

"This is curious, indeed, Barbara. I did not know any stranger was atWest Lynne. "

"I saw Mr. Wainwright, and asked him who it was. He said a CaptainThorn, a friend of the Herberts. A Lieutenant Thorn four or five yearsago would probably be Captain Thorn now. "

Mr. Carlyle nodded, and there was a pause. 

"What can be done?" asked Barbara. 

Mr. Carlyle was passing one hand over his brow; it was a habit of hiswhen in deep thought. 

"It is hard to say what is to be done, Barbara. The description you gaveof this man certainly tallies with that given by Richard. Did he looklike a gentleman?"

"Very much so. A remarkably aristocratic looking man, as it struck me. "

Mr. Carlyle again nodded assentingly. He remembered Richard's words, when describing the other: "an out-and-out aristocrat. " "Of course, Barbara, the first thing must be to try and ascertain whether it isthe same, " he observed. "If we find it is, then we must deliberate uponfuture measures. I will see what I can pick up and let you know. "

Barbara rose. Mr. Carlyle escorted her across the hall, and thenstrolled down the park by her side, deep in the subject, and quiteunconscious that Lady Isabel's jealous eyes were watching them from herdressing-room window. 

"You say he seemed intimate with Otway Bethel?"

"As to being intimate, I cannot say. Otway Bethel spoke as though heknew him. "

"This must have caused excitement to Mrs. Hare. "

"You forget, Archibald, that mamma was not told anything about Thorn, "was the answer of Barbara. "The uncertainty would have worried her todeath. All Richard said to her was, that he was innocent, that it wasa stranger who did the deed, and she asked for no particulars; she hadimplicit faith in Richard's truth. "

"True; I did forget, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "I wish we could find outsome one who knew the other Thorn; to ascertain that they were the samewould be a great point gained. "

He went as far as the park gates with Barbara, shook hands and wishedher good evening. Scarcely had she departed when Mr. Carlyle saw twogentlemen advancing from the opposite direction, in one of whom herecognized Tom Herbert, and the other--instinct told him--was CaptainThorn. He waited till they came up. 

"If this isn't lucky, seeing you, " cried Mr. Tom Herbert, who was afree-and-easy sort of a gentleman, the second son of a brother justiceof Mr. Hare. "I wish to goodness you'd give us a draught of your cider, Carlyle. We went up to Beauchamp's for a stroll, but found them all out, and I'm awful thirsty. Captain Thorn, Carlyle. "

Mr. Carlyle invited them to his house and ordered in refreshments. YoungHerbert coolly threw himself into an arm-chair and lit a cigar. "Come, Thorn, " cried he, "here's a weed for you. "

Captain Thorn glanced toward Mr. Carlyle; he appeared of a far moregentlemanly nature than Tom Herbert. 

"You'll have one too, Carlyle, " said Herbert, holding out hiscigar-case. "Oh, I forgot--you are a muff; don't smoke one twice a year. I say how's Lady Isabel?"

"Very ill still. "

"By Jove! Is she, though? Tell her I am sorry to hear it, will you, Carlyle? But--I say! Will she smell the smoke?" asked he, with a mixtureof alarm and concern in his face. 

Mr. Carlyle reassured him upon the point, and turned to Captain Thorn. 

"Are you acquainted with this neighborhood?"

Captain Thorn smiled. "I only reached West Lynne yesterday. "

"You were never here before then?" continued Mr. Carlyle, setting downthe last as a probably evasive answer. 

"No. "

"He and my brother Jack, you know, are in the same regiment, " put inTom, with scanty ceremony. "Jack had invited him down for some fishingand that, and Thorn arrives. But he never sent word he was coming, yousee; Jack had given him up, and is off on some Irish expedition, thedeuce knows where. Precious unlucky that it should have happened so. Thorn says he shall cut short his stay, and go again. "

The conversation turned upon fishing, and in the heat of the argument, the stranger mentioned a certain pond and its famous eels--the "LowPond. " Mr. Carlyle looked at him, speaking, however in a carelessmanner. 

"Which do you mean? We have two ponds not far apart, each called the'Low Pond'"

"I mean the one on an estate about three miles form here--SquireThorpe's, unless I am mistaken. "

Mr. Carlyle smiled. "I think you must have been in the neighborhoodbefore, Captain Thorn. Squire Thorpe is dead and the property has passedto his daughter's husband, and that Low Pond was filled up three yearsago. "

"I have heard a friend mention it, " was Captain Thorn's reply, spokenin an indifferent tone, though he evidently wished not to pursue thesubject. 

Mr. Carlyle, by easy degrees, turned the conversation upon Swainson, theplace where Richard Hare's Captain Thorn was suspected to have come. The present Captain Thorn said he knew it "a little, " he had once been"staying there a short time. " Mr. Carlyle became nearly convinced thatBarbara's suspicions were correct. The description certainly agreed, sofar as he could judge, in the most minute particulars. The man beforehim wore two rings, a diamond--and a very beautiful diamond too--on theone hand; a seal ring on the other; his hands were delicate to a degree, and his handkerchief, a cambric one of unusually fine texture, was notentirely guiltless of scent. Mr. Carlyle quitted the room for a momentand summoned Joyce to him. 

"My lady has been asking for you, " said Joyce. 

"Tell her I will be up the moment these gentlemen leave, Joyce, " headded, "find an excuse to come into the room presently; you can bringsomething or other in; I want you to look at this stranger who iswith young Mr. Herbert. Notice him well; I fancy you may have seen himbefore. "

Mr. Carlyle returned to the room, leaving Joyce surprised. However, shepresently followed, taking in some water, and lingered a few minutes, apparently placing the things on the table in better order. 

When the two departed Mr. Carlyle called Joyce, before proceeding to hiswife's room. "Well, " he questioned, "did you recognize him?"

"Not at all, sir. He seemed quite strange to me. "

"Cast your thoughts back, Joyce. Did you never see him in days gone by?"

Joyce looked puzzled, and she replied in the negative. 

"Is he the man, think you, who used to ride from Swainson to see Afy?"

Joyce's face flushed crimson. "Oh, sir!" was all she uttered. 

"The name is the same--Thorn; I thought it possible the men might be, "observed Mr. Carlyle. 

"Sir, I cannot say. I never saw that Captain Thorn but once, and I don'tknow, I don't know--" Joyce spoke slowly and with consideration--"thatI should at all know him again. I did not think of him when I looked atthis gentleman; but, at any rate, no appearance in this one struck uponmy memory as being familiar. "

So from Joyce Mr. Carlyle obtained no clue, one way or the other. Thefollowing day he sought out Otway Bethel. 

"Are you intimate with that Captain Thorn who is staying with theHerberts?" asked he. 

"Yes, " answered Bethel, decisively, "if passing a couple of hours in hiscompany can constitute intimacy. That's all I have seen of Thorn. "

"Are you sure, " pursued Mr. Carlyle. 

"Sure!" returned Bethel; "why, what are you driving at now? I calledin at Herbert's the night before last, and Tom asked me to stay theevening. Thorn had just come. A jolly bout we had; cigars and coldpunch. "

"Bethel, " said Mr. Carlyle, dashing to the point, "is it the Thorn whoused to go after Afy Hallijohn? Come, you can tell if you like. "

Bethel remained dumb for a moment, apparently with amazement. "What aconfounded lie!" uttered he at length. "Why it's no more that than--WhatThorn?" he broke off abruptly. 

"You are equivocating, Bethel. The Thorn who is mixed up--or said tobe--in the Hallijohn affair. Is this the same man?"

"You are a fool, Carlyle, which is what I never took you to be yet, " wasMr. Bethel's rejoinder, spoken in a savage tone. "I have told you thatI never knew there was any Thorn mixed up with Afy, and I should liketo know why my word is not to be believed? I never saw Thorn in my lifetill I saw him the other night at the Herberts', and that I would takemy oath to, if put to it. "

Bethel quitted Mr. Carlyle with the last word, and the latter gazedafter him, revolving points in his brain. The mention of Thorn's name, the one spoken of by Richard Hare, appeared to excite some feeling inBethel's mind, arousing it to irritation. Mr. Carlyle remembered that ithad done so previously and now it had done so again, and yet Bethel wasan easy-natured man in general, far better tempered than principled. That there was something hidden, some mystery connected with the affair, Mr. Carlyle felt sure; but he could not attempt so much as a guess atwhat it might be. And this interview with Bethel brought him no nearerthe point he wished to find out--whether this Thorn was the same man. Inwalking back to his office he met Mr. Tom Herbert. 

"Does Captain Thorn purpose making a long stay with you?" he stopped himto inquire. 

"He's gone; I have just seen him off by the train, " was the reply of TomHerbert. "It seemed rather slow with him without Jack, so he docked hisvisit, and says he'll pay us one when Jack's to the fore. "

As Mr. Carlyle went home to dinner that evening, he entered thegrove, ostensibly to make a short call on Mrs. Hare. Barbara, on thetenterhooks of impatience, accompanied him outside when he departed, andwalked down the path. 

"What have you learnt?" she eagerly asked. 

"Nothing satisfactory, " was the reply of Mr. Carlyle. "And the man hasleft again. "

"Left?" uttered Barbara. 

Mr. Carlyle explained. He told her how they had come to his house theprevious evening after Barbara's departure, and his encounter with TomHerbert that day; he mentioned, also, his interview with Bethel. 

"Can he have gone on purpose, fearing consequences?" wondered Barbara. 

"Scarcely; or why should he have come?"

"You did not suffer any word to escape you last night causing him tosuspect for a moment that he was hounded?"

"Not any. You would make a bad lawyer, Barbara. "

"Who or what is he?"

"An officer in her majesty's service, in John Herbert's regiment. Iascertained no more. Tom said he was of good family. But I cannot helpsuspecting it is the same man. "

"Can nothing more be done?"

"Nothing in the present stage of the affair, " continued Mr. Carlyle, as he passed through the gate to continue his way. "We can only wait onagain with what patience we may, hoping that time will bring about itsown elucidation. "

Barbara pressed her forehead down on the cold iron of the gate as hisfootsteps died away. "Aye, to wait on, " she murmured, "to wait on indreary pain; to wait on, perhaps, for years, perhaps forever! And poorRichard--wearing out his days in poverty and exile!"

CHAPTER XX. 

GOING FROM HOME. 

"I should recommend a complete change of scene altogether, Mr. Carlyle. Say some place on the French or Belgian coast. Sea bathing might dowonders. "

"Should you think it well for her to go so far from home?"

"I should. In these cases of protracted weakness, where you can donothing but try to coax the strength back again, change of air and sceneare of immense benefit. "

"I will propose it to her, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"I have just done so, " replied Dr. Martin, who was the other speaker. "She met it with objection, which I expected, for invalids naturallyfeel a disinclination to move from home. But it is necessary that sheshould go. "

The object of their conversation was Lady Isabel. Years had gone on, and there were three children now at East Lynne--Isabel, William, andArchibald--the latter twelve months old. Lady Isabel had, a month or twoback, been attacked with illness; she recovered from the disorder; butit had left her in an alarming state of weakness; she seemed to getworse instead of better, and Dr. Martin was summoned from Lynneborough. The best thing he could recommend--as you save seen--was change of air. 

Lady Isabel was unwilling to take the advice; more especially to go sofar as the "French coast. " And but for a circumstance that seemed tohave happened purposely to induce her to decide, would probably neverhave gone. Mrs. Ducie--the reader may not have forgotten her name--had, in conjunction with her husband, the honorable Augustus, somewhat runout at the elbows, and found it convenient to enter for a time on theless expensive life of the Continent. For eighteen months she had beenstaying in Paris, the education of her younger daughters being the pleaput forth, and a very convenient plea it is, and serves hundreds. Isabel had two or three letters from her during her absence, and shenow received another, saying they were going to spend a month or two atBoulogne-sur-Mer. Mr. Carlyle, Mr. Wainwright, and Dr. Martin--in short, everybody--declared this must remove all Lady Isabel's unwillingness togo from home, for Mrs. Ducie's society would do away with the lonelinessshe had anticipated, which had been the ostensible score of herobjection. 

"Boulogne-sur-Mer, of all places, in the world!" remonstrated LadyIsabel. "It is spoken of as being crowded and vulgar. "

"The more amusing for you, my lady, " cried Dr. Martin, while Mr. Carlylelaughed at her. And finding she had no chance against them all, sheconsented to go, and plans were hastily decided upon. 

"Joyce, " said Lady Isabel to her waiting maid, "I shall leave you athome; I must take Wilson instead. "

"Oh, my lady! What have I done?"

"You have done all that you ought, Joyce, but you must stay with thechildren. If I may not take them, the next best thing will be to leavethem in your charge, not Miss Carlyle's, " she said, shaking her voice;"if it were Wilson who remained, I could not do that. "

"My lady, I must do whatever you think best. I wish I could attend youand stay with them, but of course I cannot do both. "

"I am sent away to get health and strength, but it may be that I shalldie, Joyce. If I never come back, will you promise to remain with mychildren?"

Joyce felt a creeping sensation in her veins, the sobs rose in herthroat, but she swallowed them down and constrained her voice tocalmness. "My lady, I hope you will come back to us as well as you usedto be. I trust you will hope so too, my lady, and not give way to lowspirits. "

"I sincerely hope and trust I shall, " answered Lady Isabel, fervently. "Still, there's no telling, for I am very ill. Joyce, give me yourpromise. In case of the worst, you will remain with the children. "

"I will, my lady--as long as I am permitted. "

"And be kind to them and love them, and shield them from--from--anyunkindness that may be put upon them, " she added, her head full of MissCarlyle, "and talk to them sometimes of their poor mother, who is gone?"

"I will, I will--oh my lady, I will!" And Joyce sat down in therocking-chair as Lady Isabel quitted her, and burst into tears. 

Mr. Carlyle and Lady Isabel, with Wilson and Peter in attendance, arrived at Boulogne, and proceeded to the Hotel des Bains. It may beas well to mention that Peter had been transferred from Miss Carlyle'sservice to theirs, when the establishment was first formed at EastLynne. Upon entering the hotel they inquired for Mrs. Ducie, and then adisappointment awaited them. A letter was handed them which had arrivedthat morning from Mrs. Ducie, expressing her regret that certain familyarrangements prevented her visiting Boulogne; she was proceeding to someof the baths in Germany instead. 

"I might almost have known it, " remarked Isabel. "She was always themost changeable of women. "

Mr. Carlyle went out in search of lodgings, Isabel objecting to remainin the bustling hotel. He succeeded in finding some very desirable ones, situated in the Rue de l'Ecu, near the port, and they moved into them. He thought the journey had done her good, for she looked better, andsaid she already felt stronger. Mr. Carlyle remained with her threedays; he had promised only one, but he was pleased with everythingaround him, pleased with Isabel's returning glimpses of health, andamused with the scenes of the busy town. 

The tide served at eight o'clock the following morning, and Mr. Carlyleleft by the Folkestone boat. Wilson made his breakfast, and afterswallowing it in haste, he returned to his wife's room to say farewell. 

"Good-bye, my love, " he said, stooping to kiss her, "take care ofyourself. "

"Give my dear love to the darlings, Archibald. And--and----"

"And what?" he asked. "I have not a moment to lose. "

"Do not get making love to Barbara Hare while I am away. "

She spoke in a tone half jest, half serious--could he but have seen howher heart was breaking! Mr. Carlyle took it wholly as a jest, and wentaway laughing. Had he believed she was serious, he could have beenlittle more surprised had she charged him not to go about the country ona dromedary. 

Isabel rose later, and lingered over her breakfast, listless enough. She was wondering how she would make the next few weeks pass; what sheshould do with her time. She had taken two sea baths since her arrival, but they had appeared not to agree with her, leaving her low andshivering afterwards, so it was not deemed advisable that she shouldattempt more. It was a lovely morning, and she determined to venture onto the pier, to where they had sat on the previous evening. She had notMr. Carlyle's arm, but it was not far, and she could take a good rest atthe end of it. 

She went, attended by Peter, took her seat, and told him to come for herin an hour. She watched the strollers on the pier as they had donethe previous evening; not in crowds now, but stragglers, coming on atintervals. There came a gouty man, in a list shoe, there came threeyoung ladies and their governess, there came two fast puppies inshooting jackets and eye-glasses, which they turned with a broad stareon Lady Isabel; but there was something about her which caused them todrop their glasses and their ill manners together. After an interval, there appeared another, a tall, handsome, gentlemanly man. Her eyesfell upon him; and--what was it that caused every nerve in her frameto vibrate, every pulse to quicken? _Whose_ form was it that was thusadvancing and changing the monotony of her mind into tumult? It was thatof one whom she was soon to find had never been entirely forgotten. 

Captain Levison came slowly on, approaching the pier where she sat. Heglanced at her; not with the hardihood displayed by the two young men, but with quite sufficiently evident admiration. 

"What a lovely girl!" thought he to himself. "Who can she be, sittingthere alone?"

All at once a recollection flashed into his mind; he raised his hat andextended his hand, his fascinating smile in full play. 

"I certainly cannot be mistaken. Have I the honor of once more meetingLady Isabel Vane?"

She rose from the seat, and allowed him to take her hand, answering afew words at random, for her wits seemed wool-gathering. 

"I beg your pardon--I should have said Lady Isabel Carlyle. Time haselapsed since we parted, and in the pleasure of seeing you again sounexpectedly, I thought of you as you were then. "

She sat down again, the brilliant flush of emotion dying away upon hercheeks. It was the loveliest face Francis Levison had seen since he sawhers, and he thought so as he gazed at it. 

"What can have brought you to this place?" he inquired, taking a seatbeside her. 

"I have been ill, " she explained, "and am ordered to the sea-side. Weshould not have come here but for Mrs. Ducie; we expected to meet her. Mr. Carlyle only left me this morning. "

"Mrs. Ducie is off to Ems. I see them occasionally. They have beenfixtures in Paris for some time. You do indeed look ill, " he abruptlyadded, in a tone of sympathy, "alarmingly ill. Is there anything I cando for you?"

She was aware that she looked unusually ill at that moment, for theagitation and surprise of meeting him were fading away, leaving her facean ashy whiteness. Exceedingly vexed and angry with herself did she feelthat the meeting should have power to call forth emotion. Until thatmoment she was unconscious that she retained any sort of feeling forCaptain Levison. 

"Perhaps I have ventured out too early, " she said, in a tone that wouldseem to apologize for her looks: "I think I will return. I shall meet myservant, no doubt. Good-morning, Captain Levison. "

"But indeed you do not appear fit to walk alone, " he remonstrated. "Youmust allow me to see you safely home. "

Drawing her hand within his own quite as a matter of course, as he haddone many a time in days gone by, he proceeded to assist her down thepier. Lady Isabel, conscious of her own feelings, felt that it was notquite the thing to walk thus familiarly with him, but he was a sort ofrelation of the family--a connection, at any rate--and she could find noready excuse for declining. 

"Have you seen Lady Mount Severn lately?" he inquired. 

"I saw her when I was in London this spring with Mr. Carlyle. The firsttime we have met since my marriage; and we do not correspond. Lord MountSevern had paid us two or three visits at East Lynne. They are in townyet, I believe. "

"For all I know; I have not seen them, or England either, for tenmonths. I have been staying in Paris, and got here yesterday. "

"A long leave of absence, " she observed. 

"Oh, I have left the army. I sold out. The truth is, Lady Isabel--forI don't mind telling you--things are rather down with me at present. Myold uncle has behaved shamefully; he has married again. "

"I heard that Sir Peter had married. "

"He is seventy-three--the old simpleton! Of course this materiallyalters my prospects, for it is just possible he may have a son of hisown now; and my creditors all came down upon me. They allowed me to runinto debt with complacency when I was heir to the title and estates, butas soon as Sir Peter's marriage appeared in the papers, myself and myconsequence dropped a hundred per cent; credit was stopped, and I dunnedfor payment. So I thought I'd cut it altogether, and I sold out and cameabroad. "

"Leaving your creditors?"

"What else could I do? My uncle would not pay them, or increase myallowance. "

"What are your prospects then?" resumed Lady Isabel. 

"Prospects! Do you see that little ragged boy throwing stones into theharbor?--it is well the police don't drop upon him, --ask him what hisprospects are, and he will stare you in the face, and say, 'None. ' Mineare on a like par. "

"You may succeed Sir Peter yet. "

"I may, but I may not. When those old idiots get a young wife--"

"Have you quarreled with Sir Peter?" interrupted Lady Isabel. 

"I should quarrel with him as he deserves, if it would do any good, butI might get my allowance stopped. Self interest, you see, Lady Isabel, is the order of the day with most of us. "

"Do you propose staying in Boulogne long?"

"I don't know. As I may find amusement. Paris is a fast capital, withits heated rooms and its late hours, and I came down for the refreshmentof a few sea dips. Am I walking too fast for you?"

"You increased your pace alarmingly when you spoke of Sir Peter'smarriage. And I am not sorry for it, " she added, good-naturedly, "forit has proved to me how strong I am getting. A week ago I could not havewalked half so fast. "

He interrupted with eager apologies, and soon they reached her home. Captain Levison entered with her--uninvited. He probably deemed betweenconnections great ceremonies might be dispensed with, and he sat aquarter of an hour, chatting to amuse her. When he rose, he inquiredwhat she meant to do with herself in the afternoon. 

"To lie down, " replied Isabel. "I am not strong enough to sit up allday. "

"Should you be going out afterwards, you must allow me to take care ofyou, " he observed. "I am glad that I happened to be here, for I am sureyou are not fit to wander out without an arm, and only followed by aservant. When Mr. Carlyle comes, he will thank me for my pains. "

What was she to urge in objection? Simply nothing. He spoke, let us notdoubt, from a genuine wish to serve her, in a plain, easy tone, as anyacquaintance might speak. Lady Isabel schooled herself severely. Ifthose old feelings were not quite dead within her, why, she mustsmother them down again as effectually as if they were; the very fact ofrecognizing such to her own heart, brought a glow of shame to her brow. She would meet Captain Levison, and suffer his companionship, as shewould that of the most indifferent stranger. 

It was just the wrong way for her to go to work, though. 

As the days passed on, Lady Isabel improved wonderfully. She was soonable to go to the sands in the morning and sit there to enjoy the seaair, watching the waves come up to recede with the tide. She made noacquaintance whatever in the place, and when she had a companion it wasCaptain Levison. He would frequently join her there, sometimes take her, almost always give her his arm home. Of all things, she disliked thehaving to take his arm, would a thousand times over rather have takengood old Peter's. A secret prick of the conscience whispered it might bebetter if she did not. One day she said, in a joking sort of manner--shewould not say it in any other--that now she was strong, she had no needof his arm and his escort. He demanded, in evident astonishment, whathad arisen that he might not still afford it, seeing her husband was notwith her to give her his. She had no answer in reply to this, no excuseto urge, and, in default of one, took his arm, as usual. In the eveninghe would be ready to take her to the pier, but they sat apart, mixingnot with the bustling crowd--he lending to his manner, as he conversedwith her, all that he would call up of fascination--and fascination, such as Francis Levison's, might be dangerous to any ear, in the sweetevening twilight. The walk over, he left her at her own door; she neverasked him in in the evening, and he did not intrude without, as hesometimes would of a morning. 

Now, where was the help for this? You may say that she should haveremained indoors, and not have subjected herself to his companionship. But the remaining indoors would not have brought her health, and it washealth that she was staying in Boulogne to acquire, and the sooner itcame the better pleased she would be, for she wanted to be at home withher husband and children. 

In a fortnight from the period of his departure, Mr. Carlyle wasexpected in Boulogne. But what a marvellous change had this fortnightwrought in Lady Isabel! She did not dare to analyze her feelings, butshe was conscious that all the fresh emotions of her youth had comeagain. The blue sky seemed as of the sweetest sapphire, the green fieldsand waving trees were of an emerald brightness, the perfume of theflowers was more fragrant than any perfume had yet seemed. She knew thatthe sky, that the grassy plains, the leafy trees, the brilliant flowers, were but as they ever had been; she knew that the sunny atmospherepossessed no more of loveliness or power of imparting delight than ofold; and she knew that the change, the sensation of ecstacy, was in herown heart. No wonder that she shrank from self-examination. 

The change from listless languor to her present feeling brought the hueand contour of health to her face far sooner than anything else couldhave done. She went down with Captain Levison to meet Mr. Carlyle, theevening he came in, and when Mr. Carlyle saw her behind the cords, ashe was going to the custom-house, he scarcely knew her. Her featureshad lost their sharpness, her cheeks wore a rosy flush, and the light ofpleasure at meeting him again shone in her eyes. 

"What can you have been doing to yourself, my darling?" he uttered indelight as he emerged from the custom-house and took her hands in his. "You look almost well. "

"Yes, I am much better, Archibald, but I am warm now and flushed. Wehave waited here some time, and the setting sun was full upon us. Howlong the boat was in coming in!"

"The wind was against us, " replied Mr. Carlyle, wondering who theexquisite was at his wife's side. He thought he remembered his face. 

"Captain Levison, " said Lady Isabel. "I wrote you word in one of myletters that he was here. Have you forgotten it?" Yes, it had slippedfrom his memory. 

"And I am happy that it happened so, " said that gentleman, interposing, "for it has enabled me to attend Lady Isabel in some of her walks. Sheis stronger now, but at first she was unfit to venture alone. "

"I feel much indebted to you, " said Mr. Carlyle, warmly. 

The following day was Sunday, and Francis Levison was asked to dine withthem--the first meal he had been invited to in the house. After dinner, when Lady Isabel left them, he grew confidential over his claret toMr. Carlyle, laying open all his intricate affairs and his cargo oftroubles. 

"This compulsory exile abroad is becoming intolerable, " he concluded;"and a Paris life plays the very deuce with one. Do you see any chanceof my getting back to England?"

"Not the least, " was the candid answer, "unless you can manage tosatisfy or partially satisfy those claims you have been telling me of. Will not Sir Peter assist you?"

"I believe he would, were the case fairly represented to him; but howam I to get over to do it? I have written several letters to himlately, and for some time I got no reply. Then came an epistle from LadyLevison; not short and sweet, but short and sour. It was to the effectthat Sir Peter was ill, and could not at present be troubled withbusiness matters. "

"He cannot be very ill, " remarked Mr. Carlyle; "he passed through WestLynne, in his open carriage, a week ago. "

"He ought to help me, " grumbled Captain Levison. "I am his heir, solong as Lady Levison does not give him one. I do not hear that she hasexpectations. "

"You should contrive to see him. "

"I know I should; but it is not possible under present circumstances. With these thunder-clouds hanging over me, I dare not set foot inEngland, and run the risk to be dropped upon. I can stand a few things, but I shudder at the bare idea of a prison. Something peculiar in myidiosyncrasy, I take it, for those who have tried it, say that it'snothing when you're used to it. "

"Some one might see him for you. "

"Some one--who? I have quarreled with my lawyers, Sharp & Steel, ofLincoln's Inn. "

"Keen practitioners, " put in Mr. Carlyle. 

"Too keen for me. I'd send them over the herring-pond if I could. Theyhave used me shamefully since my uncle's marriage. If ever I do comeinto the Levison estates they'll be ready to eat their ears off; theywould like a finger in a pie with such property as that. "

"Shall I see Sir Peter Levison for you?"

"_Will_ you?" returned Captain Levison, his dark eyes lighting up. 

"If you like as your friend, you understand; not as your solicitor; thatI decline. I have a slight knowledge of Sir Peter; my father was wellacquainted with him; and if I can render you any little service, I shallbe happy, in return for your kind attention to my wife. I cannot promiseto see him for those two or three weeks, though, " resumed Mr. Carlyle, "for we are terribly busy. I never was so driven; but for being so Ishould stay here with my wife. "

Francis Levison expressed his gratitude, and the prospect, howeverremote, of being enabled to return to England increased his spirits toexultation. Whilst they continued to converse, Lady Isabel sat at thewindow in the adjoining room, listlessly looking out on the crowds ofFrench who were crowding to and from the port in their Sunday holidayattire. Looking at them with her eyes, not with her senses--hersenses were holding commune with herself, and it was not altogethersatisfactory--she was aware that a sensation all too warm, a feelingof attraction toward Francis Levison, was working within her. Not avoluntary one; she could no more repress it than she could repressher own sense of being; and, mixed with it, was the stern voice ofconscience, overwhelming her with the most lively terror. She would havegiven all she possessed to be able to overcome it. She would havegiven half the years of her future life to separate herself at once andforever from the man. 

But do not mistake the word terror, or suppose that Lady Isabel Carlyleapplied it here in the vulgar acceptation of the term. She did not fearfor herself; none could be more conscious of self-rectitude of principleand conduct; and she would have believed it as impossible for her everto forsake her duty as a wife, a gentlewoman, and a Christian, as forthe sun to turn round from west to east. That was not the fear whichpossessed her; it had never presented itself to her mind; what she didfear was, that further companionship with Francis Levison might augmentthe sentiments she entertained for him to a height that her life, for perhaps years to come, would be one of unhappiness, a sort ofconcealment; and, more than all, she shrank form the consciousness ofthe bitter wrong that these sentiments cast upon her husband. 

"Archibald, I have a favor to ask you, " she said, after CaptainLevison's departure. "Take me back with you. "

"Impossible, my love. The change is doing you so much good; and I tookthe apartments for six weeks. You must at least remain that time. "

The color flowed painfully into her cheek. "I cannot stay without you, Archibald. "

"Tell me why. "

"I am so dull without you, " was all she could say. He felt that this wasnot reason enough for altering an arrangement that was so beneficialto her; so he left her the following morning, commending her to thecontinued care of Captain Levison. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

QUITTING THE DANGER. 

Lady Isabel was seated on one of the benches of the Petit Camp, as it iscalled, underneath the ramparts of the upper tower. A week or ten dayshad passed away since the departure of Mr. Carlyle, and in her healththere was a further visible improvement. 

It was still evening, cool for July; no sound was heard save the hum ofthe summer insects, and Lady Isabel sat in silence with her companion, her rebellious heart beating with a sense of its own happiness. But forthe voice of conscience, strong within her; but for the sense of rightand wrong; but for the existing things; in short, but that she was awife, she might have been content to sit by his side forever, never towish to move or to break the silence. Did he read her feelings? He toldher, months afterward, that he did; but it may have been a vain boast, an excuse. 

"Do you remember the evening, Lady Isabel, just such a one as this, thatwe all passed at Richmond?" he suddenly asked. "Your father, Mrs. Vane, you, I and others?"

"Yes, I remember it. We had spent a pleasant day; the two MissChalloners were with us. You drove Mrs. Vane home, and I went with papa. You drove recklessly, I recollect, and Mrs. Vane said when we got homethat you should never drive her again. "

"Which meant, not until the next time. Of all capricious, vain, exactingwomen, Emma Vane was the worst; and Emma Mount Severn is no improvementupon it; she's a systematic flirt, and nothing better. I droverecklessly on purpose to put her in a fright, and pay her off. "

"What had she done?"

"Put me in a rage. She had saddled herself upon me, when I wanted--Iwished for another to be my companion. "

"Blanche Challoner. "

"Blanche Challoner!" echoed Captain Levison, in a mocking tone; "whatdid I care for Blanche Challoner?"

Isabel remembered that he had been supposed in those days to care agreat deal for Miss Blanche Challoner--a most lovely girl of seventeen. "Mrs. Vane used to accuse you of caring too much for her, " she said, aloud. 

"She accused me of caring for some one else more than for BlancheChalloner, " he significantly returned; "and for once her jealoussurmises were not misplaced. No Lady Isabel, it was not BlancheChalloner I had wished to drive home. Could you not have given a betterguess than that at the time?" he added, turning to her. 

There was no mistaking the tone of his voice or the glance of his eye. Lady Isabel felt a crimson flush rising and she turned her face away. 

"The past is gone, and cannot be recalled, " he continued, "but we bothplayed our cards like simpletons. If ever two beings were formed to loveeach other, you and I were. I sometimes thought you read my feelings--"

Surprise had kept her silent, but she interrupted him now, haughtilyenough. 

"I must speak, Lady Isabel; it is but a few words, and then I am silentforever. I would have declared myself had I dared, but my uncertainposition, my debts, my inability to keep a wife, weighed me down; and, instead of appealing to Sir Peter, as I ought to have done, for themeans to assume a position that would justify me in asking Lord MountSevern's daughter, I crushed my hopes within me, and suffered you toescape--"

"I will not hear this, Captain Levison, " she cried, rising from her seatin anger. 

He touched her arm to place her on it again. 

"One single moment yet, I pray you. I have for years wished that youshould know why I lost you--a loss that tells upon me yet. I havebitterly worked out my own folly since I knew not how passionatelyI loved you until you became the wife of another. Isabel, I love youpassionately still. "

"How dare you presume so to address me?"

She spoke in a cold, dignified tone of hauteur, as it was her boundenduty to speak; but, nevertheless, she was conscious of an undercurrentof feeling, whispering that, under other auspices, the avowal would havebrought to her heart the most intense bliss. 

"What I have said can do no hurt now, " resumed Captain Levison; "thetime has gone by for it; for neither you nor I are likely to forget thatyou are a wife. We have each chosen our path in life, and must abide byit; the gulf between us is impassable but the fault was mine. I oughtto have avowed my affection, and not have suffered you to throw yourselfaway upon Mr. Carlyle. "

"Throw myself away!" she indignantly uttered, roused to the retort. "Mr. Carlyle is my dear husband, esteemed, respected, and beloved. I marriedhim of my own free choice, and I have never repented it; I have grownmore attached to him day by day. Look at his noble nature, his nobleform; what are _you_ by his side? You forget yourself, Francis Levison. "

He bit his lip. "No, I do not. "

"You are talking to me as you have no right to talk!" she exclaimed, in agitation. "Who but you, would so insult me, taking advantage of mymomentarily unprotected condition. Would you dare to do it, were Mr. Carlyle within reach! I wish you good-evening, sir. "

She walked away as quickly as her tired frame would permit. CaptainLevison strode after her. He took forcible possession of her hand, andplaced it within his arm. 

"I pray you forgive and forget what has escaped me, Lady Isabel. Sufferme to be, as before, the kind friend, the anxious brother endeavoring tobe of service to you in the absence of Mr. Carlyle. "

"It is what I have suffered you to be, looking upon you as, I may say, a relative, " she coldly rejoined, withdrawing her hand from his contact. "Not else should I have permitted your incessant companionship; and thisis how you have repaid it! My husband thanked you for your attention tome; could he have read what was in your false heart, he had offered youdifferent sort of thanks, I fancy. "

"I ask your pardon, Lady Isabel; I have acknowledged my fault, and I cando no more. I will not so offend again; but there are moments whenour dearest feelings break through the convenances of life and betraythemselves, in spite of our sober judgment. Suffer me to support youdown this steep hill, " he added, for they were then going over the sharpstones of the Grand Rue; "you are not strong enough to proceed alone, after this evening's long walk. "

"You should have thought of that before, " she said, with some sarcasm inher tone. "No; I have declined. "

So she had to put his arm back, which he was holding out, as she walkedon unsupported, with what strength she had, he continuing by her side. Arriving at her own door, she wished him a cool good-evening, and heturned away in the direction of his hotel. 

Lady Isabel brushed past Peter, and flew upstairs, startling Wilson, who had taken possession of the drawing-room to air her smart cap at itswindows in the absence of her lady. 

"My desk, Wilson, immediately, " cried she, bearing off her gloves, herbonnet, and her shawl. "Tell Peter to be in readiness to take a letterto the post; and he must walk fast, or he will not catch it before theEnglish mail is closed. "

The symptoms of sinful happiness throbbing at her heart while FrancisLevison told her of his love, spoke plainly to Lady Isabel of theexpediency of withdrawing entirely from his society, and his dangeroussophistries; she would be away from the very place that contained him;put the sea between them. So she dashed off a letter to her husband; anurgent summons that he should come to her without delay for remain awaylonger she _would not_. It is probable she would have started alone, notwaiting for Mr. Carlyle, but for fear of not having sufficient funds forthe journey, after the rent and other things were paid. 

Mr. Carlyle, when he received the letter and marked its earnest tone, wondered much. In reply, he stated that he would be with her on thefollowing Saturday, and then her returning, or not, with him could besettled. Fully determined not to meet Captain Levison, Isabel, in theintervening days, only went out in a carriage. He called once, and wasshown into the drawing-room; but Lady Isabel, who happened to be inher own chamber, sent out a message, which was delivered by Peter. "Mylady's compliments, but she must decline receiving visitors. "

Sunday morning--it had been impossible for him to get awaybefore--brought Mr. Carlyle. He strongly combatted her wish to returnhome until six weeks should have expired, he nearly said he would nottake her, and she grew earnest over it, almost to agitation. 

"Isabel, " he said, "let me know your motive, for it appears to me youhave one. The sojourn here is evidently doing you a vast deal of good, and what you urge about 'being dull, ' sounds very like nonsense. Tell mewhat it is. "

A sudden impulse flashed over her that she _would_ tell him the truth. Not tell him that she loved Francis Levison, or that he had spoken toher as he did; she valued her husband too greatly to draw him into anyunpleasantness whose end could not be seen; but own to him that she hadonce felt a passing fancy for Francis Levison, and preferred not to besubjected to his companionship now. Oh, that she had done so! Her kind, her noble, her judicious husband! Why did she not? The whole truth, asto her present feelings, it was not expedient that she should tell, but she might have confided to him quite sufficient. He would only havecherished her the more deeply, and sheltered her under his fosteringcare, safe from harm. 

Why did she not? In the impulse of the moment she was about to do so, when Mr. Carlyle, who had been taking a letter from his pocket book putit into her hand. Upon what slight threads the events of life turn! Herthoughts diverted, she remained silent while she opened the letter. Itwas from Miss Carlyle, who had handed it to her brother in the moment ofhis departure, to carry to Lady Isabel and save postage. Mr. Carlyle hadnearly dropped it into the Folkestone post office. 

A letter as stiff as Miss Corny herself. The children were well, and thehouse was going on well, and she hoped Lady Isabel was better. It filledthree sides of note paper, but that was all the news it contained, andit wound up with the following sentence, "I would continue my epistle, but Barbara Hare, who is to spend the day with us, has just arrived. "

Barbara Hare spending the day at East Lynne! That item was quite enoughfor Lady Isabel, and her heart and her confidence closed to her husband. She must go home to her children, she urged; she could not remain longeraway from them; and she urged it at length with tears. 

"Nay, Isabel, " said Mr. Carlyle; "if you are so much in earnest as this, you shall certainly go back with me. "

Then she was like a child let loose from school. She laughed, she dancedin her excess of content; she showered kisses on her husband, thankinghim in her gleeful gratitude. Mr. Carlyle set it down to her love forhim; he arrived at the conclusion that, in reiterating that she couldnot bear to be away from him, she spoke the fond truth. 

"Isabel, " he said, smiling tenderly upon her, "do you remember, in thefirst days of our marriage, you told me you did not yet love me, butthat the love would come. I think this is it. "

Her face flushed nearly to tears at the words; a bright, glowing, alltoo conscious flush. Mr. Carlyle mistook its source, and caught her tohis heart. 

Lady Isabel had returned home to bodily health, to the delight ofmeeting her children, to the glad sensation of security. But as the dayswent on, a miserable feeling of apathy stole over her: a feeling as ifall whom she had loved in the world had died, leaving her living andalone. 

She did not encourage these reflections; knowing what you do know ofher, you may be sure of that, but they thrust themselves continuallyforward. The form of Francis Levison was ever present to her; not aminute of the day but it gave the coloring to her thoughts, and at nightit made the subject of her dreams. Oh, those dreams! They were painfulto wake from; painful from the contrasts they presented to reality; andequally painful to her conscience, in its strife after what was right. 

Mr. Carlyle mounted his horse one morning and rode over to LevisonPark. He asked for Sir Peter, but was shown into the presence of LadyLevison--a young and pretty woman dressed showily. She inquired hisbusiness. 

"My business, madam, is with Sir Peter. "

"But Sir Peter is not well enough to attend to business; it upsetshim--worries him. "

"Nevertheless, I am here by his own appointment. Twelve o'clock hementioned; and the hour has barely struck. "

Lady Levison bit her lip and bowed coldly; and at that moment a servantappeared to conduct Mr. Carlyle to Sir Peter. The matter which had takenMr. Carlyle thither was entered upon immediately--Francis Levison, hisdebts, and his gracelessness. Sir Peter, an old gentleman in a velvetskullcap, particularly enlarged upon the latter. 

"I'd pay his debts to-day and set him upon his legs again, but that Iknow I should have to do the same thing over and over again to the endof the chapter, as I have done it repeatedly hitherto, " cried Sir Peter. "His grandfather was my only brother, his father my dutiful and belovednephew; but he is just as bad as they were estimable. He is a worthlessfellow and nothing else, Mr. Carlyle. "

"His tale drew forth my compassion, and I promised I would see you andspeak for him, " returned Mr. Carlyle. "Of Captain Levison's personalvirtues or vices, I know nothing. "

"And the less you know the better, " growled Sir Peter. "I suppose hewants me to clear him and start him afresh. "

"Something of that sort, I conclude. "

"But how is it to be done? I am at home, and he is over there. Hisaffairs are in a state of confusion, and nobody can come to the bottomof them without an explanation from him. Some liabilities, for which Ihave furnished the money, the creditors swear have not been liquidated. He must come over if he wants anything done. "

"Where is he to come to? He must be in England _sub rosa_. "

"He can't be here, " hastily rejoined Sir Peter. "Lady Levison would nothave him for a day. "

"He might be at East Lynne, " good-naturedly observed Mr. Carlyle. "Nobody would think of looking for him there. I think it is a pity thatyou should not meet, if you do feel inclined to help him. "

"You are a deal more considerate to him than he deserves, Mr. Carlyle. May I ask if you intend to act for him in a professional capacity?"

"I do not. "

A few more words, and it was decided that Captain Levison should beimmediately sent for. As Mr. Carlyle left Sir Peter's presence, heencountered Lady Levison. 

"I can scarcely be ignorant that your conference with my husband hasreference to his grandnephew, " she observed. 

"It has, " replied Mr. Carlyle. 

"I have had a very bad opinion of him, Mr. Carlyle; at the same time Ido not wish you to carry away a wrong impression of me. Francis Levisonis my husband's nephew, his presumptive heir; it may, therefore, appearstrange that I set my face against him. Two or three years ago, previousto my marriage with Sir Peter, in fact before I knew Sir Peter, I wasbrought into contact with Francis Levison. He got acquainted with somefriends of mine, and at their house I met him. He behaved shamefullyill; he repaid their hospitality with gross ingratitude; other detailsand facts regarding his conduct also became known to me. AltogetherI believe him to be a base and despicable man, both by nature andinclination, and that he will remain such to the end of time. "

"I know very little indeed of him, " observed Mr. Carlyle. "May I inquirethe nature of his ill-conduct in that instance?"

"He ruined them--he ruined them, Mr. Carlyle. They were simple, unsuspicious country people, understanding neither fraud nor vice, northe ways of an evil world. Francis Levison got them to put their namesto bills, 'as a matter of form, to accommodate him for a month or so, 'he stated, and so they believed. They were not wealthy; they livedupon their own small estate, with none too much of superfluous moneyto spare, and when the time came for them to pay--as come it did--itbrought ruin, and they had to leave their home. He deliberately didit--knowing what would be the end. And I could tell you of other things. Sir Peter may have informed you that I object to receive him here. I do. My objection is to the man--to his character; not owing, as I hear ithas been said, to any jealous paltry feeling touching his being theheir. I must lose my own self-respect before I admit Francis Levison tomy house as an inmate. Sir Peter may assist him in welcome--may pay hisdebt, and get him out of his scrapes as often as he pleases, but I willnot have him here. "

"Sir Peter said you declined to receive him. But it is necessary that heshould come to England, if his affairs are to be set straight, and alsothat he should see Sir Peter. "

"Come to England!" interrupted Lady Levison. "How can he come to Englandunder present circumstances, unless, indeed, he comes _en cachette_?"

"_En cachette_, of course, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "There is no other way. I have offered to let him stay at East Lynne. He is, you may be aware, asort of connection of Lady Isabel's. "

"Take care that he does not repay _your_ hospitality with ingratitude, "warmly returned Lady Levison. "It would only be in accordance with hispractice. "

Mr. Carlyle laughed. 

"I do not see what harm he could do me, allowing that he had theinclination. He would not scare my clients from me, or beat my children, and I can take care of my pocket. A few days will, no doubt, be theextent of his sojourn. "

Lady Levison smiled too, and shook hands with Mr. Carlyle. 

"In your house, perhaps, there may be no field for his vagaries, butrely upon it, where there is one he is sure to be at some mischief orother. "

This visit of Mr. Carlyle's to Levison Park took place on a Fridaymorning, and on his return to his office he dispatched an account of itto Captain Levison at Boulogne, telling him he had better come over. Butnow Mr. Carlyle, like many another man whose mind has its share of work, was sometimes forgetful of trifles, and it entirely slipped hismemory to mention the expected arrival at home. The following evening, Saturday, he and Lady Isabel were dining in the neighborhood, when theconversation at table turned upon the Ducies and their embarrassments. The association of ideas led Mr. Carlyle's thoughts to Boulogne, toCaptain Levison and _his_ embarrassments, and it immediately occurred tohim that he had not told his wife of the anticipated visit. He keptit in his mind then, and spoke as soon as they were in the chariotreturning home. 

"Isabel, " began he, "I suppose we have always rooms ready for visitors, because I am expecting one. "

"Oh, yes; or if not, they are soon made ready. "

"Ah, but to-morrow's Sunday, and I have no doubt that's the day he willtake advantage of to come. I am sorry I forgot to mention it yesterday. "

"Who is coming, then?"

"Captain Levison. "

"Who?" repeated Lady Isabel, in a sharp tone of consternation. 

"Captain Levison. Sir Peter consents to see him, with a view to thesettlement of his liabilities, but Lady Levison declines to receive himat the Park. So I offered to give him house-room at East Lynne for a fewdays. "

There is an old saying, "the heart leaping into the mouth;" and LadyIsabel's leaped into hers. She grew dizzy at the words--her sensesseemed momentarily to desert her. Her first sensation was as if the dullearth had opened and shown her a way into Paradise; her second, a livelyconsciousness that Francis Levison ought not to be suffered to comeagain into companionship with her. Mr. Carlyle continued to converse ofthe man's embarrassments, of his own interview with Sir Peter and LadyLevison; but Isabel was as one who heard not. She was debating thequestion, how she could prevent his coming?

"Archibald, " she presently said, "I do not wish Francis Levison to stayat East Lynne. "

"It will only be for a few days--perhaps but a day or two. Sir Peteris in the humor to discharge the claims, and, the moment his resolve isknown, the ex-captain can walk on her majesty's dominions, an unmolestedman, free to go where he will. "

"That may be, " interrupted Lady Isabel, in an accent of impatience; "butwhy should he come to our house?"

"I proposed it myself. I had no idea you would dislike his coming. Whyshould you?"

"I don't like Francis Levison, " she murmured. "That is, I don't care tohave him at East Lynne. "

"My dear, I fear there is no help for it now; he is most likely on hisroad, and will arrive to-morrow. I cannot turn him out again, after myown voluntary invitation. Had I known it would be disagreeable to you, Iwould not have proposed it. "

"To-morrow!" she exclaimed, all the words that caught her ear. "Is hecoming to-morrow?"

"Being Sunday, a free day, he will be sure to take advantage of it. Whathas he done that you should object to his coming? You did not say inBoulogne that you disliked him. "

"He had done nothing, " was her faltering answer, feeling that hergrounds of opposition must melt under her one by one. 

"Lady Levison appears to possess a very ill opinion of him, " resumed Mr. Carlyle. "She says she knew him in years gone by. She mentioned one ortwo things which, if true, must be bad enough. But possibly she may beprejudiced. "

"She is prejudiced, " said Isabel. "At least Francis Levison told me atBoulogne. There appeared to be no love lost between them. "

"At any rate, his ill doings or well doings cannot affect us for theshort period he is likely to remain. You have taken a prejudice againsthim also, I suppose, Isabel. "

She suffered Mr. Carlyle to remain in the belief, and sat with claspedhands and a despairing spirit feeling that fate was against her. 

How could she accomplish her task of forgetting this man, if he was thusto be thrown into her home and her companionship? Suddenly she turned toher husband, and laid her cheek upon his shoulder. 

He thought she was tired. He passed his arm round her waist, drew herface to a more comfortable position, and bent his own lovingly uponit. It came to her mind, as she lay there, to tell him a portion of thetruth, like it had done once before. It was a strong arm of shelter, that round her--a powerful pillar of protection, him upon whom sheleaned; why did she not confide herself to him as trustingly as a littlechild? Simply because her courage failed. Once, twice, the opening wordswere upon her lips, but come forth they did not; and then the carriagestopped at East Lynne, and the opportunity was over. Oh! How many a timein her after years did Lady Isabel recall that midnight drive with herhusband, and wish, in her vain repentance, that she had opened his eyesto that dangerous man. 

On Sunday Captain Levison arrived at East Lynne. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

MRS. HARE'S DREAM. 

The next day rose bright, warm, and cloudless, and the morning sunstreamed into the bedroom of Mrs. Hare. Mr. And Mrs. Hare were ofthe old-fashioned class who knew nothing about dressing-rooms, theirbedrooms were very large, and they never used a dressing-room in theirlives, or found the want of one. The justice rubbed his face to ashining brilliancy, settled on his morning wig and his dressing-gown, and then turned to the bed. 

"What will you have for breakfast?"

"Thank you, Richard, I do not think that I can eat any thing. I shall beglad of my tea; I am very thirsty. "

"All nonsense, " responded the justice, alluding to the intimation of noteating. "Have a poached egg. "

Mrs. Hare smiled at him, and gently shook her head. "You are very kind, Richard, but I could not eat it this morning. Barbara may send up thesmallest bit of dry toast. Would you please throw the window open beforeyou go down; I should like to feel the air. "

"You will get the air too near from this window, " replied Mr. JusticeHare, opening the further one. Had his wife requested that the furtherone to be opened, he would have opened the other; his own will andopinions were ever paramount. Then he descended. 

A minute or two, and up ran Barbara, looking bright and fair as themorning, her pink muslin dress, with its ribbons and its open white lacesleeves, as pretty as she was. She leaned over to kiss her mother. 

"Mamma, are you ill? And you have been so well lately; you went to bedso well last night. Papa says--"

"Barbara, dear, " interrupted Mrs. Hare, glancing round the room withdread, and speaking in a deep whisper, "I have had one of those dreadfuldreams again. "

"Oh, mamma, how _can_ you!" exclaimed Barbara, starting up in vexation. "How can you suffer a foolish dream to overcome you as to make you ill?You have good sense in other matters, but, in this, you seem to put allsense away from you. "

"Child, will you tell me how I am to help it?" returned Mrs. Hare, taking Barbara's hand and drawing her to her again. "I do not givemyself the dreams; I cannot prevent their making me sick, prostrate, feverish. How can I help these things, I ask?"

At this moment the bedroom door was flung open, and the face of thejustice, especially stern and cross then was pushed in. So startled wasMrs. Hare, that she shook till she shook the pillow, and Barbara sprangaway from the bed. Surely he had not distinguished their topic ofconversation!

"Are you coming to make the breakfast to-day, or not Barbara? Do youexpect me to make it?"

"She is coming this instant, Richard, " said Mrs. Hare, her voice morefaint than usual. And the justice turned and stamped down again. 

"Barbara, could your papa have heard me mention Richard?"

"No, no, mamma impossible: the door was shut. I will bring up yourbreakfast myself and then you can tell me the dream. "

Barbara flew after Mr. Hare, poured out his coffee, saw him settledat his breakfast, with a plateful of grouse-pie before him, and thenreturned upstairs with her mamma's tea and dry toast. 

"Go on with your dream, mamma, " she said. 

"But your breakfast will be cold, child. "

"Oh, don't mind that. Did you dream of Richard?"

"Not very much of Richard; except that the old and continuous trouble ofhis being away and unable to return, seemed to pervade it all through. You remember, Barbara, Richard asserted to us, in that short, hiddennight visit, that he did not commit the murder; that it was another whodid?"

"Yes, I remember it, " replied Barbara. 

"Barbara, I am convinced he spoke the truth; I trust him implicitly. "

"I feel sure of it also, mamma. "

"I asked him, you remember, whether it was Otway Bethel who committedit; for I have always doubted Bethel, in an indefinite, vague manner. Richard replied it was not Bethel, but a stranger. Well, Barbara, in mydream I thought that stranger came to West Lynne, that he came to thishouse here, and we were talking to him of him, conversing as we mightwith any other visitor. Mind you, we seemed to _know_ that he was theone who actually did it; but he denied it. He wanted to put it uponRichard; and I saw him, yes I did, Barbara--whisper to Otway Bethel. Butoh, I cannot tell you the sickening horror that was upon me throughout, and seemed to be upon you also, lest he should make good his ownapparent innocence, and crush Richard, his victim. I think the dread andhorror awoke me. "

"What was he like, this stranger?" asked Barbara, in a low tone. 

"Well, I cannot quite tell. The recollection of his appearance seemed topass away from me with the dream. He was dressed as a gentleman, and weconversed, with him as an equal. "

Barbara's mind was full of Captain Thorn, but his name had not beenmentioned to Mrs. Hare, and neither would she mention it now. She fellinto deep thought; and Mrs. Hare had to speak twice before she could bearoused. 

"Barbara, I say, don't you think this dream, coming uncalled foruninduced, must forebode some ill? Rely upon it, something connectedwith that wretched murder is going to be stirred up again. "

"You know, I do not believe in dreams, " was Barbara's answer. "I thinkwhen people say, 'this dream is a sign of such and such a thing, ' it isthe greatest absurdity in the world. I wish you could remember what theman seemed like in your dream. "

"I wish I could, " answered Mrs. Hare, breaking off a particle of her drytoast. "All I can remember is, that he appeared to be a gentleman. "

"Was he tall? Had he black hair?"

Mrs. Hare shook her heard. "I tell you, my dear, the remembrance haspassed from me; so whether his hair was black or light, I cannot say. I think he was tall, but he was sitting down, and Otway Bethel stoodbehind his chair. I seemed to feel that Richard was outside the door inhiding, trembling lest the man should go out and see him there; and Itrembled, too. Oh, Barbara, it was a distressing dream!"

"I wish you could avoid having them, mamma, for they seem to upset youvery much. "

"Why did you ask whether the man was tall, and had black hair?"

Barbara returned an evasive answer. It would not do to tell Mrs. Harethat her suspicions pointed to one particular quarter; it would haveagitated her too greatly. 

So vivid was the dream, she could scarcely persuade herself, when sheawoke, that it was not real, and the murderer actually at West Lynne. 

"Oh, Barbara, Barbara!" she exclaimed, in a wailing tone, "when willthis mystery be cleared, and my own restored to me? Seven years since hestole here to see us, and no tidings yet. "

"People say that changes come every seven years, mamma, " said Barbara, hopefully; "but I will go down and send you up some more tea. "

"And guard your countenance well, " returned her mother. "Don't let yourfather suspect anything. Remember his oath to bring Richard to justice. If he thought we dwelt on his innocence, there is no knowing what hemight do to find him, he is so very just. "

"So very cruel and unnatural, I call it, mamma. But never fear mybetraying anything. But have you heard about Joyce?"

"No. What is it?"

"She had a severe fall while playing with little Isabel, and it is saidshe will be confined to bed for several weeks. I am very sorry for her. "And, composing her face, she descended to the breakfast-room. 

The dinner hour at the Hares', when they were alone, was four o'clockand it arrived that day as usual, and they sat down to table. Mrs. Harewas better then; the sunshine and the business of stirring life had insome measure effaced the visions of the night, and restored her to herwonted frame of mind. 

The cloth removed, the justice sat but a little while over his portwine, for he was engaged to smoke an after-dinner pipe with a brothermagistrate, Mr. Justice Herbert. 

"Shall you be home to tea, papa?" inquired Barbara. 

"Is it any business of yours, young lady?"

"Oh, not in the least, " answered Miss Barbara. "Only if you had beencoming home to tea, I suppose we must have waited, had you not been intime. "

"I thought you said, Richard, that you were going to stay the eveningwith Mr. Herbert?" observed Mrs. Hare. 

"So I am, " responded the justice. "But Barbara has a great liking forthe sound of her own tongue. "

The justice departed, striding pompously down the gravel walk. Barbarawaltzed round the large room to a gleeful song, as if she felt hisabsence a relief. Perhaps she did. "You can have tea now, mamma, at anytime you please, if you are thirsty, without waiting till seven, " quothshe. 

"Barbara!" said Mrs. Hare. 

"What, mamma?"

"I am sorry to hear of the calamity which has fallen upon Joyce! Ishould like to walk to East Lynne this evening and inquire after her, and see her, if I may; it would be but neighborly. I feel quite equal toit. Since I have accustomed myself to take more exercise I feel betterfor it, you know; and we have not been out to-day. Poor Joyce! What timeshall we go, Barbara?"

"If we were to get there by--by seven, I should think; their dinner willbe over then. "

"Yes, " answered Mrs. Hare, with alacrity, who was always pleased whensomebody else decided for her. "But I should like some tea before westart, Barbara. "

Barbara took care that her mamma should have some tea and then theyproceeded toward East Lynne. It was a lovely evening--the air warm, andthe humming gnats sported in it as if to make the most of the waningsummer. Mrs. Hare enjoyed it at first, but ere she reached East Lynne, she became aware that the walk was too much for her. She did not usuallyventure upon half so long a one, and probably the fever and agitation ofthe morning had somewhat impaired her day's strength. She laid her handupon the iron gate as they turned into the park, and stood still. 

"I did wrong to come, Barbara. "

"Lean on me, mamma. When you reach those benches, you can take a goodrest before proceeding to the house. It is very warm, and that may havefatigued you. "

They gained the benches, which were placed under some of the park trees, in front of the gates and the road, but not of the house, and Mrs. Haresat down. Another minute and they were surrounded. Mr. Carlyle, hiswife, and sister, who were taking an after-dinner stroll amidst theflowers with their guest, Francis Levison, discerned them, and came up. The children, except the youngest, were of the party. Lady Isabel warmlywelcomed Mrs. Hare; she had become quite attached to the delicate andsuffering woman. 

"A pretty one, I am, am I not, Archibald, to come inquiring afterone invalid, and am so much of an invalid myself that I have to stophalf-way?" Mrs. Hare exclaimed, as Mr. Carlyle shook her hand. "I was sogreatly concerned to hear of poor Joyce. "

"You must stay the evening, now you are here, " cried Lady Isabel. "Itwill afford you a good rest; and tea will refresh you. "

"Oh thank you, but we have taken tea, " said Mrs. Hare. 

"There is no reason why you should not take some more, " she laughed. "Indeed, you seem too fatigued to be anything but a prisoner with us forthe next hour or two. "

"I fear I am, " answered Mrs. Hare. 

"Who the dickens are they?" Captain Levison was muttering to himself, ashe contemplated the guests from a distance. "It's a deuced pretty girl, whoever she may be. I think I'll approach, they don't look formidable. "

He did approach, and the introduction was made: "Captain Levison, Mrs. Hare and Miss Hare. " A few formal words, and Captain Levison disappearedagain, challenging little William Carlyle to a foot-race. 

"How very poorly your mamma looks!" Mr. Carlyle exclaimed to Barbara, when they were beyond the hearing of Mrs. Hare, who was busy talkingwith Lady Isabel and Miss Carlyle. "And she has appeared so muchstronger lately; altogether better. "

"The walk here has fatigued her; I feared it would be too long; so thatshe looks unusually pale, " replied Barbara. "But what do you think it isthat has upset her again, Mr. Carlyle?"

He turned his inquiring eyes upon Barbara. 

"Papa came downstairs this morning, saying mamma was ill, that she hadone of her old attacks of fever and restlessness. I declare, as papaspoke, I thought to myself could mamma have been dreaming some foolishdream again--for you remember how ill she used to be after them. I ranupstairs and the first thing that mamma said to me was, that she had hadone of those dreadful dreams. "

"I fancied she must have outlived her fear of them; that her own plainsense had come to her aid long ago, showing her how futile dreams are, meaning nothing, even if hers do occasionally touch upon that--thatunhappy mystery. "

"You may just as well reason with a post as reason with mamma whenshe is suffering from the influence of one of those dreams, " returnedBarbara. "I tried it this morning. I asked her to call up--as youobserve--good sense to her aid. And her reply was, 'How could she helpher feelings? She did not induce the dream by thinking of Richard, orin any other way, and yet it came and shattered her. ' Of course so far, mamma is right, for she cannot help the dreams coming. "

Mr. Carlyle made no immediate reply. He picked up a ball belonging toone of the children, which lay in his path, and began tossing it gentlyin his hand. "It is a singular thing, " he observed, presently, "that wedo not hear from Richard. "

"Oh, very, very. And I know mamma distresses over it. A few words whichshe let fall this morning, betrayed it plainly. I am no believer indreams, " continued Barbara, "but I cannot deny that these, which takesuch a hold upon mamma, do bear upon the case in a curious manner--theone she had last night especially. "

"What was it?" asked Mr. Carlyle. 

"She dreamed that the real murderer was at West Lynne. She thought hewas at our house--as a visitor, she said, or like one making a morningcall--and we, she and I, were conversing with him about the murder. Hewanted to deny it--to put it on Richard; and he turned and whisperedto Otway Bethel, who stood behind his chair. This is another strangething, " added Barbara, lifting her blue eyes in their deep earnestnessto the face of Mr. Carlyle. 

"What is strange? You speak in enigmas, Barbara. "

"I mean that Otway Bethel should invariably appear in her dreams. Untilthat stolen visit of Richard's we had no idea he was near the spotat the time, and yet he had always made a prominent feature in thesedreams. "

"And who was the murderer--in your mamma's dream?" continued Mr. Carlyle, speaking as gravely as though he were upon a subject that menridicule not. 

"She cannot remember, except that he seemed a gentleman, and that weheld intercourse with him as such. Now, that again is remarkable. Wenever told her, you know, of our suspicions of Captain Thorn. "

"I think you must be becoming a convert to the theory of dreamsyourself, Barbara; you are so very earnest, " smiled Mr. Carlyle. 

"No, not to dreams; but I am earnest for my dear brother Richard'ssake. "

"That Thorn does not appear in a hurry again to favor West Lynne withhis----"

Mr. Carlyle paused, for Barbara had hurriedly laid her hand upon hisarm, with a warning gesture. In talking they had wandered acrossthe park to its ornamental grounds, and were now in a quiet path, overshadowed on the other side by a chain of imitation rocks. Seatedastride on the summit of these rocks, right above where Mr. Carlyle andBarbara were standing was Francis Levison. His face was turned from themand he appeared intent upon a child's whip, winding leather round itshandle. Whether he heard their footsteps or not, he did not turn. Theyquickened their pace, and quitted the walk, bending their steps backwardtoward the group of ladies. 

"Could he have heard what we were saying?" ejaculated Barbara, below herbreath. 

Mr. Carlyle looked down upon the concerned, flushed cheeks with a smile. Barbara was so evidently perturbed. But for a certain episode of theirlives, some years ago, he might have soothed her tenderly. 

"I think he must have heard a little, Barbara, unless his wits werewool-gathering. He might not be attending. What if he did hear? It is ofno consequence. "

"I was speaking, you know, of Captain Thorn--of his being the murderer. "

"You were not speaking of Richard or his movements, so never mind. Levison is a stranger to the whole. It is nothing to him. If he did hearthe name of Thorn mentioned, or even distinguished the subject, it wouldbear for him no interest--would go, as the saying runs, 'in at one earand out at the other. ' Be at rest, Barbara. "

He really did look somewhat tenderly upon her as he spoke--and they werenear enough to Lady Isabel for her to note the glance. She need not havebeen jealous: it bore no treachery to her. But she did note it; shehad noted also their wandering away together, and she jumped to theconclusion that it was premeditated, that they had gone beyond her sightto enjoy each other's society for a few stolen moments. Wonderfullyattractive looked Barbara that evening, for Mr. Carlyle or any one elseto steal away with. Her tasty, elegant airy summer attire, her brightblue eyes, her charming features, and her damask cheeks! She had untiedthe strings of her pretty white bonnet, and was restlessly playing withthem, more in thought than nervousness. 

"Barbara, love, how are we to get home?" asked Mrs. Hare. "I do fear Ishall never walk it. I wish I had told Benjamin to bring the phaeton. "

"I can send to him, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"But it is too bad of me, Archibald, to take you and Lady Isabel bystorm in this unceremonious manner; and to give your servants troublebesides. "

"A great deal too bad, I think, " returned Mr. Carlyle, with mockgravity. "As to the servants, the one who has to go will never get overthe trouble, depend upon it. You always were more concerned for othersthan for yourself, dear Mrs. Hare. "

"And you were always kind, Archibald, smoothing difficulties for all, and making a trouble of nothing. Ah, Lady Isabel, were I a young woman, I should be envying you your good husband; there are not many like him. "

Possibly the sentence reminded Lady Isabel that another, who was young, might be envying her, for her cheeks--Isabel's--flushed crimson. Mr. Carlyle held out his strong arm of help to Mrs. Hare. 

"If sufficiently rested, I fancy you would be more comfortable on a sofaindoors. Allow me to support you thither. "

"And you can take my arm on the other side, " cried Miss Carlyle, placingher tall form by Mrs. Hare. "Between us both we will pull you bravelyalong; your feet need scarcely touch the ground. "

Mrs. Hare laughed, but said she thought Mr. Carlyle's arm would besufficient. She took it, and they were turning toward the house, whenher eye caught the form of a gentleman passing along the road by thepark gate. 

"Barbara, run, " she hurriedly exclaimed. "There's Tom Herbert goingtoward our house, and he will just call in and tell them to send thephaeton, if you ask him, which will save the trouble to Mr. Carlyle'sservants of going expressly. Make haste, child! You will be up with himin half a minute. "

Barbara, thus urged, set off, on the spur of the moment, toward thegates, before the rest of the party well knew what was being done. Itwas too late for Mr. Carlyle to stop her and repeat that the servantshould go, for Barbara was already up with Mr. Tom Herbert. The latterhad seen her running toward him, and waited at the gate. 

"Are you going past our house?" inquired Barbara, perceiving then thatOtway Bethel also stood there, but just beyond the view of the women. 

"Yes. Why?" replied Tom Herbert, who was not famed for his politeness, being blunt by nature and "fast" by habit. 

"Mamma would be so much obliged to you, if you would just call in andleave word that Benjamin is to bring up the phaeton. Mamma walked here, intending to walk home, but she finds herself so fatigued as to beunequal to it. "

"All right. I'll call and send him. What time?"

Nothing had been said to Barbara about the time, so she was at libertyto name her own. "Ten o'clock. We shall be home then before papa. "

"That you will, " responded Tom Herbert. "He and the governor, and two orthree more old codgers, are blowing clouds till you can't see across theroom; and they are sure to get at it after supper. I say, Miss Barbaraare you engaged for a few picnics?"

"Good for a great many, " returned Barbara. 

"Our girls want to get up some in the next week or two. Jack's home, youknow. "

"Is he?" said Barbara, in surprise. 

"We had a letter yesterday, and he came to-day--a brother officer withhim. Jack vows if the girls don't cater well for them in the way ofamusement, he'll never honor them by spending his leave at home again;so mind you keep yourself in readiness for any fun that may turn up. Good evening. "

"Good evening, Miss Hare, " added Otway Bethel. 

As Barbara was returning the salutation, she became conscious of otherfootsteps advancing from the same direction that they had come, andmoved her head hastily round. Two gentlemen, walking arm-in-arm, wereclose upon her, in one of whom she recognized "Jack, " otherwise MajorHerbert. He stopped, and held out his hand. 

"It is some years since we met, but I have not forgotten the pretty faceof Miss Barbara, " he cried. "A young girl's face it was then, but it isa stately young lady's now. "

Barbara laughed. "Your brother has just told me you had arrived at WestLynne; but I did not know you were so close to me. He has been asking meif I am ready for some pic--"

Barbara's voice faltered, and the rushing crimson dyed her face. Whoseface was _that_, who was he, standing opposite to her, side by sidewith John Herbert? She had seen the face but once, yet it had implanteditself upon her memory in characters of fire. Major Herbert continuedto talk, but Barbara for once lost her self-possession; she could notlisten, she could only stare at that face as if fascinated to the gaze, looking herself something like a simpleton, her shy blue eyes anxiousand restless, and her lips turning to an ashy whiteness. A strangefeeling of wonder, of superstition was creeping over Barbara. Was thatman behind her in sober, veritable reality--or was it but a phantomcalled up in her mind by the associations rising from her mamma's dream;or by the conversation held not many moments ago with Mr. Carlyle. 

Major Herbert may have deemed that Barbara, who evidently could notattend to himself, but was attending to his companion, wished for anintroduction, and he accordingly made it. "_Captain Thorn_--Miss Hare. "

Then Barbara roused herself; her senses were partially coming to her, and she became alive to the fact that they must deem her behaviorunorthodox for a young lady. 

"I--I looked at Captain Thorn, for I thought I remembered his face, " shestammered. 

"I was in West Lynne for a day or two, some five years ago, " heobserved. 

"Ah--yes, " returned Barbara. "Are you going to make a long stay now?"

"We have several weeks' leave of absence. Whether we shall remain hereall the time I cannot say. "

Barbara parted from them. Thought upon thought crowded upon her brain asshe flew back to East Lynne. She ran up the steps to the hall, glidingtoward a group which stood near its further end--her mother, MissCarlyle, Mr. Carlyle, and little Isabel; Lady Isabel she did not see. Mrs. Hare was then going up to see Joyce. 

In the agitation of the moment she stealthily touched Mr. Carlyle, andhe stepped away from the rest to speak to her, she drawing back towardthe door of one of the reception rooms, and motioning him to approach. 

"Oh, Archibald, I must speak to you alone! Could you not come out againfor a little while?"

He nodded, and walked out openly by her side. Why should he not? Whathad he to conceal? But, unfortunately, Lady Isabel, who had but goneinto that same room for a minute, and was coming out again to joinMrs. Hare, both saw Barbara's touch upon her husband's arm, marked heragitation, and heard her words. She went to one of the hall windows andwatched them saunter toward the more private part of the ground; shesaw her husband send back Isabel. Never, since her marriage, had LadyIsabel's jealousy been excited as it was excited that evening. 

"I--I feel--I scarcely know whether I am awake or dreaming, " beganBarbara, putting up her hand to her brow and speaking in a dreamy tone. "Pardon me for bringing you out in this unceremonious fashion. "

"What state secrets have you to discuss?" asked Mr. Carlyle in a jestingmanner. 

"We were speaking of mamma's dream. She said the impression it had leftupon her mind--that the murderer was in West Lynne--was so vivid thatin spite of common sense she could not persuade herself that he was not. Well--just now----"

"Barbara, what _can_ be the matter?" uttered Mr. Carlyle, perceivingthat her agitation was so great as to impede her words. 

"_I have just seen him!_" she rejoined. 

"Seen him!" echoed Mr. Carlyle, looking at her fixedly, a doubt crossinghis mind whether Barbara's mind might be as uncollected as her manner. 

"What were nearly my last words to you? That if ever that Thorn did cometo West Lynne again, I would leave no stone unturned to bring it home tohim. He is here, Archibald. Now, when I went to the gate to speak toTom Herbert, his brother, Major Herbert, was also there, and with himCaptain Thorn. Bethel, also. Do you wonder I say that I know not whetherI am awake or dreaming? They have some weeks' holiday, and are here tospend it. "

"It is a singular coincidence, " exclaimed Mr. Carlyle. 

"Had anything been wanting to convince me that Thorn is the guilty man, this would have done it, " went on Barbara, in her excitement. "Mamma'sdream, with the steadfast impression it left upon her that Hallijohn'smurderer was now at West Lynne--"

In turning the sharp corner of the covered walk they came in contactwith Captain Levison, who appeared to be either standing or saunteringthere, his hands underneath his coat-tails. Again Barbara felt vexed, wondering how much he had heard, and beginning in her heart to dislikethe man. He accosted them familiarly, and appeared as if he would haveturned with them; but none could put down presumption more effectuallythan Mr. Carlyle, calm and gentlemanly though he always was. 

"I will join you presently, Captain Levison, " he said with a wave of thehand. And he turned back with Barbara toward the open parts of the park. 

"Do you like that Captain Levison?" she abruptly inquired, when theywere beyond hearing. 

"I cannot say I do, " was Mr. Carlyle's reply. "He is one who does notimprove upon acquaintance. "

"To me it looks as though he had placed himself in our way to hear whatwe were saying. "

"No, no, Barbara. What interest could it bear for him?"

Barbara did not contest the point; she turned to the one nearer atheart. "What must be our course with regard to Thorn?"

"It is more than I can tell you, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "I cannot goup to the man and unceremoniously accuse him of being Hallijohn'smurderer. "

They took their way to the house, for there was nothing further todiscuss. Captain Levison entered it before them, and saw Lady Isabelstanding at the hall window. Yes, she was standing and looking still, brooding over her fancied wrongs. 

"Who is that Miss Hare?" he demanded in a cynical tone. "They appear tohave a pretty good understanding together. Twice this evening I have metthem enjoying a private walk and a private confab. "

"What did you say?" sharply and haughtily returned Lady Isabel. 

"Nay, I did not mean to offend you, " was the answer, for he knew thatshe heard his words distinctly in spite of her question. "I spoke of_Monsieur votre mari_. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

CAPTAIN THORN IN TROUBLE ABOUT "A BILL. "

In talking over a bygone misfortune, we sometimes make the remark, orhear it made to us, "Circumstances worked against it. " Such and sucha thing might have turned out differently, we say, had the surroundingcircumstances been more favorable, but they were in opposition; theywere dead against it. Now, if ever attendant circumstances can be saidto have borne a baneful influence upon any person in this world, theymost assuredly did at this present time against Lady Isabel Carlyle. 

Coeval, you see, with the arrival of the ex-captain, Levison, at EastLynne, all the jealous feeling, touching her husband and Barbara Hare, was renewed, and with greater force than ever. Barbara, painfullyanxious that something should be brought to light, it would havepuzzled her to say how or by what means, by which her brother should beexonerated from the terrible charge under which he lay; fully believingthat Frederick Thorn, captain in her majesty's service, was the manwho had committed the crime, as asserted by Richard, was in a state ofexcitement bordering upon frenzy. Too keenly she felt the truth of herown words, that she was powerless, that she could, herself, donothing. When she rose in the morning, after a night passed in troubledreflection more than in sleep, her thoughts were, "Oh, that I couldthis day find out something certain!" She was often at the Herberts';frequently invited there--sometimes going uninvited. She and theHerberts were intimate and they pressed Barbara into all the impromptugay doings, now their brother was at home. There she of course sawCaptain Thorn, and now and then she was enabled to pick up scraps of hispast history. Eagerly were these scraps carried to Mr. Carlyle. Not athis office; Barbara would not appear there. Perhaps she was afraid ofthe gossiping tongues of West Lynne, or that her visits might have cometo the knowledge of that stern, prying, and questioning old gentlemanwhom she called sire. It may be too, that she feared, if seen hauntingMr. Carlyle's office, Captain Thorn might come to hear of it and suspectthe agitation, that was afloat--for who could know better than he, theguilt that was falsely attaching to Richard? Therefore she chose ratherto go to East Lynne, or to waylay Mr. Carlyle as he passed to and frombusiness. It was little she gathered to tell him; one evening she methim with the news that Mr. Thorn _had_ been in former years at WestLynne, though she could not fix the date; another time she went boldlyto East Lynne in eager anxiety, ostensibly to make a call on LadyIsabel--and a very restless one it was--contriving to make Mr. Carlyleunderstand that she wanted to see him alone. He went out with her whenshe departed, and accompanied her as far as the park gates, the twoevidently absorbed in earnest converse. Lady Isabel's jealous eye sawthat. The communication Barbara had to make was, that Captain Thorn hadlet fall the avowal that he had once been "in trouble, " though of itsnature there was no indication given. Another journey of hers took thescrap of news that she had discovered he knew Swainson well. Partof this, nay, perhaps the whole of it, Mr. Carlyle had found out forhimself; nevertheless he always received Barbara with vivid interest. Richard Hare was related to Miss Carlyle, and if his innocence could bemade clear in the sight of men, it would be little less gratifyingto them than to the Hares. Of Richard's innocence, Mr. Carlyle nowentertained little, if any doubt, and he was becoming impressed with theguilt of Captain Thorn. The latter spoke mysteriously of a portion ofhis past life--when he could be brought to speak of it at all--and hebore evidently some secret that he did not care to have alluded to. 

But now look at the mean treachery of that man, Francis Levison! The fewmeetings that Lady Isabel did witness between her husband and Barbarawould have been quite enough to excite her anger and jealousy, totrouble her peace; but, in addition, Francis Levison took care to tellher of those she did not see. It pleased him--he could best tell withwhat motive--to watch the movements of Mr. Carlyle and Barbara. Therewas a hedge pathway through the fields, on the opposite side of the roadto the residence of Justice Hare, and as Mr. Carlyle walked down theroad to business in his unsuspicion (not one time in fifty did he chooseto ride; the walk to and fro kept him in health, he said), CaptainLevison would be strolling down like a serpent behind the hedge, watching all his movements, watching his interviews with Barbara, did any take place, watching Mr. Carlyle turn into the grove, as hesometimes did, and perhaps watch Barbara run out of the house to meethim. It was all related over, and with miserable exaggeration, to LadyIsabel, whose jealousy, as a natural sequence, grew feverish in itsextent. 

It is scarcely necessary to explain, that of this feeling of LadyIsabel's Barbara knew nothing; not a shadow of suspicion had everpenetrated to her mind that Lady Isabel was jealous of her. Had she beentold that such was the fact, she would have laughed in derision at herinformant. Mr. Carlyle's happy wife, proudly secure in her position andin his affection, jealous of _her!_ of her, to whom he had never givenan admiring look or a loving word! It would have taken a great deal tomake Barbara believe that. 

How different were the facts in reality. These meetings of Mr. Carlyle'sand Barbara's, instead of episodes of love-making and tender speeches, were positively painful, especially to Barbara, from the unhappynature of the subject to be discussed. Far from feeling a reprehensiblepleasure at seeking the meetings with Mr. Carlyle, Barbara shrank fromthem; but that she was urged by dire necessity, in the interests ofRichard, she would wholly have avoided such. Poor Barbara, in spiteof that explosion of bottled-up excitement years back, was a lady, possessed of a lady's ideas and feelings, and--remembering theexplosion--it did not accord with her pride at all to be pushing herselfinto what might be called secret meetings with Archibald Carlyle. ButBarbara, in her sisterly love, pressed down all thought of self, andwent perseveringly forward for Richard's sake. 

Mr. Carlyle was seated one morning in his private room at his office, when his head clerk, Mr. Dill came in. "A gentleman is asking to seeyou, Mr. Archibald. "

"I am too busy to see anybody for this hour to come. You know that, Dill. "

"So I told him, sir, and he says he'll wait. It is that Captain Thornwho is staying here with John Herbert. "

Mr. Carlyle raised his eyes, and they encountered those of the old man;a peculiar expression was in the face of both. Mr. Carlyle glanced downat the parchment he was perusing, as if calculating his time. Then helooked up again and spoke. 

"I will see _him_, Dill. Send him in. "

The business leading to the visit was quite simple. Captain FrederickThorn had got himself into some trouble and vexation about "a bill"--astoo many captains will do--and he had come to crave advice of Mr. Carlyle. 

Mr. Carlyle felt dubious about giving it. This Captain Thorn was apleasant, attractive sort of a man, who won much on acquaintance; onewhom Mr. Carlyle would have been pleased, in a friendly point ofview, and setting professional interest apart, to help out of hisdifficulties; but if he were the villain they suspected him to be, theman with crime upon his hand, then Mr. Carlyle would have ordered hisoffice door held wide for him to slink out of it. 

"Cannot you advise me what my course ought to be?" he inquired, detecting Mr. Carlyle's hesitation. 

"I could advise you, certainly. But--you must excuse my being plain, Captain Thorn--I like to know who my clients are before I take up theircause or accept them as clients. "

"I am able to pay you, " was Captain Thorn's reply. "I am not short ofready money; only this bill--"

Mr. Carlyle laughed out, after having bit his lip with annoyance. "Itwas a natural inference of yours, " he said, "but I assure you I was notthinking of your purse or my pocket. My father held it right neverto undertake business for a stranger--unless a man was good, in arespectable point of view, and his cause was good, he did not mentionit--and I have acted on the same principle. By these means, the positionand character of our business, is rarely attained by a solicitor. Now, in saying that you are a stranger to me, I am not casting any doubt uponyou, Captain Thorn, I am merely upholding my common practice. "

"My family is well connected, " was Captain Thorn's next venture. 

"Excuse me; family has nothing to do with it. If the poorest daylaborer, if a pauper out of the workhouse came to me for advice, heshould be heartily welcome to it, provided he were an honest man in theface of the day. Again I repeat, you must take no offence at what I say, for I cast no reflection on you; I only urge that you and your characterare unknown to me. "

Curious words from a lawyer to a client-aspirant, and Captain Thornfound them so. But Mr. Carlyle's tone was so courteous, his mannerso affable, in fact he was so thoroughly the gentleman, that it wasimpossible to feel hurt. 

"Well, how can I convince you that I am respectable? I have served mycountry ever since I was sixteen, and my brother officers have found nocause of complaint--any position as an officer and a gentleman would begenerally deemed a sufficient guarantee. Inquire of John Herbert. TheHerberts, too, are friends of yours, and they have not disdained to giveme room amidst their family. "

"True, " returned Mr. Carlyle, feeling that he could not well objectfurther; and also that all men should be deemed innocent until provedguilty. "At any rate, I will advise you what must be done at present, "he added, "though if the affair is one that must go on, I do not promisethat I can continue to act for you. I am very busy just now. "

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

"Yes, I was, " replied Captain Thorn, in a confidential tone. "I don'tmind 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 Iwas a careless young fellow, I was stopping a few miles from here, andgot into a scrape, though 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 itshould 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 hissuspicions. 

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

"Afy--who?" repeated Captain Thorn, opening his eyes, and fixing them onMr. 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 thisplace 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 tellinga story in saying I never heard her name. Afy Hallijohn? Why, that's thegirl Tom Herbert was telling me about--who--what was it?--disappearedafter her father was murdered. "

"Murdered in his own cottage--almost in Afy's presence--murderedby--by----" Mr. Carlyle recollected himself; he had spoken moreimpulsively than was his custom. "Hallijohn was my father's faithfulclerk 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 hasrecalled, what they told me to my recollection, the first evening I wasat the Herberts. Justice Hare was there, smoking--half a dozen pipesthere were going at once. I also saw Miss Barbara that evening at yourpark gates, and Tom told me of the murder. An awful calamity for theHares. 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 nameere 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 whowould be glad to get Barbara, in spite of the murder. Do not depreciateMiss 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 deliberatelyadded. 

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

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

"Afy's favors--I speak in no invidious sense--I mean her smiles andchatter--were pretty freely dispersed, for she was heedless and vain. Amidst others who got the credit for occasional basking in her rays, wasa 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 felthalf inclined to do it. "Upon my word, " he simpered, "you do me too muchhonor; I cannot confess to having been favored by Miss Afy. "

"Then she was not the--the damsel you speak of, who drove you--if Iunderstand aright--from the locality?" resumed Mr. Carlyle, fixing hiseyes upon him, so as to take in every tone of the answer and shade ofcountenance 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. Thingswent smoother after a time, and she and her husband--a stupid countryyeoman--became reconciled; but I have been ashamed of it since I havegrown 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 henot, the man? Mr. Carlyle could not solve the doubt. 

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

"Mr. Archibald, has it struck you that the gentleman just gone out maybe the Lieutenant Thorn you once spoke to me about--he who had used togallop 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 beassured of the fact--if he is the same. "

"I have seen him several times since he has been staying with theHerberts, " pursued the old gentleman, "and my doubts have naturally beenexcited as to whether it could be the man in question. Curious enough, Bezant, the doctor, was over here yesterday from Swainson; and as I waswalking with him, arm-in-arm, we met Captain Thorn. The two recognizedeach other and bowed, merely as distant acquaintances. 'Do you know thatgentleman?' said I to Bezant. 'Yes, ' he answered, 'it is Mr. Frederick. ''Mr. Frederick with something added on to it, ' said I; 'his name isThorn. ' 'I know that, ' returned Bezant; 'but when he was in Swainsonsome years ago, he chose to drop the Thorn, and the town in general knewhim only as Mr. Frederick. ' 'What was he doing there, Bezant?' I asked. 'Amusing himself and getting into mischief, ' was the answer; 'nothingvery bad, only the random scrapes of young men. ' 'Was he often onhorseback, riding to a distance?' was my next question. 'Yes, that hewas, ' replied Bezant; 'none more fond of galloping across the countrythan 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 asI could make out, this was about the very time of the tragedy atHallijohn's. "

"Think?" replied Mr. Carlyle. "What can I think but that it is the sameman. 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 progressingbackward, rather than forward--if that's not Irish. Francis Levison'saffairs--that is, the adjustment of them--did not advance at all. 

Another thing that may be said to be progressing backward, for it wasgoing 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 frequentmeetings with Mr. Carlyle, and by Captain Levison's exaggerated whispersof them. Discontented, ill at ease with herself and with everybodyabout her, Isabel was living now in a state of excitement, a dangerousresentment against her husband beginning to rise up in her heart. Thatvery day--the one of Captain Levison's visit to Levison Park--in drivingthrough West Lynne in the pony carriage, she had come upon her husbandin close converse with Barbara Hare. So absorbed were they, that theynever saw her, though her carriage passed close to the pavement wherethey stood. 

On the morning following this, as the Hare family were seated atbreakfast, the postman was observed coming toward the house. Barbarasprang 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 theircontents, whether they might be addressed to himself or not. 

"It is from Anne, papa, " replied Barbara, as she laid the letter by herside 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 thegarden. 

Barbara opened her letter; Mrs. Hare watched her movements and hercountenance. She saw the latter flush suddenly and vividly, and thenbecome deadly pale; she saw Barbara crush the note in her hand whenread. 

"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 doorand window, to see that none might be within sight or hearing. "I neverthought of him; I only fancied Anne might be sending me some bit ofnews concerning her own affairs. Good Heavens! How fortunate--howprovidential that papa did not see the paper fall; and that you did notpersist in your inquiries. If he--"

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

Barbara smoothed out the writing, and held it before her mother. It wasas follows:--

"I have had a curious note from R. It was without date or signature, butI knew his handwriting. He tells me to let you know, in the most sureand private manner that I can, that he will soon be paying another nightvisit. You are to watch the grove every evening when the present moongets bright. "

Mrs. Hare covered her face for some minutes. "Thank God for all hismercies, " she murmured. 

"Oh, mamma, but it is an awful risk for him to run!"

"But to know that he is in life--to know that he is in life! And for therisk--Barbara, I dread it not. The same God who protected him throughthe last visit, will protect him through this. He will not forsake theoppressed, the innocent. Destroy the paper, child. "

"Archibald Carlyle must first see it, mamma. "

"I shall not be easy until it is destroyed, Barbara. "

Braving the comments of the gossips, hoping the visit would not reachthe ears or eyes of the justice, Barbara went that day to the officeof Mr. Carlyle. He was not there, he was at West Lynne; he had gone toLynneborough on business, and Mr. Dill thought it a question if hewould be at the office again that day. If so, it would be late in theafternoon. Barbara, as soon as their own dinner was over, took up herpatient station at the gate, hoping to see him pass; but the timewent by and he did not. She had little doubt that he had returned homewithout going to West Lynne. 

What should she do? "Go up to East Lynne and see him, " said herconscience. Barbara's mind was in a strangely excited state. It appearedto her that this visit of Richard's must have been specially designed byProvidence, that he might be confronted by Thorn. 

"Mamma, " she said, returning indoors, after seeing the justice departupon an evening visit to the Buck's Head, where he and certain otherjustices and gentlemen sometimes congregated to smoke and chat, "I shallgo up to East Lynne, if you have no objection. I must see Mr. Carlyle. "

Away went Barbara. It had struck seven when she arrived at East Lynne. 

"Is Mr. Carlyle disengaged?"

"Mr. Carlyle is not yet home, miss. My lady and Miss Carlyle are waitingdinner for him. "

A check for Barbara. The servant asked her to walk in, but she declinedand turned from the door. She was in no mood for visit paying. 

Lady Isabel had been standing at the window watching for her husbandand wondering what made him so late. She observed Barbara approachthe house, and saw her walk away again. Presently the servant who hadanswered the door, entered the drawing-room. 

"Was not that Miss Hare?"

"Yes, my lady, " was the man's reply. "She wanted master. I said yourladyship was at home, but she would not enter. "

Isabel said no more; she caught the eyes of Francis Levison fixed on herwith as much meaning, compassionate meaning, as they dared express. Sheclasped her hands in pain, and turned again to the window. 

Barbara was slowly walking down the avenue, Mr. Carlyle was then insight, walking quickly up it. Lady Isabel saw their hands meet ingreeting. 

"Oh, I am so thankful to have met you!" Barbara exclaimed to him, impulsively. "I actually went to your office to-day, and I have been nowto your house. We have such news!"

"Ay! What? About Thorn?"

"No; about Richard, " replied Barbara, taking the scrap of paper from thefolds of her dress. "This came to me this morning from Anne. "

Mr. Carlyle took the document, and Barbara looked over him whilst heread it; neither of them thinking that Lady Isabel's jealous eyes, andCaptain Levison's evil ones, were strained upon them from the distantwindows. Miss Carlyle's also, for the matter of that. 

"Archibald, it seems to me that Providence must be directing him hitherat this moment. Our suspicions with regard to Thorn can now be setat rest. You must contrive that Richard shall see him. What can he becoming again for?"

"More money, " was the supposition of Mr. Carlyle. "Does Mrs. Hare knowof this?"

"She does, unfortunately. I opened the paper before her, never dreamingit was connected with Richard--poor, unhappy Richard!--and not to beguilty. "

"He acted as though he were guilty, Barbara; and that line of conductoften entails as much trouble as real guilt. "

"You do not believe him guilty?" she most passionately uttered. 

"I do not. I have little doubt of the guilt of Thorn. "

"Oh, if it could but be brought home to him!" returned Barbara, "so thatRichard might be cleared in the sight of day. How can you contrive thathe shall see Thorn?"

"I cannot tell; I must think it over. Let me know the instant hearrives, Barbara. "

"Of course I shall. It may be that he does not want money; that hiserrand is only to see mamma. He was always so fond of her. "

"I must leave you, " said Mr. Carlyle, taking her hand in token offarewell. Then, as a thought occurred to him, he turned and walked a fewsteps with her without releasing it. He was probably unconscious that heretained it; she was not. 

"You know, Barbara, if he should want money, and it be not convenient toMrs. Hare to supply it at so short a notice, I can give it to him, as Idid before. "

"Thank you, thank you, Archibald. Mamma felt sure you would. "

She lifted her eyes to his with an expression of gratitude; a warmerfeeling for an uncontrolled moment mingled with it. Mr. Carlyle noddedpleasantly, and then set off toward his house at the pace of a steamengine. 

Two minutes in his dressing-room, and he entered the drawing-room, apologizing for keeping them waiting dinner, and explaining that he hadbeen compelled to go to his office to give some orders subsequent to hisreturn to Lynneborough. Lady Isabel's lips were pressed together, andshe preserved an obstinate silence. Mr. Carlyle, in his unsuspicion, didnot notice it. 

"What did Barbara Hare want?" demanded Miss Carlyle, during dinner. 

"She wanted to see me on business, " was his reply, given in a tone thatcertainly did not invite his sister to pursue the subject. "Will youtake some more fish, Isabel?"

"What was that you were reading over with her?" pursued theindefatigable Miss Corny. "It looked like a note. "

"Ah, that would be telling, " returned Mr. Carlyle, willing to turn itoff with gayety. "If young ladies choose to make me party to their loveletters, I cannot betray confidence, you know. "

"What rubbish Archibald!" quoth she. "As if you could not say outrightwhat Barbara wants, without making a mystery of it. And she seems to bealways wanting you now. "

Mr. Carlyle glanced at his sister a quick, peculiar look; it seemedto her to speak both of seriousness and warning. Involuntarily herthoughts--and her fears--flew back to the past. 

"Archibald, Archibald!" she uttered, repeating the name, as if she couldnot get any further words out in her dread. "It--it--is never--that oldaffair is never being raked up again?"

Now Miss Carlyle's "old affair" referred to one sole and sorepoint--Richard Hare, and so Mr. Carlyle understood it. Lady Isabelunhappily believing that any "old affair" could only have reference tothe bygone loves of her husband and Barbara. 

"You will oblige me by going on with your dinner, Cornelia, " gravelyresponded Mr. Carlyle. Then--assuming a more laughing tone--"I tellyou it is unreasonable to expect me to betray a young woman's secrets, although she may choose to confide them professionally to me. What sayyou, Captain Levison?"

The gentleman addressed bowed, a smile of mockery, all too perceptibleto Lady Isabel, on his lips. And Miss Carlyle bent her head over herplate, and went on with her dinner as meek as any lamb. 

That same evening, Lady Isabel's indignant and rebellious heartcondescended to speak of it when alone with her husband. 

"What is it that she wants with you so much, that Barbara Hare?"

"It is private business, Isabel. She has to bring me messages from hermother. "

"Must the business be kept from me?"

He was silent for a moment, considering whether he might tell her. Butit was impossible he could speak, even to his wife, of the suspicionthey were attaching to Captain Thorn. It would have been unfair andwrong; neither could he betray that a secret visit was expected fromRichard. To no one in the world could he betray that, however safe andtrue. 

"It would not make you the happier to know it, Isabel. There is a darksecret, you are aware, touching the Hare family. It is connected withthat. "

She did not put faith in a word of the reply. She believed he could nottell her because her feelings, as his wife, would be outraged by theconfession; and it goaded her anger into recklessness. Mr. Carlyle, on his part, never gave a thought to the supposition that she mightbe jealous; he had believed that nonsense at an end years ago. He wasperfectly honorable and true; strictly faithful to his wife, givingher no shadow of cause or reason to be jealous of him; and being apractical, matter-of-fact man, it did not occur to him that she could beso. 

Lady Isabel was sitting, the following morning, moody and out of sorts. Captain Levison, who had accompanied Mr. Carlyle in the most friendlymanner possible to the park gate on his departure, and then stolen alongthe hedgewalk, had returned to Lady Isabel with the news of an "ardent"interview with Barbara, who had been watching for his going by at thegate of the grove. She sat, sullenly digesting the tidings, when anote was brought in. It proved to be an invitation to dinner for thefollowing Tuesday, at a Mrs. Jefferson's--for Mr. And Lady IsabelCarlyle and Miss Carlyle. 

"Do you go?" asked Miss Carlyle. 

"Yes, " replied Isabel. "Mr. Carlyle and I both want a change of somesort, " she added, in a mocking sort of spirit; "it may be well to haveit, if only for an evening. "

In truth this unhappy jealousy, this distrust of her husband, appearedto have altered Lady Isabel's very nature. 

"And leave Captain Levison?" returned Miss Carlyle. 

Lady Isabel went over to her desk, making no reply. 

"What will you do with him, I ask?" persisted Miss Carlyle. 

"He can remain here--he can dine by himself. Shall I accept theinvitation for you?"

"No; I shall not go, " said Miss Carlyle. 

"Then, in that case, there can be no difficulty in regard to CaptainLevison, " coldly spoke Lady Isabel. 

"I don't want his company--I am not fond of it, " cried Miss Carlyle. "Iwould go to Mrs. Jefferson's, but that I should want a new dress. "

"That's easily had, " said Lady Isabel. "I shall want one myself. "

"_You_ want a new dress!" uttered Miss Carlyle. "Why, you have a dozen!"

"I don't know that I could count a dozen in all, " returned Lady Isabel, chafing at the remark, and the continual thwarting put upon her by MissCarlyle, which had latterly seemed more than hard to endure. Petty evilsare more difficult to support than great ones, take notice. 

Lady Isabel concluded her note, folded, sealed it, and then rang thebell. As the man left the room with it, she desired that Wilson might besent to her. 

"Is it this morning, Wilson, that the dressmaker comes to try on MissIsabel's dress?" she inquired. 

Wilson hesitated and stammered, and glanced from her mistress to MissCarlyle. The latter looked up from her work. 

"The dressmaker's not coming, " spoke she, sharply. "I countermanded theorder for the frock, for Isabel does not require it. "

"She does require it, " answered Lady Isabel, in perhaps the mostdispleased tone she had ever used to Miss Carlyle. "I am a competentjudge of what is necessary for my children. "

"She no more requires a new frock than that table requires one, orthat you require the one you are longing for, " stoically persistedMiss Carlyle. "She has got ever so many lying by, and her striped silk, turned, will make up as handsome as ever. "

Wilson backed out of the room and closed the door softly, but hermistress caught a compassionate look directed toward her. Her heartseemed bursting with indignation and despair; there seemed to be no sideon which she could turn for refuge. Pitied by her own servants!

She reopened her desk and dashed off a haughty, peremptory note for theattendance of the dressmaker at East Lynne, commanding its immediatedispatch. 

Miss Corny groaned in her wrath. 

"You will be sorry for not listening to me, ma'am, when your husbandshall be brought to poverty. He works like a horse now, and with all hisslaving, can scarcely, I fear, keep expenses down. "

Poor Lady Isabel, ever sensitive, began to think they might, with oneanother, be spending more than Mr. Carlyle's means would justify; sheknew their expenses were heavy. The same tale had been dinned into herears ever since she married him. She gave up in that moment all thoughtof the new dress for herself and for Isabel; but her spirit, in her deepunhappiness, felt sick and faint within her. 

Wilson, meanwhile, had flown to Joyce's room, and was exercising herdearly beloved tongue in an exaggerated account of the matter--how MissCarlyle put upon my lady, and had forbidden a new dress to her, as wellas the frock to Miss Isabel. 

And yet a few more days passed on. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

RICHARD HARE AT MR. DILL'S WINDOW. 

Bright was the moon on that genial Monday night, bright was the eveningstar, as they shone upon a solitary wayfarer who walked on the shadyside of the road with his head down, as though he did not care to courtobservation. A laborer, apparently, for he wore a smock-frock and hadhobnails in his shoes; but his whiskers were large and black, quitehiding the lower part of his face, and his broad-brimmed "wide-awake"came far over his brows. He drew near the dwelling of Richard Hare, Esq. , plunged rapidly over some palings, after looking well to the rightand to the left, into a field, and thence over the side wall into Mr. Hare's garden, where he remained amidst the thick trees. 

Now, by some mischievous spirit of intuition or contrariety, JusticeHare was spending this evening at home, a thing he did not do once insix months unless he had friends with him. Things in real life do mostlygo by the rules of contrary, as children say in their play, holding thecorners of the handkerchief, "Here we go round and round by the rules ofcontrary; if I tell you to hold fast, you must loose; if I tell youto loose, you must hold fast. " Just so in the play of life. When we wantpeople to "hold fast, " they "loose;" and when we want them to "loose, "they "hold fast. "

Barbara, anxious, troubled, worn out almost with the suspense of lookingand watching for her brother, feeling a feverish expectation thatnight would bring him--but so had she felt for the two or three nightspast--would have given her hand for her father to go out. But no--thingswere going by the rule of contrary. There sat the stern justice in fullview of the garden and the grove, his chair drawn precisely in front ofthe window, his wig awry, and a long pipe in his mouth. 

"Are you not going out, Richard?" Mrs. Hare ventured to say. 

"No. "

"Mamma, shall I ring for the shutters to be closed?" asked Barbara, byand by. 

"Shutters closed?" said the justice. "Who'd shut out this bright moon?You have got the lamp at the far end of the room, young lady, and can goto it. "

Barbara ejaculated an inward prayer for patience--for safety of Richard, if he did come, and waited on, watching the grove in the distance. Itcame, the signal, her quick eye caught it; a movement as if some personor thing had stepped out beyond the trees and stepped back again. Barbara's face turned white and her lips dry. 

"I am so hot!" she exclaimed, in her confused eagerness for an excuse;"I must take a turn in the garden. "

She stole out, throwing a dark shawl over her shoulders, that mightrender her less conspicuous to the justice, and her dress that eveningwas a dark silk. She did not dare to stand still when she reached thetrees, or to penetrate them, but she caught glimpses of Richard's face, and her heart ached at the change in it. It was white, thin, and full ofcare; and his hair, he told her, was turning gray. 

"Oh, Richard, darling, and I may not stop to talk to you!" she wailed, in a deep whisper. "Papa is at home, you see, of all the nights in theworld. "

"Can't I see my mother?"

"How can you? You must wait till to-morrow night. "

"I don't like waiting a second night, Barbara. There's danger in everyinch of ground that this neighborhood contains. "

"But you must wait, Richard, for reasons. That man who caused all themischief--Thorn--"

"Hang him!" gloomily interrupted Richard. 

"He is at West Lynne. At least there is a Thorn, we--I and Mr. Carlyle--believe to be the same, and we want you to see him. "

"Let me see him, " panted Richard, whom the news appeared to agitate;"let me see him, Barbara, I say----"

Barbara had passed on again, returning presently. 

"You know, Richard, I must keep moving, with papa's eyes there. He is atall man, very good-looking, very fond of dress and ornament, especiallyof diamonds. "

"That's he, " cried Richard, eagerly. 

"Mr. Carlyle will contrive that you shall see him, " she continued, stooping as if to tie her shoe. "Should it prove to be the same, perhapsnothing can be done--immediately done--toward clearing you, but it shallbe a great point ascertained. Are you sure you should know him again?"

"Sure! That I should know _him_?" uttered Richard Hare. "Should I knowmy own father? Should I know you? And are you not engraven on my heartin letters of blood, as is he? How and when am I to see him, Barbara?"

"I can tell you nothing till I have seen Mr. Carlyle. Be here to-morrow, as soon as ever the dusk will permit you. Perhaps Mr. Carlyle willcontrive to bring him here. If--"

The window was thrown open, and the stentorian voice of Justice Hare washeard from it. 

"Barbara, are you wandering about there to take cold? Come in! Come in, I say!"

"Oh, Richard, I am so sorry!" she lingered to whisper. "But papa is sureto be out to-morrow evening; he would not stay in two evenings running. Good-night, dear. "

There must be no delay now, and the next day Barbara, braving comments, appeared once more at the office of Mr. Carlyle. Terribly did the rulesof contrary seem in action just then. Mr. Carlyle was not in, and theclerks did not know when to expect him; he was gone out for some hours, they believed. 

"Mr. Dill, " urged Barbara, as the old gentleman came to the door togreet her, "I _must_ see him. "

"He will not be in till late in the afternoon, Miss Barbara. I expecthim then. Is it anything I can do?"

"No, no, " sighed Barbara. 

At that moment Lady Isabel and her little girl passed in the chariot. She saw Barbara at her husband's door; what should she be doing there, unless paying him a visit? A slight, haughty bow to Barbara, a pleasantnod and smile to Mr. Dill, and the carriage bowled on. 

It was four o'clock before Barbara could see Mr. Carlyle, andcommunicate her tidings that Richard had arrived. 

Mr. Carlyle held deceit and all underhand doings in especial abhorrence;yet he deemed that he was acting right, under the circumstances, inallowing Captain Thorn to be secretly seen by Richard Hare. In haste hearranged his plans. It was the evening of his own dinner engagement atMrs. Jefferson's but that he must give up. Telling Barbara to dispatchRichard to his office as soon as he should make his appearance at thegrove, and to urge him to come boldly and not fear, for none would knowhim in his disguise, he wrote a hurried note to Thorn, requestinghim also to be at his office at eight o'clock that evening, as he hadsomething to communicate to him. The latter plea was no fiction, forhe had received an important communication that morning relative to thebusiness on which Captain Thorn had consulted him, and his own absencefrom the office in the day had alone prevented his sending for himearlier. 

Other matters were calling the attention of Mr. Carlyle, and it was fiveo'clock ere he departed for East Lynne; he would not have gone so early, but that he must inform his wife of his inability to keep his dinnerengagement. Mr. Carlyle was one who never hesitated to sacrificepersonal gratification to friendship or to business. 

The chariot was at the door, and Lady Isabel dressed and waiting for himin her dressing-room. "Did you forget that the Jeffersons dined at six?"was her greeting. 

"No, Isabel; but it was impossible for me to get here before. And Ishould not have come so soon, but to tell you that I cannot accompanyyou. You must make my excuses to Mrs. Jefferson. "

A pause. Strange thoughts were running through Lady Isabel's mind. "Whyso?" she inquired. 

"Some business has arisen which I am compelled to attend to thisevening. As soon as I have snatched a bit of dinner at home I musthasten back to the office. "

Was he making this excuse to spend the hours of her absence with BarbaraHare? The idea that it was so took firm possession of her mind, andremained there. Her face expressed a variety of feelings, the mostprominent that of resentment. Mr. Carlyle saw it. 

"You must not be vexed, Isabel. I assure you it is no fault of mine. It is important private business which cannot be put off, and which Icannot delegate to Dill. I am sorry it should have so happened. "

"You never return to the office in the evening, " she remarked, with palelips. 

"No; because if anything arises to take us there after hours, Dillofficiates. But the business to-night must be done by myself. "

Another pause. Lady Isabel suddenly broke it. "Shall you join us laterin the evening?"

"I believe I shall not be able to do so. "

She drew her light shawl around her shoulders, and swept down thestaircase. Mr. Carlyle followed to place her in the carriage. When hesaid farewell, she never answered but looked out straight before herwith a stony look. 

"What time, my lady?" inquired the footman, as he alighted at Mrs. Jefferson's. 

"Early. Half-past nine. "

A little before eight o'clock, Richard Hare, in his smock-frock and hisslouching hat and his false whiskers, rang dubiously at the outer doorof Mr. Carlyle's office. That gentleman instantly opened it. He wasquite alone. 

"Come in, Richard, " said he, grasping his hand. "Did you meet any whomyou knew?"

"I never looked at whom I met, sir, " was the reply. "I thought that ifI looked at people, they might look at me, so I came straight ahead withmy eyes before me. How the place has altered! There's a new brick houseon the corner where old Morgan's shop used to stand. "

"That's the new police station. West Lynne I assure you, is becominggrand in public buildings. And how have you been, Richard?"

"Ailing and wretched, " answered Richard Hare. "How can I be otherwise, Mr. Carlyle, with so false an accusation attached to me; and workinglike a slave, as I have to do?"

"You may take off the disfiguring hat, Richard. No one is here. "

Richard slowly heaved it from his brows, and his fair face, so likehis mother's, was disclosed. But the moment he was uncovered he turnedshrinkingly toward the entrance door. "If any one should come in, sir?"

"Impossible!" replied Mr. Carlyle. "The front door is fast, and theoffice is supposed to be empty at this hour. "

"For if I should be seen and recognized, it might come to hanging, youknow, sir. You are expecting that cursed Thorn here, Barbara told me. "

"Directly, " replied Mr. Carlyle, observing the mode of addressing him"sir. " It spoke plainly of the scale of society in which Richard hadbeen mixing; that he was with those who said it habitually; nay, thathe used it habitually himself. "From your description of the LieutenantThorn who destroyed Hallijohn, we believe this Captain Thorn to be thesame man, " pursued Mr. Carlyle. "In person he appears to tally exactly;and I have ascertained that a few years ago he was a deal at Swainson, and got into some sort of scrape. He is in John Herbert's regiment, andis here with him on a visit. "

"But what an idiot he must be to venture here!" uttered Richard. "Hereof all places in the world!"

"He counts, no doubt, on not being known. So far as I can find out, Richard, nobody here did know him, save you and Afy. I shall put youin Mr. Dill's room--you may remember the little window in it--and fromthence you can take a full view of Thorn, whom I shall keep in the frontoffice. You are sure you would recognize him at this distance of time?"

"I should know him if it were fifty years to come; I should know himwere he disguised as I am disguised. We cannot, " Richard sank his voice, "forget a man who has been the object of our frenzied jealousy. "

"What has brought you to East Lynne again, Richard? Any particularobject?"

"Chiefly a hankering within me that I could not get rid of, " repliedRichard. "It was not so much to see my mother and Barbara--though I didwant that, especially since my illness--as that a feeling was within methat I could not rest away from it. So I said I'd risk it again, justfor a day. "

"I thought you might possibly want some assistance, as before. "

"I do want that, also, " said Richard. "Not much. My illness has runme into debt, and if my mother can let me have a little, I shall bethankful. "

"I am sure she will, " answered Mr. Carlyle. "You shall have it from meto-night. What has been the matter with you?"

"The beginning of it was a kick from a horse, sir. That was last winter, and it laid me up for six weeks. Then, in the spring, after I got welland was at work again, I caught some sort of fever, and down again I wasfor six weeks. I have not been to say well since. "

"How is it you have never written or sent me your address?"

"Because I dared not, " answered Richard, timorously, "I should always bein fear; not of you, Mr. Carlyle, but of its becoming known some way orother. The time is getting on, sir; is that Thorn sure to come?"

"He sent me word that he would, in reply to my note. And--there he is!"uttered Mr. Carlyle, as a ring was heard at the bell. "Now, Richard, come this way. Bring your hat. "

Richard complied by putting his hat on his head, pulling it so low thatit touched his nose. He felt himself safer in it. Mr. Carlyle showed himinto Mr. Dill's room, and then turned the key upon him, and put it inhis pocket. Whether this precautionary measure was intended to preventany possibility of Captain Thorn's finding his way in, or of Richard'sfinding his way out, was best known to himself. 

Mr. Carlyle came to the front door, opened it, and admitted CaptainThorn. He brought him into the clerk's office, which was bright withgas, keeping him in conversation for a few minutes standing, and thenasking him to be seated--all in full view of the little window. 

"I must beg your pardon, for being late, " Captain Thorn observed. "I amhalf an hour beyond the time you mentioned, but the Herberts had two orthree friends at dinner, and I could not get away. I hope, Mr. Carlyle, you have not come to your office to-night purposely for me. "

"Business must be attended to, " somewhat evasively answered Mr. Carlyle;"I have been out myself nearly all day. We received a communicationfrom London this morning, relative to your affair, and I am sorry to sayanything but satisfactory. They will not wait. "

"But I am not liable, Mr. Carlyle, not liable in justice. "

"No--if what you tell me be correct. But justice and law are sometimesin opposition, Captain Thorn. "

Captain Thorn sat in perplexity. "They will not get me arrested here, will they?"

"They would have done it, beyond doubt; but I have caused a letter to bewritten and dispatched to them, which must bring forth an answer beforeany violent proceedings are taken. That answer will be here the morningafter to-morrow. "

"And what am I do to then?"

"I think it is probable there may be a way of checkmating them. But Iam not sure, Captain Thorn, that I can give my attention further to thisaffair. "

"I hope and trust you will, " was the reply. 

"You have not forgotten that I told you at first I could not promise todo so, " rejoined Mr. Carlyle. "You shall hear from me to-morrow. If Icarry it on for you, I will then appoint an hour for you to be here onthe following day; if not--why, I dare say you will find a solicitor ascapable of assisting you as I am. "

"But why will you not? What is the reason?"

"I cannot always give reasons for what I do, " was the response. "Youwill hear from me to-morrow. "

He rose as he spoke; Captain Thorn also rose. Mr. Carlyle detained himyet a few moments, and then saw him out at the front door and fastenedit. 

He returned and released Richard. The latter took off his hat as headvanced into the blaze of light. 

"Well, Richard, is it the same man?"

"No, sir. Not in the least like him. "

Mr. Carlyle, though little given to emotion, felt a strangerelief--relief for Captain Thorn's sake. He had rarely seen one whomhe could so little associate with the notion of a murderer as CaptainThorn, and he was a man who exceedingly won upon the regard. He wouldheartily help him out of his dilemma now. 

"Excepting that they are both tall, with nearly the same color of hair, there is no resemblance whatever between them, " proceeded Richard. "Their faces, their figures, are as opposite as light is from dark. Thatother, in spite of his handsome features, had the expression at timesof a demon, but this one's expression is the best part of his face. Hallijohn's murderer had a curious look here, sir. "

"Where?" questioned Mr. Carlyle, for Richard had only pointed to hisface generally. 

"Well--I cannot say precisely where it lay, whether in the eyebrows orthe eyes; I could not tell when I used to have him before me; but it wasin one of them. Ah, Mr. Carlyle, I thought, when Barbara told me Thornwas here, it was too good news to be true; depend upon it, he won'tventure to West Lynne again. This man is no more like that other villainthan you are like him. "

"Then--as that is set at rest--we had better be going, Richard. You haveto see your mother, and she must be waiting in anxiety. How much moneydo you want?"

"Twenty-five pounds would do, but----" Richard stopped in hesitation. 

"But what?" asked Mr. Carlyle. "Speak out, Richard. "

"Thirty would be more welcome. Thirty would put me at ease. "

"You shall take thirty, " said Mr. Carlyle, counting out the notes tohim. "Now--will you walk with me to the grove, or will you walk alone? Imean to see you there in safety. "

Richard thought he would prefer to walk alone; everybody they met mightbe speaking to Mr. Carlyle. The latter inquired why he chose moonlightnights for his visits. 

"It is pleasanter for travelling. And had I chosen dark nights, Barbaracould not have seen my signal from the trees, " was the answer ofRichard. 

They went out and proceeded unmolested to the house of Justice Hare. It was past nine, then. "I am so much obliged to you Mr. Carlyle, "whispered Richard, as they walked up the path. 

"I wish I could help you more effectually, Richard, and clear up themystery. Is Barbara on the watch? Yes; there's the door slowly opening. "

Richard stole across the hall and into the parlor to his mother. Barbaraapproached and softly whispered to Mr. Carlyle, standing, just outsidethe portico; her voice trembled with the suspense of what the answermight be. 

"Is it the same man--the same Thorn?"

"No. Richard says this man bears no resemblance to the real one. "

"Oh!" uttered Barbara, in her surprise and disappointment. "Not thesame! And for the best part of poor Richard's evening to have been takenup for nothing. "

"Not quite nothing, " said Mr. Carlyle. "The question is now set atrest. "

"Set at rest!" repeated Barbara. "It is left in more uncertainty thanever. "

"Set at rest so far as regards Captain Thorn. And whilst our suspicionswere concentrated upon him, we thought not of looking to otherquarters. "

When they entered the sitting-room Mrs. Hare was crying over Richard, and Richard was crying over her; but she seized the hand of Mr. Carlyle. 

"You have been very kind; I don't know whatever we should do withoutyou. And I want to tax your kindness further. Has Barbara mentioned it?"

"I could not talk in the hall, mamma; the servants might haveoverheard. "

"Mr. Hare is not well, and we terribly fear he will be home early, inconsequence; otherwise we should have been quite safe until after ten, for he is gone to the Buck's Head, and they never leave, you know, tillthat hour has struck. Should he come in and see Richard--oh, I need notenlarge upon the consequences to you, Archibald; the very thought sendsme into a shiver. Barbara and I have been discussing it all the evening, and we can only think of one plan; it is, that you will kindly stay inthe garden, near the gate; and, should he come in, stop him, and keephim in conversation. Barbara will be with you, and will run in with thewarning, and Richard can go inside the closet in the hall till Mr. Harehas entered and is safe in this room, and then he can make his escape. Will you do this, Archibald?"

"Certainly I will. "

"I cannot part with him before ten o'clock, unless I am forced, " shewhispered, pressing Mr. Carlyle's hands, in her earnest gratitude. "Youdon't know what it is, Archibald, to have a lost son home for an hourbut once in seven years. At ten o'clock we will part. "

Mr. Carlyle and Barbara began to pace in the path in compliance withthe wish of Mrs. Hare, keeping near the entrance gate. When they wereturning the second time, Mr. Carlyle offered her his arm; it was an actof mere politeness. Barbara took it; and there they waited and waited;but the justice did not come. 

Punctually to the minute, half after nine, Lady Isabel's carriagearrived at Mrs. Jefferson's, and she came out immediately--a headachebeing the plea for her early departure. She had not far to go to reachEast Lynne--about two miles--and it was a by-road nearly all the way. They could emerge into the open road, if they pleased, but it was atrifle further. Suddenly a gentleman approached the carriage as it wasbowling along, and waved his hand to the coachman to pull up. In spiteof the glowing moonlight, Lady Isabel did not at first recognize him, for he wore a disfigured fur cap, the ears of which were tied over hisears and cheeks. It was Francis Levison. She put down the window. 

"I thought it must be your carriage. How early you are returning! Wereyou tired of your entertainers?"

"Why, he knew what time my lady was returning, " thought John to himself;"he asked me. A false sort of a chap that, I've a notion. "

"I came out for a midnight stroll, and have tired myself, " he proceeded. "Will you take compassion on me, and give me a seat home?"

She acquiesced. She could not do otherwise. The footman sprang frombehind the door, and Francis Levison took his place beside Lady Isabel. "Take the high road, " he put out his head to say to the coachman; andthe man touched his hat--which high road would cause them to pass Mr. Hare's. 

"I did not know you, " she began, gathering herself into her own corner. "What ugly thing is that you have on? It is like a disguise. "

He was taking off the "ugly thing" as she spoke and began to twirl itround his hand. "Disguise? Oh, no; I have no creditors in the immediateneighborhood of East Lynne. "

False as ever it was worn as a disguise and he knew it. 

"Is Mr. Carlyle at home?" she inquired. 

"No. " Then, after a pause--"I expect he is more agreeably engaged. "

The tone, a most significant one, brought the tingling blood to thecheeks of Lady Isabel. She wished to preserve a dignified silence, anddid for a few moments; but the jealous question broke out, --

"Engaged in what manner?"

"As I came by Hare's house just now, I saw two people, a gentleman anda young lady, coupled lovingly together, enjoying a _tete-a-tete_ bymoonlight. Unless I am mistaken, he was the favored individual whom youcall lord and master. "

Lady Isabel almost gnashed her teeth; the jealous doubts which had beentormenting her all the evening were confirmed. That the man whom shehated--yes, in her blind anger, she hated him then--should so imposeupon her, should excuse himself by lies, lies base and false as he was, from accompanying her out, on purpose to pass the hours with BarbaraHare! Had she been alone in the carriage, a torrent of passion hadprobably escaped her. 

She leaned back, panting in her emotion, but hiding it from CaptainLevison. As they came opposite to Justice Hare's she deliberately bentforward and scanned the garden with eager eyes. 

There, in the bright moonlight, all too bright and clear, slowly pacedarm in arm, and drawn close to each other, her husband and Barbara Hare. With a choking sob that could no longer be controlled or hidden, LadyIsabel sunk back again. 

He, that bold, bad man, dared to put his arm around her, to draw her tohis side; to whisper that _his_ love was left to her, if another's waswithdrawn. She was most assuredly out of her senses that night, or shenever would have listened. 

A jealous woman is mad; an outraged woman is doubly mad; and theill-fated Lady Isabel truly believed that every sacred feeling whichought to exist between man and wife was betrayed by Mr. Carlyle. 

"Be avenged on that false hound, Isabel. He was never worthy of you. Leave your life of misery, and come to happiness. "

In her bitter distress and wrath, she broke into a storm of sobs. Were they caused by passion against her husband, or by those bold andshameless words? Alas! Alas! Francis Levison applied himself to sootheher with all the sweet and dangerous sophistry of his crafty nature. 

The minutes flew on. A quarter to ten; now a quarter past ten; and stillRichard Hare lingered on with his mother, and still Mr. Carlyle andBarbara paced patiently the garden path. At half-past ten Richard cameforth, after having taken his last farewell. Then came Barbara's tearfulfarewell, which Mr. Carlyle witnessed; and then a hard grasp of thatgentleman's hand, and Richard plunged amidst the trees to depart the wayhe came. 

"Good night, Barbara, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"Will you not come in and say good night to mamma?"

"Not now; it is late. Tell her how glad I am things have gone off sowell. "

He started off at a strapping pace toward his home, and Barbara leanedon the gate to indulge her tears. Not a soul passed to interrupt her, and the justice did not come. What could have become of him? What couldthe Buck's Head be thinking of, to retain respectable elderly justicesfrom their beds, who ought to go home early and set a good example tothe parish? Barbara knew, the next day, that Justice Hare, with a fewmore gentlemen, had been seduced from the staid old inn to a friend'shouse, to an entertainment of supper, pipes, and whist, two tables, penny points, and it was between twelve and one ere the party rose fromthe fascination. So far, well--as it happened. 

Barbara knew not how long she lingered at the gate; ten minutes itmay have been. Nobody summoned her. Mrs. Hare was indulging her griefindoors, giving no thought to Barbara, and the justice did not make hisappearance. Exceedingly surprised was Barbara to hear fast footsteps, and to find that they were Mr. Carlyle's. 

"The more haste, the less speed, Barbara, " he called out as he came up. "I had got half-way home and have had to come back again. When I wentinto your sitting-room, I left a small parcel, containing a parchment, on the sideboard. Will you get it for me?"

Barbara ran indoors and brought forth the parcel, and Mr. Carlyle, witha brief word of thanks, sped away with it. 

She leaned on the gate as before, the ready tears flowing again; herheart was aching for Richard; it was aching for the disappointment thenight had brought forth respecting Captain Thorn. Still nobody passed;still the steps of her father were not heard, and Barbara stayed on. But--what was that figure cowering under the shade of the hedge at adistance, and seemingly, watching her? Barbara strained her eyes, whileher heart beat as if it would burst its bounds. Surely, surely, it washer brother? What had he ventured back for?

Richard Hare it was. When fully assured that Barbara was standingthere, he knew the justice was still absent, and ventured to advance. He appeared to be in a strange state of emotion--his breath labored, hiswhole frame trembling. 

"Barbara! Barbara!" he called. "I have seen Thorn. "

Barbara thought him demented. "I know you saw him, " she slowly said, "but it was not the right Thorn. "

"Not he, " breathed Richard; "and not the gentleman I saw to-night inCarlyle's office. I have seen the fellow himself. Why to you stare at meso, Barbara?"

Barbara was in truth scanning his face keenly. It appeared to her astrange tale that he was telling. 

"When I left here, I cut across into Bean lane, which is more privatefor me than this road, " proceeded Richard. "Just as I got to that clumpof trees--you know it, Barbara--I saw somebody coming toward me from adistance. I stepped back behind the trunks of the trees, into the shadeof the hedge, for I don't care to be met, though I am disguised. He camealong the middle of the lane, going toward West Lynne, and I looked outupon him. I knew him long before he was abreast of me; it was Thorn. "Barbara made no comment; she was digesting the news. 

"Every drop of blood within me began to tingle, and an impulse came uponme to spring upon him and accuse him of the murder of Hallijohn, " wenton Richard, in the same excited manner. "But I resisted it; or, perhaps, my courage failed. One of the reproaches against me had used to be thatI was a physical coward, you know, Barbara, " he added, in a tone ofbitterness. "In a struggle, Thorn would have had the best of it; he istaller and more powerful than I, and might have battered me to death. Aman who can commit one murder won't hesitate at a second. "

"Richard, do you think you could have been deceived?" she urged. "Youhad been talking of Thorn, and your thoughts were, naturally bearingupon him. Imagination--"

"Be still, Barbara, " he interrupted in a tone of pain. "Imagination, indeed! Did I not tell you he was stamped here?" touching his breast. "Do you take me for a child, or an imbecile, that I should fancy I seeThorn in every shadow, or meet people where I do not? He had hishat off, as if he had been walking fast and had got hot--fast he waswalking; and he carried the hat in one hand, and what looked like asmall parcel. With the other hand he was pushing the hair from hisbrow--in this way--a peculiar way, " added Richard, slightly lifting hisown hat and pushing back his hair. "By that action alone I should haveknown him, for he was always doing it in the old days. And there washis white hand, adorned with his diamond ring! Barbara, the diamondglittered in the moonlight!"

Richard's voice and manner were singularly earnest, and a conviction ofthe truth of his assertion flashed over his sister. 

"I saw his face as plainly as I ever saw it--every feature--he isscarcely altered, save for a haggardness in his cheeks now. Barbara, youneed not doubt me; I swear it was Thorn!"

She grew excited as he was; now that she believed the news, it wastelling upon her; reason left its place and impulse succeeded; Barbaradid not wait to weigh her actions. 

"Richard! Mr. Carlyle ought to know this. He has but just gone; we mayovertake him, if we try. "

Forgetting the strange appearances it would have--her flying along thepublic road at that hour of the night--should she meet any who knewher--forgetting what the consequence might be, did Justice Hare returnand find her absent, Barbara set off with a fleet foot, Richard morestealthily following her--his eyes cast in all directions. FortunatelyBarbara wore a bonnet and mantle, which she had put on to pace thegarden with Mr. Carlyle; fortunately, also, the road was remarkablyempty of passengers. She succeeded in reaching Mr. Carlyle before heturned into East Lynne gates. 

"Barbara!" he exclaimed in the extreme of astonishment. "Barbara!"

"Archibald! Archibald!" She panted, gasping for breath. "I am not outof my mind--but do come and speak to Richard! He has just seen the realThorn. "

Mr. Carlyle, amazed and wondering, turned back. They got over the fieldstile, nearly opposite the gates, drew behind the hedge, and thereRichard told his tale. Mr. Carlyle did not appear to doubt it, asBarbara had done; perhaps he could not, in the face of Richard'sagitated and intense earnestness. 

"I am sure there is no one named Thorn in the neighborhood, save thegentleman you saw in my office to-night, Richard, " observed Mr. Carlyle, after some deliberation. "It is very strange. "

"He may be staying here under a feigned name, " replied Richard. "Therecan be no mistake that it was Thorn whom I have just met. "

"How was he dressed? As a gentleman?"

"Catch him dressing as anything else, " returned Richard. "He was in anevening suit of black, with a sort of thin overcoat thrown on, but itwas flung back at the shoulders, and I distinctly saw his clothes. Agray alpaca, it looked like. As I have told Barbara, I should have knownhim by this action of the hand, " imitating it, "as he pushed his hairoff his forehead; it was the delicate white hand of the days gone by, Mr. Carlyle; it was the flashing of the diamond ring!"

Mr. Carlyle was silent; Barbara also; but the thoughts of both werebusy. "Richard, " observed the former, "I should advise you to remain aday or two in the neighborhood, and look out for this man. You may seehim again, and may track him home; it is very desirable to find out whohe really is if practicable. "

"But the danger?" urged Richard. 

"Your fears magnify that. I am quite certain that nobody would know youin broad daylight, disguised as you are now. So many years have flownsince, that people have forgotten to think about you, Richard. "

But Richard could not be persuaded; he was full of fears. He describedthe man as accurately as he could to Mr. Carlyle and Barbara, and toldthem _they_ must look out. With some trouble, Mr. Carlyle got from himan address in London, to which he might write, in case anything turnedup, and Richard's presence should be necessary. He then once more saidfarewell, and quitted them, his way lying past East Lynne. 

"And now to see you back, Barbara, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"Indeed you shall not do it--late as it is, and tired as you must be. Icame here alone; Richard did not keep near me. "

"I cannot help your having come here alone, but you may rely upon it, I do not suffer you to go back so. Nonsense, Barbara! Allow you to goalong the high road by yourself at eleven o'clock at night? What are youthinking of?"

He gave Barbara his arm, and they pursued their way. "How late LadyIsabel will think you!" observed Barbara. 

"I don't know that Lady Isabel has returned home yet. My being late oncein a while is of no consequence. "

Not another word was spoken, save by Barbara. "Whatever excuse can Imake, should papa come home?" Both were buried in their own reflections. "Thank you very greatly, " she said as they reached her gate, and Mr. Carlyle finally turned away. Barbara stole in, and found the coastclear; her papa had not arrived. 

Lady Isabel was in her dressing-room when Mr. Carlyle entered; she wasseated at a table, writing. A few questions as to her evening's visit, which she answered in the briefest way possible, and then he asked herif she was not going to bed. 

"By and by. I am not sleepy. "

"I must go at once, Isabel, for I am dead tired. " And no wonder. 

"You can go, " was her answer. 

He bent down to kiss her, but she dexterously turned her face away. Hesupposed that she felt hurt that he had not gone with her to the party, and placed his hand on her shoulder with a pleasant smile. 

"You foolish child, to be aggrieved at that! It was no fault of mine, Isabel; I could not help myself. I will talk to you in the morning; I amtoo tired to-night. I suppose you will not be long. "

Her head was bent over her writing again, and she made no reply. Mr. Carlyle went into his bedroom and shut the door. Some time after, LadyIsabel went softly upstairs to Joyce's room. Joyce, fast in her firstsleep, was suddenly aroused from it. There stood her mistress, a waxlight in her hand. Joyce rubbed her eyes, and collected her senses, andfinally sat up in bed. 

"My lady! Are you ill?"

"Ill! Yes; ill and wretched, " answered Lady Isabel; and ill she didlook, for she was perfectly white. "Joyce, I want a promise from you. Ifanything should happen to me, stay at East Lynne with my children. "

Joyce stared in amazement, too much astonished to make any reply. 

"Joyce, you promised it once before; promise it again. Whatever betideyou, you will stay with my children when I am gone. "

"I will stay with them. But, oh, my lady, what can be the matter withyou? Are you taken suddenly ill?"

"Good-bye, Joyce, " murmured Lady Isabel, gliding from the chamber asquietly as she had entered it. And Joyce, after an hour of perplexity, dropped asleep again. 

Joyce was not the only one whose rest was disturbed that eventful night. Mr. Carlyle himself awoke, and to his surprise found that his wife hadnot come to bed. He wondered what the time was, and struck his repeater. A quarter past three!

Rising, he made his way to the door of his wife's dressing-room. Itwas in darkness; and, so far as he could judge by the absence of sound, unoccupied. 

"Isabel!"

No reply. Nothing but the echo of his own voice in the silence of thenight. 

He struck a match and lighted a taper, partially dressed himself, andwent about to look for her. He feared she might have been taken ill; orelse that she had fallen asleep in some one of the rooms. But nowherecould he find her, and feeling perplexed, he proceeded to his sister'schamber door and knocked. 

Miss Carlyle was a slight sleeper, and rose up in bed at once. "Who'sthat?" cried out she. 

"It is only I, Cornelia, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"You!" cried Miss Corny. "What in the name of fortune do you want? Youcan come in. "

Mr. Carlyle opened the door, and met the keen eyes of his sister bent onhim from the bed. Her head was surmounted by a remarkable nightcap, atleast a foot high. 

"Is anybody ill?" she demanded. 

"I think Isabel must be, I cannot find her. "

"Not find her?" echoed Miss Corny. "Why, what's the time? Is she not inbed?"

"It is three o'clock. She had not been to bed. I cannot find her in thesitting-rooms; neither is she in the children's room. "

"Then I'll tell you what it is, Archibald; she's gone worrying afterJoyce. Perhaps the girl may be in pain to-night. "

Mr. Carlyle was in full retreat toward Joyce's room, at this suggestion, when his sister called to him. 

"If anything is amiss with Joyce, you come and tell me, Archibald, forI shall get up and see after her. The girl was my servant before she wasyour wife's. "

He reached Joyce's room, and softly unlatched the door, fully expectingto find a light there, and his wife sitting by the bedside. There was nolight there, however, save that which came from the taper he held, andhe saw no signs of his wife. _Where_ was she? Was it probable that Joyceshould tell him? He stepped inside the room and called to her. 

Joyce started up in a fright, which changed to astonishment when sherecognized her master. He inquired whether Lady Isabel had been there, and for a few moments Joyce did not answer. She had been dreaming ofLady Isabel, and could not at first detach the dream from the visitwhich had probably given rise to it. 

"What did you say, sir? Is my lady worse?"

"I asked if she had been here. I cannot find her. "

"Why, yes, " said Joyce, now fully aroused. "She came here and woke me. That was just before twelve, for I heard the clock strike. She did notstay here a minute, sir. "

"Woke you!" repeated Mr. Carlyle. "What did she want? What did she comehere for?"

Thoughts are quick; imagination is still quicker; and Joyce was givingthe reins to both. Her mistress's gloomy and ambiguous words werecrowding on her brain. Three o'clock and she had not been in bed, andwas not to be found in the house? A nameless horror struggled to Joyce'sface, her eyes were dilating with it; she seized and threw on a largeflannel gown which lay on a chair by the bed, and forgetful ofher master who stood there, out she sprang to the floor. All minorconsiderations faded to insignificance beside the terrible dread whichhad taken possession of her. Clasping the flannel gown tight around herwith one hand, she laid the other on the arm of Mr. Carlyle. 

"Oh, master! Oh, master! She has destroyed herself! I see it all now. "

"Joyce!" sternly interrupted Mr. Carlyle. 

"She has destroyed herself, as true as that we two are living here, "persisted Joyce, her own face livid with emotion. "I can understand herwords now; I could not before. She came here--and her face was like acorpse as the light fell upon it--saying she had come to get a promisefrom me to stay with her children when she was gone, I asked whether shewas ill, and she answered, 'Yes, ill and wretched. ' Oh, sir, may heavensupport you under this dreadful trial!"

Mr. Carlyle felt bewildered--perplexed. Not a syllable did he believe. He was not angry with Joyce, for he thought she had lost her reason. 

"It is so, sir, incredible as you may deem my words, " pursued Joyce, wringing her hands. "My lady has been miserably unhappy; and that hasdriven her to it. "

"Joyce, are you in your senses or out of them?" demanded Mr. Carlyle, acertain sternness in his tone. "Your lady miserably unhappy! What do youmean?"

Before Joyce could answer, an addition was received to the company inthe person of Miss Carlyle, who appeared in black stockings and a shawl, and the lofty nightcap. Hearing voices in Joyce's room, which was aboveher own, and full of curiosity, she ascended, not choosing to be shutout from the conference. 

"Whatever's up?" cried she. "Is Lady Isabel found?"

"She is not found, and she never will be found but in herwinding-sheet, " returned Joyce, whose lamentable and unusual state ofexcitement completely overpowered her customary quiet respect and plaingood sense. "And, ma'am, I am glad that you have come up; for what I wasabout to say to my master I would prefer to say in your presence. Whenmy lady is brought into this house, and laid before us dead, whatwill your feelings be? My master has done his duty by her in love; butyou--you have made her life a misery. Yes, ma'am, you have. "

"Hoity-toity!" muttered Miss Carlyle, staring at Joyce in consternation. "What is all this? Where's my lady?"

"She has gone and taken the life that was not hers to take, " sobbedJoyce, "and I say she has been driven to it. She has not been allowed toindulge a will of her own, poor thing, since she came to East Lynne; inher own house she has been less free than either of her servants. Youhave curbed her, ma'am, and snapped at her, and you made her feel thatshe was but a slave to your caprices and temper. All these years she hasbeen crossed and put upon; everything, in short, but beaten--ma'am, youknow she has--and has borne it all in silence, like a patient angel, never, as I believe, complaining to master; he can say whether she hasor not. We all loved her, we all felt for her; and my master's heartwould have bled had he suspected what she had to put up with day afterday, and year after year. "

Miss Carlyle's tongue was glued to her mouth. Her brother, confounded atthe rapid words, could scarcely gather in their sense. 

"What is it that you are saying, Joyce?" he asked, in a low tone. "I donot understand. "

"I have longed to say it to you many a hundred times, sir; but it isright that you should hear it, now things have come to this dreadfulending. Since the very night Lady Isabel came home here, your wife, shehad been taunted with the cost she has brought to East Lynne and to you. If she wanted but the simplest thing, she was forbidden to have it, andtold that she was bringing her husband to poverty. For this very dinnerparty that she went to to-night she wished for a new dress, and yourcruel words, ma'am, forbade her having it. She ordered a new frock forMiss Isabel, and you countermanded it. You have told her that masterworked like a dog to support her extravagances, when you know that shenever was extravagant; that none were less inclined to go beyond properlimits than she. I have seen her, ma'am, come away from your reproacheswith the tears in her eyes, and her hands meekly clasped upon her bosom, as though life was heavy to bear. A gentle-spirited, high-born lady, asI know she was, could not fail to be driven to desperation; and I knowthat she has been. "

Mr. Carlyle turned to his sister. "Can this be true?" he inquired, in atone of deep agitation. 

She did not answer. Whether it was the shade cast by the nightcap, orthe reflection of the wax taper, her face looked of a green cast, and, for the first time probably in Miss Carlyle's life, her words failedher. 

"May God forgive you, Cornelia!" he muttered, as he went out of thechamber. 

He descended to his own. That his wife had laid violent hands uponherself, his reason utterly repudiated, she was one of the least likelyto commit so great a sin. He believed that, in her unhappiness, shemight have wandered out in the grounds, and was lingering there. By thistime the house was aroused, and the servants were astir. Joyce--surely asupernatural strength was given her, for though she had been able toput her foot to the ground, she had not yet walked upon it--creptdownstairs, and went into Lady Isabel's dressing-room. Mr. Carlyle washastily assuming the articles of attire he had not yet put on, to go outand search the grounds, when Joyce limped in, holding out a note. Joycedid not stand on ceremony that night. 

"I found this in the dressing-glass drawer, sir. It is my lady'swriting. "

He took it in his hand and looked at the address--"Archibald Carlyle. "Though a calm man, one who had his emotions under his own control, hewas no stoic, and his fingers shook as he broke the seal. 

"When years go on, and my children ask where their mother is, and whyshe left them, tell them that you, their father, goaded her to it. Ifthey inquire what she is, tell them, also, if you so will; but tellthem, at the same time, that you outraged and betrayed her, driving herto the very depth of desperation ere she quitted them in her despair. "

The handwriting, his wife's, swam before the eyes of Mr. Carlyle. All, save the disgraceful fact that she had _flown_--and a horrible suspicionbegan to dawn upon him, with whom--was totally incomprehensible. How hadhe outraged her? In what manner had he goaded her to it. The discomfortsalluded to by Joyce, and the work of his sister, had evidently no partin this; yet what had _he_ done? He read the letter again, more slowly. No he could not comprehend it; he had not the clue. 

At that moment the voices of the servants in the corridor outsidepenetrated his ears. Of course they were peering about, and makingtheir own comments. Wilson, with her long tongue, the busiest. They weresaying that Captain Levison was not in his room; that his bed had notbeen slept in. 

Joyce sat on the edge of a chair--she could not stand--watching hermaster with a blanched face. Never had she seen him betray agitation sopowerful. Not the faintest suspicion of the dreadful truth yet dawnedupon her. He walked to the door, the open note in his hand; then turned, wavered, and stood still, as if he did not know what he was doing. Probably he did not. Then he took out his pocket-book, put the noteinside it, and returned it to his pocket, his hands trembling equallywith his livid lips. 

"You need not mention this, " he said to Joyce, indicating the note. "Itconcerns myself alone. "

"Sir, does it say she's dead?"

"She is not dead, " he answered. "Worse than that, " he added in hisheart. 

"Why--who's this?" uttered Joyce. 

It was little Isabel, stealing in with a frightened face, in her whitenightgown. The commotion had aroused her. 

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Where's mamma?"

"Child, you'll catch your death of cold, " said Joyce. "Go back to bed. "

"But I want mamma. "

"In the morning, dear, " evasively returned Joyce. "Sir, please, must notIsabel go back to bed?"

Mr. Carlyle made no reply to the question; most likely he never heardits import. But he touched Isabel's shoulder to draw Joyce's attentionto the child. 

"Joyce--_Miss Lucy_ in future. "

He left the room, and Joyce remained silent from amazement. She heardhim go out at the hall door and bang it after him. Isabel--nay, we mustsay "Lucy" also--went and stood outside the chamber door; the servantsgathered in a group near, did not observe her. Presently she camerunning back, and disturbed Joyce from her reverie. 

"Joyce, is it true?"

"Is what true, my dear?"

"They are saying that Captain Levison has taken away my mamma. "

Joyce fell back in her chair with a scream. It changed to a long, lowmoan of anguish. 

"What has he taken her for--to kill her? I thought it was onlykidnappers who took people. "

"Child, child, go to bed. "

"Oh, Joyce, I want mamma. When will she come back?"

Joyce hid her face in her hands to conceal its emotion from themotherless child. And just then Miss Carlyle entered on tiptoe, andhumbly sat down on a low chair, her green face--green that night--inits grief, its remorse, and its horror, looking nearly as dark as herstockings. 

She broke into a subdued wail. 

"God be merciful to this dishonored house!"

Mr. Justice Hare turned into the gate between twelve and one--turned inwith a jaunty air; for the justice was in spirits, he having won ninesixpences, and his friend's tap of ale having been unusually good. Whenhe reached his bedroom, he told Mrs. Hare of a chaise and four which hadgone tearing past at a furious pace as he was closing the gate, comingfrom the direction of East Lynne. He wondered where it could be going atthat midnight hour, and whom it contained. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

CHARMING RESULTS. 

Nearly a year went by. 

Lady Isabel Carlyle had spent it on the continent--that refuge for suchfugitives--now moving about from place to place with her companion, nowstationary and alone. Quite half the time--taking one absence with theother--he had been away from her, chiefly in Paris, pursuing his owncourse and his own pleasure. 

How fared it with Lady Isabel? Just as it must be expected to fare, anddoes fare, when a high-principled gentlewoman falls from her pedestal. Never had she experienced a moment's calm, or peace, or happiness, sincethe fatal night of quitting her home. She had taken a blind leap in amoment of wild passion, when, instead of the garden of roses it had beenher persuader's pleasure to promise her she would fall into, but which, in truth, she had barely glanced at, for that had not been her movingmotive, she had found herself plunged into a yawning abyss of horror, from which there was never more any escape--never more, never more. Thevery instant--the very night of her departure, she awoke to what shehad done. The guilt, whose aspect had been shunned in the prospective, assumed at once its true frightful color, the blackness of darkness;and a lively remorse, a never-dying anguish, took possession of her soulforever. Oh, reader, believe me! Lady--wife--mother! Should you ever betempted to abandon your home, so will you awake. Whatever trials may bethe lot of your married life, though they may magnify themselves to yourcrushed spirit as beyond the nature, the endurance of woman to bear, _resolve_ to bear them; fall down upon your knees, and pray to beenabled to bear them--pray for patience--pray for strength to resistthe demon that would tempt you to escape; bear unto death, rather thanforfeit your fair name and your good conscience; for be assured that thealternative, if you do rush on to it, will be found worse than death. 

Poor thing--poor Lady Isabel! She had sacrificed husband, children, reputation, home, all that makes life of value to woman. She hadforfeited her duty to God, had deliberately broken his commandments, forthe one poor miserable mistake of flying with Francis Levison. But theinstant the step was irrevocable, the instant she had left the barrierbehind, repentance set in. Even in the first days of her departure, inthe fleeting moments of abandonment, when it may be supposed she mightmomentarily forget conscience, it was sharply wounding her with itsadder stings; and she knew that her whole future existence, whetherspent with that man or without him, would be a dark course of gnawingretribution. 

Nearly a year went by, save some six or eight weeks, when, one morningin July, Lady Isabel made her appearance in the breakfast-room. They were staying now at Grenoble. Taking that town on their way toSwitzerland through Savoy, it had been Captain Levison's pleasure tohalt in it. He engaged apartments, furnished, in the vicinity of thePlace Grenette. A windy, old house it was, full of doors and windows, chimneys and cupboards; and he said he should remain there. Lady Isabelremonstrated; she wished to go farther on, where they might get quickernews from England; but her will now was as nothing. She was looking likethe ghost of her former self. Talk of her having looked ill when shetook that voyage over the water with Mr. Carlyle; you should have seenher now--misery marks the countenance worse than sickness. Her face waswhite and worn, her hands were thin, her eyes were sunken and surroundedby a black circle--care was digging caves for them. A stranger mighthave attributed these signs to the state of her health; _she_ knewbetter--knew that they were the effects of her wretched mind and heart. 

It was very late for breakfast, but why should she rise early only todrag through another endless day? Languidly she took her seat at thetable, just as Captain Levison's servant, a Frenchman whom he hadengaged in Paris, entered the room with two letters. 

"_Point de gazette_, Pierre?" she said. 

"_Non, miladi_. "

And all the time the sly fox had got the _Times_ in his coat pocket. But he was only obeying the orders of his master. It had been CaptainLevison's recent pleasure that the newspapers should not be seen byLady Isabel until he had over-looked them. You will speedily gather hismotive. 

Pierre departed toward Captain Levison's room, and Lady Isabel tookup the letters and examined their superscription with interest. It wasknown to her that Mr. Carlyle had not lost a moment in seeking a divorceand the announcement that it was granted was now daily expected. She wasanxious for it--anxious that Captain Levison should render her the onlyreparation in his power before the birth of her unhappy child. Littlethought she that there was not the least intention on his part to makeher reparation, any more than he had made it to others who had gonebefore her. She had become painfully aware of the fact that the manfor whom she had chosen to sacrifice herself was bad, but she had notlearned all his badness yet. 

Captain Levison, unwashed, unshaven, with a dressing-gown loosely flungon, lounged in to breakfast. The decked-out dandies before the world arefrequently the greatest slovens in domestic privacy. He wished her goodmorning in a careless tone of apathy, and she as apathetically answeredto it. 

"Pierre says there are some letters, " he began. "What a precious hot dayit is!"

"Two, " was her short reply, her tone sullen as his. For if you think mygood reader, that the flattering words, the ardent expressions, whichusually attend the first go-off of these promising unions last outa whole ten months, you are in egregious error. Compliments the veryopposite to honey and sweetness have generally supervened long before. Try it, if you don't believe me. 

"Two letters, " she continued, "and they are both in the samehandwriting--your solicitors', I believe. "

Up went his hand at the last word, and he made a sort of grab at theletters, stalked to the farthest window, opened it, and glanced over itscontents. 

"Sir--We beg to inform you that the suit Carlyle vs. Carlyle, is at anend. The divorce was pronounced without opposition. According to yourrequest, we hasten to forward you the earliest intimation of the fact. 

"We are, sir, faithfully yours, "MOSS & GRAB. 

"F. LEVISON, Esq. "

It was over, then, and all claim to the name of Carlyle was declared tohave been forfeited by the Lady Isabel forever. Captain Levison foldedup the letter, and placed it securely in an inner pocket. 

"Is there any news?" she asked. 

"News!"

"Of the divorce, I mean?"

"Tush!" was the response of Captain Levison, as if wishing to imply thatthe divorce was yet a far-off affair, and he proceeded to open the otherletter. 

"Sir--After sending off our last, dated to-day, we received tidingsof the demise of Sir Peter Levison, your grand-uncle. He expired thisafternoon in town, where he had come for the benefit of medical advice. We have much pleasure in congratulating you upon your accession to thetitle and estates, and beg to state that should it not be convenientto you to visit England at present, we will be happy to transact allnecessary matters for you, on your favoring us with instructions. And weremain, sir, most faithfully yours, "MOSS & GRAB. 

"SIR FRANCIS LEVISON, Bart. "

The outside of the letter was superscribed as the other, "F. Levison, Esquire, " no doubt with a view to its more certain delivery. 

"At last, thank the pigs!" was the gentleman's euphonious expression, ashe tossed the letter, open, on the breakfast-table. 

"The divorce is granted!" feverishly uttered Lady Isabel. 

He made no reply, but seated himself to breakfast. 

"May I read the letter? Is it for me to read?"

"For what else should I have thrown it there?" he said. 

"A few days ago you put a letter, open on the table, I thought forme; but when I took it up you swore at me. Do you remember it CaptainLevison?"

"You may drop that odious title, Isabel, which has stuck to me too long. I own a better, now. "

"What one, pray?"

"You can look and see. "

Lady Isabel took up the letter and read it. Sir Francis swallowed downhis coffee, and rang the table hand-bell--the only bell you generallymeet with in France. Pierre answered it. 

"Put me up a change of things, " said he, in French. "I start for Englandin an hour. "

"It is very well, " Pierre responded; and departed to do it. Lady Isabelwaited till the man was gone, and then spoke, a faint flush of emotionin her cheeks. 

"You do not mean what you say? You will not leave me yet?"

"I cannot do otherwise, " he answered. "There's a mountain of business tobe attended to, now that I am come into power. "

"Moss & Grab say they will act for you. Had there been a necessity foryour going, they would not have offered that. "

"Ay, they do say so--with a nice eye to the feathering of their pockets!Besides, I should not choose for the old man's funeral to take placewithout me. "

"Then I must accompany you, " she urged. 

"I wish you would not talk nonsense, Isabel. Are you in a state totravel night and day? Neither would home be agreeable to you yetawhile. "

She felt the force of the objections. Resuming after a moment'spause--"Were you to go to England, you might not be back in time. "

"In time for what?"

"Oh, how can you ask?" she rejoined, in a sharp tone of reproach; "youknow too well. In time to make me your wife when the divorce shallappear. "

"I shall chance it, " coolly observed Sir Francis. 

"Chance it! _chance_ the legitimacy of the child? You must assure that, before all things. More terrible to me than all the rest would it be, if--"

"Now don't put yourself in a fever, Isabel. How many times am I to becompelled to beg that of you! It does no good. Is it my fault, if I amcalled suddenly to England?"

"Have you no pity for your child?" she urged in agitation. "Nothing canrepair the injury, if you once suffer it to come upon him. He will be aby-word amidst men throughout his life. "

"You had better have written to the law lords to urge on the divorce, "he returned. "I cannot help the delay. "

"There has been no delay; quite the contrary. But it may be expectedhourly now. "

"You are worrying yourself for nothing, Isabel. I shall be back intime. "

He quitted the room as he spoke, and Lady Isabel remained in it, the image of despair. Nearly an hour elapsed when she remembered thebreakfast things, and rang for them to be removed. A maid-servantentered to do it, and she thought how ill miladi looked. 

"Where is Pierre?" miladi asked. 

"Pierre was making himself ready to attend monsieur to England. "

Scarcely had she closed the door upon herself and the tray when SirFrancis Levison appeared, equipped for traveling. "Good-bye, Isabel, "said he, without further circumlocution or ceremony. 

Lady Isabel, excited beyond all self-control, slipped the bolt of thedoor; and, half leaning against it, half leaning at his feet, held upher hand in supplication. 

"Francis, have you any consideration left for me--any in the world?"

"How can you be so alarmed, Isabel? Of course I have, " he continued, ina peevish, though kind tone, as he took hold of her hands to raise her. 

"No, not yet. I will remain here until you say you will wait anotherday or two. You know that the French Protestant minister is prepared tomarry us the instant news of the divorce shall arrive; if you do carestill for me, you will wait. "

"I cannot wait, " he replied, his tone changing to one of determination. "It is useless to urge it. "

He broke from her and left the room, and in another minute had leftthe house, Pierre attending him. A feeling, amounting to a conviction, rushed over the unhappy lady that she had seen him for the last timeuntil it was too late. 

She was right. It was too late by weeks and months. 

December came in. The Alps were covered with snow; Grenoble borrowed theshade, and looked cold, and white, and sleety, and sloppy; the gutters, running through the middle of certain of the streets, were unusuallyblack, and the people crept along especially dismal. Close to thefire in the barn of a French bedroom, full of windows, and doors, anddraughts, with its wide hearth and its wide chimney, into which we couldput four or five of our English ones, shivered Lady Isabel Vane. She hadan invalid cap on, and a thick woolen invalid shawl, and she shook andshivered perpetually; though she had drawn so close to the wood firethat there was a danger of her petticoats igniting, and the attendanthad frequently to spring up and interpose between them and the cracklinglogs. Little did it seem to matter to Lady Isabel; she sat in oneposition, her countenance the picture of stony despair. 

So had she sat, so looking, since she began to get better. She had hada long illness, terminating in a low fever; but the attendants whisperedamong themselves that miladi would soon get about if she would onlyrouse herself. She had got so far about as to sit up in the windychamber; and it seemed to be to her a matter of perfect indifferencewhether she ever got out of it. 

This day she had partaken of her early dinner--such as it was, for herappetite failed--and had dozed asleep in the arm chair, when a noisearose from below, like a carriage driving into the courtyard through the_porte cochere_. It instantly aroused her. Had _he_ come?

"Who is it?" she asked of the nurse. 

"Miladi, it is monsieur; and Pierre is with him. I have begged miladyoften and often not to fret, for monsieur would surely come; miladi, see, I am right. "

The girl departed, closing the door, and Lady Isabel sat looking at it, schooling her patience. Another moment, and it was flung open. 

Sir Francis Levison approached to greet her as he came in. She waved himoff, begging him, in a subdued, quiet tone, not to draw too near, as anylittle excitement made her faint now. He took a seat opposite to her, and began pushing the logs together with his boot, as he explained thathe really could not get away from town before. 

"Why did you come now?" she quietly rejoined. 

"Why did I come?" repeated he. "Are these all the thanks a fellow getsfor travelling in this inclement weather? I thought you would at leasthave been glad to welcome me, Isabel. "

"Sir Francis, " she rejoined, speaking still with almost unnaturalcalmness, as she continued to do throughout the interview--though thefrequent changes in her countenance, and the movement of her hands, whenshe laid them from time to time on her chest to keep down its beating, told what effort the struggle cost her--"Sir Francis, I am glad, for onereason, to welcome you; we must come to an understanding one with theother; and, so far, I am pleased that you are here. It was my intentionto have communicated with you by letter as soon as I found myselfcapable of the necessary exertion, but your visit has removed thenecessity. I wish to deal with you quite unreservedly, withoutconcealment, or deceit; I must request you so to deal with me. "

"What do you mean by 'deal?'" he asked, settling the logs to hisapparent satisfaction. 

"To speak and act. Let there be plain truth between us at thisinterview, if there never has been before. "

"I don't understand you. "

"Naked truth, unglossed over, " she pursued, bending her eyesdeterminately upon him. "It _must_ be. "

"With all my heart, " returned Sir Francis. "It is you who have thrownout the challenge, mind. "

"When you left in July you gave me a sacred promise to come back in timefor our marriage; you know what I mean when I say 'in time, ' but--"

"Of course I meant to do so when I gave the promise, " he interrupted. "But no sooner had I set my foot in London than I found myselfoverwhelmed with business, and away from it I could not get. Even nowI can only remain with you a couple of days, for I must hasten back totown. "

"You are breaking faith already, " she said, after hearing him calmly tothe end. "Your words are not words of truth, but of deceit. You did notintend to be back in time for the marriage, or otherwise you would havecaused it to take place ere you went at all. "

"What fancies you do take up!" uttered Francis Levison. 

"Some time subsequent to your departure, " she quietly went on, "one ofthe maids was setting to rights the clothes in your dressing-closet, andshe brought me a letter she found in one of the pockets. I saw by thedate that it was one of those two which you received on the morningof your departure. It contained the information that the divorce waspronounced. "

She spoke so quietly, so apparently without feeling or passion, thatSir Francis was agreeably astonished. He should have less trouble inthrowing off the mask. But he was an ill-tempered man; and to hearthat the letter had been found to have the falseness of his fineprotestations and promises laid bare, did not improve his temper now. Lady Isabel continued, --

"It would have been better to have undeceived me then; to have told methat the hopes I was cherishing for the sake of the unborn child wereworse than vain. "

"I did not judge so, " he replied. "The excited state you then appearedto be in, would have precluded your listening to any sort of reason. "

Her heart beat a little quicker; but she stilled it. 

"You deem that it was not in reason that I should aspire to be the wifeof Sir Francis Levison?"

He rose and began kicking at the logs; with the heel of his boot thistime. 

"Well, Isabel, you must be aware that it is an awful sacrifice for a manin my position to marry a divorced woman. "

The hectic flushed into her thin cheeks, but her voice sounded calm asbefore. 

"When I expected or wished, for the 'sacrifice, ' it was not for myown sake; I told you so then. But it was not made; and the child'sinheritance is that of sin and shame. There he lies. "

Sir Francis half turned to where she pointed, and saw an infant's cradleby the side of the bed. He did not take the trouble to look at it. 

"I am the representative now of an ancient and respected baronetcy, " heresumed, in a tone as of apology for his previous heartless words, "andto make you my wife would so offend all my family, that--"

"Stay, " interrupted Lady Isabel, "you need not trouble yourself to findneedless excuses. Had you taken this journey for the purpose of makingme your wife, were you to propose to do so this day, and bring aclergyman into the room to perform the ceremony, it would be futile. The injury to the child can never be repaired; and, for myself, I cannotimagine any fate in life worse than being compelled to pass it withyou. "

"If you have taken this aversion to me, it cannot be helped, " he coldlysaid, inwardly congratulating himself, let us not doubt, at being sparedthe work of trouble he had anticipated. "You made commotion enough onceabout me making you reparation. "

She shook her head. 

"All the reparation in your power to make--all the reparation that thewhole world can invent could not undo my sin. It and the effects mustlie upon me forever. "

"Oh--sin!" was the derisive exclamation. "You ladies should think ofthat beforehand. "

"Yes, " she sadly answered. "May heaven help all to do so who may betempted as I was. "

"If you mean that as a reproach to me, it's rather out of place, " chafedSir Francis, whose fits of ill-temper were under no control, and whonever, when in them, cared what he said to outrage the feelingsof another. "The temptation to sin, as you call it, lay not in mypersuasions half so much as in your jealous anger toward your husband. "

"Quite true, " was her reply. 

"And I believe you were on the wrong scent, Isabel--if it will beany satisfaction to you to hear it. Since we are mutually on thiscomplimentary discourse, it is of no consequence to smooth over facts. "

"I do not understand what you would imply, " she said, drawing her shawlround her with a fresh shiver. "How on the wrong scent?"

"With regard to your husband and that Hare girl. You were blindly, outrageously jealous of him. "

"Go on. "

"And I say I think you are on the wrong scent. I do not believe Mr. Carlyle ever thought of the girl--in that way. "

"What do you mean?" she gasped. 

"They had a secret between them--not of love--a secret of business;and those interviews they had together, her dancing attendance upon himperpetually, related to that, and that alone. "

Her face was more flushed than it had been throughout the interview. Hespoke quietly now, quite in an equal tone of reasoning; it was his waywhen the ill-temper was upon him: and the calmer he spoke, the morecutting were his words. He _need_ not have told her this. 

"What was the secret?" she inquired, in a low tone. 

"Nay, I can't explain all; they did not take me into their confidence. They did not even take you; better, perhaps that they had though, asthings have turned out, or seem to be turning. There's some disreputablesecret attaching to the Hare family, and Carlyle was acting in it, underthe rose, for Mrs. Hare. She could not seek out Carlyle herself, so shesent the young lady. That's all I know. "

"How did you know it?"

"I had reason to think so. "

"What reason? I must request you to tell me. "

"I overheard scraps of their conversation now and then in thosemeetings, and so gathered my information. "

"You told a different tale to me, Sir Francis, " was her remark, as sheturned her indignant eyes toward him. 

Sir Francis laughed. 

"All stratagems are fair in love and war. "

She dared not immediately trust herself to reply, and a silence ensued. Sir Francis broke it, pointing with his left thumb over his shoulder inthe direction of the cradle. 

"What have you named that young article there?"

"The name which ought to have been his by inheritance--'FrancisLevison, '" was her icy answer. 

"Let's see--how old is he now?"

"He was born on the last day of August. "

Sir Francis threw up his arms and stretched himself, as if a fit ofidleness had overtaken him; then advanced to the cradle and pulled downthe clothes. 

"Who is he like, Isabel? My handsome self?"

"Were he like you in spirit, I would pray that he might die ere he couldspeak, or think!" she burst forth. And then remembering the resolutionmarked out for herself, subsided outwardly into calmness again. 

"What else?" retorted Sir Francis. "You know my disposition pretty wellby this time, Isabel, and may be sure that if you deal out small changeto me, you will get it back again with interest. "

She made no reply. Sir Francis put the clothes back over the sleepingchild, returned to the fire, and stood a few moments with his back toit. 

"Is my room prepared for me, do you know?" he presently asked. 

"No, it is not, " she quietly rejoined. "These apartments are mine now;they have been transferred into my name, and they can never again affordyou accommodation. Will you be so obliging--I am not strong--as to handme that writing case?"

Sir Francis walked to the table she indicated, which was at the far endof the great barn of a room, and taking the writing-case from it, gaveit to her. 

She reached her keys from the stand at her elbow, unlocked the case, andtook from it some bank-notes. 

"I received these from you a month ago, " she said. "They came by post. "

"And never had the grace to acknowledge them, " he returned, in a sort ofmock reproachful tone. 

"Forty pounds. That was the amount, was it not?"

"I believe so. "

"Allow me to return them to you. Count them. "

"Return them to me--for what?" inquired Sir Francis, in amazement. 

"I have no longer anything whatever to do with you in any way. Do notmake my arm ache, holding out these notes to you so long! Take them!"

Sir Francis took the notes from her hand and placed them on a stand nearto her. 

"If it be your wish that all relations should end between us, why, letit be so, " he said. "I must confess I think it may be the wisest course, as things have come to this pass; for a cat and dog life, which wouldseemingly be ours, is not agreeable. Remember, though, that it is yourdoing, not mine. But you cannot think I am going to see you starve, Isabel. A sum--we will fix upon the amount amicably--shall be placed toyour credit half-yearly, and--"

"I beg of you to cease, " she passionately interrupted. "What do you takeme for?"

"Take you for! Why, how can you live? You have no fortune--you mustreceive assistance from some one. "

"I will not receive it from you. If the whole world denied me, and Icould find no help from strangers, or means of earning my own bread, andit was necessary that I should still exist, I would apply to my husbandfor means, rather than to you. In saying this, it ought to convince youthat the topic may cease. "

"Your husband!" sarcastically rejoined Sir Francis. "Generous man!"

A flush, deep and painful, dyed her cheeks. "I should have said my latehusband. You need not have reminded me of the mistake. "

"If you will accept nothing for yourself, you must for the child. He, atany rate, falls to my share. I shall give you a few hundred a year withhim. "

She beat her hands before her, as if beating off the man and his words. "Not a farthing, now or ever. Were you to attempt to send money to him, I would throw it into the nearest river. _Whom_ do you take me for? Whatdo you take me for?" she repeated, rising in her bitter mortification. "If you have put me beyond the pale of the world, I am still Lord MountSevern's daughter!"

"You did as much toward putting yourself beyond its pale as--"

"Don't I know it? Have I not said so?" she sharply interrupted. And thenshe sat, striving to calm herself, clasping together her shaking hands. 

"Well, if you will persist in this perverse resolution, I cannot mendit, " resumed Sir Francis. "In a little time you may probably wish torecall it; in which case a line, addressed to me at my banker's, will--"

Lady Isabel drew herself up. "Put away those notes, if you please, " sheinterrupted, not allowing him to finish his sentence. 

He took out his pocket-book and placed the bank notes within it. 

"Your clothes--those you left here when you went to England--you willhave the goodness to order Pierre to take away this afternoon. And now, Sir Francis, I believe that is all: we will part. "

"To remain mortal enemies from henceforth? Is that to be it?"

"To be strangers, " she replied, correcting him. "I wish you a good day. "

"So you will not even shake hands with me, Isabel?"

"I would prefer not. "

And thus they parted. Sir Francis left the room, but not immediatelythe house. He went into a distant apartment, and, calling the servantsbefore him--there were but two--gave them each a year's wages inadvance--"That they might not have to trouble miladi for money, " he saidto them. Then he paid a visit to the landlord, and handed him, likewisea year's rent in advance, making the same remark. After that, he ordereddinner at a hotel, and the same night he and Pierre departed on theirjourney home again, Sir Francis thanking his lucky star that he had soeasily got rid of a vexatious annoyance. 

And Lady Isabel? She passed her evening alone, sitting in the sameplace, close to the fire and the sparks. The attendant remonstrated thatmiladi was remaining up too late for her strength, but miladi orderedher and her remonstrances into an adjoining room. 

When Lady Isabel lay down to rest, she sank into a somewhat calmer sleepthan she had known of late; also into a dream. She thought she was backat East Lynne--not _back_, in one sense, but that she seemed never tohave gone away from it--walking in the flower garden with Mr. Carlyle, while the three children played on the lawn. Her arm was within herhusband's, and he was relating something to her. What the news was, shecould not remember afterward, excepting that it was connected with theoffice and old Mr. Dill, and that Mr. Carlyle laughed when he told it. They appeared to be interrupted by the crying of Archibald; and, inturning to the lawn to ask what was the matter, she awoke. Alas! It wasthe actual crying of her own child which awoke her--this last child--theill-fated little being in the cradle beside her. But, for a singleinstant, she forgot recent events and doings, she believed she wasindeed in her happy home at East Lynne, a proud woman, an honored wife. As recollection flashed across her, with its piercing stings, she gavevent to a sharp cry of agony, of unavailing despair. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

ALONE FOR EVERMORE. 

A surprise awaited Lady Isabel Vane. It was on a windy day in thefollowing March that a traveller arrived at Grenoble, and inquired hisway of a porter, to the best hotel in the place, his French being suchas only an Englishman can produce. 

"Hotel? Let's see, " returned the man, politely, but with nativeindifference. "There are two hotels, nearly contiguous to each other, and monsieur would find himself comfortable at either. There is theTross Dauphins, and there is the Ambassadeurs. "

"Monsieur" chose haphazard, the Hotel des Ambassadeurs, and wasconducted to it. Shortly after his arrival there, he inquired his roadto the Place Grenette, and was offered to be shown: but he preferredthat it should be described to him, and to go alone. The Place wasfound, and he thence turned to the apartments of Lady Isabel Vane. 

Lady Isabel was sitting where you saw her the previous December--in theprecise spot--courting the warmth of the fire, and it seemed, courtingthe sparks also, for they appeared as fond of her as formerly. Themarvel was, how she had escaped spontaneous combustion; but there shewas yet, and her clothes likewise. You might think that but a nighthad passed, when you looked at the room, for it wore precisely the sameaspect now, as then; everything was the same, even to the child's cradlein the remote corner, partially hidden by the bed-curtains, and thesleeping child in it. Lady Isabel's progress toward recovery wasremarkably lingering, as is frequently the case when mind and body areboth diseased. She was so sitting when Susanne entered the room, andsaid that a "Monsieur Anglais" had arrived in the town to see her, andwas waiting below, in the saloon. 

Lady Isabel was startled. An English gentleman--to see _her_!

English for certain, was Susanne's answer, for she had difficulty tocomprehend his French. 

Who could be desirous to see her? One out of the world and forgotten!"Susanne, " she cried aloud, a thought striking her, "it is never SirFran--it is not monsieur!"

"Not in the least like monsieur, " complacently answered Susanne. "It isa tall, brave English gentleman, proud and noble looking like a prince. "

Every pulse within Lady Isabel's body throbbed rebelliously: her heartbounded till it was like to burst her side, and she turned sick withastonishment. 

"Tall, brave, noble?" could that description apply to any but Mr. Carlyle? Strange that so unnatural an idea should have occurred to her;it would not have done so in a calmer moment. She rose, tottered acrossthe chamber, and prepared to descend. Susanne's tongue was let loose atthe proceeding. 

"Was miladi out of her senses? To attempt going downstairs would be apretty ending, for she'd surely fall by the way. Miladi knew that thebottom step was of lead, and that no head could pitch down upon that, without ever never being a head any more, except in the hospitals. Letmiladi sit still in her place and she'd bring the monsieur up. What didit signify? He was not a young _petit maitre_, to quiz things: he wasfifty, if he was a day: his hair already turned to fine gray. "

This set the question touching Mr. Carlyle at rest, and her heartstilled again. The next moment she was inwardly laughing in her bittermockery at her insensate folly. Mr. Carlyle come to see her! _Her_!Francis Levison might be sending over some man of business, regardingthe money question, was her next thought: if so, she should certainlyrefuse to see him. 

"Go down to the gentleman and ask him his name Susanne. Ask also fromwhence he came. "

Susanne disappeared, and returned, and the gentleman behind her. Whethershe had invited him, or whether he had chosen to come uninvited, therehe was. Lady Isabel caught a glimpse, and flung her hands over herburning cheeks of shame. It was Lord Mount Severn. 

"How did you find out where I was?" she gasped, when some painful wordshad been uttered on both sides. 

"I went to Sir Francis Levison and demanded your address. Certain recentevents implied that he and you must have parted, and I therefore deemedit time to inquire what he had done with you. "

"Since last July, " she interrupted. Lifting up her wan face, nowcolorless again. "Do not think worse of me than I am. He was here inDecember for an hour's recriminating interview, and we parted for life. "

"What have you heard of him lately?"

"Not anything. I never know what is passing in the world at home; I haveno newspaper, no correspondence; and he would scarcely be so bold as towrite to me again. "

"I shall not shock you, then by some tidings I bring you regarding him, "returned Lord Mount Severn. 

"The greatest shock to me would be to hear that I should ever again besubjected to the sight of him, " she answered. 

"He is married. "

"Heaven have pity on his poor wife!" was all the comment of Lady Isabel. 

"He has married Alice Challoner. "

She lifted her head, then, in simple surprise. "Alice? Not Blanche?"

"The story runs that he has played Blanche very false. That he hasbeen with her much during the last three or four months, leading on herexpectations; and then suddenly proposed for her younger sister. I knownothing of the details myself; it is not likely; and I heard nothing, until one evening at the club I saw the announcement of the marriage forthe following day at St. George's. I was at the church the next morningbefore he was. "

"Not to stop it; not to intercept the marriage!" breathlessly utteredthe Lady Isabel. 

"Certainly not. I had no power to attempt anything of the sort. I wentto demand an answer to my question--what he had done with you, and whereyou were. He gave me this address, but said he knew nothing of yourmovements since December. "

There was a long silence. The earl appeared to be alternately ruminatingand taking a survey of the room. Isabel sat with her head down. 

"Why did you seek me out?" she presently broke forth. "I am not worthit. I have brought enough disgrace upon your name. "

"And upon your husband's and upon your children's, " he rejoined, in themost severe manner, for it was not in the nature of the Earl of MountSevern to gloss over guilt. "Nevertheless it is incumbent upon me, asyour nearest blood relative, to see after you, now that you are aloneagain, and to take care, as far as I can, that you do not lapse lower. "

He might have spared her that stab. But she scarcely understood him. Shelooked at him, wondering whether she did understand. 

"You have not a shilling in the world, " he resumed. "How do you proposeto live?"

"I have some money yet. When--"

"_His_ money?" sharply and haughtily interposed the earl. 

"No, " she indignantly replied. "I am selling my trinkets. Before theyare all gone, I shall look out to get a living in some way; by teaching, probably. "

"Trinkets!" repeated Lord Mount Severn. "Mr. Carlyle told me that youcarried nothing away with you from East Lynne. "

"Nothing that he had given me. These were mine before I married. Youhave seen Mr. Carlyle, then?" she faltered. 

"Seen him?" echoed the indignant earl. "When such a blow was dealt himby a member of my family, could I do less than hasten to East Lynne totender my sympathies? I went with another subject too--to discover whatcould have been the moving springs of your conduct; for I protest, whenthe black tidings reached me, I believed that you must have gone mad. You were one of the last whom I should have feared to trust. But Ilearned nothing, and Carlyle was as ignorant as I. How could you strikehim such a blow?"

Lower and lower drooped her head, brighter shone the shame on her hecticcheek. An awful blow to Mr. Carlyle it must have been; she was feelingit in all its bitter intensity. Lord Mount Severn read her repentantlooks. 

"Isabel, " he said, in a tone which had lost something of its harshness, and it was the first time he had called her by her Christian name, "Isee that you are reaping the fruits. Tell me how it happened. What demonprompted you to sell yourself to that bad man?"

"He is a bad man!" she exclaimed. "A base, heartless man!"

"I warned you at the commencement of your married life to avoid him; toshun all association with him; not to admit him to your house. "

"His coming to East Lynne was not my doing, " she whispered. "Mr. Carlyleinvited him. "

"I know he did. Invited him in his unsuspicious confidence, believinghis wife to _be_ his wife, a trustworthy woman of honor, " was the severeremark. 

She did not reply; she could not gainsay it; she only sat with her meekface of shame and her eyelids drooping. 

"If ever a woman had a good husband, in every sense of the word, youhad, in Carlyle; if ever man loved his wife, he loved you. _How_ couldyou so requite him?"

She rolled, in a confused manner, the corners of her warm shawl over herunconscious fingers. 

"I read the note you left for your husband. He showed it to me; theonly one, I believe, to whom he did show it. It was to him entirelyinexplicable, it was so to me. A notion had been suggested to him, afteryour departure, that his sister had somewhat marred your peace at EastLynne, and he blamed you much, if it was so, for not giving him yourfull confidence on the point, that he might set matters on the rightfooting. But it was impossible, and there was the evidence in the notebesides, that the presence of Miss Carlyle at East Lynne could be anyexcuse for your disgracing us all and ruining yourself. "

"Do not let us speak of these things, " said Lady Isabel, faintly. "Itcannot redeem the past. "

"But I must speak of them; I came to speak of them, " persisted the earl;"I could not do it as long as that man was here. When these inexplicablethings take place in the career of a woman, it is a father's dutyto look into motives and causes and actions, although the events inthemselves may be, as in this case, irreparable. Your father is gone, but I stand in his place, there is no one else to stand in it. "

Her tears began to fall. And she let them fall--in silence. The earlresumed. 

"But for that extraordinary letter, I should have supposed you had beenactuated by a mad infatuation for the cur, Levison; its tenor gave thematter a different aspect. To what did you allude when you asserted thatyour husband had driven you to it?"

"He knew, " she answered, scarcely above her breath. 

"He did not know, " sternly replied the earl. "A more truthful, honorableman than Carlyle does not exist on the face of the earth. When hetold me then, in his agony of grief, that he was unable to form evena suspicion of your meaning, I could have staked my earldom on hisveracity. I would stake it still. "

"I believed, " she began, in a low, nervous voice, for she knew thatthere was no evading the questions of Lord Mount Severn, when he wasresolute in their being answered, and, indeed she was too weak, bothin body and spirit, to resist--"I believed that his love was no longermine; that he had deserted me, for another. "

The earl stared at her. "What can you mean by 'deserted!' He was withyou. "

"There is a desertion of the heart, " was her murmured answer. 

"Desertion of a fiddlestick!" retorted his lordship. "The interpretationwe gave to the note, I and Carlyle, was, that you had been actuated bymotives of jealousy; had penned it in a jealous mood. I put the questionto Carlyle--as between man and man--do you listen, Isabel!--whether hehad given you cause; and he answered me, as with God over us, he hadnever given you cause; he had been faithful to you in thought, word anddeed; he had never, so far as he could call to mind, even looked uponanother woman with covetous feelings, since the hour that he made youhis wife; his whole thoughts had been of you, and of you alone. It ismore than many a husband can say, " significantly coughed Lord MountSevern. 

Her pulses were beating wildly. A powerful conviction that the wordswere true; that her own blind jealousy had been utterly mistaken andunfounded, was forcing its way to her brain. 

"After that I could only set your letter down as a subterfuge, " resumedthe earl--"a false, barefaced plea, put forth to conceal your realmotives, and I told Carlyle so. I inquired how it was he had neverdetected any secret understanding between you and that--that beast, located, as the fellow was, in the house. He replied that no suchsuspicion had ever occurred to him. He placed the most implicitconfidence in you, and would have trusted you with the creature aroundthe world, aye, with any one else. "

She entwined her hands one within the other, pressing them to pain. Itwould not deaden the pain at her heart. 

"Carlyle told me he had been unusually occupied during the stay of thatman. Besides his customary office work, his time was taken up with someprivate business for a family in the neighborhood, and he had repeatedlyto see them, more particularly the daughter, after office hours. Veryold acquaintances of his, he said, relatives of the Carlyle family; andhe was as anxious about the secret--a painful one--as they were. This, I observed to him, may have rendered him unobservant to what was passingat home. He told me, I remember, that on the very evening of the--thecatastrophe, he ought to have gone with you to a dinner party, but mostimportant circumstances arose, in connection with the affair, whichobliged him to meet two gentlemen at his office, and to receive them insecret, unknown to his clerks. "

"Did he mention the name of the family?" inquired Lady Isabel, withwhite lips. 

"Yes, he did. I forgot it, though. Rabbit! Rabit!--some such name asthat. "

"Was it Hare?"

"That was it--Hare. He said you appeared vexed that he did not accompanyyou to the dinner; and seeing that he intended to go in afterward, butwas prevented. When the interview was over in his office, he was againdetained at Mrs. Hare's house, and by business as impossible to avoid asthe other. "

"Important business!" she echoed, giving way for a moment to thebitterness of former feelings. "He was promenading in their garden bymoonlight with Barbara--Miss Hare. I saw them as my carriage passed. "

"And you were jealous that he should be there!" exclaimed Lord MountSevern, with mocking reproach, as he detected her mood. "Listen!" hewhispered, bending his head toward her. "While you may have thought, asyour present tone would seem to intimate, that they were pacing thereto enjoy each other's society, know that they--Carlyle, at any rate--waspacing the walk to keep guard. One was within that house--for a shorthalf hour's interview with his poor mother--one who lives in danger ofthe scaffold, to which his own father would be the first to deliverhim up. They were keeping the path against that father--Carlyle and theyoung lady. Of all the nights in the previous seven years, that one onlysaw the unhappy son at home for a half hour's meeting with his motherand sister. Carlyle, in the grief and excitement caused by your conduct, confided so much to me, when mentioning what kept him from the dinnerparty. "

Her face had become crimson--crimson at her past lamentable folly. Andthere was no redemption!

"But he was always with Barbara Hare, " she murmured, by way of somefaint excuse. 

"I have mentioned so. She had to see him upon this affair, her mothercould not, for it was obliged to be kept from the father. And so, youconstrued business interviews into assignations!" continued Lord MountSevern with cutting derision. "I had given you credit for better sense. But was _this_ enough to hurl you on the step you took? Surely not. Youmust have yielded in the persuasions of that wicked man. "

"It is all over now, " she wailed. 

"Carlyle was true and faithful to you, and to you alone. Few women havethe chance of happiness, in their married life, in the degree that youhad. He is an upright and good man; one of nature's gentlemen; one thatEngland may be proud of as having grown upon her soil. The more I seeof him, the greater becomes my admiration of him, and of his thoroughhonor. Do you know what he did in the matter of the damages?"

She shook her head. 

"He did not wish to proceed for damages, or only for the triflingsum demanded by law; but the jury, feeling for his wrongs, gaveunprecedently heavy ones. Since the fellow came into his baronetcythey have been paid. Carlyle immediately handed them over to the countyhospital. He holds the apparently obsolete opinion that money cannotwipe out a wife's dishonor. "

"Let us close those topics" implored the poor invalid. "I acted wickedlyand madly, and have the consequences to bear forever. More I cannotsay. "

"Where do you intend to fix your future residence?" inquired the earl. 

"I am unable to tell. I shall leave this town as soon as I am wellenough. "

"Aye. It cannot be pleasant for you to remain under the eyes of itsinhabitants. You were here with him, were you not?"

"They think I am his wife, " she murmured. "The servants think it. "

"That's well, so far. How many servants have you?"

"Two. I am not strong enough yet to do much myself, so am obliged tokeep two, " she continued, as if in apology for the extravagance, underher reduced circumstances. "As soon as ever the baby can walk, I shallmanage to do with one. "

The earl looked confounded. "The baby!" he uttered, in a tone ofastonishment and grief painful to her to hear. "Isabel, is there achild?"

Not less painful was her own emotion as she hid her face. Lord MountSevern rose and paced the room with striding steps. 

"I did not know it! I did not know it! Wicked, heartless villain!He ought to have married you before its birth. Was the divorce outpreviously?" he asked stopping short in his strides to put the question. 

"Yes. "

"Coward! Sneak! May good men shun him from henceforth! May his queenrefuse to receive him! You, an earl's daughter! Oh, Isabel, how utterlyyou have lost yourself!"

Lady Isabel started from her chair in a burst of hysterical sobs, herhands extended beseechingly toward the earl. "Spare me! Spare me! Youhave been rending my heart ever since you came; indeed I am too weak tobear it. "

The earl, in truth, had been betrayed into showing more of hissentiments than he intended. He recalled his recollection. 

"Well, well, sit down again, Isabel, " he said, putting her into herchair. "We shall go to the point I chiefly came here to settle. What sumwill it take you to live upon? Quietly; as of course you would now wishto live, but comfortably. "

"I will not accept anything, " she replied. "I will get my own living. "And the earl's irascibility again arose at the speech. He spoke in asharp tone. 

"Absurd, Isabel! Do not add romantic folly to your own mistakes. Getyour own living, indeed! As much as is necessary for you to live upon, I shall supply. No remonstrance; I tell you I am acting as for yourfather. Do you suppose he would have abandoned you to starve or towork?"

The allusion touched every chord within her bosom, and the tears fellfast. "I thought I could get my living by teaching, " she sobbed. 

"And how much did you anticipate the teaching would bring you in?"

"Not very much, " she listlessly said. "A hundred a year, perhaps; I amvery clever at music and singing. That sum might keep us, I fancy, evenif I only went out by the day. "

"And a fine 'keep' it would be! You shall have that sum every quarter!"

"No, no! no, no! I do not deserve it; I could not accept it; I haveforfeited all claim to assistance. "

"Not to mine. Now, it is of no use to excite yourself, my mind is madeup. I never willingly forego a duty, and I look upon this not only asa duty, but as an imperative one. Upon my return, I shall immediatelysettle four hundred upon you, and you can draw it quarterly. "

"Then half that sum, " she reflected, knowing how useless it was tocontend with Lord Mount Severn when he got upon the stilts of "duty. ""Indeed, two hundred a year will be ample; it will seem like riches tome. "

"I have named the sum, Isabel, and I shall not make it less. A hundredpounds every three months shall be paid to you, dating from this day. This does not count, " said he, laying down some notes on the table. 

He took her hand within his in token of farewell; turned and was gone. 

And Lady Isabel remained in her chamber alone. 

Alone; alone! _Alone_ for evermore!

CHAPTER XXVII. 

BARBARA'S MISDOINGS. 

A sunny afternoon in summer. More correctly speaking, it may be said asummer's evening, for the bright beams were already slanting athwartthe substantial garden of Mr. Justice Hare, and the tea hour, seven, waspassing. Mr. And Mrs. Hare and Barbara were seated at the meal; somehow, meals always did seem in process at Justice Hare's; if it was notbreakfast, it was luncheon--if it was not luncheon, it was dinner--ifit was not dinner, it was tea. Barbara sat in tears, for the justice wasgiving her a "piece of his mind, " and poor Mrs. Hare deferently agreeingwith her husband, as she would have done had he proposed to set thehouse on fire and burn her up in it, yet sympathizing with Barbara, moved uneasily in her chair. 

"You do it for the purpose; you do it to anger me, " thundered thejustice, bringing down his hand on the tea-table and causing the cups torattle. 

"No I don't, papa, " sobbed Barbara. 

"Then why _do_ you do it?"

Barbara was silent. 

"No; you can't answer; you have nothing to urge. What is the matter, pray, with Major Thorn? Come, I will be answered. "

"I don't like him, " faltered Barbara. 

"You do like him; you are telling me an untruth. You have liked him wellenough whenever he has been here. "

"I like him as an acquaintance, papa; not as a husband. "

"Not as a husband!" repeated the exasperated justice. "Why, bless myheart and body, the girl's going mad! Not as a husband! Who asked you tolike him as a husband before he became such? Did ever you hear that itwas necessary or expedient, or becoming for a young lady to act on andbegin to 'like' a gentleman as 'her husband?'"

Barbara felt a little bewildered. 

"Here's the whole parish saying that Barbara Hare can't be married, that nobody will have her, on account of--of--of that cursed stain leftby----, I won't trust myself to name him, I should go too far. Now, don't you think that's a pretty disgrace, a fine state of things?"

"But it is not true, " said Barbara; "people do ask me. "

"But what's the use of their asking when you say 'No?'" raved thejustice. "Is that the way to let the parish know that they ask? You arean ungrateful, rebellious, self-willed daughter, and you'll never beotherwise. "

Barbara's tears flowed freely. The justice gave a dash at the bellhandle, to order the tea things carried away, and after their removalthe subject was renewed, together with Barbara's grief. That was theworst of Justice Hare. Let him seize hold of a grievance, it was notoften he got upon a real one, and he kept on at it, like a blacksmithhammering at his forge. In the midst of a stormy oration, tongue andhands going together, Mr. Carlyle came in. 

Not much altered; not much. A year and three-quarters had gone by andthey had served to silver his hair upon the temples. His manner, too, would never again be careless and light as it once had been. He was thesame keen man of business, the same pleasant, intelligent companion; thegenerality of people saw no change in him. Barbara rose to escape. 

"No, " said Justice Hare, planting himself between her and the door;"that's the way you like to get out of my reach when I am talking toyou. You won't go; so sit down again. I'll tell you of your ill-conductbefore Mr. Carlyle, and see if that will shame you. "

Barbara resumed her seat, a rush of crimson dyeing her cheeks. AndMr. Carlyle looked inquiringly, seeming to ask an explanation of herdistress. The justice continued after his own fashion. 

"You know, Carlyle, that horrible blow that fell upon us, that shamelessdisgrace. Well, because the parish can't clack enough about the factitself, it must begin about Barbara, saying that the disgrace andhumiliation are reflected upon her, and that nobody will come near herto ask her to be his wife. One would think, rather than lie under thestigma and afford the parish room to talk, she'd marry the first manthat came, if it was the parish beadle--anybody else would. But now, what are the facts? You'll stare when you know them. She has received abushel of good offers--a bushel of them, " repeated the justice, dashinghis hand down on his knee, "and she says 'No!' to all. The last wasto-day, from Major Thorn, and, my young lady takes and puts the stopperupon it, as usual, without reference to me or her mother, without sayingwith your leave or by your leave. She wants to be kept in her room for aweek upon bread and water, to bring her to her senses. "

Mr. Carlyle glanced at Barbara. She was sitting meekly under theinfliction, her wet eyelashes falling on her flushed cheeks and shadingher eyes. The justice was heated enough, and had pushed his flaxen wignearly hind-part before, in the warmth of his argument. 

"What did you say to her?" snapped the justice. 

"Matrimony may not have charms for Barbara, " replied Mr. Carlyle halfjokingly. 

"Nothing does have charms for her that ought to have, " growled JusticeHare. "She's one of the contrary ones. By the way, though, " hastilyresumed the justice, leaving the objectionable subject, as anotherflashed across his memory, "they were coupling your name and matrimonytogether, Carlyle, last night, at the Buck's Head. "

A very perceptible tinge of red rose to the face of Mr. Carlyle, tellingof inward emotion, but his voice and manner betrayed none. 

"Indeed, " he carelessly said. 

"Ah, you are a sly one; you are, Carlyle. Remember how sly you were overyour first----" marriage, Justice Hare was going to bring out, but itsuddenly occurred to him that all circumstances considered, it was notprecisely the topic to recall to Mr. Carlyle. So he stopped himself inthe utterance, coughed, and went on again. "There you go, over tosee Sir John Dobede, _not_ to see Sir John, but paying court to MissDobede. "

"So the Buck's Head was amusing itself with that!" good-naturedlyobserved Mr. Carlyle. "Well, Miss Dobede is going to be married, and Iam drawing up the settlements. "

"It's not she; she marries young Somerset; everybody knows that. It'sthe other one, Louisa. A nice girl, Carlyle. "

"Very, " responded Mr. Carlyle, and it was all the answer he gave. Thejustice, tired of sitting indoors, tired, perhaps, of extracting nothingsatisfactory from Mr. Carlyle, rose, shook himself, set his wig arightbefore the chimney-glass, and quitted the house on his customary eveningvisit to the Buck's Head. Barbara, who watched him down the path, sawthat he encountered someone who happened to be passing the gate. Shecould not at first distinguish who it might be, nothing but an arm andshoulder cased in velveteen met her view, but as their positions changedin conversation--his and her father's--she saw that it was Locksley;he had been the chief witness, not a vindictive one; he could not helphimself, against her brother Richard, touching the murder of Hallijohn. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Hare had drawn Mr. Carlyle into a chair close by her own. 

"Archibald, will you forgive me if I say a word upon the topicintroduced by Mr. Hare?" she said, in a low tone, as she shook his hand. "You know how fondly I have ever regarded you, second only to my poorRichard. Your welfare and happiness are precious to me. I wish I couldin any way promote them. It occurs to me, sometimes, that you are not atpresent so happy as you might be. "

"I have some sources of happiness, " said Mr. Carlyle. "My children and Ihave plenty of sources of interest. What do you mean, dear Mrs. Hare?"

"Your home might be made happier. "

Mr. Carlyle smiled, nearly laughed. "Cornelia takes care of that, as shedid in the old days, you know. "

"Yes, I know. Would it not be as well to consider whether she would notbe better in a home of her own--and for you to give East Lynne anothermistress?"

He shook his head. 

"Archibald, it would be happier for you; it would indeed. It is only innew ties that you can forget the past. You might find recompense yet forthe sorrow you have gone through; and I know none, " repeated Mrs. Hare, emphatically, "more calculated to bring it you than that sweet girl, Louisa Dobede. "

"So long as--" Mr. Carlyle was beginning, and had not got so far in hissentence, when he was interrupted by an exclamation from Barbara. 

"What can be the matter with papa? Locksley must have said somethingto anger him. He is coming in the greatest passion, mamma; his facecrimson, and his hands and arms working. "

"Oh, dear, Barbara!" was all poor Mrs. Hare's reply. The justice's greatbursts of passion frightened her. 

In he came, closed the door, and stood in the middle of the room, looking alternately at Mrs. Hare and Barbara. 

"What is this cursed report, that's being whispered in the place!" quothhe, in a tone of suppressed rage, but not unmixed with awe. 

"What report?" asked Mr. Carlyle, for the justice waited for an answer, and Mrs. Hare seemed unable to speak. Barbara took care to keep silence;she had some misgivings that the justice's words might be referring toherself--to the recent grievance. 

"A report that he--_he_--has been here disguised as a laborer, has daredto show himself in the place where he'll come yet, to the gibbet. "

Mrs. Hare's face turned as white as death; Mr. Carlyle rose anddexterously contrived to stand before her, so that it should not beseen. Barbara silently locked her hands, one within the other, andturned to the window. 

"Of whom did you speak?" asked Mr. Carlyle, in a matter-of-fact tone, asif he were putting the most matter-of-fact question. He knew too well;but he thought to temporize for the sake of Mrs. Hare. 

"Of whom do I speak!" uttered the exasperated justice, nearly besidehimself with passion; "of whom would I speak but the bastard Dick! Whoelse in West Lynne is likely to come to a felon's death?"

"Oh, Richard!" sobbed forth Mrs. Hare, as she sank back in her chair, "be merciful. He is our own true son. "

"Never a true son of the Hares, " raved the justice. "A true son ofwickedness, and cowardice, and blight, and evil. If he has dared to showhis face at West Lynne, I'll set the whole police of England upon histrack, that he may be brought here as he ought, if he must come. WhenLocksley told me of it just now, I raised my hand to knock him down, soinfamously false did I deem the report. Do _you_ know anything of hishaving been here?" continued the justice to his wife, in a pointed, resolute tone. 

How Mrs. Hare would have extricated herself, or what she would haveanswered, cannot even be imagined, but Mr. Carlyle interposed. 

"You are frightening Mrs. Hare, sir. Don't you see that she knowsnothing of it--that the very report of such a thing is alarming her intoillness? But--allow me to inquire what it may be that Locksley said?"

"I met him at the gate, " retorted Justice Hare, turning his attentionupon Mr. Carlyle. "He was going by as I reached it. 'Oh, justice, I amglad I met you. That's a nasty report in the place that Richard has beenhere. I'd see what I could do toward hushing it up, sir, if I were you, for it may only serve to put the police in mind of by gone things, whichit may be better they should forget. ' Carlyle, I went, as I tell you, to knock him down. I asked him how he could have the hardihood to repeatsuch slander to my face. He was on the high horse directly; said theparish spoke the slander, not he; and I got out of him what it was hehad heard. "

"And what was it?" interrupted Mr. Carlyle, more eagerly than hegenerally spoke. 

"Why, they say the fellow showed himself here some time ago, a year orso, disguised as a farm laborer--confounded fools! Not but what he'dhave been the fool had he done it. "

"To be sure he would, " repeated Mr. Carlyle, "and he is not fool enoughfor that, sir. Let West Lynne talk, Mr. Hare; but do not put faith in aword of its gossip. I never do. Poor Richard, wherever he may be--"

"I won't have him pitied in my presence, " burst forth the justice. "PoorRichard, indeed! Villain Richard, if you please. "

"I was about to observe that, wherever he may be--whether in thebackwoods of America, or digging for gold in California, or wanderingabout the United Kingdom--there is little fear that he will quit hisplace of safety to dare the dangerous ground of West Lynne. Had I beenyou, sir, I should have laughed at Locksley and his words. "

"Why does West Lynne invent such lies?"

"Ah, there's the rub. I dare say West Lynne could not tell why, if itwere paid for doing it; but it seems to have been a lame story it hadgot up this time. If they must have concocted a report that Richard hadbeen seen at West Lynne, why put it back to a year ago--why not havefixed it for to-day or yesterday? If I heard anything more, I wouldtreat it with the silence and contempt it deserves, justice. "

Silence and contempt were not greatly in the justice's line; noise andexplosion were more so. But he had a high opinion of the judgment of Mr. Carlyle; and growling a sort of assent, he once more set forth to payhis evening visit. 

"Oh, Archibald!" uttered Mrs. Hare, when her husband was half-way downthe path, "what a mercy that you were here! I should inevitably havebetrayed myself. "

Barbara turned round from the window, "But what could have possessedLocksley to say what he did?" she exclaimed. 

"I have no doubt Locksley spoke with a motive, " said Mr. Carlyle. "Heis not unfriendly to Richard, and thought, probably, that by telling Mr. Hare of the report he might get it stopped. The rumor had been mentionedto me. "

Barbara turned cold all over. "How can it have come to light?" shebreathed. 

"I am at a loss to know, " said Mr. Carlyle. "The person to mention it tome was Tom Herbert. 'I say, ' said he meeting me yesterday, 'what's thisrow about Dick Hare?' 'What now?' I asked him. 'Why, that Dick was atWest Lynne some time back, disguised as a farm laborer. ' Just the same, you see, that Locksley said to Mr. Hare. I laughed at Tom Herbert, "continued Mr. Carlyle; "turned his report into ridicule also, before Ihad done with him. "

"Will it be the means of causing Richard's detection?" murmured Mrs. Hare from between her dry lips. 

"No, no, " warmly responded Mr. Carlyle. "Had the report arisenimmediately after he was really here, it might not have been sopleasant; but nearly two years have elapsed since the period. Be underno uneasiness, dear Mrs. Hare, for rely upon it there is no cause. "

"But how _could_ it have come out, Archibald?" she urged, "and at thisdistant period of time?"

"I assure you I am quite at a loss to imagine. Had anybody at West Lynneseen and recognized Richard, they would have spoken of it at the time. Do not let it trouble you; the rumor will die away. "

Mrs. Hare sighed deeply, and left the room to proceed to her ownchamber. Barbara and Mr. Carlyle were alone. 

"Oh, that the real murderer could be discovered!" she aspirated, clasping her hands. "To be subjected to these shocks of fear isdreadful. Mamma will not be herself for days to come. "

"I wish the right man could be found; but it seems as far off as ever, "remarked Mr. Carlyle. 

Barbara sat ruminating. It seemed that she would say something to Mr. Carlyle, but a feeling caused her to hesitate. When she did at lengthspeak, it was in a low, timid voice. 

"You remember the description Richard gave, that last night, of theperson he had met--the true Thorn?"

"Yes. "

"Did it strike you then--has it ever occurred to you to think--that itaccorded with some one?"

"In what way, Barbara?" he asked, after a pause. "It accorded with thedescription Richard always gave of the man Thorn. "

"Richard spoke of the peculiar movement of throwing off the hair fromthe forehead--in this way. Did that strike you as being familiar, inconnection with the white hand and the diamond ring?"

"Many have a habit of pushing off their hair--I think I do it myselfsometimes. Barbara, what do you mean? Have you a suspicion of any one?"

"Have you?" she returned, answering the question by asking another. 

"I have not. Since Captain Thorn was disposed of, my suspicions have notpointed anywhere. "

This sealed Barbara's lips. She had hers, vague doubts, bringing wondermore than anything else. At times she had thought the same doubts mighthave occurred to Mr. Carlyle; she now found that they had not. Theterrible domestic calamity which had happened to Mr. Carlyle the samenight that Richard protested he had seen Thorn, had prevented Barbara'sdiscussing the matter with him then, and she had never done so since. Richard had never been further heard of, and the affair had remained inabeyance. 

"I begin to despair of its ever being discovered, " she observed. "Whatwill become of poor Richard?"

"We can but wait, and hope that time may bring forth its ownelucidation, " continued Mr. Carlyle. 

"Ah, " sighed Barbara, "but it is weary waiting--weary, weary. "

"How is it you contrive to get under the paternal displeasure?" heresumed, in a gayer tone. 

She blushed vividly, and it was her only answer. 

"The Major Thorn alluded to by your papa is our old friend, I presume?"

Barbara inclined her head. 

"He is a very pleasant man, Barbara. Many a young lady in West Lynnewould be proud to get him. "

There was a pause. Barbara broke it, but she did not look at Mr. Carlyleas she spoke. 

"The other rumor--is it a correct one?"

"What other rumor?"

"That you are to marry Louisa Dobede. "

"It is not. I have no intention of marrying any one. Nay, I will say itmore strongly; it is my intention not to marry any one--to remain as Iam. "

Barbara lifted her eyes to his in the surprise of the moment. 

"You look amused, Barbara. Have you been lending your credence to thegossips, who have so kindly disposed of me to Louisa Dobede?"

"Not so. But Louisa Dobede is a girl to be coveted, and, as mamma says, it might be happier for you if you married again. I thought you would besure to do so. "

"No. She--who was my wife--lives. "

"What of that?" uttered Barbara, in simplicity. 

He did not answer for a moment, and when he did, it was in a low, almostimperceptible tone, as he stood by the table at which Barbara sat, andlooked down on her. 

"'Whosoever putteth away his wife, and marrieth another, committethadultery. '"

And before Barbara could answer, if, indeed, she had found any answer tomake, or had recovered her surprise, he had taken his hat and was gone. 

To return for a short while to Lady Isabel. As the year advancedshe grew stronger, and in the latter part of the summer she madepreparations for quitting Grenoble. Where she would fix her residence, or what she would do, she knew not. She was miserable and restless, and cared little what became of her. The remotest spot on earth, oneunpenetrated by the steps of civilized man, appeared the most desirablefor her. Where was she to find this?

She set out on her search, she and the child and its nurse. Not Susanne. Susanne had a sweetheart in Grenoble, and declined to leave it, so agirl was engaged for the child in her place. Lady Isabel wound up herhousekeeping, had her things packed and forwarded to Paris, there towait her orders and finally quitted Grenoble. It was a fine day when sheleft it--all too fine for the dark ending it was to bring. 

When a railway accident does take place in France, it _is_ an accident. None of your milk-and-water affairs, where a few bruises and a greatfright are the extent of the damages but too often a calamity whoseremembrance lasts a lifetime. Lady Isabel had travelled a considerabledistance that first day, and at the dusk of evening, as they wereapproaching a place, Cammere, where she purposed to halt for the night, a dreadful accident occurred. The details need not be given, and willnot be. It is sufficient to say that some of the passengers were killed, her child and nurse being amongst them, and she herself was dangerouslyinjured. 

The injuries lay chiefly in her left leg and in her face--the lower partof her face. The surgeons, taking their cursory view of her, as theydid of the rest of the sufferers, were not sparing in their remarks, forthey believed her to be insensible. She had gathered that the leg was tobe amputated, and that she would probably die under the operation--buther turn to be attended to was not yet. How she contrived to write shenever knew, but she got a pen and ink brought to her, and did succeed inscrawling a letter to Lord Mount Severn. 

She told him that a sad accident had taken place; she could not say how;all was confusion; and that her child and maid were killed. She herselfwas dangerously injured, and was about to undergo an operation, whichthe doctors believed she could not survive; only _in case of her deathwould the letter be sent to Lord Mount Severn_. She could not die, shesaid, without a word of thanks for all his kindness; and she begged him, when he saw Mr. Carlyle, to say that with her last breath she humblyimplored his forgiveness, and his children's whom she no longer dared tocall hers. 

Now this letter, by the officiousness of a servant at the inn to whichthe sufferers were carried, was taken at once to the post. And, afterall, things turned out not quite so bad as anticipated; for when thedoctors came to examine the state of Lady Isabel, not cursorily, they found there would be no absolute necessity for the operationcontemplated. Fond as the French surgeons are of the knife, to resort toit in this instance would have been cruel, and they proceeded to othermeans of cure. 

The letter was duly delivered at the town house of Lord Mount Severn, where it was addressed. The countess was sojourning there for a fewdays; she had quitted it after the season, but some business, orpleasure, had called her again to town. Lord Vane was with her, but theearl was in Scotland. They were at breakfast, she and her son, when theletter was brought in: eighteen pence to pay. Its scrawled address, itsforeign aspect, its appearance, altogether, excited her curiosity; inher own mind, she believed she had dropped upon a nice little conjugalmare's nest. 

"I shall open this, " cried she. 

"Why, it is addressed to papa!" exclaimed Lord Vane who possessed allhis father's notions of honor. 

"But such an odd letter! It may require an immediate answer; or is somebegging petition, perhaps. Get on with your breakfast. "

Lady Mount Severn opened the letter, and with some difficulty speltthrough its contents. They shocked even her. 

"How dreadful!" she uttered, in the impulse of the moment. 

"What is dreadful?" asked Lord Vane, looking up from his breakfast. 

"Lady Isabel--Isabel Vane--you have not forgotten her?"

"Forgotten her!" he echoed. "Why, mamma, I must possess a funny memoryto have forgotten her already. "

"She is dead. She has been killed in a railway accident in France. "

His large blue eyes, honest and true as they had been in childhood, filled, and his face flushed. He said nothing, for emotion was strongwithin him. 

"But, shocking as it is, it is better for her, " went on the countess;"for, poor creature what could her future life had been?"

"Oh, don't say it!" impetuously broke out the young viscount. "Killed ina railway accident, and for you to say that it is better for her!"

"So it is better, " said the countess. "Don't go into heroics, William. You are quite old enough to know that she had brought misery uponherself, and disgrace upon all connected with her. No one could everhave taken notice of her again. "

"I would, " said the boy, stoutly. 

Lady Mount Severn smiled derisively. 

"I would. I never liked anybody in the world half so much as I likedIsabel. "

"That's past and gone. You would not have continued to like her, afterthe disgrace she wrought. "

"Somebody else wrought more of the disgrace than she did; and, had Ibeen a man, I would have shot him dead, " flashed the viscount. 

"You don't know anything about it. "

"Don't I!" returned he, not over dutifully. But Lady Mount Severn hadnot brought him up to be dutiful. 

"May I read the letter, mamma?" he demanded, after a pause. 

"If you can read it, " she replied, tossing it to him. "It is written inthe strangest style; syllables divided, and the words running one intothe other. She wrote it herself when she was dying. "

Lord Vane took the letter to a window, and stayed looking over itfor some time; the countess ate an egg and a plate of ham meanwhile. Presently he came back with it folded, and laid in on the table. 

"You will forward it to papa to-day, " he observed. 

"I shall forward it to him. But there's no hurry; and I don't exactlyknow where your papa may be. I shall send the notice of her death to thepapers; and I am glad to do it; it is a blight removed from the family. "

"Mamma, I do think you are the unkindest woman that ever breathed!"

"I'll give you something to call me unkind for, if you don't mind, "retorted the countess, her color rising. "Dock you of your holiday, andpack you back to school to-day. "

A few mornings after this Mr. Carlyle left East Lynne and proceeded tohis office as usual. Scarcely was he seated, when Mr. Dill entered, and Mr. Carlyle looked at him inquiringly, for it was not Mr. Carlyle'scustom to be intruded upon by any person until he had opened hisletters; then he would ring for Mr. Dill. The letters and the _Times_newspaper lay on the table before him. The old gentleman came up in acovert, timid sort of way, which made Mr. Carlyle look all the more. 

"I beg pardon, sir; will you let me ask if you have heard any particularnews?"

"Yes, I have heard it, " replied Mr. Carlyle. 

"Then, sir, I beg your pardon a thousand times over. It occurred to methat you probably had not, Mr. Archibald; and I thought I would havesaid a word to prepare you, before you came upon it suddenly in thepaper. "

"To prepare me!" echoed Mr. Carlyle, as old Dill was turning away. "Why, what has come to you, Dill? Are you afraid my nerves are growingdelicate, or that I shall faint over the loss of a hundred pounds? Atthe very most, we shall not suffer above that extent. "

Old Dill turned back again. 

"If I don't believe you are speaking of the failure of Kent & Green!It's not _that_, Mr. Archibald. They won't affect us much; and there'llbe a dividend, report runs. "

"What is it, then?"

"Then you have not heard it, sir! I am glad that I'm in time. It mightnot be well for you to have seen it without a word of preparation, Mr. Archibald. "

"If you have not gone demented, you will tell me what you mean, Dill, and leave me to my letters, " cried Mr. Carlyle, wondering excessively athis sober, matter-of-fact clerk's words and manner. 

Old Dill put his hands upon the _Times_ newspaper. 

"It's here, Mr. Archibald, in the column of deaths; the first on thelist. Please, prepare yourself a little before you look at it. "

He shuffled out quickly, and Mr. Carlyle as quickly unfolded the paper. It was, as old Dill said, the first on the list of deaths:

"At Cammere, in France, on the 18th inst. , Isabel Mary, only child ofWilliam, late Earl of Mount Severn. "

Clients called; Mr. Carlyle's bell did not ring; an hour or two passed, and old Dill protested that Mr. Carlyle was engaged until he couldprotest no longer. He went in, deprecatingly. Mr. Carlyle sat yet withthe newspaper before him, and the letters unopened at his elbow. 

"There are one or two who _will_ come in, Mr. Archibald--who _will_ seeyou; what am I to say?"

Mr. Carlyle stared at him for a moment, as if his wits had been in thenext world. Then he swept the newspaper from before him, and was thecalm, collected man of business again. 

As the news of Lady Isabel's marriage had first come in the knowledgeof Lord Mount Severn through the newspapers, so singular to say did thetidings of her death. The next post brought him the letter, which hiswife had tardily forwarded. But, unlike Lady Mount Severn, he did nottake her death as entirely upon trust; he thought it possible the lettermight have been dispatched without its having taken place; and he deemedit incumbent on him to make inquiries. He wrote immediately to theauthorities of the town, in the best French he could muster, asking forparticulars, and whether she was really dead. 

He received, in due course a satisfactory answer; satisfactory in sofar as that it set his doubts at rest. He had inquired after her by herproper name, and title, "La Dame Isabelle Vane, " and as the authoritiescould find none of the survivors owning that name, they took it forgranted she was dead. They wrote him word that the child and nurse werekilled on the spot; two ladies, occupying the same compartment of thecarriage, had since died, one of whom was no doubt the mother and ladyhe inquired for. She was dead and buried, sufficient money having beenfound upon her person to defray the few necessary expenses. 

Thus, through no premeditated intention of Lady Isabel, news of herdeath went forth to Lord Mount Severn and to the world. _Her_ firstintimation that she was regarded as dead, was through a copy of thatvery day's _Times_ seen by Mr. Carlyle--seen by Lord Mount Severn. AnEnglish traveller, who had been amongst the sufferers, and who receivedthe English newspaper daily, sometimes lent them to her to read. Shewas not travelling under her own name; she left that behind her when sheleft Grenoble; she had rendered her own too notorious to risk the chancerecognition of travellers; and the authorities little thought that thequiet unobtrusive Madame Vine, slowly recovering at the inn, was theDame Isabella Vane, respecting whom the grand English comte wrote. 

Lady Isabel understood it at once; that the dispatching of her letterhad been the foundation of the misapprehension; and she began to askherself now, why she should undeceive Lord Mount Severn and the world. She longed, none knew with what intense longings, to be unknown, obscure, totally unrecognized by all; none can know it, till they haveput a barrier between themselves and the world, as she had done. Thechild was gone--happy being! She thought she could never be sufficientlythankful that it was released from the uncertain future--therefore shehad not his support to think of. She had only herself; and surely shecould with ease earn enough for that; or she could starve; it matteredlittle which. No, there was no necessity for her continuing to acceptthe bounty of Lord Mount Severn, and she would let him and everybodyelse continue to believe that she was dead, and be henceforth onlyMadame Vine. A resolution she adhered to. 

Thus the unhappy Isabel's career was looked upon as run. Lord MountSevern forwarded her letter to Mr. Carlyle, with the confirmation of herdeath, which he had obtained from the French authorities. It was a nineday's wonder: "That poor, erring Lady Isabel was dead"--people did notcall her names in the very teeth of her fate--and then it was over. 

It was over. Lady Isabel was as one forgotten. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR AT EAST LYNNE. 

There went, sailing up the avenue to East Lynne, a lady, one windyafternoon. If not a lady, she was attired as one; a flounced dress, anda stylish looking shawl, and a white veil. A very pretty woman, tall andslender was she, and she minced as she walked, and coquetted with herhead, and, altogether contrived to show that she had quite as muchvanity as brains. She went boldly up to the broad entrance of the house, and boldly rang at it, drawing her white veil over her face as she didso. 

One of the men-servants answered it, not Peter; and, seeing somebodyvery smart before him, bowed deferentially. 

"Miss Hallijohn is residing here, I believe. Is she within?"

"Who, ma'am?"

"Miss Hallijohn; Miss Joyce Hallijohn, " somewhat sharply repeated thelady, as if impatient of any delay. "I wish to see her. "

The man was rather taken aback. He had deemed it a visitor to the house, and was prepared to usher her to the drawing-room, at least; but itseemed it was only a visitor to Joyce. He showed her into a smallparlor, and went upstairs to the nursery, where Joyce was sitting withWilson--for there had been no change in the domestic department ofEast Lynne. Joyce remained as upper maid, partially superintending theservants, attending upon Lucy, and making Miss Carlyle's dresses asusual. Wilson was nurse still. 

"Miss Joyce, there's a lady asking for you, " said the man. "I have shownher into the gray parlor. "

"A lady for me?" repeated Joyce. "Who is it? Some one to see thechildren, perhaps. "

"It's for yourself, I think. She asked for Miss Hallijohn. "

Joyce looked at the man; but she put down her work and proceeded to thegray parlor. A pretty woman, vain and dashing, threw up her white veilat her entrance. 

"Well, Joyce, how are you?"

Joyce, always pale, turned paler still, as she gazed in blankconsternation. Was it really _Afy_ who stood before her--Afy, theerring?

Afy it was. And she stood there, holding out her hand to Joyce, withwhat Wilson would have called, all the brass in the world. Joyce couldnot reconcile her mind to link her own with it. 

"Excuse me, Afy, but I cannot take your hand, I cannot welcome you here. What could have induced you to come?"

"If you are going to be upon the high ropes, it seems I might as wellhave stayed away, " was Afy's reply, given in the pert, but good-humoredmanner she had ever used to Joyce. "My hand won't damage yours. I am notpoison. "

"You are looked upon in the neighborhood as worse than poison, Afy, "returned Joyce, in a tone, not of anger but of sorrow. "Where's RichardHare?"

Afy tossed her head. "Where's who?" asked she. 

"Richard Hare. My question was plain enough. "

"How should I know where he is? It's like your impudence to mentionhim to me. Why don't you ask me where Old Nick is, and how he does?I'd rather own acquaintance with him than with Richard Hare, if I'd mychoice between the two. "

"Then you have left Richard Hare? How long since?"

"I have left--what do you say?" broke off Afy, whose lips were quiveringominously with suppressed passion. "Perhaps you'll condescend toexplain. I don't understand. "

"When you left here, did you not go after Richard Hare--did you not joinhim?"

"I'll tell you what it is, Joyce, " flashed Afy, her face indignant andher voice passionate, "I have put up with some things from you in mytime, but human nature has its limits of endurance, and I won't bear_that_. I have never set eyes on Richard Hare since that night ofhorror; I wish I could; I'd help to hang him. "

Joyce paused. The belief that Afy was with him had been long and deeplyimbued within her; it was the long-continued and firm conviction of allWest Lynne, and a settled belief, such as that, is not easily shaken. Was Afy telling the truth? She knew her propensity for making falseassertions, when they served to excuse herself. 

"Afy, " she said at length, "let me understand you. When you left thisplace, was it not to share Richard Hare's flight? Have you not beenliving with him?"

"No!" burst forth Afy, with kindling eyes. "Living with _him_--with ourfather's murderer! Shame upon you, Joyce Hallijohn! You must be preciouswicked yourself to suppose it. "

"If I have judged you wrongly, Afy, I sincerely beg your pardon. Notonly myself, but the whole of West Lynne, believed you were with him;and the thought has caused me pain night and day. "

"What a cannibal minded set you all must be, then!" was Afy's indignantrejoinder. 

"What have you been doing ever since, then? Where have you been?"

"Never mind, I say, " repeated Afy. "West Lynne has not been socomplimentary to me, it appears, that I need put myself out of my way tosatisfy its curiosity. I was knocking about a bit at first, but I soonsettled down as steady as Old Time--as steady as you. "

"Are you married?" inquired Joyce, noting the word "settled. "

"Catch me marrying, " retorted Afy; "I like my liberty too well. Not butwhat I might be induced to change my condition, if anything out of theway eligible occurred; it must be very eligible, though, to tempt me. Iam what I suppose you call yourself--a lady's maid. "

"Indeed!" said Joyce, much relieved. "And are you comfortable, Afy? Areyou in good service?"

"Middling, for that. The pay's not amiss, but there's a great deal todo, and Lady Mount Severn's too much of a Tartar for me. "

Joyce looked at her in surprise. "What have you to do with Lady MountSevern?"

"Well, that's good! It's where I am at service. "

"At Lady Mount Severn's?"

"Why not? I have been there two years. It is not a great deal longer Ishall stop, though; she had too much vinegar in her for me. But it posesme to imagine what on earth could have induced you to fancy I shouldgo off with that Dick Hare, " she added, for she could not forget thegrievance. 

"Look at the circumstances, " argued Joyce. "You both disappeared. "

"But not together. "

"Nearly together. There were only a few days intervening. And you hadneither money nor friends. "

"You don't know what I had. But I would rather have died of want onfather's grave than have shared his means, " continued Afy, growingpassionate again. 

"Where is he? Not hung, or I should have heard of it. "

"He has never been seen since that night, Afy. "

"Nor heard of?"

"Nor heard of. Most people think he is in Australia, or some otherforeign land. "

"The best place for him; the more distance he puts between him and home, the better. If he does come back, I hope he'll get his desserts--whichis a rope's end. I'd go to his hanging. "

"You are as bitter against him as Mr. Justice Hare. He would bring hisson back to suffer, if he could. "

"A cross-grained old camel!" remarked Afy, in allusion to the qualities, social and amiable, of the revered justice. "I don't defend DickHare--I hate him too much for that--but if his father had treatedhim differently, Dick might have been different. Well, let's talk ofsomething else; the subject invariably gives me the shivers. Who ismistress here?"

"Miss Carlyle. "

"Oh, I might have guessed that. Is she as fierce as ever?"

"There is little alteration in her. "

"And there won't be on this side the grave. I say, Joyce, I don't wantto encounter her; she might set on at me, like she has done many atime in the old days. Little love was there lost between me and CornyCarlyle. Is Mr. Carlyle at home?"

"He will be home to dinner. I dare say you would like some tea; youshall come and take it with me and Wilson, in the nursery. "

"I was thinking you might have the grace to offer me something, " criedAfy. "I intend to stop till to-morrow in the neighborhood. My ladygave me two days' holiday--for she was going to see her dreadful oldgrandmother, where she can't take a maid--and I thought I'd use it incoming to have a look at the old place again. Don't stare at me in thatblank way, as if you feared I should ask the grand loan of sleepinghere. I shall sleep at the Mount Severn Arms. "

"I was not glancing at such a thought, Afy. Come and take your bonnetoff. "

"Is the nursery full of children?"

"There is only one child in it. Miss Lucy and Master William are withthe governess. "

Wilson received Afy with lofty condescension, having Richard Hare in herthoughts. But Joyce explained that it was all a misapprehension--thather sister had never been near Richard Hare, but was as indignantagainst him as they were. Upon which Wilson grew cordial and chatty, rejoicing in the delightful recreation her tongue would enjoy thatevening. 

Afy's account of herself, as to past proceedings, was certainly not themost satisfactory in the world; but, altogether, taken in the present, it was so vast an improvement upon Joyce's conclusions, that she hadnot felt so elated for many a day. When Mr. Carlyle returned home Joycesought him, and acquainted him with what had happened; that Afy wascome; was maid to Lady Mount Severn; and, above all, that she had neverbeen with Richard Hare. 

"Ah! You remember what I said, Joyce, " he remarked. "That I did notbelieve Afy was with Richard Hare. "

"I have been telling her so, sir, to be sure, when I informed her whatpeople had believed, " continued Joyce. "She nearly went into one of herold passions. "

"Does she seem steady, Joyce?"

"I think so, sir--steady for her. I was thinking, sir, that as sheappears to have turned out so respectable, and is with Lady MountSevern, you, perhaps, might see no objection to her sleeping here forto-night. It would be better than for her to go to the inn, as she talksof doing. "

"None at all, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "Let her remain. "

Later in the evening, after Mr. Carlyle's dinner, a message came thatAfy was to go to him. Accordingly she proceeded to his presence. 

"So, Afy, you have returned to let West Lynne know that you are alive. Sit down. "

"West Lynne may go a-walking for me in future, sir, for all the heedI shall take of it, " retorted Afy. "A set of wicked-mindedscandal-mongers, to take and say I had gone after Richard Hare!"

"You should not have gone off at all, Afy. "

"Well, sir, that was my business, and I chose to go. I could not stop inthe cottage after that night's work. "

"There is a mystery attached to that night's work, Afy, " observed Mr. Carlyle; "a mystery that I cannot fathom. Perhaps you can help me out. "

"What mystery, sir?" returned Afy. 

Mr. Carlyle leaned forward, his arms on the table. Afy had taken achair at the other end of it. "Who was it that committed the murder?" hedemanded, in a grave and somewhat imperative tone. 

Afy stared some moments before she replied, astonished at the question. "Who committed the murder, sir?" she uttered at length. "Richard Harecommitted it. Everybody knows that. "

"Did you see it done?"

"No, " replied Afy. "If I had seen it, the fright and horror would havekilled me. Richard Hare quarreled with my father, and drew the gun uponhim in passion. "

"You assume this to have been the case, Afy, as others have assumed it. I do not think that it was Richard Hare who killed your father. "

"Not Richard Hare!" exclaimed Afy, after a pause. "Then who do you thinkdid it, sir--I?"

"Nonsense, Afy. "

"I know he did it, " proceeded Afy. "It is true that I did not see itdone, but I know it for all that. I _know_ it, sir. "

"You cannot know it, Afy. "

"I do know it, sir; I would not assert it to you if I did not. IfRichard Hare was here, present before us, and swore until he was blackin the face that it was not him, I could convict him. "

"By what means?"

"I had rather not say, sir. But you may believe me, for I am speakingtruth. "

"There was another friend of yours present that evening, Afy. LieutenantThorn. "

Afy's face turned crimson; she was evidently surprised. But Mr. Carlyle's speech and manner were authoritative, and she saw it would beuseless to attempt to trifle with him. 

"I know he was, sir. A young chap who used to ride over some evenings tosee me. He had nothing to do with what occurred. "

"Where did he ride from?"

"He was stopping with some friends at Swainson. He was nobody, sir. "

"What was his name?" questioned Mr. Carlyle. 

"Thorn, " said Afy. 

"I mean his real name. Thorn was an assumed name. "

"Oh, dear no, " returned Afy. "Thorn was his name. "

Mr. Carlyle paused and looked at her. 

"Afy, I have reason to believe that Thorn was only an assumed name. Now, I have a motive for wishing to know his real one, and you would verymuch oblige me by confiding it to me. What was it?"

"I don't know that he had any other name, sir; I am sure he had noother, " persisted Afy. "He was Lieutenant Thorn, then and he was CaptainThorn, afterward. "

"You have seen him since?"

"Once in a way we have met. "

"Where is he now?"

"Now! Oh, my goodness, I don't know anything about him now, " mutteredAfy. "I have not heard of him or seen him for a long while. I think Iheard something about his going to India with his regiment. "

"What regiment is he in?"

"I'm sure I don't know about that, " said Afy. "Is not one regiment thesame as another; they are all in the army, aren't they, sir?"

"Afy, I must find this Captain Thorn. Do you know anything of hisfamily?"

Afy shook her head. "I don't think he had any. I never heard him mentionas much as a brother or a sister. "

"And you persist in saying his name was Thorn?"

"I persist in saying it because it was his name. I am positive it washis name. "

"Afy, shall I tell you why I want to find him; I believe it was he whomurdered your father, not Richard Hare. "

Afy's mouth and eyes gradually opened, and her face turned hot and coldalternately. Then passion mastered her, and she burst forth. 

"It's a lie! I beg your pardon, sir, but whoever told you that, told youa lie. Thorn had no more to do with it than I had; I'll swear it. "

"I tell you, Afy, I believe Thorn to have been the man. You were notpresent; you cannot know who actually did it. "

"Yes, I can, and do know, " said Afy, bursting into sobs of hystericalpassion. "Thorn was with me when it happened, so it could not have beenThorn. It was that wicked Richard Hare. Sir, have I not said that I'llswear it?"

"Thorn was with you--at the moment of the murder?" repeated Mr. Carlyle. 

"Yes, he was, " shrieked Afy, nearly beside herself with emotion. "Whoever has been trying to put it off Richard Hare, and on to him, is awicked, false-hearted wretch. It was Richard Hare, and nobody else, andI hope he'll be hung for it yet. "

"You are telling me the truth, Afy?" gravely spoke Mr. Carlyle. 

"Truth!" echoed Afy, flinging up her hands. "Would I tell a lie over myfather's death? If Thorn had done it, would I screen him, or shuffle itoff to Richard Hare? Not so. "

Mr. Carlyle felt uncertain and bewildered. That Afy was sincere in whatshe said, was but too apparent. He spoke again but Afy had risen fromher chair to leave. 

"Locksley was in the wood that evening. Otway Bethel was in it. Couldeither of them have been the culprit?"

"No, sir, " firmly retorted Afy; "the culprit was Richard Hare; and I'dsay it with my latest breath--I'd say it because I know it--though Idon't choose to say how I know it; time enough when he gets taken. "

She quitted the room, leaving Mr. Carlyle in a state of puzzledbewilderment. Was he to believe Afy, or was he to believe the bygoneassertion of Richard Hare?

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A NIGHT INVASION OF EAST LYNNE. 

In one of the comfortable sitting-rooms of East Lynne sat Mr. Carlyleand his sister, one inclement January night. The contrast within andwithout was great. The warm, blazing fire, the handsome carpet on whichit flickered, the exceedingly comfortable arrangement of the furniture, of the room altogether, and the light of the chandelier, which fell onall, presented a picture of home peace, though it may not have deservedthe name of luxury. Without, heavy flakes of snow were falling thickly, flakes as large and nearly as heavy as a crown piece, rendering theatmosphere so dense and obscure that a man could not see a yard beforehim. Mr. Carlyle had driven home in the pony carriage, and the snow hadso settled upon him that Lucy, who happened to see him as he entered thehall, screamed out laughingly that her papa had turned into a white man. It was now later in the evening; the children were in bed; the governesswas in her own sitting room--it was not often that Miss Carlyle invitedher to theirs of an evening--and the house was quite. Mr. Carlyle wasdeep in the pages of one of the monthly periodicals, and Miss Carlylesat on the other side of the fire, grumbling, and grunting, andsniffling, and choking. 

Miss Carlyle was one of your strong-minded ladies, who nevercondescended to be ill. Of course, had she been attacked with scarletfever, or paralysis, or St. Vitus' dance, she must have given in to theenemy; but trifling ailments, such as headache, influenza, sorethroat, which other people get, passed her by. Imagine, therefore, herexasperation at finding her head stuffed up, her chest sore, and hervoice going; in short, at having, for once in her life, caught a coldlike ordinary mortals. 

"What's the time, I wonder?" she exclaimed. 

Mr. Carlyle looked at his watch. "It is just nine, Cornelia. "

"Then I think I shall go to bed. I'll have a basin of arrowroot orgruel, or some slop of that sort, after I'm in it. I'm sure I have beenfree enough all my life from requiring such sick dishes. "

"Do so, " said Mr. Carlyle. "It may do you good. "

"There's one thing excellent for a cold in the head, I know. It's todoubt your flannel petticoat crossways, or any other large piece offlannel you may conveniently have at hand, and put it on over yournight-cap. I'll try it. "

"I would, " said Mr. Carlyle, smothering an irreverent laugh. 

She sat on five minutes longer, and then left, wishing Mr. Carlylegood-night. He resumed his reading; but another page or two concludedthe article, upon which Mr. Carlyle threw the book on the table, roseand stretched himself, as if tired of sitting. 

He stirred the fire into a brighter blaze, and stood on the hearthrug. "I wonder if it snows still?" he exclaimed to himself. 

Proceeding to the window, one of those opening to the ground, he threwaside the half of the warm crimson curtain. It all looked dull anddark outside. Mr. Carlyle could see little what the weather was, and heopened the window and stepped half out. 

The snow was falling faster and thicker than ever. Not at that did Mr. Carlyle start with surprise, if not with a more unpleasant sensation;but a feeling a man's hand touch his, and at finding a man's face nearlyin contact with his own. 

"Let me come in, Mr. Carlyle, for the love of life! I see you are alone. I'm dead beat, and I don't know but I'm dodged also. "

The tones struck familiarly on Mr. Carlyle's ear. He drew backmechanically, a thousand perplexing sensations overwhelming him, and theman followed him into the room--a white man, as Lucy called her father. Aye, for he had been hours and hours on foot in the snow; his hat, hisclothes, his eyebrows, his large whiskers, all were white. "Lock thedoor, sir, " were his first words. Need you be told that it was RichardHare?

Mr. Carlyle fastened the window, drew the heavy curtains across, andturned rapidly to lock the two doors--for there were two to the room, one of them leading into the adjoining one. Richard meanwhile tookoff his wet smock-frock of former memory--his hat, and his false blackwhiskers, wiping the snow from the latter with his hand. 

"Richard, " uttered Mr. Carlyle, "I am thunderstruck! I fear you havedone wrong to come here. "

"I cut off from London at a moment's notice, " replied Richard, whowas literally shivering with the cold. "I'm dodged, Mr. Carlyle, I amindeed. The police are after me, set on by that wretch Thorn. "

Mr. Carlyle turned to the sideboard and poured out a wineglass ofbrandy. "Drink it, Richard, it will warm you. "

"I'd rather have it in some hot water, sir. "

"But how am I to get the hot water brought in? Drink this for now. Why, how you tremble. "

"Ah, a few hours outside in the cold snow is enough to make thestrongest man tremble, sir; and it lies so deep in places that you haveto come along at a snail's pace. But I'll tell you about this business. A fortnight ago I was at a cabstand at the West End, talking to acab-driver, when some drops of rain came down. A gentleman and ladywere passing at the time, but I had not paid any attention to them. 'ByJove!' I heard him exclaim to her, 'I think we're going to have pepper. We had better take a cab, my dear. ' With that the man I was talking toswung open the door of his cab, and she got in--such a fair young lady, she was! I turned to look at him, and you might just have knocked medown with astonishment. Mr. Carlyle, it was the man, Thorn. "

"Indeed!"

"You thought I might be mistaken in him that moonlight night, but therewas no mistaking him in broad daylight. I looked him full in the face, and he looked at me. He turned as white as cloth. Perhaps I did--I don'tknow. "

"Was he well dressed?"

"Very. Oh, there's no mistaking his position. That he moves in thehigher classes there's no doubt. The cab drove away, and I got up behindit. The driver thought boys were there, and turned his head and hiswhip, but I made him a sign. We didn't go much more than the length of astreet. I was on the pavement before Thorn was, and looked at him again, and again he went white. I marked the house, thinking it was where helived, and--"

"Why did you not give him into custody, Richard?"

Richard Hare shook his head. "And my proofs of his guilt, Mr. Carlyle?I could bring none against him--no positive ones. No, I must wait till Ican get proofs to do that. He would turn round upon me now and swear mylife away to murder. Well, I thought I'd ascertain for certain what hisname was, and that night I went to the house, and got into conversationwith one of the servants, who was standing at the door. 'Does CaptainThorn live here?' I asked him. 

"'Mr. Westleby lives here, ' said he; 'I don't know any Captain Thorn. '

"Then that's his name, thought I to myself. 'A youngish man, isn't he?'said I, 'very smart, with a pretty wife?'

"'I don't know what you call youngish, ' he laughed, 'my master's turnedsixty, and his wife's as old. '

"That checked me. 'Perhaps he has sons?' I asked. 

"'Not any, ' the man answered; 'there's nobody but their two selves. '

"So, with that, I told him what I wanted--that a lady and gentleman hadalighted there in a cab that day, and I wished to know his name. Well, Mr. Carlyle, I could get at nothing satisfactory; the fellow said that agreat many had called there that day, for his master was just up from along illness, and people came to see him. "

"Is that all, Richard?"

"All! I wish it had been all. I kept looking about for him in all thebest streets; I was half mad--"

"Do you not wonder, if he is in this position of life, and resides inLondon, that you have never dropped upon him previously?" interruptedMr. Carlyle. 

"No, sir; and I'll tell you why. I have been afraid to show myself inthose latter parts of the town, fearing I might meet with some one Iused to know at home, who would recognize me, so I have kept mostly inobscure places--stables and such like. I had gone up to the West Endthis day on a matter of business. "

"Well, go on with your story. "

"In a week's time I came upon him again. It was at night. He was comingout of one of the theatres, and I went up and stood before him. "

"'What do you want, fellow?' he asked. 'I have seen you watching mebefore this. '

"'I want to know your name, ' I said, 'that's enough for me at present. '

"He flew into a passion, and swore that if ever he caught sight of menear him again he would hand me over into custody. 'And remember, menare not given into custody for _watching_ others, ' he significantlyadded. 'I know you, and if you have any regard for yourself, you'll keepout of my way. '

"He had got into a private carriage as he spoke, and it drove away; Icould see that it had a great coat-of-arms upon it. "

"When do you say this was?"

"A week ago. Well, I could not rest; I was half mad, I say, and wentabout, still trying if I could not discover his name and who he was. I did come upon him, but he was walking quickly, arm-in-arm with--withanother gentleman. Again I saw him, standing at the entrance to thebetting rooms, talking to the same gentleman, and his face turnedsavage--I believe with fear as much as anger--when he discerned me. He seemed to hesitate, and then--as if he acted in a passion--suddenlybeckoned to a policeman, pointed me out, and said something to him in afast tone. That frightened me, and I slipped away. Two hours after, whenI was in quite a different part of the town, in turning my head I sawthe same policeman following me. I bolted under the horses of a passingvehicle, down some turnings and passages, out into another street, andup beside a cabman who was on his box, driving a fare past. I reachedmy lodgings in safety, as I thought, but happening to glance into thestreet, there I saw the man again, standing opposite, and reconnoiteringthe house. I had gone home hungry, but this took all my hunger away fromme. I opened the box where I kept my disguise, put it on, and got outby a back way. I have been pretty nearly ever since on my feet reachinghere; I only got a lift now and then. "

"But, Richard, do you know that West Lynne is the very worst place youcould have flown to? It has come to light that you were here before, disguised as a farm laborer. "

"Who the deuce betrayed that?" interrupted Richard. 

"I am unable to tell; I cannot even imagine. The rumor was rife in theplace, and it reached your father's ear. The rumor may make people'swits sharper to know you in your disguise, than they otherwise mighthave been. "

"But what was I to do? I was forced to come here first and get alittle money. I shall fix myself in some other big town, far away fromLondon--Liverpool or Manchester, perhaps; and see what employment I canget into, but I must have something to live upon till I can get it. Idon't possess a penny piece, " he added, drawing out his trousers pocketsfor the inspection of Mr. Carlyle. "The last coppers, I had, threepence, I spent in bread and cheese and half a pint of beer at midday. Ihave been outside that window for more than an hour, sir. "

"Indeed!"

"And as I neared West Lynne I began to think what I should do. It wasno use in me trying to catch Barbara's attention such a night as this; Ihad no money to pay for a lodging; so I turned off here, hoping I might, by good luck, drop upon you. There was a little partition in the windowcurtain--it had not been drawn close--and through it I could see you andMiss Carlyle. I saw her leave the room; I saw you come to the window andopen it, and then I spoke. Mr. Carlyle, " he added, after a pause, "isthis life to go on with me forever?"

"I am deeply sorry for you, Richard, " was the sympathizing answer. "Iwish I could remedy it. "

Before another word was spoken the room door was tried, and then gentlyknocked at. Mr. Carlyle placed his hand on Richard, who was lookingscared out of his wits. 

"Be still; be at ease, Richard; no one shall come in. It is only Peter. "

Not Peter's voice, however, but Joyce's was heard, in response to Mr. Carlyle's demand of who was there. 

"Miss Carlyle has left her handkerchief downstairs, sir, and has sent mefor it. "

"You cannot come in--I am busy, " was the answer, delivered in a clearand most decisive tone. 

"Who was it?" quivered Richard, as Joyce was heard going away. 

"It was Joyce. "

"What! Is she here still? Has anything ever been heard of Afy, sir?"

"Afy was here herself two or three months ago. "

"Was she, though?" uttered Richard, beguiled for an instant from thethought of his own danger. "What is she doing?"

"She is in service as a lady's maid. Richard, I questioned Afy aboutThorn. She protested solemnly to me that it was not Thorn who committedthe deed--that it could not have been he, for Thorn was with her at themoment of its being done. "

"It's not true!" fired Richard. "It was Thorn. "

"Richard, you cannot tell; you did not _see_ it done. "

"I know that no man could have rushed out in that frantic manner, withthose signs of guilt and fear about him, unless he had been engaged in abad deed, " was Richard Hare's answer. "It could have been no one else. "

"Afy declared he was with her, " repeated Mr. Carlyle. 

"Look here, sir, you are a sharp man, and folks say I am not, but I cansee things and draw my reasoning as well as they can, perhaps. If Thornwere not Hallijohn's murderer, why should he be persecuting me--whatwould he care about me? And why should his face turn livid, as it hasdone, each time he has seen my eyes upon him? Whether he did commit themurder, or whether he didn't, he must know that I did not, because hecame upon me, waiting, as he was tearing from the cottage. "

Dick's reasoning was not bad. 

"Another thing, " he resumed. "Afy swore at the inquest that she was_alone_ when the deed was done; that she was alone at the back of thecottage, and knew nothing about it till afterwards. How could she havesworn she was alone, if Thorn was with her?"

The fact has entirely escaped Mr. Carlyle's memory in his conversationwith Afy, or he would not have failed to point out the discrepancy, andto inquire how she could reconcile it. Yet her assertion to him had beenmost positive and solemn. There were difficulties in the matter which hecould not reconcile. 

"Now that I have got over my passion for Afy, I can see her faults, Mr. Carlyle. She'd no more tell an untruth than I should stick--"

A most awful thundering at the room door--loud enough to bring the veryhouse down. No officers of justice, searching for a fugitive, ever madea louder. Richard Hare, his face turned to chalk, his eyes starting, and his own light hair bristling up with horror, struggled into his wetsmock-frock after a fashion, the tails up about his ears and the sleeveshanging, forced on his hat and his false whiskers, looked round in abewildered manner for some cupboard or mouse-hole into which he mightcreep, and, seeing none, rushed to the fireplace and placed his foot onthe fender. That he purposed an attempt at chimney-climbing was evident, though how the fire would have agreed with his pantaloons, not to speakof what they contained, poor Dick appeared completely to ignore. Mr. Carlyle drew him back, keeping his calm, powerful hand upon hisshoulder, while certain sounds in an angry voice were jerked through thekeyhole. 

"Richard, be a man, put aside this weakness, this fear. Have I not toldyou that harm shall not come near you in my house?"

"It may be that officer from London; he may have brought half a dozenmore with him!" gasped the unhappy Richard. "I said they might havedodged me all the way here. "

"Nonsense. Sit you down, and be at rest, it is only Cornelia; and shewill be as anxious to shield you from danger as I can be. "

"Is it?" cried the relieved Richard. "Can't you make her keep out?" hecontinued, his teeth still chattering. 

"No, that I can't, if she has a mind to come in, " was the candid answer. "You remember what she was, Richard; she is not altered. "

Knowing that to speak on this side the door to his sister, when she wasin one of her resolute moods, would be of no use, Mr. Carlyle opened thedoor, dexterously swung himself through it, and shut it after him. Thereshe stood; in a towering passion, too. 

It had struck Miss Carlyle, while undressing, that certain sounds, as oftalking, proceeded from the room underneath, which she had just quitted. She possessed a remarkably keen sense of hearing, did Miss Carlyle;though, indeed, none of her faculties lacked the quality of keenness. The servants, Joyce and Peter excepted, would not be convinced but thatshe must "listen;" but, in that, they did her injustice. First of all, she believed her brother must be reading aloud to himself; but she soondecided otherwise. "Who on earth has he got in there with him?" quothMiss Carlyle. 

She rang her bell; Joyce answered it. 

"Who is it that is with your master?"

"Nobody, ma'am. "

"But I say there is. I can hear him talking. "

"I don't think anybody can be with him, " persisted Joyce. "And the wallsof this house are too well built, ma'am, for sounds from the down stairsrooms to penetrate here. "

"That's all you know about it, " cried Miss Carlyle. "When talking goeson in that room, there's a certain sound given out which does penetratehere, and which my ears have grown accustomed to. Go and see who it is. I believe I left my handkerchief on the table; you can bring it up. "

Joyce departed, and Miss Carlyle proceeded to take off her things; herdress first, her silk petticoat next. She had arrived as far as theflannel petticoat when Joyce returned. 

"Yes, ma'am, some one is talking with master. I could not go in, for thedoor was bolted, and master called out that he was busy. "

Food for Miss Carlyle. She, feeling sure that no visitor had come to thehouse, ran her thoughts rapidly over the members of the household, andcame to the conclusion that it must be the governess, Miss Manning, whohad dared to closet herself with Mr. Carlyle. This unlucky governesswas pretty, and Miss Carlyle had been cautious to keep her and herprettiness very much out of her brother's sight; she knew the attractionhe would present to her visions, or to those of any other unprovided-forgoverness. Oh, yes; it was Miss Manning; she had stolen in; believingshe, Miss Carlyle, was safe for the night; but she'd just unearth mylady. And what in the world could possess Archibald--to lock the door!

Looking round for something warm to throw over her shoulders, and catching up an article that looked as much like a green baizetable-cover as anything else, and throwing it on, down stalked MissCarlyle. And in this trim Mr. Carlyle beheld her when he came out. 

The figure presented by Miss Carlyle to her brother's eyes was certainlyridiculous enough. She gave him no time to comment upon it, however, butinstantly and curtly asked, --

"Who have you got in that room?"

"It is some one on business, " was his prompt reply. "Cornelia, youcannot go in. "

She very nearly laughed. "Not go in?"

"Indeed it is much better that you should not. Pray go back. You willmake your cold worse, standing here. 

"Now, I want to know whether you are not ashamed of yourself?" shedeliberately pursued. "You! A married man, with children in your house!I'd rather have believed anything downright wicked of myself, than ofyou, Archibald. "

Mr. Carlyle stared considerably. 

"Come; I'll have her out. And out of this house she tramps to-morrowmorning. A couple of audacious ones, to be in there with the doorlocked, the moment you thought you had got rid of me! Stand aside, Isay, Archibald, I will enter. "

Mr. Carlyle never felt more inclined to laugh. And, to Miss Carlyle'sexceeding discomposure she, at this juncture, saw the governess emergefrom the gray parlor, glance at the hall clock, and retire again. 

"Why! She's there, " she uttered. "I thought she was with you. "

"Miss Manning, locked in with me! Is that the mare's nest, Cornelia? Ithink your cold must have obscured your reason. "

"Well, I shall go in, all the same. I tell you, Archibald, that I willsee who is there. "

"If you persist in going in, you must go. But allow me to warn you thatyou will find tragedy in that room, not comedy. There is no woman in it, but there is a man; a man who came in through the window, like a huntedstag; a man upon whom a ban is set, who fears the police are upon histrack. Can you guess his name?"

It was Miss Carlyle's turn to stare now. She opened her dry lips tospeak, but they closed again. 

"It is Richard Hare, your kinsman. There's not a roof in the wide worldopen to him this bitter night. "

She said nothing. A long pause of dismay, and then she motioned to havethe door opened. 

"You will not show yourself--in--in that guise?"

"Not show myself in this guise to Richard Hare--whom I havewhipped--when he was a child--ten times a day! Stand on ceremony with_him_! I dare say he looks no better than I do. But it's nothing shortof madness, Archibald, for him to come here. "

He left her to enter, telling her to lock the door as soon as she wasinside, and went himself into the adjoining room, the one which, byanother door, opened to the one Richard was in. Then he rang the bell. It was answered by a footman. 

"Send Peter to me. "

"Lay supper here, Peter, for two, " began Mr. Carlyle, when the oldservant appeared. "A person is with me on business. What have you in thehouse?"

"There's the spiced beef, sir; and there are some home-made raised porkpies. "

"That will do, " said Mr. Carlyle. "Put a quart of ale on the table, andeverything likely to be wanted. And then the household can go to bed;we may be late, and the things can be removed in the morning. Oh--andPeter--none of you must come near the room, this or the next, underany pretence whatever, unless I ring, for I shall be too busy to bedisturbed. "

"Very well, sir. Shall I serve the ham also?"

"The ham?"

"I beg pardon, sir; I guessed it might be Mr. Dill, and he is so fond ofour hams. "

"Ah, you were always a shrewd guesser, Peter, " smiled his master. "He isfond of ham I know; yes, you may put it on the table. Don't forget thesmall kettle. "

The consequence of which little finesse on Mr. Carlyle's part was, thatPeter announced in the kitchen that Mr. Dill had arrived, and supper wasto be served for two. "But what a night for the old gentleman to havetrudged through on foot!" exclaimed he. 

"And what a trudge he'll have of it back again, for it'll be worsethen!" chimed in one of the maids. 

When Mr. Carlyle got back in the other room, his sister and Richard Harehad scarcely finished staring at each other. 

"Please lock the door, Miss Cornelia, " began poor shivering Dick. 

"The door's locked, " snapped she. "But what on earth brought you here, Richard? You must be worse than mad. "

"The Bow-street officers were after me in London, " he meekly responded, unconsciously using a term which had been familiar to his boyish years. "I had to cut away without a thing belonging to me, without so much as aclean shirt. "

"They must be polite officers, not to have been after you before, "was the consolatory remark of Miss Carlyle. "Are you going to dance ahornpipe through the streets of West Lynne to-morrow, and show yourselfopenly?"

"Not if I can help it, " replied Richard. 

"You might just as well do that, if you come to West Lynne at all; foryou can't be here now without being found out. There was a bother aboutyour having been here the last time: I should like to know how it gotabroad. "

"The life I lead is dreadful!" cried Richard. "I might make up my mindto toil, though that's hard, after being reared a gentleman; but to bean exile, banned, disgraced, afraid to show my face in broad daylightamidst my fellowmen, in dread every hour that the sword may fall! Iwould almost as soon be dead as continue to live it. "

"Well, you have got nobody to grumble at; you brought it upon yourself, "philosophically returned Miss Carlyle, as she opened the door to admither brother. "You would go hunting after that brazen hussy, Afy, youknow, in defiance of all that could be said to you. "

"That would not have brought it upon me, " said Richard. "It was throughthat fiend's having killed Hallijohn; that was what brought the ban uponme. "

"It's a most extraordinary thing, if anybody else _did_ kill him, thatthe facts can't be brought to light, " retorted Miss Carlyle. "Here youtell a cock-and-bull story of some man's having done it, some Thorn; butnobody ever saw or heard of him, at the time or since. It looks like amade-up story, Mr. Dick, to whiten yourself. "

"Made up!" panted Richard, in agitation, for it seemed cruel to him, especially in his present frame of mind, to have a doubt cast upon histale. "It is Thorn who is setting the officers upon me. I have seen himthree or four times within the last fortnight. "

"And why did you not turn the tables, and set the officers upon him?"demanded Miss Carlyle. 

"Because it would lead to no good. Where's the proof, save my bare word, that he committed the murder?"

Miss Carlyle rubbed her nose. "Dick Hare, " said she. 

"Well?"

"You know you always were the greatest natural idiot that ever was letloose out of leading strings. "

"I know I always was told so. "

"And it's what you always will be. If I were accused of committing acrime, which I knew another had committed and not myself, should Ibe such an idiot as not to give that other into custody if I got thechance? If you were not in such a cold, shivery, shaky state, I wouldtreat you to a bit of my mind, you may rely upon that. "

"He was in league with Afy, at that period, " pursued Richard; "adeceitful, bad man; and he carries it in his countenance. And he must bein league with her still, if she asserts that he was in her company atthe moment the murder was committed. Mr. Carlyle says she does; that shetold him so the other day, when she was here. He never was; and it washe, and no other, who did the murder. "

"Yes, " burst forth Miss Carlyle, for the topic was sure to agitate her, "that Jezebel of brass did presume to come here! She chose her timewell, and may thank her lucky stars I was not at home. Archibald, he'sa fool too, quite as bad a you are, Dick Hare, in some things--actuallysuffered her to lodge here for two days! A vain, ill-conducted hussy, given to nothing but finery and folly!"

"Afy said that she knew nothing of Thorn's movements now, Richard, andhad not for some time, " interposed Mr. Carlyle, allowing his sister'scompliments to pass in silence. "She heard a rumor, she thought, that hehad gone abroad with his regiment. "

"So much the better for her, if she does know nothing of him, sir, " wasRichard's comment. "I can answer for it that he is not abroad, but inEngland. "

"And where are you going to lodge to-night?" abruptly spoke MissCarlyle, confronting Richard. 

"I don't know, " was the broken-spirited answer, sighed forth. "If I laymyself down in a snowdrift, and am found frozen in the morning, it won'tbe of much moment. "

"Was that what you thought of doing?" returned Miss Carlyle. 

"No, " he mildly said. "What I thought of doing was to ask Mr. Carlylefor the loan of a few shillings, and then I can get a bed. I know aplace where I shall be in safety, two or three miles from here. "

"Richard, I would not turn a dog out to go two or three miles on such anight as this, " impulsively uttered Mr. Carlyle. "You must stop here. "

"Indeed I don't see how he is to get up to a bedroom, or how a room isto be made ready for him, for the matter of that, without betraying hispresence to the servants, " snapped Miss Carlyle. And poor Richard laidhis aching head upon his hands. 

But now Miss Carlyle's manner was more in fault than her heart. Will itbe believed that, before speaking the above ungracious words, before Mr. Carlyle had touched upon the subject, she had been casting about inher busy mind for the best plan of keeping Richard--how it could beaccomplished. 

"One thing is certain, " she resumed, "that it will be impossible for youto sleep here without its being known to Joyce. And I suppose you andJoyce are upon the friendly terms of drawing daggers, for she believesyou were the murderer of her father. "

"Let me disabuse her, " interrupted Richard, his pale lips working as hestarted up. "Allow me to see her and convince her, Mr. Carlyle. Why didyou not tell Joyce better?"

"There's that small room at the back of mine, " said Miss Carlyle, returning to the practical part of the subject. "He might sleep there. But Joyce must be taken in confidence. "

"Joyce had better come in, " said Mr. Carlyle. "I will say a word to herfirst. "

He unlocked the door and quitted the room. Miss Carlyle as jealouslylocked it again; called to Joyce and beckoned her into the adjoiningapartment. He knew that Joyce's belief in the guilt of Richard Hare wasconfirmed and strong, but he must uproot that belief if Richard was tobe lodged in his house that night. 

"Joyce, " he began, "you remember how thoroughly imbued with thepersuasion you were, that Afy went off with Richard Hare, and was livingwith him. I several times expressed my doubts upon the point. The factwas, I had positive information that she was not with him, and never hadbeen, though I considered it expedient to keep my information to myself. You are convinced now that she was not with him?"

"Of course I am, sir. "

"Well, you see, Joyce, that my opinion would have been worth listeningto. Now I am going to shake your belief upon another point, and ifI assure you that I have equally good grounds for doing so, you willbelieve me?"

"I am quite certain, sir, that you would state nothing but what wastrue, and I know that your judgment is sound, " was Joyce's answer. 

"Then I must tell you that I do not believe it was Richard Hare whomurdered your father. "

"_Sir_!" uttered Joyce, amazed out of her senses. 

"I believe Richard Hare to be as innocent of the murder as you or I, " hedeliberately repeated. "I have held grounds for this opinion, Joyce, formany years. "

"Then, sir, who did it?"

"Afy's other lover. That dandy fellow, Thorn, as I truly believe. "

"And you say you have grounds, sir?" Joyce asked, after a pause. 

"Good grounds; and I tell you I have been in possession of them foryears. I should be glad for you to think as I do. "

"But, sir, if Richard Hare was innocent, why did he run away?"

"Ah, why, indeed! It is that which has done the mischief. His own weakcowardice was in fault. He feared to come back, and he felt that hecould not remove the odium of circumstances. Joyce I should like you tosee him and hear his story. "

"There is not much chance of that, sir. I dare say he will never venturehere again. "

"He is here now. "

Joyce looked up, considerably startled. 

"Here, in this house, " repeated Mr. Carlyle. "He has taken shelterin it, and for the few hours that he will remain, we must extend ourhospitality and protection to him, concealing him in the best manner wecan. I thought it well that this confidence should be reposed in you, Joyce. Come now and see him. "

Considering that it was a subdued interview--the voices subdued, Imean--it was a confused one. Richard talking vehemently, Joyce askingquestion after question, Miss Carlyle's tongue going as fast as theirs. The only silent one was Mr. Carlyle. Joyce could not refuse to believeprotestations so solemn, and her suspicions veered round upon CaptainThorn. 

"And now about the bed, " interjected Miss Carlyle, impatiently. "Where'she to sleep, Joyce? The only safe room that I know of will be the onethrough mine. "

"He can't sleep there, ma'am. Don't you know that the key of the doorwas lost last week, and we cannot open it?"

"So much the better. He'll be all the safer. "

"But how is he to get in?"

"To get in? Why, through my room, of course. Doesn't mine open to it, stupid?"

"Oh, well, ma'am, if you would like him to go through yours, that'sdifferent. "

"Why shouldn't he go through? Do you suppose I mind young Dick Hare? NotI, indeed, " she irascibly continued. "I only wish he was young enoughfor me to flog him as I used to, that's all. He deserves it as much asanybody ever did, playing the fool, as he has done, in all ways. I shallbe in bed, with the curtains drawn, and his passing through won't harmme, and my lying there won't harm him. Stand on ceremony with Dick Hare!What next, I wonder?"

Joyce made no reply to this energetic speech, but at once retired toprepare the room for Richard. Miss Carlyle soon followed. Having madeeverything ready, Joyce returned. 

"The room is ready, sir, " she whispered, "and all the household are inbed. "

"Then now's your time, Richard. Good-night. "

He stole upstairs after Joyce, who piloted him through the room of MissCarlyle. Nothing could be seen of that lady, though something mightbe heard, one given to truth more than politeness might have calledit snoring. Joyce showed Richard his chamber, gave him the candle, andclosed the door upon him. 

Poor hunted Richard, good-night to you. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

BARBARA'S HEART AT REST. 

Morning dawned. The same dull weather, the same heavy fall of snow. MissCarlyle took her breakfast in bed, an indulgence she had not favored forever so many years. Richard Hare rose, but remained in his chamber, andJoyce carried his breakfast in to him. 

Mr. Carlyle entered whilst he was taking it. "How did you sleep, Richard?"

"I slept well. I was so dead tired. What am I to do next, Mr. Carlyle?The sooner I get away from here the better. I can't feel safe. "

"You must not think of it before evening. I am aware that you cannotremain here, save for a few temporary hours, as it would inevitablybecome known to the servants. You say you think of going to Liverpool orManchester?"

"To any large town; they are all alike to me; but one pursued as I am issafer in a large place than a small one. "

"I am inclined to think that this man, Thorn, only made a show ofthreatening you, Richard. If he be really the guilty party, his policymust be to keep all in quietness. The very worst thing that could happenfor him, would be your arrest. "

"Then why molest me? Why send an officer to dodge me?"

"He did not like your molesting him, and he thought he would probablyfrighten you. After that day you would probably have seen no more ofthe officer. You may depend upon one thing, Richard, had the policeman'sobject been to take you, he would have done so, not have contentedhimself with following you about from place to place. Besides when adetective officer is employed to watch a party, he takes care not toallow himself to be seen; now this man showed himself to you more thanonce. "

"Yes, there's a good deal in all that, " observed Richard. "For, toone in his class of life, the bare suspicion of such a crime, broughtagainst him, would crush him forever in the eyes of his compeers. "

"It is difficult to me Richard, to believe that he is in the class oflife you speak of, " observed Mr. Carlyle. 

"There's no doubt about it; there's none indeed. But that I did notmuch like to mention the name, for it can't be a pleasant name to you, Ishould have said last night who I have seen him walking with, " continuedsimple-hearted Richard. 

Mr. Carlyle looked inquiringly. "Richard say on. "

"I have seen him, sir, with Sir Francis Levison, twice. Once he wastalking to him at the door of the betting-rooms, and once they werewalking arm-in-arm. They are apparently upon intimate terms. "

At this moment a loud, flustering, angry voice was heard calling fromthe stairs, and Richard leaped up as if he had been shot. His door--notthe one leading to the room of Miss Carlyle--opened upon the corridor, and the voice sounded close, just as if its owner were coming in with ahound. It was the voice of Mr. Justice Hare. 

"Carlyle, where are you? Here's a pretty thing happened! Come down!"

Mr. Carlyle for once in his life lost his calm equanimity, and sprang tothe door, to keep it against invasion, as eagerly as Richard could havedone. He forgot that Joyce had said the door was safely locked, and thekey mislaid. As to Richard, he rushed on his hat and his black whiskers, and hesitated between under the bed and inside the wardrobe. 

"Don't agitate yourself, Richard, " whispered Mr. Carlyle, "there is noreal danger. I will go and keep him safely. "

But when Mr. Carlyle got through his sister's bedroom, he found thatlady had taken the initiative, and was leaning over the balustrades, having been arrested in the process of dressing. Her clothes were on, but her nightcap was not off; little cared she, however, who saw hernightcap. 

"What on earth brings you up in this weather?" began she, in a tone ofexasperation. 

"I want to see Carlyle. Nice news I have had!"

"What about? Anything concerning Anne, or her family?"

"Anne be bothered, " replied the justice, who was from some cause, in afurious temper. "It concerns that precious rascal, who I am forced tocall son. I am told he is here. "

Down the stairs leaped Mr. Carlyle, four at a time, wound his arm withinMr. Hare's, and led him to a sitting-room. 

"Good-morning, justice. You had courage to venture up through the snow!What is the matter, you seem excited. "

"Excited?" raved the justice, dancing about the room, first on one leg, then on the other, like a cat upon hot bricks, "so you would be excited, if your life were worried out, as mine is, over a wicked scamp of a son. Why can't folks trouble their heads about their own business, and let myaffairs alone? A pity but what he was hung, and the thing done with!"

"But what has happened?" questioned Mr. Carlyle. 

"Why this has happened, " retorted the justice, throwing a letter on thetable. "The post brought me this, just now--and pleasant information itgives. "

Mr. Carlyle took up the note and read it. It purported to be from "afriend" to Justice Hare, informing that gentleman that his "criminalson" was likely to have arrived at West Lynne, or would arrive inthe course of a day or so; and it recommended Mr. Hare to speed hisdeparture from it, lest he should be pounced upon. 

"This letter is anonymous!" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle. 

"Of course it is, " stamped the justice. 

"The only notice _I_ should ever take of an anonymous letter would be toput it in the fire, " cried Mr. Carlyle, his lip curling with scorn. 

"But who has written it?" danced Justice Hare. "And _is_ Dick at WestLynne--that's the question. "

"Now, is it likely that he should come to West Lynne?" remonstratedMr. Carlyle. "Justice, will you pardon me, if I venture to give you mycandid opinion. "

"The fool at West Lynne, running into the very jaws of death! ByJupiter! If I can drop upon him, I'll retain him in custody, and makeout a warrant for his committal! I'll have this everlasting botherover. "

"I was going to give you my opinion, " quietly put in Mr. Carlyle. "Ifear, Justice, you bring these annoyances upon yourself. "

"Bring them upon myself!" ranted the indignant justice. "I? Did I murderHallijohn? Did I fly away from the law? Am I hiding, Beelzebub knowswhere? Do I take starts, right into my native parish, disguised asa laborer, on purpose to worry my own father? Do I write anonymousletters? Bring them upon myself, do I? That cobs all, Carlyle. "

"You will not hear me out. It is known that you are much exasperatedagainst Richard--"

"And if your son serves you the same when he is grown up, shan't you beexasperated, pray?" fired Justice Hare. 

"Do hear me. It is known that you are much exasperated, and that anyallusion to him excites and annoys you. Now, my opinion is, justice, that some busybody is raising these reports and writing these letters onpurpose to annoy you. It may be somebody at West Lynne, very near to us, for all we know. "

"That's all rubbish!" peevishly responded the justice, after a pause. "It's not likely. Who'd do it?"

"It is very likely; but you may be sure they will not give us a clue asto the 'who. ' I should put that letter in the fire, and think no moreabout it. That's the only way to serve them. A pretty laugh they havehad in their sleeve, if it is anybody near, at seeing you wade up herethrough the snow this morning! They would know you were bringing theletter, to consult me. "

The justice--in spite of his obstinacy he was somewhat easily persuadedto different views of things, especially by Mr. Carlyle--let fall hiscoat tails, which had been gathered in his arms, as he stood with hisback to the fire, and brought down both his hands upon the table withforce enough to break it. 

"If I thought that, " he spluttered, "if I could think it, I'd have thewhole parish of West Lynne before me to-day, and commit them for trial. "

"It's a pity but what you could, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"Well, it may be, or it may not be, that that villain is coming here, "he resumed. "I shall call in at the police station, and tell them tokeep a sharp lookout. "

"You will do nothing of the sort justice, " exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, almostin agitation. "Richard is not likely to make his appearance at WestLynne; but if he did, would you, his own father, turn the flood uponhim? Not a man living but would cry shame upon you. "

"I took an oath I'd do it, " said the justice. 

"You did not take an oath to go open-mouthed to the police station, uponthe receipt of any despicable anonymous letter or any foolish report, to say, 'I have news that my son will be here to-day; look after him. 'Nonsense, justice! Let the police look out for themselves, but don't_you_ set them on. "

The justice growled, whether in assent or dissent did not appear, andMr. Carlyle resumed, --

"Have you shown this letter to Mrs. Hare, or mentioned it to her?"

"Not I. I didn't give myself time. I had gone down to the front gate, to see how deep the snow lay in the road, when the postman came up; soI read it as I stood there. I went in for my coat and umbrella, to comeoff to you, and Mrs. Hare wanted to know where I was going in such ahurry, but I did not satisfy her. "

"I am truly glad to hear it, " said Mr. Carlyle. "Such information asthis could not fail to have a dangerous effect upon Mrs. Hare. Do notsuffer a hint of it to escape you justice; consider how much anxiety shehas already suffered. "

"It's partly her own fault. Why can't she drive the ill-doing boy fromher mind?"

"If she could, " said Mr. Carlyle, "she would be acting against humannature. There is one phase of the question which you may possibly nothave glanced at, justice. You speak of delivering your son up to thelaw; has it ever struck you that you would be delivering up at the sametime your wife's life?"

"Stuff!" said the justice. 

"You would find it no 'stuff. ' So sure as Richard gets brought to trial, whether through your means, or through any other, so sure will it killyour wife. "

Mr. Hare took up the letter, which had lain open on the table, foldedit, and put it in its envelope. 

"I suppose you don't know the writing?" he asked of Mr. Carlyle. 

"I never saw it before, that I remember. Are you returning home?"

"No. I shall go on to Beauchamp's and show him this, and hear what hesays. It's not much farther. "

"Tell him not to speak of it then. Beauchamp's safe, for his sympathiesare with Richard--oh, yes, they are, justice, ask him the questionplainly if you like, and he will confess to it. I can tell you moresympathy goes with Richard than is acknowledged to you. But I wouldnot show that letter to anyone else than Beauchamp, " added Mr. Carlyle, "neither would I speak of it. "

"Who can have written it?" repeated the justice. "It bears, you see theLondon Post-mark. "

"It is too wide a speculation to enter upon. And no satisfactoryconclusion could come of it. "

Justice Hare departed. Mr. Carlyle watched him down the avenue, stridingunder his umbrella, and then went up to Richard. Miss Carlyle wassitting with the latter then. 

"I thought I should have died, " spoke poor Dick. "I declare, Mr. Carlyle, my very blood seemed turned to water, and I thought I shouldhave died with fright. Is he gone away--is all safe?"

"He is gone, and it's all safe. "

"And what did he want? What was it he had heard about me?"

Mr. Carlyle gave a brief explanation, and Richard immediately set downthe letter as the work of Thorn. 

"Will it be possible for me to see my mother this time?" he demanded ofMr. Carlyle. 

"I think it would be highly injudicious to let your mother know youare here, or have been here, " was the answer of Mr. Carlyle. "She wouldnaturally be inquiring into particulars, and when she came to hear thatyou were pursued, she would never have another minute's peace. You mustforego the pleasure of seeing her this time, Richard. "

"And Barbara?"

"Barbara might come and stay the day with you. Only----"

"Only what, sir?" cried Richard, for Mr. Carlyle had hesitated. 

"I was thinking what a wretched morning it is for her to come out in. "

"She would go through an avalanche--she'd wade through mountains ofsnow, to see me, " cried Richard eagerly, "and be delighted to do it. "

"She always was a little fool, " put in Miss Carlyle, jerking somestitches out of her knitting. 

"I know she would, " observed Mr. Carlyle, in answer to Richard. "We willtry and get her here. "

"She can arrange about the money I am to have, just as well as my mothercould you know, sir. "

"Yes; for Barbara is in receipt of money of her own now, and I know shewould not wish better than to apply some of it to you. Cornelia, as anexcuse for getting her here, I must say to Mrs. Hare that you are ill, and wish Barbara to come for the day and bear your company. Shall I?"

"Say I am dead, if you like, " responded Miss Corny, who was in one ofher cross moods. 

Mr. Carlyle ordered the pony carriage, and drove forth with John. Hedrew in at the grove. Barbara and Mrs. Hare were seated together, andlooked surprised at the early visit. 

"Do you want Mr. Hare, Archibald? He is out. He went while the breakfastwas on the table, apparently in a desperate hurry. "

"I don't want Mr. Hare; I want Barbara. I have come to carry her off. "

"To carry off Barbara!" echoed Mrs. Hare. 

"Cornelia is not well; she had caught a violent cold, and wishes Barbarato spend the day with her. "

"Oh, Mr. Carlyle, I cannot leave mamma to-day. She is not well herself, and she would be dull without me. "

"Neither can I spare her, Archibald. It is not a day for Barbara to goout. "

How could he get to say a word to Barbara alone? Whilst he deliberated, talking on, though, all the while to Mrs. Hare, a servant appeared atthe sitting-room door. 

"The fishmonger's boy is come up, ma'am. His master has sent him to saythat he fears there'll be no fish in to-day, in anything like time. Thetrains won't get up, with this weather. "

Mrs. Hare rose from her seat to hold a confab at the door with the maid;and Mr. Carlyle seized his opportunity. 

"Barbara, " he whispered, "make no opposition. You _must_ come. What Ireally want you for is connected with Richard. "

She looked up at him, a startled glance, and the crimson flew to herface. Mrs. Hare returned to her seat. "Oh, such a day!" she shivered. "Iam sure Cornelia cannot expect Barbara. "

"But Cornelia does. And there is my pony carriage waiting to take herbefore I go to the office. Not a flake of snow can come near her, Mrs. Hare. The large warm apron will be up, and an umbrella shield her bonnetand face. Get your things on, Barbara. "

"Mamma if you would not very much mind being left, I should like to go, "said Barbara, with almost trembling eagerness. 

"But you would be sure to take cold, child. "

"Oh, dear no. I can wrap up well. "

"And I will see that she comes home all right this evening, " added Mr. Carlyle. 

In a few minutes they were seated in the pony carriage. Barbara's tonguewas burning to ask questions, but John sat behind them, and would haveoverheard. When they arrived at East Lynne, Mr. Carlyle gave her his armup the steps, and took her into the breakfast-room. 

"Will you prepare yourself for a surprise, Barbara?"

Suspense--fear--had turned her very pale. "Something that has happenedto Richard!" she uttered. 

"Nothing that need agitate you. He is here. "

"Here? Where?

"Here. Under this roof. He slept here last night. "

"Oh, Archibald!"

"Only fancy, Barbara, I opened the window at nine last night to look atthe weather, and in burst Richard. We could not let him go out again inthe snow, so he slept here, in that room next Cornelia's. "

"Does she know of it?"

"Of course. And Joyce also; we were obliged to tell Joyce. It is he youhave come to spend the day with. But just imagine Richard's fear. Yourfather came this morning, calling up the stairs after me, saying heheard Richard was here. I thought Richard would have gone out of hismind with fright. "

A few more explanations, and Mr. Carlyle took Barbara into the room, Miss Carlyle and her knitting still keeping Richard company. In fact, that was to be the general sitting room of the day, and a hot lunch, Richard's dinner, would be served to Miss Carlyle's chamber at oneo'clock. Joyce only admitted to wait on her. 

"And now I must go, " said Mr. Carlyle, after chatting a few minutes. "The office is waiting for me, and my poor ponies are in the snow. "

"But you'll be sure to be home early, Mr. Carlyle, " said Richard. "Idare not stop here; I must be off not a moment later than six or seveno'clock. "

"I will be home, Richard. "

Anxiously did Richard and Barbara consult that day, Miss Carlyle ofcourse putting in her word. Over and over again did Barbara ask theparticulars of the slight interviews Richard had had with Thorn; overand over again did she openly speculate upon what his name really was. "If you could but discover some one whom he knows, and inquire it, " sheexclaimed. 

"I have seen him with one person, but I can't inquire of him. They aretoo thick together, he and Thorn, and are birds of a feather also, Isuspect. Great swells both. "

"Oh, Richard don't use those expressions. They are unsuited to agentleman. "

Richard laughed bitterly. "A gentleman?"

"Who is it you have seen Thorn with?" inquired Barbara. 

"Sir Francis Levison, " replied Richard, glancing at Miss Carlyle, whodrew in her lips ominously. 

"With whom?" uttered Barbara, betraying complete astonishment. "Do youknow Sir Francis Levison?"

"Oh, yes, I know _him_. Nearly the only man about town that I do know. "

Barbara seemed lost in a puzzled reverie, and it was some time beforeshe aroused herself from it. 

"Are they at all alike?" she asked. 

"Very much so, I suspect. Both bad men. "

"But I meant in person. "

"Not in the least. Except that they are both tall. "

Again Barbara sank into thought. Richard's words had surprised her. Shewas aroused by it from hearing a child's voice in the next room. She raninto it, and Miss Carlyle immediately fastened the intervening door. 

It was little Archibald Carlyle. Joyce had come in with the tray to laythe luncheon, and before she could lock the door, Archibald ran in afterher. Barbara lifted him in her arms to carry him back to the nursery. 

"Oh, you heavy boy!" she exclaimed. 

Archie laughed. "Wilson says that, " he lisped, "if ever she has to carryme. "

"I have brought you a truant, Wilson, " cried Barbara. 

"Oh, is it you, Miss Barbara? How are you, miss? Naughty boy!--yes, heran away without my noticing him--he is got now so that he can open thedoor. "

"You must be so kind as to keep him strictly in for to-day, " concludedMiss Barbara, authoritatively. "Miss Carlyle is not well, and cannot besubjected to the annoyance of his running into the room. "

Evening came, and the time of Richard's departure. It was again snowingheavily, though it had ceased in the middle of the day. Money for thepresent had been given to him; arrangements had been discussed. Mr. Carlyle insisted upon Richard's sending him his address, as soon as heshould own one to send, and Richard faithfully promised. He was in verylow spirits, almost as low as Barbara, who could not conceal her tears;they dropped in silence on her pretty silk dress. He was smuggled downthe stairs, a large cloak of Miss Carlyle's enveloping him, into theroom he had entered by storm the previous night. Mr. Carlyle held thewindow open. 

"Good-bye, Barbara dear. If ever you should be able to tell my mother ofthis day, say that my chief sorrow was not to see her. "

"Oh, Richard!" she sobbed forth, broken-hearted, "good-bye. May God bewith you and bless you!"

"Farewell, Richard, " said Miss Carlyle; "don't you be fool enough to getinto any more scrapes. "

Last of all he rung the hand of Mr. Carlyle. The latter went outsidewith him for an instant, and their leave-taking was alone. 

Barbara returned to the chamber he had quitted. She felt that she mustindulge in a few moments sobbing; Joyce was there, but Barbara wassobbing when she entered it. 

"It _is_ hard for him, Miss Barbara, if he is really innocent. "

Barbara turned her streaming eyes upon her. "_If!_ Joyce do you doubtthat he is innocent?"

"I quite believe him to be so now, miss. Nobody could so solemnly assertwhat was not true. The thing at present will be to find that CaptainThorn. "

"Joyce!" exclaimed Barbara, in excitement, seizing hold of Joyce'shands, "I thought I had found him; I believed in my own mind that I knewwho he was. I don't mind telling you, though I have never before spokenof it; and with one thing or other, this night I feel just as if Ishould die--as if I must speak. I thought it was Sir Francis Levison. "

Joyce stared with all her eyes. "Miss Barbara!"

"I did. I have thought it ever since the night that Lady Isabel wentaway. My poor brother was at West Lynne then--he had come for a fewhours, and he met the man Thorn walking in Bean lane. He was in eveningdress, and Richard described a peculiar motion of his--the throwing offof his hair from his brow. He said his white hand and his diamond ringglittered in the moonlight. The white hand, the ring, the motion--for hewas always doing it--all reminded me of Captain Levison; and from thathour until to-day I believed him to be the man Richard saw. To-dayRichard tells me that he knows Sir Francis Levison, and that he andThorn are intimate. What I think now is, that this Thorn must have paida flying visit to the neighborhood that night to assist Captain Levisonin the wicked work that he had on hand. "

"How strange it all sounds!" uttered Joyce. 

"And I never could tell my suspicions to Mr. Carlyle! I did not like tomention Francis Levison's name to him. "

Barbara soon returned down stairs. "I must be going home, " she said toMr. Carlyle. "It is turned half-past seven, and mamma will be uneasy. "

"Whenever you like, Barbara. "

"But can I not walk? I am sorry to take out your ponies again, and inthis storm. "

Mr. Carlyle laughed. "Which would feel the storm the worst, you or theponies?"

But when Barbara got outside, she saw that it was not the pony carriage, but the chariot that was in waiting for her. She turned inquiringly toMr. Carlyle. 

"Did you think I should allow you to go home in an open carriageto-night, Barbara?"

"Are you coming also?"

"I suppose I had better, " he smiled. "To see that you and the carriagedo not get fixed in a rut. "

Barbara withdrew to her corner of the chariot, and cried silently. Very, very deeply did she mourn the unhappy situation--the privations of herbrother; and she knew that he was one to feel them deeply. He could notbattle with the world's hardships so bravely as many could. Mr. Carlyleonly detected her emotion as they were nearing the Grove. He leanedforward, took her hand, and held it between his. 

"Don't grieve, Barbara. Bright days may be in store for us yet. "

The carriage stopped. 

"You may go back, " he said to the servants, when he alighted. "I shallwalk home. "

"Oh, " exclaimed Barbara, "I do think you intend to spend the eveningwith us? Mamma will be so pleased. "

Her voice sounded as if she was also. Mr. Carlyle drew her hand withinhis arm as they walked up the path. 

But Barbara had reckoned without her host. Mrs. Hare was in bed, consequently could not be pleased at the visit of Mr. Carlyle. Thejustice had gone out, and she, feeling tired and not well, thought shewould retire to rest. Barbara stole into her room, but found her asleep, so that it fell to Barbara to entertain Mr. Carlyle. 

They stood together before the large pierglass, in front of the blazingfire. Barbara was thinking over the events of the day. What Mr. Carlylewas thinking of was best known to himself; his eyes, covered with theirdrooping eyelids, were cast upon Barbara. There was a long silence, atlength Barbara seemed to feel that his gaze was upon her, and she lookedup at him. 

"Will you marry me, Barbara?"

The words were spoken in the quietest, most matter-of-fact tone, just asif he had said, "Shall I give you a chair, Barbara?" But, oh! The changethat passed over her countenance! The sudden light of joy! The scarletflush of emotion and happiness. Then it all faded down to paleness andsadness. 

She shook her head in the negative. "But you are very kind to ask me, "she added in words. 

"What is the impediment, Barbara?"

Another rush of color as before and a deep silence. Mr. Carlyle stolehis arm around her and bent his face on a level with hers. 

"Whisper it to me, Barbara. "

She burst into a flood of tears. 

"Is it because I once married another?"

"No, no. It is the remembrance of that night--you cannot have forgottenit, and it is stamped on my brain in letters of fire. I never thoughtso to betray myself. But for what passed that night you would not haveasked me now. "

"Barbara!"

She glanced up at him; the tone was so painful. 

"Do you know that I _love_ you? That there is none other in the wholeworld whom I would care to marry but you? Nay, Barbara, when happinessis within our reach, let us not throw it away upon a chimera. "

She cried more softly, leaning upon his arm. "Happiness? Would it behappiness for you?"

"Great and deep happiness, " he whispered. 

She read truth in his countenance, and a sweet smile illumined her sunnyfeatures. Mr. Carlyle read its signs. 

"You love me as much as ever, Barbara!"

"Far more, far more, " was the murmured answer, and Mr. Carlyle held hercloser, and drew her face fondly to his. Barbara's heart was at lengthat rest, and she had been content to remain where she was forever. 

And Richard? Had he got clear off? Richard was stealing along the road, plunging into the snow by the hedge because it was more sheltered therethan in the beaten path, when his umbrella came in contact with anotherumbrella. Miss Carlyle had furnished it to him; not to protect hisbattered hat but to protect his face from being seen by the passers by. The umbrella he encountered was an aristocratic silk one, with an ivoryhandle; Dick's was of democratic cotton, with hardly any handle at all;and the respective owners had been bearing on, heads down and umbrellasout, till they, the umbrellas, met smash, right under a gas lamp. Asidewent the umbrellas, and the antagonists stared at each other. 

"How dare you, fellow? Can't you see where you are going on?"

Dick thought he should have dropped. He would have given all the moneyhis pockets held if the friendly earth had but opened and swallowed himin; for he was now peering into the face of his own father. 

Uttering an exclamation of dismay, which broke from him involuntarily, Richard sped away with the swiftness of an arrow. Did Justice Harerecognize the tones? It cannot be said. He saw a rough, strange lookingman, with bushy, black whiskers, who was evidently scared at the sightof him. That was nothing; for the justice, being a justice, and a strictone, was regarded with considerable awe in the parish by those ofDick's apparent caliber. Nevertheless, he stood still and gazed in thedirection until all sound of Richard's footsteps had died away in thedistance. 

Tears were streaming down the face of Mrs. Hare. It was a bright morningafter the snowstorm, so bright that the sky was blue, and the sun wasshining, but the snow lay deeply upon ground. Mrs. Hare sat in herchair, enjoying the brightness, and Mr. Carlyle stood near her. Thetears were of joy and of grief mingled--of grief at hearing that sheshould at last have to part with Barbara, of joy that she was going toone so entirely worthy of her as Mr. Carlyle. 

"Archibald, she has had a happy home here; you will render yours as muchso?"

"To the very utmost of my power. "

"You will be ever kind to her, and cherish her?"

"With my whole strength and heart. Dear Mrs. Hare; I thought you knew metoo well to doubt me. "

"Doubt you! I do not doubt you, I trust you implicitly, Archibald. Hadthe whole world laid themselves at Barbara's feet, I should have prayedthat she might choose you. "

A small smile flitted over Mr. Carlyle's lips. _He_ knew it was whatBarbara would have done. 

"But, Archibald, what about Cornelia?" returned Mrs. Hare. "I would notfor a moment interfere in your affairs, or in the arrangements you andBarbara may agree upon, but I cannot help thinking that married peopleare better alone. "

"Cornelia will quit East Lynne, " said Mr. Carlyle. "I have not spoken toher yet, but I shall do so now. I have long made my mind up that ifever I did marry again, I and my wife would live alone. It is said sheinterfered too much with my former wife. Had I suspected it, Corneliashould not have remained in the house a day. Rest assured that Barbarashall not be an object to the chance. "

"How did _you_ come over her?" demanded the justice, who had alreadygiven his gratified consent, and who now entered in his dressing gownand morning wig. "Others have tried it on, and Barbara would not listento them. "

"I suppose I must have cast a spell upon her, " answered Mr. Carlyle, breaking into a smile. 

"Here she is. Barbara, " carried on the unceremonious justice, "what isit that you see in Carlyle more than anybody else?"

Barbara's scarlet cheeks answered for her. "Papa, " she said, "OtwayBethel is at the door asking to speak to you. Jasper says he won't comein. "

"Then I'm sure I'm not going out to him in the cold. Here, Mr. Otway, what are you afraid of?" he called out. "Come in. "

Otway Bethel made his appearance in his usual sporting costume. But hedid not seem altogether at his ease in the presence of Mrs. Hare andBarbara. 

"The colonel wished to see you, justice, and ask you if you had anyobjection to the meeting's being put off from one o'clock till two, "cried he, after nodding to Mr. Carlyle. "He has got a friend coming tosee him unexpectedly who will leave again by the two o'clock train. "

"I don't care which it is, " answered Mr. Hare. "Two o'clock will do aswell as one, for me. "

"That's all right, then; and I'll drop in upon Herbert and Pinner andacquaint them. "

Miss Carlyle's cold was better that evening, in fact she seemed quiteherself again, and Mr. Carlyle introduced the subject of his marriage. It was after dinner that he began upon it. 

"Cornelia, when I married Lady Isabel Vane, you reproached me severelywith having kept you in the dark--"

"If you had not kept me in the dark, but consulted me, as any otherChristian would, the course of events would have been wholly changed, and the wretchedness and disgrace that fell on this house been spared toit, " fiercely interrupted Miss Carlyle. 

"We will leave the past, " he said, "and consider the future. I was aboutto remark, that I do not intend to fall under your displeasure again forthe like offense. I believe you have never wholly forgiven it. "

"And never shall, " cried she, impetuously. "I did not deserve theslight. "

"Therefore, almost as soon as I know it myself, I acquaint you. I amabout to marry a second time, Cornelia. "

Miss Carlyle started up. Her spectacles dropped off her nose, and aknitting-box which she happened to have on her knees, clattered to thefloor. 

"What did you say?" she uttered, aghast. 

"I'm about to marry. "

"You!"

"I. Is there anything so very astonishing in it?"

"For the love of common sense, don't go and make such a fool ofyourself. You have done it once; was not that enough for you, but youmust run your head into the noose again?"

"Now, Cornelia, can you wonder that I do not speak of things when youmeet them in this way? You treat me just as you did when I was a child. It is very foolish. "

"When folk act childishly, they must be treated as children. I alwaysthought you were mad when you married before, but I shall think youdoubly mad now. "

"Because you have preferred to remain single and solitary yourself, isit any reason why you should condemn me to do the same? You are happyalone; I should be happier with a wife. 

"That she may go and disgrace you, as the last one did!" intemperatelyspoke Miss Carlyle, caring not a rush what she said in her storm ofanger. 

Mr. Carlyle's brow flushed, but he controlled his temper. 

"No, " he calmly replied. "I am not afraid of that in the one I have nowchosen. "

Miss Corny gathered her knitting together, he had picked up her box. Herhands trembled, and the lines of her face were working. It was a blow toher as keen as the other had been. 

"Pray who is it that you have chosen?" she jerked forth. "The wholeneighborhood has been after you. "

"Let it be who it will, Cornelia, you will be sure to grumble. Were Ito say that it was a royal princess, or a peasant's daughter, you wouldequally see grounds for finding fault. "

"Of course I should. I know who it is--that stuck-up Louisa Dobede. "

"No, it is not. I never had the slightest intention of choosing LouisaDobede, nor she of choosing me. I am marrying to please myself, and, fora wife, Louisa Dobede would not please me. "

"As you did before, " sarcastically put in Miss Corny. 

"Yes; as I did before. "

"Well, can't you open your mouth and say who it is?" was the exasperatedrejoinder. 

"It is Barbara Hare. "

"Who?" shrieked Miss Carlyle. 

"You are not deaf, Cornelia. "

"Well, you _are_ an idiot!" she exclaimed, lifting up her hands andeyes. 

"Thank you, " he said, but without any signs of irritation. 

"And so you are; _you are_, Archibald. To suffer that girl, who has beenangling after you so long, to catch you at last. "

"She has not angled after me; had she done so, she would probably neverhave been Mrs. Carlyle. Whatever passing fancy she may have entertainedfor me in earlier days, she has shown no symptoms of it of late years;and I am quite certain that she had no more thought or idea that Ishould choose her for my second wife, than you had I should choose you. Others have angled after me too palpably, but Barbara has not. "

"She is a conceited minx, as vain as she is high. "

"What else have you to urge against her?"

"I would have married a girl without a slur, if I must have married, "aggravatingly returned Miss Corny. 

"Slur?"

"Slur, yes. Dear me, is it an honor--the possessing a brother such asRichard?"

Miss Corny sniffed. "Pigs may fly; but I never saw them try at it. "

"The next consideration, Cornelia, is about your residence. You will goback, I presume, to your own home. "

Miss Corny did not believe her own ears. "Go back to my own home!" sheexclaimed. "I shall do nothing of the sort. I shall stop at East Lynne. What's to hinder me?"

Mr. Carlyle shook his head. "It cannot be, " he said, in a low, decisivetone. 

"Who says so?" she sharply asked. 

"I do. Have you forgotten that night--when she went away--the wordsspoken by Joyce? Cornelia, whether they were true or false, I will notsubject another to the chance. "

She did not answer. Her lips parted and closed again. Somehow, MissCarlyle could not bear to be reminded of that revelation of Joyce's; itsubdued even her. 

"I cast no reflection upon you, " hastily continued Mr. Carlyle. "Youhave been a mistress of a house for many years, and you naturally lookto be so; it is right you should. But two mistresses in a house do notanswer, Cornelia; they never did, and they never will. "

"Why did you not give me so much of your sentiments when I first came toEast Lynne?" she burst forth. "I hate hypocrisy. "

"They were not my sentiments then; I possessed none. I was ignorant uponthe subject as I was upon many others. Experience has come to me since. "

"You will not find a better mistress of a house than I have made you, "she resentfully spoke. 

"I do not look for it. The tenants leave your house in March, do theynot?"

"Yes, they do, " snapped Miss Corny. "But as we are on the subject ofdetails of ways and means, allow me to tell you that if you did whatis right, _you_ would move into that house of mine, and I will go to asmaller--as you seem to think I shall poison Barbara if I remain withher. East Lynne is a vast deal too fine and too grand for you. "

"I do not consider it so. I shall not quit East Lynne. "

"Are you aware that, in leaving your house, I take my income with me, Archibald?"

"Most certainly. Your income is yours, and you will require it for yourown purposes. I have neither a right to, nor wish for it. "

"It will make a pretty good hole in your income, the withdrawing of it, I can tell you that. Take care that you and East Lynne don't go bankrupttogether. "

At this moment the summons of a visitor was heard. Even that excitedthe ire of Miss Carlyle. "I wonder who's come bothering to-night?" sheuttered. 

Peter entered. "It is Major Thorn, sir. I have shown him into thedrawing-room. "

Mr. Carlyle was surprised. He had not thought Major Thorn within many amile of West Lynne. He proceeded to the drawing-room. 

"Such a journey!" said Major Thorn to Mr. Carlyle. "It is my generalluck to get ill-weather when I travel. Rain and hail, thunder and heat;nothing bad comes amiss when I am out. The snow lay on the rails, Idon't know how thick; at one station we were detained two hours. "

"Are you proposing to make any stay at West Lynne?"

"Off again to-morrow. My leave, this time, is to be spent at mymother's. I may bestow a week of it or so on West Lynne, but am notsure. I must be back in Ireland in a month. Such a horrid boghole we arequartered in just now!"

"To go from one subject to another, " observed Mr. Carlyle; "there isa question I have long thought to put to you, Thorn, did we ever meetagain. Which year was it that you were staying at Swainson?"

Major Thorn mentioned it. It was the year of Hallijohn's murder. 

"As I thought--in fact, know, " said Mr. Carlyle. "Did you, while youwere stopping there, ever come across a namesake of yours--one Thorn?"

"I believe I did. But I don't know the man, of my knowledge, and I sawhim but once only. I don't think he was living at Swainson. I neverobserved him in the town. "

"Where did you meet with him?"

"At a roadside beer-shop, about two miles from Swainson. I was ridingone day, when a fearful storm came on, and I took shelter there. Scarcely had I entered, when another horsemen rode up, and he likewisetook shelter--a tall, dandified man, aristocratic and exclusive. When hedeparted--for he quitted first, the storm being over--I asked the peoplewho he was. They said they did not know, though they had often seen himride by; but a man who was there, drinking, said he was a Captain Thorn. The same man, by the way, volunteered the information that he came froma distance; somewhere near West Lynne; I remember that. "

"That Captain Thorn did?"

"No--that he, himself did. He appeared to know nothing of Captain Thorn, beyond the name. "

It seemed to be ever so! Scraps of information, but nothing tangible. Nothing to lay hold of, or to know the man by. Would it be thus always?

"Should you recognize him again were you to see him?" resumed Mr. Carlyle awakening from his reverie. 

"I think I should. There was something peculiar in his countenance, andI remember it well yet. "

"Were you by chance to meet him, and discover his real name--for I havereason to believe that Thorn, the one he went by then, was an assumedone--will you oblige me by letting me know it?"

"With all the pleasure in life, " replied the major. "The chances areagainst it though, confined as I am to that confounded sister country. Other regiments get the luck of being quartered in the metropolis, ornear it; ours doesn't. "

When Major Thorn departed, and Mr. Carlyle was about to return to theroom where he left his sister, he was interrupted by Joyce. 

"Sir, " she began. "Miss Carlyle tells me that there is going to be achange at East Lynne. "

The words took Mr. Carlyle by surprise. 

"Miss Carlyle has been in a hurry to tell you, " he remarked--a certainhaughty displeasure in his tone. 

"She did not speak for the sake of telling me, sir, it is not likely;but I fancy she was thinking about her own plans. She inquired whetherI would go with her when she left, or whether I meant to remain at EastLynne. I would not answer her, sir, until I had spoken to you. "

"Well?" said Mr. Carlyle. 

"I gave a promise sir, to--to--my late lady--that I would remain withher children as long as I was permitted. She asked it of me when she wasill--when she thought she was going to die. What I would inquire of you, sir, is, whether the change will make any difference to my staying?"

"No, " he decisively replied. "I also, Joyce, wish you to remain with thechildren. "

"It is well, sir, " Joyce answered, and her face looked bright as shequitted the room. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

MR. DILL IN AN EMBROIDERED SHIRT-FRONT. 

It was a lovely morning in June, and all West Lynne was astir. WestLynne generally was astir in the morning, but not in the bustling mannerthat might be observed now. People were abroad in numbers, passing downto St. Jude's Church, for it was the day of Mr. Carlyle's marriage toBarbara Hare. 

Miss Carlyle made herself into a sort of martyr. She would not go nearit; fine weddings in fine churches did not suit her, she proclaimed;they could tie themselves up together fast enough without her presence. She had invited the little Carlyles and their governess and Joyce tospend the day with her; and she persisted in regarding the childrenas martyrs too, in being obliged to submit to the advent of a secondmother. She was back in her old house again, next door to the office, settled there for life now with her servants. Peter had mortallyoffended her in electing to remain at East Lynne. 

Mr. Dill committed himself terribly on the wedding morning. About teno'clock he made his appearance at Miss Carlyle's; he was a man of theold stage, possessing old-fashioned notions, and he had deemed that tostep in to congratulate her on the auspicious day would be only goodmanners. 

Miss Carlyle was seated in her dining-room, her hands folded before her. It was rare indeed that _she_ was caught doing nothing. She turned hereyes on Mr. Dill as he entered. 

"Why, what on earth has taken you?" began she, before he could speak. "You are decked out like a young duck!"

"I am going to the wedding, Miss Cornelia. Did you know it? Mrs. Harewas so kind as to invite me to the breakfast, and Mr. Archibald insistsupon my going to church. I am not too fine, am I?"

Poor old Dill's "finery" consisted of a white waistcoat with goldbuttons, and an embroidered shirt-front. Miss Corny was pleased toregard it with sarcastic wrath. 

"Fine!" echoed she. "I don't know what _you_ call it. I would not makemyself such a spectacle for untold gold. You'll have all the ragamuffinsin the street forming a tail after you, thinking you are the bridegroom. A man of your years to deck yourself out in a worked shirt! I would havehad some rosettes on my coat-tails, while I was about it. "

"My coat's quite plain, Miss Cornelia, " he meekly remonstrated. 

"Plain! What would you have it?" snapped Miss Cornelia. "Perhaps youcovet a wreath of embroidery round it, gold leaves and scarlet flowers, with a swansdown collar? It would only be in keeping with that shirt andwaistcoat. I might as well have gone and ordered a white tarletan dress, looped up with peas, and streamed through the town in that guise. Itwould be just as consistent. "

"People like to dress a little out of common at a wedding, MissCornelia; it's only respectful, when they are invited guests. "

"I don't say people should go to a wedding in a hop sack. But there's amedium. Pray, do you know your age?"

"I am turned sixty, Miss Corny. "

"You just are. And do you consider it decent for an old man, going onfor seventy, to be decorated off as you are now? I don't; and so I tellyou my mind. Why, you'll be the laughing-stock of the parish! Take carethe boys don't tie a tin kettle to you!"

Mr. Dill thought he would leave the subject. His own impression was, that he was _not_ too fine, and that the parish would not regard him asbeing so; still, he had a great reverence for Miss Corny's judgment, andwas not altogether easy. He had had his white gloves in his hand when heentered, but he surreptitiously smuggled them into his pocket, lest theymight offend. He passed to the subject which had brought him thither. 

"What I came in for, was to offer you my congratulations on thisauspicious day, Miss Cornelia. I hope Mr. Archibald and his wife, andyou, ma'am--"

"There! You need not trouble yourself to go on, " interrupted Miss Corny, hotly arresting him. "We want condolence here to-day, rather thanthe other thing. I'm sure I'd nearly as soon see Archibald go to hishanging. "

"Oh, Miss Corny!"

"I would; and you need not stare at me as if you were throttled. Whatbusiness has he to go and fetter himself with a wife again. One wouldhave thought he had had enough with the other. It is as I have alwayssaid, there's a soft place in Archibald's brain. "

Old Dill knew there was no "soft place" in the brain of Mr. Carlyle, but he deemed it might be as well not to say so, in Miss Corny'spresent humor. "Marriage is a happy state, as I have heard, ma'am, andhonorable; and I am sure Mr. Archibald--"

"Very happy! Very honorable!" fiercely cried Miss Carlyle, sarcasm inher tone. "His last marriage brought him all that, did it not?"

"That's past and done with, Miss Corny, and none of us need recall it. I hope he will find in his present wife a recompense for what's gone; hecould not have chosen a prettier or nicer young lady than Miss Barbara;and I am glad to my very heart that he has got her. "

"Couldn't he?" jerked Miss Carlyle. 

"No, ma'am, he could not. Were I young, and wanted a wife, there's noone in all West Lynne I would so soon look out for as Miss Barbara. Notthat she'd have me; and I was not speaking in that sense, Miss Corny. "

"It's to be hoped you were not, " retorted Miss Corny. "She is an idle, insolent, vain fagot, caring for nothing but her own doll's face and forArchibald. "

"Ah, well, ma'am never mind that; pretty young girls know they arepretty, and you can't take their vanity from them. She'll be a goodand loving wife to him; I know she will; it is in her nature; she won'tserve him as--as--that other poor unfortunate did. "

"If I feared she was one to bring shame to him, as the other did, I'dgo into the church this hour and forbid the marriage; and if that didn'tdo, I'd--smother her!" shrieked Miss Carlyle. "Look at that piece ofimpudence!"

That last sentence was uttered in a different tone, and concernedsomebody in the street. Miss Carlyle hopped off her chair and strode tothe window. Mr. Dill's eyes turned in the like direction. 

In a gay and summer's dress, fine and sparkling, with a coquettishlittle bonnet, trimmed with pink, shaded by one of those nondescriptarticles at present called veils, which article was made of whitespotted net with a pink ruche round it, sailed Afy Hallijohn, conceitedand foolish and good-looking as ever. Catching sight of Mr. Dill, shemade him a flourishing and gracious bow. The courteous old gentlemanreturned it, and was pounced upon by Miss Corny's tongue for his pains. 

"Whatever possessed you to do that?"

"Well, Miss Corny, she spoke to me. You saw her. "

"I saw her? Yes, I did see her, the brazen bellwether! And she saw me, and spoke to you in her insolence. And you must answer her, in spiteof my presence, instead of shaking your fist and giving her a reprovingfrown. You want a little sharp talking to, yourself. "

"But, Miss Corny, it's always best to let bygones be bygones, " hepleaded. "She was flighty and foolish, and all that, was Afy; but nowthat it's proved she did not go with Richard Hare, as was suspected, andis at present living creditably, why should she not be noticed?"

"If the very deuce himself stood there with his horns and tail, youwould find excuses to make for him, " fired Miss Corny. "You are as badas Archibald! Notice Afy Hallijohn, when she dresses and flirts andminces as you saw her but now! What creditable servant would flauntabroad in such a dress and bonnet as that, with that flimsy gauze thingover her face. It's as disreputable as your shirt-front. "

Mr. Dill coughed humbly, not wishing to renew the point of theshirt-front. "She is not exactly a servant, Miss Corny, she's a lady'smaid; and ladies' maids do dress outrageously fine. I had great respectfor her father, ma'am; never a better clerk came into our office. "

"Perhaps you'll tell me you have a respect for her! The world's beingturned upside down, I think. Formerly, mistresses kept their servants towork; now it seems they keep them for play! She's going to St. Jude's, you may be sure of it, to stare at this fine wedding, instead of beingat home, in a cotton gown and white apron, making beds. Mrs. Latimermust be a droll mistress, to give her liberty in this way. What's thatfly for?" sharply added Miss Corny, as one drew up to the office door. 

"Fly, " said Mr. Dill, stretching forward his bald head. "It must be theone I ordered. Then I'll wish you good-day, Miss Corny. "

"Fly for you?" cried Miss corny. "Have you got the gout, that you couldnot walk to St. Jude's on foot?"

"I am not going to the church yet; I am going on to the Grove, MissCorny. I thought it would look more proper to have a fly ma'am; morerespectful. "

"Not a doubt but you need it in that trim, " retorted she. "Why didn'tyou put on pumps and silk stockings with pink clocks?"

He was glad to bow himself out, she kept on so. But he thought he woulddo it with a pleasant remark, to show her he bore no ill-will. "Justlook at the crowds pouring down, Miss Corny; the church will be as fullas it can cram. "

"I dare say it will, " retorted she. "One fool makes many. "

"I fear Miss Cornelia does not like this marriage, any more than she didthe last, " quoth Mr. Dill to himself as he stepped into his fly. "Sucha sensible woman as she is in other things, to be so bitter against Mr. Archibald because he marries! It's not like her. I wonder, " he added, his thoughts changing, "whether I do look foolish in this shirt? I'msure I never thought of decking myself out to appear young--as MissCorny said--I only wished to testify respect to Mr. Archibald and MissBarbara; nothing else would have made me give five-and-twenty shillingsfor it. Perhaps it's not etiquette--or whatever they call it--to wearthem in the morning, Miss Corny ought to know; and there certainly mustbe something wrong about it, by the way it put her up. Well, it can'tbe helped now; it must go; there's no time to return home now to changeit. "

St. Jude's Church was in a cram; all the world and his wife had flockedinto it. Those who could not get in, took up their station in thechurchyard and in the road. 

Well, it was a goodly show. Ladies and gentlemen as smart as finefeathers could make them. Mr. Carlyle was one of the first to enter thechurch, self-possessed and calm, the very sense of a gentleman. Oh, buthe was noble to look upon; though when was he otherwise? Mr. And Mrs. Clithero were there, Anne Hare, that was; a surprise for some of thegazers, who had not known they were expected at the wedding. Gentle, delicate Mrs. Hare walked up the church leaning on the arm of Sir JohnDobede, a paler shade than usual on her sweet, sad face. "She's thinkingof her wretched, ill-doing son, " quoth the gossips, one to another. Butwho comes in now, with an air as if the whole church belonged to him? Animposing, pompous man, stern and grim, in a new flaxen wig, and a whiterose in his buttonhole. It is Mr. Justice Hare, and he leads in one, whom folks jump upon seats to get a look at. 

Very lovely was Barbara, in her soft white silk robes and her floatingveil. Her cheeks, now blushing rosy red, now pale as the veil thatshaded them, betrayed how intense was her emotion. The bridesmaids cameafter her with jaunty steps, vain in their important office--LouisaDobede, Augusta and Kate Herbert, and Mary Pinner. 

Mr. Carlyle was already in his place at the altar, and as Barbara nearedhim, he advanced, took her hand, and placed her on his left. I don'tthink that it was quite usual; but he had been married before, and oughtto know. The clerk directed the rest where to stand, and, after somelittle delay, the service proceeded. 

In spite of her emotion--and that it was great, scarcely to besuppressed, none could doubt--Barbara made the responses bravely. Beyou very sure that a woman who _loves_ him she is being united to, mustexperience this emotion. 

"Wilt though have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live togetherafter God's ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony?" spoke the Rev. Mr. Little. "Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keephim in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee onlyunto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will. "

Clearly, firmly, impressively was the answer given. It was as if Barbarahad in her thoughts one who had not "kept holy unto him, " and wouldproclaim her own resolution never so to betray him, God helping her. 

The ceremony was very soon over, and Barbara, the magic ring upon herfinger and her arm within Mr. Carlyle's was led out to his chariot, nowhers--had he not just endowed her with his worldly goods?

The crowd shouted and hurrahed as they caught sight of her blushingface, but the carriage was soon clear of the crowd, who concentratedtheir curiosity upon the other carriages that were to follow it. Thecompany were speeding back to the Grove to breakfast. Mr. Carlyle, breaking the silence, suddenly turned to his bride and spoke, his toneimpassioned, almost unto pain. 

"Barbara, _you_ will keep your vows to me?"

She raised her shy blue eyes, so full of love to his; earnest feelinghad brought the tears to them. 

"Always, in the spirit and in the letter, until death shall claim me. Sohelp me Heaven!"

The German watering-places were crowded that early autumn. Theygenerally are crowded at that season, now that the English flock abroadin shoals, like the swallows quitting our cold country, to return againsome time. France has been pretty well used up, so now we fall uponGermany. Stalkenberg was that year particularly full, for its size--youmight have put it in a nutshell; and it derived its importance, name, and most else belonging to it, from its lord of the soil, the Baronvon Stalkenberg. A stalwart old man was the baron, with grizzly hair, agrizzled beard, and manners as loutish as those of the boars he hunted. He had four sons as stalwart as himself, and who promised to be in timeas grizzled. They were all styled the Counts von Stalkenberg, beingdistinguished by their Christian names--all save the eldest son, and hewas generally called the young baron. Two of them were away--soldiers;and two, the eldest and the youngest, lived with their father in thetumble-down castle of Stalkenberg, situated about a mile from thevillage to which it gave its name. The young Baron von Stalkenberg wasat liberty to marry; the three Counts von Stalkenberg were not--unlessthey could pick up a wife with enough money to keep herself and herhusband. In this creed they had been brought up. It was a perfectlyunderstood creed, and not rebelled against. 

The young Baron von Stalkenberg, who was only styled young incontradistinction to his father, being in his forty-first year, wasfamous for a handsome person, and for his passionate love of the chase:of wild boars and wolves he was the deadly enemy. The Count Otto vonStalkenberg, eleven years his brother's junior, was famous for nothingbut his fiercely-ringed moustache, a habit of eating, and an undueaddiction to draughts of Marcobrunen. Somewhat meager fare, so reportran, was the fashion in the Castle of Stalkenberg--neither the old baronnor his heir cared for luxury; therefore Count von Otto was sure to beseen at the _table d' hote_ as often as anybody would invite him, and that was nearly every day, for the Count von Stalkenberg wasa high-sounding title, and his baronial father, proprietor of allStalkenberg, lorded it in the baronial castle close by, all of whichappeared very grand and great, and that the English bow down to with anidol's worship. 

Stopping at the Ludwig Bad, the chief hotel in the place, was a familyof the name of Crosby. It consisted of Mr. And Mrs. Crosby, an onlydaughter, her governess, and two or three servants. What Mr. Crosby haddone to England, or England to him, I can't say, but he never went nearhis native country. For years and years he had lived abroad--not in anysettled place of residence: they would travel about, and remain a yearor two in one place, a year or two in another, as the whim suited them. A respectable, portly man, of quiet and gentlemanly manners, looking aslittle like one who need be afraid of the laws of his own land as canbe. Neither is it said or insinuated that he was afraid of them. Agentleman who knew him had told, many years before, in answer to adoubt, that Crosby was as free to go home and establish himself in amansion in Piccadilly as the best of them. But he had lost fearfully bysome roguish scheme, like the South Sea Bubble, and could not live inthe style he once had done, therefore preferred remaining abroad. Mrs. Crosby was a pleasant, chatty woman given to take as much gayety asshe could get, and Helena Crosby was a remarkably fine grown girlof seventeen. You might have given her some years on it had you beenguessing her age, for she was no child, either in appearance or manners, and never had been. She was an heiress, too. An uncle had left hertwenty thousand pounds, and at her mother's death she would have tenthousand more. The Count Otto von Stalkenberg heard of the thirtythousand pounds, and turned his fierce moustache and his eyes on MissHelena. 

"Thirty thousand pounds and von handsome girls!" cogitated he, for heprided himself upon his English. "It is just what I have been seekingafter. "

He found the rumor touching her fortune to be correct, and from thattime was seldom apart from the Crosbys. They were as pleased to havehis society as he was to be in theirs, for was he not the Count vonStalkenberg? And the other visitors at Stalkenberg looking on with envy, would have given their ears to be honored with a like intimacy. 

One day there thundered down in a vehicle the old Baron von Stalkenberg. The old chief had come to pay a visit of ceremony to the Crosbys. Andthe host of the Ludwig Bad, as he appeared himself to marshal thischieftain to their saloon, bowed his body low with every step. 

"Room there, room there, for the mighty Baron von Stalkenberg. "

The mighty baron had come to invite them to a feast at his castle, whereno feast had ever been made so grand before as this would be; andOtto had _carte blanche_ to engage other distinguished sojourners atStalkenberg, English, French, and natives, who had been civil to him. Mrs. Crosby's head was turned. 

And now, I ask you, knowing as you do our national notions, was it notenough to turn it? You will not, then, be surprised to hear that when, some days subsequent to the feast, the Count Otto von Stalkenberg laidhis proposals at Helena's feet, they were not rejected. 

Helena Crosby rushed into her governess's room. 

"Madam! Madam! Only think. I am going to be married!"

Madam lifted her pale, sad face--a very sad and pale face was hers. 

"Indeed!" she gently uttered. 

"And my studies are to be over from to-day, Mamma says so. "

"You are over young to marry, Helena. "

"Now don't you bring up that, madam. It is just what papa is harpingupon, " returned Miss Helena. 

"It is to Count Otto?" And it may be remarked that the governess'sEnglish was perfect, although the young lady addressed her as "Madam. "

"Count Otto, of course. As if I would marry anybody else!"

Look at the governess, reader, and see whether you know her. You willsay "No. " But you do, for it is Lady Isabel Vane. But how strangely sheis altered! Yes, the railway accident did that for her, and what theaccident left undone, grief and remorse accomplished. She limps as shewalks, and slightly stoops, taken from her former height. A scar extendsfrom her chin above her mouth, completely changing the character ofthe lower part of her face; some of her teeth are missing, so that shespeaks with a lisp, and the sober bands of her gray hair--it is nearlysilver--are confined under a large and close cap. She herself tries tomake the change greater, so that all chance of being recognized may beat an end, and for that reason she wears disfiguring spectacles, and abroad band of gray velvet, coming down low upon her forehead. Her dress, too, is equally disfiguring. Never is she seen in one that fits herperson, but in those frightful "loose jackets, " which must surely havebeen invented by somebody envious of a pretty shape. As to her bonnet, it would put to shame those masquerade things tilted on to the back ofthe head, for it actually shaded her face; and she was never seenout without a thick veil. She was pretty easy upon the score of beingrecognized now; for Mrs. Ducie and her daughters had been sojourning atStalkenberg, and they did not know her in the least. Who could know her?What resemblance was there between that gray, broken-down woman, withher disfiguring marks, and the once loved Lady Isabel, with her brightcolor, her beauty, her dark flowing curls, and her agile figure? Mr. Carlyle himself could not have told her. But she was good-looking still, in spite of it all, gentle and interesting; and people wondered to seethat gray hair in one yet young. 

She had been with the Crosbys going on for two years. After her recoveryfrom the railway accident, she removed to a quiet town in the vicinity;they were living there, and she became daily governess to Helena. TheCrosbys were given to understand that she was English, but the widow ofa Frenchman--she was obliged to offer some plausible account. There wereno references; but she so won upon their esteem as the daily governess, that they soon took her into the house. Had Lady Isabel surmisedthat they would be travelling to so conspicuous a spot as anEnglish-frequented German watering-place, she might have hesitatedto accept the engagement. However, it had been of service to her, themeeting with Mrs. Ducie proving that she was altered beyond chance ofrecognition. She could go anywhere now. 

But now, about her state of mind? I don't know how to describe it; thevain yearning, the inward fever, the restless longing for what mightnot be. Longing for what? For her children. Let the mother, be she aduchess, or be she an apple-woman at a stand, be separated for awhilefrom her little children; let _her_ answer how she yearns for them. Shemay be away on a tour of pleasure for a few weeks; the longing to seetheir little faces again, to hear their prattling tongues, to feel theirsoft kisses, is kept under; and there may be frequent messages, "Thechildren's dear love to mamma;" but as the weeks lengthen out, thedesire to see them again becomes almost irrepressible. What must it havebeen then, for Lady Isabel, who had endured this longing for years? Talkof the _mal du pays_, which is said to attack the Swiss when exiled fromtheir country--that is as nothing compared to the heartsickness whichclung to Lady Isabel. She had passionately loved her children; she hadbeen anxious for their welfare in all ways; and not the least she had toendure now was the thought that she had abandoned them to be trained bystrangers. Would they be trained to goodness, to morality, to religion?Careless as she herself had once been upon these points, she had learntbetter now. Would Isabel grow up to indifference, to--perhaps do as shehad done? Lady Isabel flung her hands before her eyes and groaned inanguish. 

It happened that Mrs. Latimer, a lady living at West Lynne, betookherself about that time to Stalkenberg, and with her, three parts maidand one part companion, went Afy Hallijohn. Not that Afy was admitted tothe society of Mrs. Latimer, to sit with her or dine with her, nothingof that; but she did enjoy more privileges than most ladies' maids do, and Afy, who was never backward at setting off her own consequence, gaveout that she was "companion. " Mrs. Latimer was an easy woman, fondof Afy, and Afy had made her own tale good to her respecting theill-natured reports at the time of the murder, so that Mrs. Latimerlooked upon her as one to be compassionated. 

Mrs. Latimer and Mrs. Crosby, whose apartments in the hotel joined, struck up a violent friendship, the one for the other. Ere the formerhad been a week at the Ludwig, they had sworn something like eternalsisterhood--as both had probably done for others fifty times before. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

MEETING OF LADY ISABEL AND AFY. 

On the evening of the day when Helena Crosby communicated her futureprospects to Lady Isabel, the latter strolled out in the twilight andtook her seat on a bench in an unfrequented part of the gardens, where she was fond of sitting. Now it occurred that Afy, some minutesafterwards, found herself in the same walk--and a very dull one, too, she was thinking. 

"Who's that?" quoth Afy to herself, her eyes falling upon Lady Isabel. "Oh, it's that governess of the Crosby's. She may be known, a half amile off, by her grandmother's bonnet. I'll go and have a chat withher. "

Accordingly Afy, who was never troubled with bashfulness, went up andseated herself beside Lady Isabel. "Good evening, Madame Vine, " criedshe. 

"Good evening, " replied Lady Isabel, courteously, not having the leastidea who Afy might be. 

"You don't know me, I fancy, " pursued Afy, so gathering from LadyIsabel's looks. "I am companion to Mrs. Latimer; and she is spending theevening with Mrs. Crosby. Precious dull, this Stalkenberg. "

"Do you think so?"

"It is for me. I can't speak German or French, and the upper attendantsof families here can't; most of them speak English. I'm sure I go aboutlike an owl, able to do nothing but stare. I was sick enough to comehere, but I'd rather be back at West Lynne, quiet as it is. "

Lady Isabel had not been encouraging her companion, either by wordsor manner, but the last sentence caused her heart to bound within her. Control herself as she would, she could not quite hide her feverishinterest. 

"Do you come from West Lynne?"

"Yes. Horrid place. Mrs. Latimer took a house there soon after I went tolive with her. I'd rather she'd taken it at Botany Bay. "

"Why do you not like it?"

"Because I don't, " was Afy's satisfactory answer. 

"Do you know East Lynne?" resumed Lady Isabel, her heart beating and herbrain whirling, as she deliberated how she could put all the questionsshe wished to ask. 

"I ought to know it, " returned Afy. "My own sister, Miss Hallijohn, ishead maid there. Why, do you know it, Madame Vine?"

Lady Isabel hesitated; she was deliberating upon her answer. 

"Some years ago I was staying in the neighborhood for a little time, "she said. "I should like to hear of the Carlyles again; they were a nicefamily. "

Afy tossed her head. 

"Ah! But there have been changes since that. I dare say you knew them inthe time of Lady Isabel?"

Another pause. 

"Lady Isabel? Yes she was Mr. Carlyle's wife. "

"And a nice wife she made him!" ironically rejoined Afy. "You musthave heard of it, Madame Vine, unless you lived in the wood. Sheelope--abandoned him and her children. "

"Are the children living?"

"Yes, poor things. But the one's on the road to the churchyard--ifever I saw threatened consumption yet. Joyce, that's my sister, is in aflaring temper when I say it. She thinks it will get strong again. "

Lady Isabel passed her handkerchief across her moist brow. 

"Which of the children is it?" she faintly asked. "Isabel?"

"Isabel!" retorted Afy. "Who's Isabel?"

"The eldest child, I mean; Miss Isabel Carlyle. "

"There's no Isabel. There's Lucy. She's the only daughter. "

"When--when--I knew them, there was only one daughter; the other twowere boys; I remember quite well that she was called Isabel. "

"Stay, " said Afy; "now you speak of it, what was it that I heard? It wasWilson told me, I recollect--she's the nurse. Why, the very night thathis wife went away Mr. Carlyle gave orders that the child in futureshould be called Lucy, her second name. No wonder, " added Afy, violentlyindignant, "that he could no lager endure the sound of her mother's orsuffer the child to bear it. "

"No wonder, " murmured Lady Isabel. "Which child is it that's ill?"

"It's William, the eldest boy. He is not to say ill, but he is as thinas a herring, with an unnaturally bright look on his cheek, and aglaze upon his eye. Joyce says that his cheeks are no brighter thanhis mother's were, but I know better. Folks in health don't have thosebrilliant colors. "

"Did you ever see Lady Isabel?" she asked, in a low tone. 

"Not I, " returned Afy; "I should have thought it demeaning. One doesnot care to be brought into contact with that sort of misdoing lot, youknow, Madame Vine. "

"There as another one, a little boy--Archibald, I think, his name was. Is he well?"

"Oh, the troublesome youngster! He is as sturdy as a Turk. No fear ofhis going into consumption. He is the very image of Mr. Carlyle, isthat child. I say though, madame, " continued Afy, changing the subjectunceremoniously, "if you were stopping at West Lynne, perhaps you heardsome wicked mischief-making stories concerning me?"

"I believe I did hear your name mentioned. I cannot charge my memory nowwith the particulars. "

"My father was murdered--you must have heard of that?"

"Yes, I recollect so far. "

"He was murdered by a chap called Richard Hare, who decamped instanter. Perhaps you know the Hares also? Well, directly after the funeral I leftWest Lynne; I could not bear the place, and I stopped away. And whatdo you suppose they said of me? That I had gone after Richard Hare. Notthat I knew they were saying it, or I should pretty soon have been backand given them the length of my tongue. But now I just ask you, as alady, Madame Vine, whether a more infamous accusation was ever pitchedupon?"

"And you had not gone after him?"

"No; that I swear, " passionately returned Afy. "Make myself a companionof my father's murderer! If Mr. Calcraft, the hangman, finished off afew of those West Lynne scandalmongers, it might be a warning to theothers. I said so to Mr. Carlyle. 

"To Mr. Carlyle?" repeated Lady Isabel, hardly conscious that she didrepeat it. 

"He laughed, I remember, and said that would not stop the scandal. Theonly one who did not misjudge me was himself; he did not believe that Iwas with Richard Hare, but he was ever noble-judging was Mr. Carlyle. "

"I suppose you were in a situation?"

Afy coughed. 

"To be sure. More than one. I lived as companion with an old lady, whoso valued me that she left me a handsome legacy in her will. I lived twoyears with the Countess of Mount Severn. "

"With the Countess of Mount Severn!" echoed Lady Isabel, surprised intothe remark. "Why, she--she--was related to Mr. Carlyle's wife. At leastLord Mount Severn was. "

"Of course; everybody knows that. I was living there at the time thebusiness happened. Didn't the countess pull Lady Isabel to pieces! Sheand Miss Levison used to sit, cant, cant all day over it. Oh, I assureyou I know all about it, just as much as Joyce did. Have you got thatheadache, that you are leaning on your hand?"

"Headache and heartache both, " she might have answered. 

Miss Afy resumed. 

"So, after the flattering compliment West Lynne had paid to me, you mayjudge I was in no hurry to go back to it, Madame Vine. And if I had notfound that Mrs. Latimer's promised to be an excellent place, I shouldhave left it, rather than be marshaled there. But I have lived it down;I should like to hear any of them fibbing against me now. Do you knowthat blessed Miss Corny?"

"I have seen her. "

"She shakes her head and makes eyes at me still. But so she would at anangel; a cross-grained old cockatoo!"

"Is she still at East Lynne?"

"Not she, indeed. There would be drawn battles between her and Mrs. Carlyle, if she were. "

A dart, as of an ice-bolt, seemed to arrest the blood in Lady Isabel'sveins. 

"Mrs. Carlyle, " she faltered. "Who is Mrs. Carlyle?"

"Mr. Carlyle's wife--who should she be?"

The rushing blood leaped on now fast and fiery. 

"I did not know he had married again. "

"He has been married now--oh, getting on for fifteen months; atwelvemonth last June. I went to the church to see them married. Wasn'tthere a cram! She looked beautiful that day. "

Lady Isabel laid her hand upon her breast. But for that delectable"loose jacket, " Afy might have detected her bosom rise and fall. Shesteadied her voice sufficiently to speak. 

"Did he marry Barbara Hare?"

"You may take your oath of that, " said Afy. "If folks tell true, therewas love scenes between them before he ever thought of Lady Isabel. I had that from Wilson, and she ought to know, for she lived at theHares'. Another thing is said--only you must just believe one word ofWest Lynne talk, and disbelieve ten--that if Lady Isabel had not died, Mr. Carlyle never would have married again; he had scruples. Half adozen were given him by report; Louisa Dobede for one, and Mary Pinnerfor another. Such nonsense! Folks might have made sure it would beBarbara Hare. There's a baby now. "

"Is there?" was the faint answer. 

"A beautiful boy three or four months old. Mrs. Carlyle is not a littleproud of him. She worships her husband. "

"Is she kind to the first children?"

"For all I know. I don't think she has much to do with them. Archibaldis in the nursery, and the other two are mostly with the governess. "

"I wonder, " cried the governess, "how the tidings of Lady Isabel's deathwere received at East Lynne?"

"I don't know anything about that. They held it as a jubilee, I shouldsay, and set all the bells in town to ring, and feasted the men uponlegs of mutton and onion sauce afterward. I should, I know. A bruteanimal, deaf and dumb, such as a cow or a goose, clings to itsoffspring, but _she_ abandoned hers. Are you going in Madame Vine?"

"I must go in now. Good evening to you. "

She had sat till she could sit no longer; her very heartstrings werewrung, and she might not rise up in defence of herself. Defence? Did shenot deserve more, ten thousand times more reproach than had met her earsnow? This girl did not say of her half what the world must say. 

"There is a governess?"

"Nearly the first thing that Mr. Carlyle did, after his wife's moonlightflitting, was to seek a governess, and she has been there ever since. She is going to leave now; to be married, Joyce told me. "

"Are you much at East Lynne?"

Afy shook her head. "I am not going much, I can tell you, where I amlooked down upon. Mrs. Carlyle does not favor me. She knew that herbrother Richard would have given his hand to marry me, and she resentsit. Not such a great catch, I'm sure, that Dick Hare, even if he hadgone on right, " continued Afy, somewhat after the example of the fox, looking at the unattainable grapes. "He had no brains to speak of; andwhat he had were the color of a peacock's tail--green. "

To bed at the usual time, but not to sleep. What she had heard onlyincreased her vain, insensate longing. A stepmother at East Lynne, andone of her children gliding on to death! Oh! To be with them! To seethem once again! To purchase that boon, she would willingly forfeit allthe rest of her existence. 

Her frame was fevered; the bed was fevered; and she arose and pacedthe room. This state of mind would inevitably bring on bodily illness, possibly an attack of the brain. She dreaded that; for there wasno telling what she might reveal in her delirium. Her temples werethrobbing, her heart was beating, and she once more threw herself uponthe bed, and pressed the pillow down upon her forehead. There isno doubt that the news of Mr. Carlyle's marriage helped greatly theexcitement. She did not pray to die, but she did wish that death mightcome to her. 

What would have been the ending, it is impossible to say, but a strangeturn in affairs came; one of those wonderful coincidences sometimes, but not often to be met with. Mrs. Crosby appeared in Madame Vine's roomafter breakfast, and gave her an account of Helena's projected marriage. She then apologized, the real object of her visit, for dispensing sosummarily with madame's services, but had reason to hope that she couldintroduce her to another situation. Would madame have any objectionto take one in England? Madame was upon the point of replying that sheshould not choose to enter one in England, when Mrs. Crosby stopped her, saying that she would call in Mrs. Latimer, who could tell her about itbetter than she could. 

Mrs. Latimer came in, all eagerness and volubility. "Ah, my dearmadame, " she exclaimed, "you would be fortunate indeed if you wereto get into this family. The nicest people they are; he so liked andrespected; she so pretty and engaging. A most desirable situation, too, treated as a lady, and all things comfortable. There's only one pupil, agirl; one of the little boys, I believe, goes in for an hour or two, butthat's not much; and the salary's seventy guineas. They are friends ofmine; the Carlyles; such a beautiful place they live at--East Lynne. "

The Carlyles! East Lynne! Go governess there? Lady Isabel's breath wastaken away. 

"They are parting with their governess, " continued Mrs. Latimer, "andwhen I was there, a day or two before I started on my tour to Germany, Mrs. Carlyle said to me, 'I suppose you could not pick us up a desirablegoverness for Lucy; one who is mistress of French and German. ' She spokein a half joking tone, but I feel sure that were I to write word I _had_found one desirable, it would give her pleasure. Now, Mrs. Crosby tellsme your French is quite that of a native, Madame Vine, that you readand speak German well, and that your musical abilities are excellent. Ithink you would be just the one to suit; and I have no doubt I could getyou the situation. What do you say?"

What could she say? Her brain was in a whirl. 

"I am anxious to find you one if I can, " put in Mrs. Crosby. "We havebeen much pleased with you, and I should like you to be desirablyplaced. As Mrs. Latimer is so kind as to interest herself, it appears tome an opportunity that should not be missed. "

"Shall I write to Mrs. Carlyle?" rejoined Mrs. Latimer. 

Lady Isabel roused herself, and so far cleared her intellect as tounderstand and answer the question. "Perhaps you would kindly give meuntil to-morrow morning to consider on it? I had not intended to take asituation in England. "

A battle she had with herself that day. At one moment it seemed to herthat Providence must have placed this opportunity in her way that shemight see her children, in her desperate longing; at another, a voiceappeared to whisper that it was a wily, dangerous temptation flungacross her path, one which it was her duty to resist and flee from. Then came another phase of the picture--how should she bear to see Mr. Carlyle the husband of another--to live in the same house with them, towitness his attentions, possibly his caresses? It might be difficult;but she could force and school her heart to endurance. Had she notresolved, in her first bitter repentance, _to take up her cross_ daily, and bear it? No, her own feelings, let them be wrung as they would, should not prove the obstacle. 

Evening came, and she had not decided. She passed another night ofpain, of restlessness, of longing for her children; this intense longingappeared to be overmastering all her powers of mind and body. Thetemptation at length proved too strong; the project having been placedbefore her covetous eyes could not be relinquished, and she finallyconsented to go. "What is it that would keep me away?" she argued. "Thedread of discovery? Well if that comes it must; they could not hang meor kill me. Deeper humiliation than ever would be my portion when theydrive me from East Lynne with abhorrence and ignominy, as a soldier isdrummed out of his regiment; but I could bear that as I must bearthe rest and I can shrink under the hedge and lay myself down to die. Humiliation for me? No; I will not put that in comparison with seeingand being with my children. "

Mrs. Latimer wrote to Mrs. Carlyle. She had met with a governess; onedesirable in every way who could not fail to suit her views precisely. She was a Madame Vine, English by birth, but the widow of a Frenchman; aProtestant, a thorough gentlewoman, an efficient linguist and musician, and competent to her duties in all ways. Mrs. Crosby, with whom she hadlived two years regarded her as a treasure, and would not have partedwith her but for Helena's marriage with a German nobleman. "You mustnot mind her appearance, " went on the letter. "She is the oddest-lookingperson; wears spectacles, caps, enormous bonnets, and has a great scaron her mouth and chin; and though she can't be more than thirty, herhair is gray; she is also slightly lame. But, understand you, she is a_lady_, with it all, and looks one. "

When this description reached East Lynne, Barbara laughed at it as sheread it aloud to Mr. Carlyle. He laughed also. 

"It is well governesses are not chosen according to their looks, " hesaid, "or I fear Madame Vine would stand but a poor chance. "

They resolved to engage her, and word went back to that effect. 

A strangely wild tumult filled Lady Isabel's bosom. She first of allhunted her luggage over, her desk, everything belonging to her lest anymark on the linen might be there, which could give a clue to her formerself. The bulk of her luggage remained in Paris, warehoused, where ithad been sent ere she quitted Grenoble. She next saw to her wardrobe, making it still more unlike anything she had used to wear; her caps, save that they were simple, and fitted closely to the face, nearlyrivaled those of Miss Carlyle. Her handwriting she had been strivingfor years to change the character of, and had so far succeeded thatnone would now take it for Lady Isabel Vane's. But her hand shook as shewrote to Mrs. Carlyle--who had written to her. She--_she_ writing to Mr. Carlyle's wife! And in the capacity of a subordinate! How would she liketo live with her as a subordinate, as servant--it may be said--whereshe had once reigned, the idolized lady? She must bear that, as she mustbear all else. Hot tears came into her eyes, with a gush, as they fellon the signature, "Barbara Carlyle. "

All ready, she sat down and waited the signal of departure; but that wasnot to be yet. It was finally arranged that she should travel to Englandand to West Lynne with Mrs. Latimer, and that lady would not returnuntil October. Lady Isabel could only fold her hands and strive forpatience. 

But the day did come--it actually did; and Mrs. Latimer, Lady Isabel, and Afy quitted Stalkenberg. Mrs. Latimer would only travel slowly, andthe impatient, fevered woman thought the journey would never end. 

"You have been informed, I think, of the position of these unhappychildren that you are going to, " Mrs. Latimer observed to her one day. "You must not speak to them of their mother. She left them. "

"Yes. "

"It is never well to speak to children of a mother who has disgracedthem. Mr. Carlyle would not like it; and I dare say they are taught toforget her, and to regard Mrs. Carlyle as their only mother. "

Her aching heart had to assent to all. 

It was a foggy afternoon, gray with the coming twilight, when theyarrived at West Lynne. 

Mrs. Latimer believing the governess was a novice in England, kindlyput her into a fly, and told the driver his destination. "_Au revoir_, madame, " she said, "and good luck to you. "

Once more she was whirling along the familiar road. She saw JusticeHare's house, she saw other marks which she knew well; and once more shesaw _East Lynne_, the dear old house, for the fly had turned into theavenue. Lights were moving in the windows; it looked gay and cheerful, a contrast to her. Her heart was sick with expectation, her throatwas beating; and as the man thundered up with all the force of his onehorse, and halted at the steps, her sight momentarily left her. WouldMr. Carlyle come to the fly to hand her out? She wished she had neverundertaken the project, now, in the depth of her fear and agitation. Thehall door was flung open, and there gushed forth a blaze of light. 

Two men-servants stood there. The one remained in the hall, the otheradvanced to the chaise. He assisted Lady Isabel to alight, and thenbusied himself with the luggage. As she ascended to the hall sherecognized old Peter. Strange, indeed, did it seem not to say, "How areyou, Peter?" but to meet him as a stranger. For a moment, she was at aloss for words; what should she say, or ask, coming to her own home? Hermanner was embarrassed, her voice low. 

"Is Mrs. Carlyle within?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

At that moment Joyce came forward to receive her. "It is Madame Vine, Ibelieve, " she respectfully said. "Please to step this way, madame. "

But Lady Isabel lingered in the hall, ostensibly to see that her boxescame in right--Stephen was bringing them up--in reality to gather ashort respite, for Joyce might be about to usher her into the presenceof Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle. 

Joyce, however, did nothing of the sort. She merely conducted her to thegray parlor. A fire was burning in the grate, looking cheerful on theautumn night. 

"This is your sitting-room, madame. What will you please to take? I willorder it brought in while I show you your bed-chamber. "

"A cup of tea, " answered Lady Isabel. 

"Tea and some cold meat?" suggested Joyce. But Lady Isabel interruptedher. 

"Nothing but tea and a little cold toast. "

Joyce rang the bell, ordered the refreshment to be made ready, and thenpreceded Lady Isabel upstairs. On she followed her heart palpitating;past the rooms that used to be hers, along the corridor, toward thesecond staircase. The door of her old dressing-room stood open, and sheglanced in with a yearning look. No, never more, never more could itbe hers; she had put it from her by her own free act and deed. Not lesscomfortable did it look now than in former days, but it had passed intoanother's occupancy. The fire threw its blaze on the furniture. Therewere the little ornaments on the large dressing-table, as they usedto be in _her_ time; and the cut glass of crystal essence-bottles wasglittering in the firelight. On the sofa lay a shawl and a book, and onthe bed a silk dress, as thrown there after being taken off. No, those rooms were not for her now, and she followed Joyce up theother staircase. The bedroom she was shown to was commodious and wellfurnished. It was the one Miss Carlyle had occupied when she, Isabella, had been taken a bride to East Lynne, though that lady had subsequentlyquitted it for one on the lower floor. Joyce put down the waxlight shecarried and looked round. 

"Would you like a fire lighted here, madame, for to-night? Perhaps itwill feel welcome after travelling. "

"Oh, no, thank you, " was the answer. 

Stephen, with somebody to help him, was bringing up the luggage. Joycedirected him where to place it, telling him to uncord the boxes. Thatdone, the man left the room, and Joyce turned to Lady Isabel, who hadstood like a statue, never so much as attempting to remove her bonnet. 

"Can I do anything for you, madame?" she asked. 

Lady Isabel declined. In the first moments of her arrival she wasdreading detection--how was it possible that she should not--and shefeared Joyce's keen eyes more, perhaps than she feared any others. Shewas only wishing that the girl would go down. 

"Should you want anything, please to ring, and Hannah will come up, "said Joyce, preparing to retire. "She is the maid who waits upon thegray parlor, and will do anything you like up here. "

Joyce had quitted the room, and Lady Isabel had got her bonnet off, when the door opened again. She hastily thrust it on, somewhat after thefashion of Richard Hare's rushing on his hat and false whiskers. It wasJoyce. 

"Do you think you shall find your way down alone, madame?"

"Yes, I can do that, " she answered. Find her way in that house!

Lady Isabel slowly took her things off. What was the use oflingering--she _must_ meet their eyes, sooner or later. Though, intruth, there was little, if any, fear of her detection, so effectuallywas she disguised by nature's altering hand, or by art's. It was withthe utmost difficulty she kept tranquil. Had the tears once burstforth, they would have gone on to hysterics, without the possibility ofcontrol. The coming home again to East Lynne! Oh, it was indeed a timeof agitation, terrible, painful agitation, and none can wonder at it. Shall I tell you what she did? Yes, I will at the expense of ridicule. She knelt down by the bed and prayed for courage to go through the taskshe had undertaken; prayed for self-control--even she, the sinful, whohad quitted that house under circumstances notorious. But I am not surethat this mode of return to it was an expedition precisely calculated tocall down a blessing. 

There was no excuse for lingering longer, and she descended, thewaxlight in her hand. Everything was ready in the gray parlor--thetea-tray on the table, the small urn hissing away, the tea-caddy inproximity to it. A silver rack of dry toast, butter, and a hot muffincovered with a small silver cover. The things were to her sight as oldfaces--the rack, the small cover, the butter-dish, the tea-service--sheremembered them all; not the urn--a copper one--she had no recollectionof that. It had possibly been bought for the use of the governess, whena governess came into use at East Lynne. Could she have given herselfleisure to reflect on the matter, she might have told, by the signsobservable in the short period she had been in the house, thatgovernesses of East Lynne were regarded as gentlewomen--treated well andliberally. Yes; for East Lynne owned Mr. Carlyle for its master. 

She made the tea, and sat down with what appetite she might, her brain, her thoughts, all in a chaos together. She wondered whether Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle were at dinner--she wondered in what part of the house were thechildren. She heard bells ring now and then; she heard servants crossand recross the hall. Her meal over, she rang her own. 

A neat-looking, good-tempered maid answered it, Hannah, who, as Joycehad informed her, waited upon the gray parlor, and was at her, thegoverness's, especial command. She took away the things, and then LadyIsabel sat on alone. For how long, she scarcely knew, when a soundcaused her heart to beat as if it would burst its bounds, and shestarted from her chair like one who has received an electric shock. 

It was nothing to be startled at either--for ordinary people--for itwas but the sound of children's voices. _Her_ children! Were they beingbrought in to her? She pressed her hand upon her heaving bosom. 

No; they were but traversing the hall, and the voices faded away up thewide staircase. Perhaps they had been in to desert, as in the old times, and were now going up to bed. She looked at her new watch--half pastseven. 

Her _new_ watch. The old one had been changed away for it. All hertrinkets had been likewise parted with, sold or exchanged away, lestthey should be recognized at East Lynne. Nothing whatever had she keptexcept her mother's miniature and a small golden cross, set withits seven emeralds. Have you forgotten that cross? Francis Levisonaccidentally broke it for her, the first time they ever met. If she hadlooked upon the breaking of that cross which her mother had enjoined herto set such store by, as an evil omen, at the time of the accident, howawfully had the subsequent events seemed to bear her fancy out! Thesetwo articles--the miniature and the cross--she could not bring her mindto part with. She had sealed them up, and placed them in the remotestspot of her dressing-case, away from all chance of public view. Peterentered. 

"My mistress says, ma'am, she would be glad to see you, if you are nottoo tired. Will you please to walk into the drawing-room?"

A mist swam before her eyes. Was she about to enter the presence of Mrs. Carlyle? Had the moment really come? She moved to the door, which Peterheld open. She turned her head from the man, for she could feel how ashywhite were her face and lips. 

"Is Mrs. Carlyle alone?" she asked, in a subdued voice. The mostindirect way she could put the question, as to whether Mr. Carlyle wasthere. 

"Quite alone, ma'am. My master is dining out to-day. Madame Vine, Ithink?" he added, waiting to announce her, as, the hall traversed, helaid his hand on the drawing-room door. 

"Madame Vine, " she said, correcting him. For Peter had spoken the name, Vine, broadly, according to our English habitude; she set him right, andpronounced it _a la mode Francaise_. 

"Madame Vine, ma'am, " quoth Peter to his mistress, as he ushered in LadyIsabel. 

The old familiar drawing-room; its large handsome proportions, the wellarranged furniture, its bright chandelier! It all came back to her witha heart-sickness. No longer _her_ drawing-room, that she should takepride in it; she had flung it away from her when she flung away therest. 

Seated under the blaze of the chandelier was Barbara. Not a day olderdid she look than when Lady Isabel had first seen her at the churchyardgates, when she had inquired of her husband who was that pretty girl. "Barbara Hare, " he answered. Ay. She was Barbara Hare then, but nowshe was Barbara Carlyle; and she, she, who had been Isabel Carlyle, wasIsabel Vane again! Oh, woe! Woe!

Inexpressibly more beautiful, looked Barbara than Lady Isabel hadever seen her--or else she fancied it. Her evening dress was of palesky-blue--no other color suited Barbara so well, and there was no othershe was so fond of--and on her fair neck there was a gold chain, andon her arms were gold bracelets. Her pretty features were attractiveas ever; her cheeks were flushed; her blue eyes sparkled, and her lighthair was rich and abundant. A contrast, her hair, to that of the wornwoman opposite to her. 

Barbara came forward, her hand stretched out with a kindly greeting. "Ihope you are not very much tired after your journey?"

Lady Isabel murmured something--she did not know what--and pushed thechair set for her as much as possible into the shade. 

"You are not ill, are you?" uttered Barbara, noting the intensely paleface--as much as could be seen of it for the cap and the spectacles. 

"Not ill, " was the low answer; "only a little fatigued. "

"Would you prefer that I spoke with you in the morning? You would like, possibly, to retire to bed at once. "

But Lady Isabel declined. Better get the interview over by candlelightthan by daylight. 

"You look so very pale, I feared you might be ill. "

"I am generally pale; sometimes remarkably so; but my health is good. "

"Mrs. Latimer wrote us word that you would be quite sure to suit us, "freely spoke Barbara. "I hope you will; and that you may find yourresidence here agreeable. Have you lived much in England?"

"In the early portion of my life. "

"And you have lost your husband and your children? Stay. I beg yourpardon if I am making a mistake; I think Mrs. Latimer did mentionchildren. "

"I have lost them, " was the faint, quiet response. 

"Oh, but it must be terrible grief when children die!" exclaimedBarbara, clasping her hands in emotion. "I would not lose my babe forthe world! I _could_ not part with him. "

"Terrible grief, and hard to bear, " outwardly assented Lady Isabel. But in her heart she was thinking that death was not the worst kindof parting. There was another far more dreadful. Mrs. Carlyle began tospeak of the children she was to take charge of. 

"You are no doubt aware that they are not mine; Mrs. Latimer would tellyou. They are the children of Mr. Carlyle's first wife. "

"And Mr. Carlyle's, " interrupted Lady Isabel. What in the world made herput in that? She wondered herself the moment the words were out of hermouth. A scarlet streak flushed her cheeks, and she remembered thatthere must be no speaking upon impulse at East Lynne. 

"Mr. Carlyle's, of course, " said Barbara, believing Madame Vine hadasked the question. "Their position--the girl's in particular--is a sadone, for their mother left them. Oh, it was a shocking business!"

"She is dead, I hear, " said Lady Isabel hoping to turn the immediatepoint of conversation. Mrs. Carlyle, however, continued as though shehad not heard her. 

"Mr. Carlyle married Lady Isabel Vane, the late Lord Mount Severn'sdaughter. She was attractive and beautiful, but I do not fancy she caredvery much for her husband. However that may have been, she ran away fromhim. "

"It was very sad, " observed Lady Isabel, feeling that she was expectedto say something. Besides, she had her _role_ to play. 

"Sad? It was wicked--it was infamous!" returned Mrs. Carlyle, givingway to some excitement. "Of all men living, of all husbands, Mr. Carlyleleast deserved such a requital. You will say so when you come to know. And the affair altogether was a mystery; for it never was observed orsuspected by any one that Lady Isabel entertained a liking for another. It was Francis Levison she eloped with--Sir Francis he is now. He hadbeen staying at East Lynne, but no one detected any undue intimacybetween them, not even Mr. Carlyle. To him, as others, her conduct mustalways remain a mystery. "

Madame appeared to be occupied with her spectacles, setting themstraight. Barbara continued, --

"Of course the disgrace is reflected on the children, and always willbe; the shame of having a divorced mother--"

"Is she not dead?" interrupted Lady Isabel. 

"She is dead--oh, yes. But they will not be the less pointed at, thegirl especially, as I say. They allude to their mother now and then inconversation, Wilson tells me; but I would recommend you, Madame Vine, not to encourage them in that. They had better forget her. "

"Mr. Carlyle would naturally wish them to do so. "

"Most certainly. There is little doubt that Mr. Carlyle would blot outthe recollection of her, were it possible. But unfortunately she was thechildren's mother, and, for that, there's no help. I trust you will beable to instill principles into the little girl which will keep her froma like fate. "

"I will try, " answered Lady Isabel, with more fervor than she had yetspoken. "Do you have the children much with you, may I inquire?"

"No. I never was fond of being troubled with children. When my own growup into childhood I shall deem the nursery and the schoolroom the fitterplace for them. What I trust I shall never give up to another, willbe the _training_ of my children, " pursued Barbara. "Let the officesproperly pertaining to a nurse be performed by the nurse--of course, taking care that she is thoroughly to be depended on. Let her have the_trouble_ of the children, their noise, their romping; in short, let thenursery be her place, and the children's. But I hope that I shall neverfail to gather my children round me daily, at stated and convenientperiods, for higher purposes; to instill into them Christian and moralduties; to strive to teach them how best to fulfil the obligations oflife. _This_ is a mother's task--as I understand the question--let herdo this work well, and the nurse can attend to the rest. A child shouldnever hear aught from his mother's lips but persuasive gentleness; andthis becomes impossible if she is very much with her children. "

Lady Isabel silently assented. Mrs. Carlyle's views were correct ones. 

"When I first came to East Lynne I found Miss Manning, the governess, was doing everything necessary for Mr. Carlyle's children in the way ofthe training that I speak of, " resumed Barbara. "She had them with herfor a short period every morning, even the little one; I saw that it wasall right, therefore did not interfere. Since she left--it is nearlya month now--I have taken them myself. We were sorry to part with MissManning; she suited very well. But she has been long engaged, it turnsout, to an officer in the navy, and now they are to be married. You willhave the entire charge of the little girl; she will be your companionout of school hours; did you understand that?"

"I am quite ready and willing to undertake it, " said Lady Isabel, herheart fluttering. "Are the children well? Do they enjoy good health?"

"Quite so. They had the measles in the spring, and the illness left acough upon William, the eldest boy. Mr. Wainwright says he will outgrowit. "

"He has it still, then?"

"At night and morning. They went last week to spend the day with MissCarlyle, and were a little late in returning home. It was foggy, and theboy coughed dreadfully after he came in. Mr. Carlyle was so concernedthat he left the dinner table and went up to the nursery; he gave Joycestrict orders that the child should never again be out in the evening solong as the cough was upon him. We had never heard him cough like that. "

"Do you fear consumption?" asked Lady Isabel, in a low tone. 

"I do not fear that, or any other incurable disease for them, " answeredBarbara. "I think, with Mr. Wainwright, that time will remove the cough. The children come of a healthy stock on the father's side; and I have noreason to think they do not on their mother's. She died young you willsay. Ay, but she did not die of disease; her death was the resultof accident. Mrs. Latimer wrote us word you were of gentle birth andbreeding, " she continued, changing the subject of conversation. "I amsure you will excuse my speaking of these particulars, " Barbara added, in a tone of apology, "but this is our first interview--our preliminaryinterview, it may in a measure be called, for we could not say much byletter. "

"I was born and reared a gentlewoman, " answered Lady Isabel. 

"Yes, I am sure of it; there is no mistaking the tone of a gentlewoman, "said Barbara. "How sad it is when pecuniary reverses fall upon us! Idare say you never thought to go out as a governess. "

A half smile positively crossed her lips. She think to go out as agoverness!--the Earl of Mount Severn's only child! "Oh, no, never, " shesaid, in reply. 

"Your husband, I fear, could not leave you well off. Mrs. Latimer saidsomething to that effect. "

"When I lost him, I lost all, " was the answer. And Mrs. Carlyle wasstruck with the wailing pain betrayed in the tone. At that moment a maidentered. 

"Nurse says the baby is undressed, and quite ready for you ma'am, " shesaid, addressing her mistress. 

Mrs. Carlyle rose, but hesitated as she was moving away. 

"I will have the baby here to-night, " she said to the girl. "Tell nurseto put a shawl round him and bring him down. It is the hour for mybaby's supper, " she smiled, turning to Lady Isabel. "I may as well havehim here for once, as Mr. Carlyle is out. Sometimes I am out myself, andthen he has to be fed. "

"You do not stay indoors for the baby, then?"

"Certainly not. If I and Mr. Carlyle have to be out in the evening, babygives way. I should never give up my husband for my baby; never, never, dearly as I love him. "

The nurse came in--Wilson. She unfolded a shawl, and placed the baby onMrs. Carlyle's lap. A proud, fine, fair young baby, who reared his headand opened wide his great blue eyes, and beat his arms at the lights ofthe chandelier, as no baby of nearly six months ever did yet. So thoughtBarbara. He was in his clean white nightgown and nightcap, with theirpretty crimped frills and border; altogether a pleasant sight to lookupon. _She_ had once sat in that very chair, with a baby as fair uponher own knee; but all that was past and gone. She leaned her hot headupon her hand, and a rebellious sigh of envy went forth from her achingheart. 

Wilson, the curious, was devouring her with her eyes. Wilson wasthinking she never saw such a mortal fright as the new governess. Themblue spectacles capped everything, she decided; and what on earth madeher tie up her throat in that fashion? As well wear a man's color andstock at once! If her teaching was no better than her looks, Miss Lucymight as well go to the parish charity school!

"Shall I wait, ma'am?" demurely asked Wilson, her investigation beingconcluded. 

"No, " said Mrs. Carlyle. "I will ring. "

Baby was exceedingly busy taking his supper. And of course, accordingto all baby precedent, he ought to have gone off into a sound sleep overit. But the supper concluded, and the gentleman seemed to have no moresleep in his eyes than he had before he began. He sat up, crowed atthe lights, stretched out his hands for them, and set his mother atdefiance, absolutely refusing to be hushed up. 

"Do you wish to keep awake all night, you rebel?" cried Barbara, fondlylooking on him. 

A loud crow, by way of answer. Perhaps it was intended to intimate hedid. She clasped him to her with a sudden gesture of rapture, a sound oflove, and devoured his pretty face with kisses. Then she took him in herarms, putting him to sit upright, and approached Madame Vine. 

"Did you ever see a more lovely child?"

"A fine baby, indeed, " she constrained herself to answer; and she couldhave fancied it her own little Archibald over again when he was a baby. "But he is not much like you. "

"He is the very image of my darling husband. When you see Mr. Carlyle--"Barbara stopped, and bent her ear, as listening. 

"Mr. Carlyle is probably a handsome man!" said poor Lady Isabel, believing that the pause was made to give her an opportunity of puttingin an observation. 

"He is handsome: but that is the least good about him. He is the mostnoble man! Revered, respected by everyone; I may say loved! The only onewho could not appreciate him was his wife; and we must assume that shedid not, by the ending that came. However she could leave him--how shecould even look at another, after calling Mr. Carlyle husband--willalways be a marvel to those who know him. "

A bitter groan--and it nearly escaped her lips. 

"That certainly is the pony carriage, " cried Barbara, bending her earagain. "If so, how very early Mr. Carlyle is home! Yes, I am sure it isthe sound of the wheels. "

How Lady Isabel sat she scarcely knew; how she concealed her trepidationshe never would know. A pause: an entrance to the hall; Barbara, baby inarms, advanced to the drawing-room door, and a tall form entered. Oncemore Lady Isabel was in the presence of her sometime husband. 

He did not perceive that any one was present, and he bent his head andfondly kissed his wife. Isabel's jealous eyes were turned upon them. She saw Barbara's passionate, lingering kiss in return, she heard herfervent, whispered greeting, "My darling!" and she watched him turn topress the same fond kisses on the rosy open lips of his child. Isabelflung her hand over her face. Had she bargained for this? It was part ofthe cross she had undertaken to carry, and she _must_ bear it. 

Mr. Carlyle came forward and saw her. He looked somewhat surprised. "Madame Vine, " said Barbara; and he held out his hand and welcomed herin the same cordial, pleasant manner that his wife had done. She puther shaking hand into his; there was no help for it. Little thoughtMr. Carlyle that that hand had been tenderly clasped in his a thousandtimes--that it was the one pledged to him at the altar of CastleMarling. 

She sat down on her chair again, unable to stand, feeling as thoughevery drop of blood within her had left her body. It had certainly lefther face. Mr. Carlyle made a few civil inquiries as to her journey, butshe did not dare to raise her eyes to his, as she breathed forth theanswers. 

"You are at home soon, Archibald, " said Barbara, addressing him. "I didnot expect you so early. I did not think you could get away. Do you knowwhat I was wishing to-day?" she continued. "Papa is going to London withSquire Pinner to see those new agricultural implements--or whatever itis. They are sure to be away as much as three days. I was thinking if wecould but persuade mamma to come to us for the time papa is to beaway, it would be a delightful little change for her--a break in hermonotonous life. "

"I wish you could, " warmly spoke Mr. Carlyle. "Her life, since you left, is a monotonous one; though, in her gentle patience, she will not sayso. It is a happy thought, Barbara, and I only hope it may be carriedout. Mrs. Carlyle's mother is an invalid, and lonely, for she hasno child at home with her now, " he added, in a spirit of politeness, addressing himself to Madame Vine. 

She simply bowed her head; trust herself to speak she did not. Mr. Carlyle scanned her face attentively, as she sat, her spectacles bentdownward. She did not appear inclined to be sociable, and he turned tothe baby, who was wider awake than ever. 

"Young sir, I should like to know what brings you up, and here, at thishour. "

"You may well ask, " said Barbara. "I just had him brought down, as youwere not here, thinking he would be asleep directly. And only look athim!--no more sleep in his eyes than there is in mine. "

She would have hushed him to her as she spoke, but the young gentlemanstoutly repudiated it. He set up a half cry, and struggled his arms, andhead free again, crowing the next moment most impudently. Mr. Carlyletook him. 

"It is no use, Barbara; he is beyond your coaxing this evening. " And hetossed the child in his strong arms, held him up to the chandelier, madehim bob at the baby in the pier-glass, until the rebel was in an ecstacyof delight. Finally he smothered his face with kisses, as Barbara haddone. Barbara rang the bell. 

Oh! Can you imagine what it was for Lady Isabel? So had he tossed, sohad he kissed her children, she standing by, the fond, proud, happymother, as Barbara was standing now. Mr. Carlyle came up to her. 

"Are you fond of these little troubles, Madame Vine? This one is a finefellow, they say. "

"Very fine. What is his name?" she replied, by way of saying something. 

"Arthur. "

"Arthur Archibald, " put in Barbara to Madame Vine. "I was vexed that hisname could not be entirely Archibald, but that was already monopolized. Is that you, Wilson? I don't know what you'll do with him, but he looksas if he would not be asleep by twelve o'clock. "

Wilson, with a fresh satisfying of her curiosity, by taking anotherprolonged stare from the corner of her eyes at Madame Vine, received thebaby from Mr. Carlyle, and departed with him. 

Madame Vine rose. "Would they excuse her?" she asked, in a low tone;"she was tired and would be glad to retire to rest. "

"Of course. And anything she might wish in the way of refreshment, wouldshe ring for?" Barbara shook hands with her, in her friendly way; andMr. Carlyle crossed the room to open the door for her, and bowed her outwith a courtly smile. 

She went up to her chamber at once. To rest? Well, what think you? Shestrove to say to her lacerated and remorseful heart that the cross--farheavier though it was proving than anything she had imagined orpictured--was only what she had brought upon herself, and _must_bear. Very true; but none of us would like such a cross to be upon ourshoulders. 

"Is she not droll looking?" cried Barbara, when she was alone with Mr. Carlyle. "I can't think why she wears those blue spectacles; it cannotbe for her sight, and they are very disfiguring. "

"She puts me in mind of--of----" began Mr. Carlyle, in a dreamy tone. 

"Of whom?"

"Her face, I mean, " he said, still dreaming. 

"So little can be seen of it, " resumed Mrs. Carlyle. "Of whom does sheput you in mind?"

"I don't know. Nobody in particular, " returned he, rousing himself. "Letus have tea in, Barbara. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE YEARNING OF A BREAKING HEART. 

At her bedroom door, the next morning, stood Lady Isabel, listeningwhether the coast was clear ere she descended to the gray parlor, forshe had a shrinking dread of encountering Mr. Carlyle. When he wasglancing narrowly at her face the previous evening she had felt thegaze, and it impressed upon her the dread of his recognition. Not onlythat; he was the husband of another; therefore it was not expedient thatshe should see too much of him, for he was far dearer to her than he hadever been. 

Almost at the same moment there burst out of a remote room--thenursery--an upright, fair, noble boy, of some five years old, who begancareering along on the corridor, astride upon a hearth-broom. She didnot need to be told it was her boy, Archibald; his likeness to Mr. Carlyle would have proclaimed it, even if her heart had not. In animpulse of unrestrainable tenderness, she seized the child, as he wasgalloping past her, and carried him into her room, broom and all. 

"You must let me make acquaintance with you, " she said to him by way ofexcuse. "I love little boys. "

Love! Down she sat upon a low chair, the child held upon her lap, kissing him passionately, and the tears raining from her eyes. She couldnot have helped the tears had it been to save her life; she could aslittle have helped the kisses. Lifting her eyes, there stood Wilson, whohad entered without ceremony. A sick feeling came over Lady Isabel: shefelt as if she had betrayed herself. All that could be done now, was tomake the best of it; to offer some lame excuse. What possessed her thusto forget herself?

"He did so put me in remembrance of my own children, " she said toWilson, gulping down her emotion, and hiding her tears in the bestmanner she could; whilst the astonished Archibald, released now, stoodwith his finger in his mouth and stared at her spectacles, his greatblue eyes opened to their utmost width. "When we have lost children ofour own, we are apt to love fondly all we come near. "

Wilson, who stared only in a less degree than Archie, for she deemedthe new governess had gone suddenly mad, gave some voluble assent, andturned her attention upon Archie. 

"You naughty young monkey! How dare you rush out in that way withSarah's heart-broom? I'll tell you what it is, sir, you are getting amight deal too owdacious and rumbustical for the nursery. I shall speakto your mamma about it. "

She seized hold of the child and shook him. Lady Isabel started forward, her hands up, her voice one of painful entreaty. 

"Oh, don't, don't beat him! I cannot see him beaten. "

"Beaten!" echoed Wilson; "if he got a good beating it would be all thebetter for him; but it's what he never does get. A little shake, or atap, is all I must give; and it's not half enough. You wouldn't believethe sturdy impudence of that boy, madame; he runs riot, he does. Theother two never gave a quarter of the trouble. Come along, you figure!I'll have a bolt put at the top of the nursery door; and if I did, he'dbe for climbing up the door-post to get at it. "

The last sentence Wilson delivered to the governess, as she jerkedArchie out of the room, along the passage, and into the nursery. LadyIsabel sat down with a wrung heart, a chafed spirit. Her own child! Andshe might not say to the servant, you shall not beat him. 

She descended to the gray parlor. The two older children and breakfastwere waiting; Joyce quitted the room when she entered it. 

A graceful girl of eight years old, a fragile boy a year younger, both bearing her once lovely features--her once bright and delicatecomplexion--her large, soft brown eyes. How utterly her heart yearnedto them; but there must be no scene like there had just been above. Nevertheless she stooped and kissed them both--one kiss each ofimpassioned fervor. Lucy was naturally silent, William somewhattalkative. 

"You are our new governess, " said he. 

"Yes. We must be good friends. "

"Why not!" said the boy. "We were good friends with Miss Manning. I amto go into Latin soon--as soon as my cough's gone. Do you know Latin?"

"No--not to teach it, " she said, studiously avoiding all endearingepithets. 

"Papa said you would be almost sure not to know Latin, for that ladiesrarely did. He said he should send up Mr. Kane to teach me. "

"Mr. Kane?" repeated Lady Isabel, the name striking upon her memory. "Mr. Kane, the music-master?"

"How did you know he was a music-master?" cried shrewd William. And LadyIsabel felt the red blood flush to her face at the unlucky admission shehad made. It flushed deeper at her own falsehood, as she muttered someevasive words about hearing of him from Mrs. Latimer. 

"Yes, he is a music-master; but he does not get much money at it, andhe teaches the classics as well. He has come up to teach us music sinceMiss Manning left; mamma said that we ought not to lose our lessons. "

Mamma! How the word, applied to Barbara, grated on her ear. 

"Whom does he teach?" she asked. 

"Us two, " replied William, pointing to his sister and himself. 

"Do you always take bread and milk?" she inquired, perceiving that to bewhat they were eating. 

"We get tired of it sometimes and then we have milk and water, and breadand butter, or honey; and then we take to bread and milk again. It'sAunt Cornelia who thinks we should eat bread and milk for breakfast. Shesays papa never had anything else when he was a boy. "

Lucy looked up. 

"Papa would give me an egg when I breakfasted with him, " cried she, "andAunt Cornelia said it was not good for me, but papa gave it to me allthe same. I always had breakfast with him then. "

"And why do you not now?" asked Lady Isabel. 

"I don't know. I have not since mamma came. "

The word "stepmother" rose up rebelliously in the heart of Lady Isabel. Was Mrs. Carlyle putting away the children from their father?

Breakfast over, she gathered them to her, asking them various questionsabout their studies, their hours of recreation, the daily routine oftheir lives. 

"This is not the schoolroom, you know, " cried William, when she madesome inquiry as to their books. 

"No?"

"The schoolroom is upstairs. This is for our meals, and for you in anevening. "

The voice of Mr. Carlyle was heard at this juncture in the hall, andLucy was springing toward the sound. Lady Isabel, fearful lest he mightenter if the child showed herself, stopped her with a hurried hand. 

"Stay here, Isabel. "

"Her name's Lucy, " said William, looking quickly up. "Why do you callher Isabel?"

"I thought--thought I had heard her called Isabel, " stammered theunfortunate lady, feeling quite confused with the errors she wascommitting. 

"My name is Isabel Lucy, " said the child; "but I don't know whocould have told you, for I am never called Isabel. I have not beensince--since--shall I tell you?--since mamma went away, " she concluded, dropping her voice. "Mamma that was, you know. "

"Did she go?" cried Lady Isabel, full of emotion, and possessing a veryfaint idea of what she was saying. 

"She was kidnapped, " whispered Lucy. 

"Kidnapped!" was the surprised answer. 

"Yes, or she would not have gone. There was a wicked man on a visit topapa, and he stole her. Wilson said she knew he was a kidnapper beforehe took mamma. Papa said I was never to be called Isabel again, butLucy. Isabel was mamma's name. "

"How do you know papa said it?" dreamily returned Lady Isabel. 

"I heard him. He said it to Joyce, and Joyce told the servants. I putonly Lucy to my copies. I did put Isabel Lucy, but papa saw it one day, and he drew his pencil through Isabel, and told me to show it to MissManning. After that, Miss Manning let me put nothing but Lucy. I askedher why, and she told me papa preferred the name, and that I was not toask questions. "

She could not well stop the child, but every word was rending her heart. 

"Lady Isabel was our very, very own mamma, " pursued Lucy. "This mamma isnot. "

"Do you love this one as you did the other?" breathed Lady Isabel. 

"Oh, I loved mamma--I loved mamma!" uttered Lucy, clasping her hands. "But its all over. Wilson said we must not love her any longer, and AuntCornelia said it. Wilson said, if she loved us she would not have goneaway from us. "

"Wilson said so?" resentfully spoke Lady Isabel. 

"She said she need not let that man kidnap her. I am afraid he beat her, for she died. I lie in my bed at night, and wonder whether he did beather, and what made her die. It was after she died that our new mammacame home. Papa said that she was to be our mamma in place of LadyIsabel and we were to love her dearly. "

"_Do_ you love her?" almost passionately asked Lady Isabel. 

Lucy shook her head. 

"Not as I loved mamma. "

Joyce entered to show the way to the schoolroom, and they followed herupstairs. As Lady Isabel stood at the window, she saw Mr. Carlyle departon foot on his way to the office. Barbara was with him, hanging fondlyon his arm, about to accompany him to the park gates. So had _she_fondly hung, so had _she_ accompanied him, in the days gone forever. 

Barbara came into the schoolroom in the course of the morning, andentered upon the subject of their studies, the different allotted hours, some to play, some to work. She spoke in a courteous but decidedtone, showing that she was the unmistakable mistress of the house andchildren, and meant to be. Never had Lady Isabel felt her position sokeenly--never did it so gall and fret her spirit; but she bowed to meekobedience. A hundred times that day did she yearn to hold the childrento her heart, and a hundred times she had to repress the longing. 

In a soft, damask dress, not unlike the color of the walls from whichthe room took its name, a cap of Honiton lace shading her delicatefeatures, sat Mrs. Hare. The justice was in London with Squire Pinner, and Barbara had gone to the Grove and brought her mamma away in triumph. It was evening now, and Mrs. Hare was paying a visit to the gray parlor. Miss Carlyle had been dining there, and Lady Isabel, under plea of aviolent headache, had begged to decline the invitation to take teain the drawing-room, for she feared the sharp eyes of Miss Carlyle. Barbara, upon leaving the dessert-table, went to the nursery, as usual, to her baby, and Mrs. Hare took the opportunity to go and sit a fewminutes with the governess--she feared the governess must be verylonely. Miss Carlyle, scorning usage and ceremony, had remained in thedining-room with Mr. Carlyle, a lecture for him, upon some defalcationor other most probably in store. Lady Isabel was alone. Lucy had goneto keep a birthday in the neighborhood, and William was in the nursery. Mrs. Hare found her in a sad attitude, her hands pressed upon hertemples. She had not yet made acquaintance with her beyond a minute'sformal introduction. 

"I am sorry to hear you are not well, this evening, " she gently said. 

"Thank you. My head aches much"--which was no false plea. 

"I fear you must feel your solitude irksome. It is dull for you to behere all alone. "

"I am so used to solitude. "

Mrs. Hare sat down, and gazed with sympathy at the young, thoughsomewhat strange-looking woman before her. She detected the signs ofmental suffering on her face. 

"You have seen sorrow, " she uttered, bending forward, and speaking withthe utmost sweetness. 

"Oh, great sorrow!" burst from Lady Isabel, for her wretched fatewas very palpable to her mind that evening, and the tone of sympathyrendered it nearly irrepressible. 

"My daughter tells me that you have lost your children, and you havelost your fortune and position. Indeed I feel for you. I wish I couldcomfort you!"

This did not decrease her anguish. She completely lost all self control, and a gush of tears fell from her eyes. 

"Don't pity me! Don't pity me dear Mrs. Hare! Indeed, it only makesendurance harder. Some of us, " she added, looking up, with a sicklysmile, "are born to sorrow. "

"We are all born to it, " cried Mrs. Hare. "I, in truth, have cause tosay so. Oh, you know not what my position has been--the terrible weightof grief that I have to bear. For many years, I can truly say that Ihave not known one completely happy moment. "

"All do not have to bear this killing sorrow, " said Lady Isabel. 

"Rely upon it, sorrow of some nature does sooner or later come to all. In the brightest apparent lot on earth, dark days must mix. Not thatthere is a doubt but that it falls unequally. Some, as you observe, seem born to it, for it clings to them all their days; others are morefavored--as we reckon favor. Perhaps this great amount of trouble isno more than is necessary to take us to Heaven. You know the saying, 'Adversity hardens the heart, or it opens it to Paradise. ' It may bethat our hearts continue so hard, that the long-continued life's troubleis requisite to soften them. My dear, " Mrs. Hare added, in a lower tone, while the tears glistened on her pale cheeks, "there will be a blessedrest for the weary, when this toilsome life is ended; let us findcomfort in that thought. "

"Ay! Ay!" murmured Lady Isabel. "It is all that is left to me. "

"You are young to have acquired so much experience of sorrow. "

"We cannot estimate sorrow by years. We may live a whole lifetime of itin a single hour. But we generally bring ill fate upon ourselves, " shecontinued, in a desperation of remorse; "as our conduct is, so will ourhappiness or misery be. "

"Not always, " sighed Mrs. Hare. "Sorrow, I grant you, does come all toofrequently, from ill-doing; but the worst is, the consequences of thisill-doing fall upon the innocent as well as upon the guilty. A husband'serrors will involve his innocent wife; parent's sins fall upon theirchildren; children will break the hearts of their parents. I can trulysay, speaking in all humble submission, that I am unconscious of havingdeserved the great sorrow which came upon me; that no act of mineinvited it on; but though it has nearly killed me, I entertain no doubtthat it is lined with mercy, if I could only bring my weak rebelliousheart to look for it. You, I feel sure, have been equally undeserving. "

_She?_ Mrs. Hare marked not the flush of shame, the drooping of theeyelids. 

"You have lost your little ones, " Mrs. Hare resumed. "That isgrief--great grief; I would not underrate it; but, believe me, it is as_nothing_ compared to the awful fate, should it ever fall upon you, offinding your children grow up and become that which makes you wish theyhad died in their infancy. There are times when I am tempted to regretthat _all_ my treasures are not in that other world; that they had notgone before me. Yes; sorrow is the lot of all. "

"Surely, not of all, " dissented Lady Isabel. "There are some bright lotson earth. "

"There is not a lot but must bear its appointed share, " returned Mrs. Hare. "Bright as it may appear, ay, and as it may continue to be foryears, depend upon it, some darkness must overshadow it, earlier orlater. "

"Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle--what sorrow can there be in store for them?"asked Lady Isabel, her voice ringing with a strange sound, which Mrs. Hare noted, though she understood it not. 

"Mrs. Carlyle's lot is bright, " she said, a sweet smile illumining herfeatures. "She loves her husband with an impassioned love; and he isworthy of it. A happy fate, indeed, is hers; but she must not expect tobe exempted from sorrow. Mr. Carlyle has had his share of it, " continuedMrs. Hare. 

"Ah!"

"You have doubtless been made acquainted with his history. His firstwife left him--left home and her children. He bore it bravely beforethe world, but I know that it wrung his very heart-strings. She was hisheart's sole idol. "

"She? Not Barbara?"

The moment the word "Barbara" had escaped her lips, Lady Isabel, recollected herself. She was only Madame Vine, the governess; what wouldMrs. Hare think of her familiarity?

Mrs. Hare did not appear to have noticed it; she was absorbed in thesubject. 

"Barbara?" she uttered; "certainly not. Had his first love been given toBarbara, he would have chosen her then. It was given to Lady Isabel. "

"It is given his wife now?"

Mrs. Hare nearly laughed. 

"Of course it is; would you wish it to be buried in the grave withthe dead, and with one who was false to him? But, my dear, she was thesweetest woman, that unfortunate Lady Isabel. I loved her then, and Icannot help loving her still. Others blamed her, but I pitied. They werewell matched; he so good and noble; she, so lovely and endearing. "

"And she left him--threw him to the winds with all his nobility andlove!" exclaimed the poor governess, with a gesture of the hands thatlooked very much like despair. 

"Yes. It will not do to talk of--it is a miserable subject. How shecould abandon such a husband, such children, was a marvel to many; butto none more than it was to me and my daughter. The false step--thoughI feel almost ashamed to speak out the thought, lest it may appear tosavor of triumph--while it must have secured her own wretchedness, ledto the happiness of my child; for it is certain Barbara would never loveone as she loves Mr. Carlyle. "

"It did secure wretchedness to her, you think?" cried Lady Isabel, hertone one of bitter mockery more than anything else. 

Mrs. Hare was surprised at the question. 

"No woman ever took that fatal step yet, without its entailing on herthe most dire wretchedness, " she replied. "It cannot be otherwise. AndLady Isabel was of a nature to feel remorse beyond common--to meet ithalf-way. Refined, modest, with every feeling of an English gentlewoman, she was the very last, one would have thought, to act so. It was as ifshe had gone away in a dream, not knowing what she was doing; I havethought so many a time. That terrible mental wretchedness and remorsedid overtake her, I know. "

"How did you know it? Did you hear it?" exclaimed Lady Isabel, hertone all too eager, had Mrs. Hare been suspicious. "Did he proclaimthat--Francis Levison? Did you hear it from him?"

Mrs. Hare, gentle Mrs. Hare, drew herself up, for the words grated onher feelings and on her pride. Another moment, and she was mild and kindagain, for she reflected that the poor, sorrowful governess must havespoken without thought. 

"I know not what Sir Francis Levison may have chose to proclaim, "she said, "but you may be sure he would not be allowed opportunity toproclaim anything to me, or to any other friend of Mr. Carlyle's; nay, I should say, nor to any of the good and honorable. I heard it from LordMount Severn. "

"From Lord Mount Severn?" repeated Lady Isabel. And she opened her lipsto say something more, but closed them again. 

"He was here on a visit in the summer; he stayed a fortnight. LadyIsabel was the daughter of the late earl--perhaps you may not have knownthat. He--Lord Mount Severn--told me, in confidence, that he had soughtout Lady Isabel when the man, Levison, left her; he found her sick, poor, broken-hearted, in some remote French town, utterly borne downwith remorse and repentance. "

"Could it be otherwise?" sharply asked Lady Isabel. 

"My dear, I have said it could not. The very thought of her desertedchildren would entail it, if nothing she did. There was a baby bornabroad, " added Mrs. Hare, dropping her voice, "an infant in its cradle, Lord Mount Severn said; but that child, we knew, could only bring painand shame. "

"True, " issued from her trembling lips. 

"Next came her death; and I cannot but think it was sent to her inmercy. I trust she was prepared for it, and had made her peace with God. When all else is taken from us, we turn to him; I hope she had learnedto find the Refuge. "

"How did Mr. Carlyle receive the news of her death?" murmured LadyIsabel, a question which had been often in her thoughts. 

"I cannot tell; he made no outward sign either of satisfaction or grief. It was too delicate a subject for any one to enter upon with him, andmost assuredly he did not enter upon it himself. After he was engaged tomy child, he told me he should never have married during Lady Isabel'slife. "

"From--from--the remains of affection?"

"I should think not. I inferred it to be from conscientious scruples. All his affection is given to his present wife. There is no doubt thathe loves her with a true, a fervent, a lasting love: though there mayhave been more romantic sentiment in the early passion felt for LadyIsabel. Poor thing! She gave up a sincere heart, a happy home. "

Ay, poor thing! She had very nearly wailed forth her vain despair. 

"I wonder whether the drawing-room is tenanted yet, " smiled Mrs. Hare, breaking a pause which had ensued. "If so I suppose they will beexpecting me there. "

"I will ascertain for you, " said Lady Isabel, speaking in the impulseof the moment; for she was craving an instant to herself, even though itwere but in the next hall. 

She quitted the gray parlor and approached the drawing-room. Not asound came from it; and, believing it was empty, she opened the door andlooked cautiously in. 

Quite empty. The fire blazed, the chandelier was lighted, but nobody wasenjoying the warmth or the light. From the inner room, however, came thesound of the piano, and the tones of Mr. Carlyle's voice. She recognizedthe chords of the music--they were those of the accompaniment to thesong he had so loved when she sang it him. Who was about to sing it tohim now?

Lady Isabel stole across the drawing-room to the other door, which wasajar. Barbara was seated at the piano, and Mr. Carlyle stood by her, hisarm on her chair, and bending his face on a level with hers, possiblyto look at the music. So once had stolen, so once had peeped the unhappyBarbara, to hear this selfsame song. _She_ had been his wife then; shehad craved, and received his kisses when it was over. Their positionswere reversed. 

Barbara began. Her voice had not the brilliant power of Lady Isabel's, but it was a sweet and pleasant voice to listen to. 

 "When other lips and other hearts Their tales of love shall tell, In language whose excess imparts The power they feel so well, There may, perhaps, in such a scene, Some recollection be, Of days that have as happy been-- And you'll remember me. "

Days that had as happy been! Ay! _did_ he remember her? Did a thought ofher, his first and best love, flit across him, as the words fell on hisear? Did a past vision of the time when she had sat there and sung it tohim arouse his heart to even momentary recollection?

Terribly, indeed, were their positions reversed; most terribly wasshe feeling it. And by whose act and will had the change been wrought?Barbara was now the cherished wife, East Lynne's mistress. And what wasshe? Not even the courted, welcomed guest of an hour, as Barbara hadbeen; but an interloper; a criminal woman who had thrust herself intothe house; her act, in doing so, not justifiable, her position amost false one. Was it right, even if she did succeed in remainingundiscovered, that she and Barbara should dwell in the same habitation, Mr. Carlyle being in it? Did she deem it to be right? No, she did not;but one act of ill-doing entails more. These thoughts were passingthrough her mind as she stood there, listening to the song; stood thereas one turned to stone, her throbbing temples pressed against the door'spillar. 

The song was over, and Barbara turned to her husband, a whole worldof love in her bright blue eyes. He laid his hand upon her head; LadyIsabel saw that, but she would not wait to see the caress that mostprobably followed it. She turned and crossed the room again, her handsclasped tightly on her bosom, her breath catching itself in hystericalsobs. Miss Carlyle was entering the hall. They had not yet met, andLady Isabel swept meekly past her with a hurried courtesy. Miss Carlylespoke, but she dared not answer, to wait would have been to betrayherself. 

Sunday came, and that was the worst of all. In the old East Lynne pewat St. Jude's, so conspicuous to the congregation, sat she, as in formertimes; no excuse, dared she, the governess make, to remain away. It wasthe first time she had entered an English Protestant church since shehad last sat in it, there, with Mr. Carlyle. Can you wonder that thefact alone, with all the terrible remembrances it brought in its train, was sufficient to overwhelm her with emotion? She sat at the upper endnow, with Lucy; Barbara occupied the place that had been hers, by theside of Mr. Carlyle. Barbara there, in her own right his wife; shesevered from him forever and forever!

She scarcely raised her head; she tightened her thick veil over herface; she kept her spectacles bent toward the ground. Lucy thought shemust be crying; she never had seen anyone so still at church before. Lucy was mistaken; tears came not to solace the bitter anguish ofhopeless, self-condemning remorse. How she sat out the service she couldnot tell; she could not tell how she could sit out other services, asthe Sundays came round! The congregation did not forget to stare at her. What an extraordinary looking governess Mrs. Carlyle had picked up!

They went out when it was over. Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle in advance; she, humbly following them with Lucy. She glanced aside at the tomb in thechurchyard's corner, where moldered the remains of her father; and ayearning cry went forth from the very depth of her soul. "Oh, that Iwere laid there with him! Why did I come back again to East Lynne?"

Why, truly? But she had never thought that her cross would be so sharpas this. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AN M. P. FOR WEST LYNNE. 

As this is not a history of the British constitution, it does notconcern it to relate how or why West Lynne got into hot water with theHouse of Commons. The House threatened to disfranchise it, and WestLynne under the fear, went into mourning for its sins. The threatwas not carried out; but one of the sitting members was unseated withignominy, and sent to the right about. Being considerably humiliatedthereby, and in disgust with West Lynne, he retired accordingly, and afresh writ was issued. West Lynne then returned the Hon. Mr. Attley, a county nobleman's son; but he died in the very midst of his firstsession, and another writ had to be issued. 

Of course the consideration now was, who should be the next luckyman fixed upon. All the notables within ten miles were discussed, not excepting the bench justices. Mr. Justice Hare? No! he was toouncompromising, he would study his own will, but not that of West Lynne. Squire Pinner? He never made a speech in his life, and had not an ideabeyond turnips and farming stock. Colonel Bethel? He had no money tospend upon an election. Sir John Dobede? He was too old. "By a goodtwenty years, " laughed Sir John, to himself. "But here we stand, like apack of noodles, conning over the incapables, and passing by the rightone, " continued Sir John. "There's only one man amongst us fit to be ourmember. "

"Who's that?" cried the meeting. 

"Archibald Carlyle. "

A pause of consternation--consternation at their collectiveforgetfulness--and then a loud murmur of approaching to a shout, filledthe room. Archibald Carlyle. It should be no other. 

"If we can get him, " cried Sir John. "He may decline, you know. "

The best thing, all agreed, was to act promptly. A deputation, half thelength of the street--its whole length, if you include the tagrag andbobtail that attended behind--set off on the spur of the moment to theoffice of Mr. Carlyle. They found that gentleman about to leave it forthe evening, to return home to dinner; for, in the discussion of theall-important topic, the meeting had suffered time to run on to a latehour; those gentlemen who dined at a somewhat earlier one had, for oncein their lives, patiently allowed their dinners and their stomachs towait--which is saying a great deal for the patience of a justice. 

Mr. Carlyle was taken by surprise. "Make me your member?" cried he, merrily. "How do you know I should not sell you all?"

"We'll trust you, Carlyle. Too happy to do it. "

"I am not sure that I could spare the time, " deliberated Mr. Carlyle. 

"Now, Carlyle, you must remember that you avowed to me, no longer thanlast Christmas, your intention of going into parliament some time, "struck in Mr. Justice Herbert. "You can't deny it. "

"Some time!--yes, " replied Mr. Carlyle; "but I did not say when. I haveno thoughts of it yet awhile. "

"You must allow us to put you in nomination--you must, indeed, Mr. Carlyle. There's nobody else fit for it. As good send a pig to the Houseas some of us. "

"An extremely flattering reason for proposing to shift the honor uponme, " laughed Mr. Carlyle. 

"Well, you know what we mean, Carlyle; there's not a man in thewhole county so suitable as you, search it to the extremity of itsboundaries--you must know there is not. "

"I don't know anything of the sort, " returned Mr. Carlyle. 

"At any rate, we shall do it, for we have determined upon having you. When you walk into West Lynne to-morrow, you'll see the walks alive withplacards, 'Carlyle forever!'"

"Suppose you allow me until to-morrow to consider of it, and defer thegarnishing of the walls a day later, " said Mr. Carlyle, a serious tonepeeping out in the midst of his jocularity. 

"You do not fear the expenses?"

It was but a glance he returned in answer. As soon as the question hadbeen put--it was stupid old Pinner who propounded it--they had felt howfoolish it was. And indeed the cost would be a mere nothing, were thereno opposition. 

"Come, decide now, Carlyle. Give us your promise. "

"If I decide now, it will be in the negative, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "Itis a question that demands consideration. Give me till to-morrow forthat, and it is possible that I may accede to your request. "

This was the best that could be made of him, and the deputation backedout, and as nothing more could be done, departed to their severaldinner-tables. Mr. Dill, who had been present, remained rubbing hishands with satisfaction, and casting admiring glances at Mr. Carlyle. 

"What's the matter, Dill?" asked the latter; "you look as though youwere pleased at this movement, and assumed that I should accept it. "

"And so you will, Mr. Archibald. And as to the looking pleased, there'snot a man, woman or child in West Lynne who won't do that. "

"Don't make too sure, Dill. "

"Of which, sir--of your becoming our member, or of the people lookingpleased?"

"Of either, " laughed Mr. Carlyle. 

He quitted the office to walk home, revolving the proposition as hedid so. That he had long thought of some time entering parliament wascertain, though no definite period of the "when" had fixed itself in hismind. He saw not why he should confine his days entirely to toil, to thework of his calling. Pecuniary considerations did not require it, forhis realized property, combined with the fortune brought by Barbara, wasquite sufficient to meet expenses, according to their present style ofliving. Not that he had the least intention of giving up his business;it was honorable, as he conducted it, and lucrative, and he really likedit. He would not have been condemned to lead an idle life for the world;but there was no necessity for his being always at it. Mr. Dill madeas good a principal as he did, and--if length of service and experiencemight be counted--a better one. He could safely be left to manage duringthe time it would be necessary for him, Mr. Carlyle, to be in London. Hewould rather represent West Lynne than any other spot on the face ofthe earth, no matter what might be the other's importance; and, as WestLynne was now in want of a member, perhaps his opportunity had come. That he would make a good and efficient public servant, he believed; histalents were superior, his oratory persuasive, and he had the gift of atrue and honest spirit. That he would have the interest of West Lynne, at heart was certain, and he knew that he should serve his constituentsto the very best of his power and ability. They knew it also. 

Before Mr. Carlyle had reached East Lynne, he had decided that it shouldbe. 

It was a fine spring evening. The lilac was in bloom, the hedges andtrees were clothed in their early green, and all things seemed full ofpromise. Even Mr. Carlyle's heart was rejoicing in the prospect openedto it; he was sure he should like a public life; but in the sanguinemoments of realization or of hope, some dark shade will step in to marthe brightness. 

Barbara stood at the drawing-room window watching for him. Not in herwas the dark shade; her dress was a marvel of vanity and prettiness, andshe had chosen to place on her fair hair a dainty headdress of lace--asif her hair required any such ornament! She waltzed up to Mr. Carlylewhen he entered, and saucily held up her face, the light of love dancingin her bright blue eyes. 

"What do you want?" he provokingly asked, putting his hands behind him, and letting her stand there. 

"Oh, well--if you won't say good-evening to me, I have a great mind tosay you should not kiss me for a week, Archibald. "

He laughed. "Who would be punished by that?" whispered he. 

Barbara pouted her pretty lips, and the tears positively came into hereyes. "Which is as much as to say it would be no punishment to you. Archibald, _don't_ you care for me?"

He threw his arms around her and clasped her to his heart, taking plentyof kisses then. "You know whether I care not, " he fondly whispered. 

But now, will you believe that that unfortunate Lady Isabel had beena witness to this? Well, it was only what his greeting to her had oncebeen. Her pale face flushed scarlet, and she glided out of the roomagain as softly as she had entered it. They had not seen her. Mr. Carlyle drew his wife to the window, and stood there, his arms round herwaist. 

"Barbara, what should you say to living in London for a few months outof the twelve?"

"London? I am very happy where I am. Why should you ask me that? You arenot going to live in London?"

"I am not sure of that. I think I am for a portion of the year. I havehad an offer made me this afternoon, Barbara. "

She looked at him, wondering what he meant--wondering whether he wasserious. An offer? What sort of an offer? Of what nature could it be?

He smiled at her perplexity. "Should you like to see M. P. Attached tomy name? West Lynne wants me to become its member. "

A pause to take in the news; a sudden rush of color, and then shegleefully clasped her hands round his arm, her eyes sparkling withpleasure. 

"Oh, Archibald, how glad I am! I knew how you were appreciated, and youwill be appreciated more and more. This is right; it was not well foryou to remain what you are for life--a private individual, a countrylawyer. "

"I am perfectly contented with my lot, Barbara, " he seriously said. "Iam too busy to be otherwise. "

"I know that; were you but a laboring man, toiling daily for the breadyou eat, you would be contented, feeling that you were fulfilling yourappointed duty to the utmost, " she impulsively said; "but, Archibald, can you not still be a busy man at West Lynne, although you do becomeits representative?"

"If I could not, I should never accept the honor, Barbara. For somefew months of the year I must of necessity be in town; but Dill is anefficient substitute, and I can run down for a week or so between times. Part of Saturday, Sunday, and part of Monday, I can always pass here, ifI please. Of course these changes have their drawbacks, as well as theiradvantages. "

"Where would be the drawbacks in this?" she interrupted. 

"Well, " smiled Mr. Carlyle, "in the first place, I suppose you could notalways be with me. "

Her hands fell--her color faded. "Oh, Archibald!"

"If I do become their member, I must go up to town as soon as elected, and I don't think it will do for my little wife to be quitting her hometo travel about just now. "

Barbara's face wore a very blank look. She could not dissent from Mr. Carlyle's reasoning. 

"And you must remain in London to the end of the session, while I amhere! Separated! Archibald, " she passionately added, while the tearsgushed into her eyes. "I could not _live_ without you. "

"Then what is to be done? Must I decline it?"

"Decline it! Oh, of course not! I know we are looking on the dark sideof things. I can go very well with you for a month--perhaps two. "

"You think so?"

"I am sure so. And, mind you must not encourage mamma to talk me outof it. Archibald, " she continued, resting her head upon his breast, hersweet face turned up beseechingly to his, "you would rather have me withyou, would you not?"

He bent his own down upon it. "What do you think about it, my darling?"

Once more--an opportune moment for her to enter--Lady Isabel. Barbaraheard her this time, and sprang away from her husband. Mr. Carlyleturned round at the movement, and saw Madame Vine. She came forward, herlips ashy, her voice subdued. 

Six months now had she been at East Lynne, and had hitherto escapeddetection. Time and familiarity render us accustomed to most things--todanger among the rest; and she had almost ceased to fear recognition, living--so far as that point went--far more peaceably than she had doneat first. She and the children were upon the best of terms. She hadgreatly endeared herself to them; she loved them, and they lovedher--perhaps nature was asserting her own hidden claims. 

She felt very anxious about William. He seemed to grow weaker, and shedetermined to make her fears known to Mr. Carlyle. 

She quitted the parlor. She had heard Mr. Carlyle come in. Crossing thehall, she tapped softly at the drawing-room door, and then as softlyentered. It was the moment of Mr. Carlyle's loud greeting to his wife. They stood together heedless of her. 

Gliding out again, she paced the hall, her hands pressed upon herbeating heart. How _dared_ that heart rise up in sharp rebellion atthese witnessed tokens of love? Was Barbara not his wife? Had she nota legal claim to all his tenderness? Who was she that she should resentthem in her jealousy? What, though they had once been hers, hers only, had she not signed and sealed her own forfeit of them, and so made roomfor Barbara?

Back to the gray parlor, there she stood, her elbow on the mantelpiece, her eyes hidden by her hand. Thus she remained for some minutes, andLucy thought how sad she looked. 

But Lucy felt hungry, and was casting longing glances to the tea-table. She wondered how long her governess meant to keep it waiting. "MadameVine, " cried she presently, "don't you know that tea is ready?"

This caused Madame Vine to raise her eyes. They fell on the pale boy ather feet. She made no immediate answer, only placed her hand on Lucy'sshoulder. 

"Oh, Lucy dear, I--I have many sorrows to bear. "

"The tea will warm you, and there is some nice jam, " was Miss Lucy'soffered consolation. 

"Their greeting, tender as it may be, is surely over by this time, "thought Lady Isabel, an expression something like mockery curving herlips. "I will venture again. "

Only to see him with his wife's face on his breast, and his lips bentupon it. But they had heard her this time, and she had to advance, inspite of her spirit of misery and her whitened features. 

"Would you be so good sir, as to come and look at William?" she asked ina low tone, of Mr. Carlyle. 

"Certainly. "

"What for?" interjected Barbara. 

"He looks very ill. I do not like his looks. I am fearing whether he canbe worse than we have thought. "

They went to the gray parlor, all three of them. Mr. Carlyle was infirst, and had taken a long, silent look at William before the othersentered. 

"What is he doing on the floor?" exclaimed Barbara, in her astonishment. "He should not lie on the floor, Madame Vine. "

"He lays himself down there at the dusk hour, and I cannot get him upagain. I try to persuade him to use the sofa, but it is of no use. "

"The floor will not hurt him, " said Mr. Carlyle. _This_ was the darkshade: his boy's failing health. 

William opened his eyes. "Who's that--papa?"

"Don't you feel well, William?"

"Oh, yes, I'm very well; but I am tired. "

"Why do you lie down here?"

"I like lying here. Papa, that pretty white rabbit of mine is dead. "

"Indeed. Suppose you get up and tell me all about it. "

"I don't know about it myself yet, " said William, softly rising. "Thegardener told Lucy when she was out just now: I did not go; I was tired. He said--"

"What has tired you?" interrupted Mr. Carlyle, taking hold of the boy'shand. 

"Oh, nothing. I am always tired. "

"Do you tell Mr. Wainwright that you are tired?"

"No. Why should I tell him? I wish he would not order me to take thatnasty medicine, that cod liver oil. "

"But it is to make you strong, my boy. "

"It makes me sick. I always feel sick after it, papa. Madame Vine says Iought to have cream. That would be nice. "

"Cream?" repeated Mr. Carlyle, turning his eyes on Madame Vine. 

"I have known cream to do a great deal of good in a case likeWilliam's, " she observed. "I believe that no better medicine can begiven; that it has in fact no substitute. "

"It can be tried, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"Pray give your orders, Madame Vine, for anything you think may bebeneficial to him, " Mrs. Carlyle added. "You have had more experiencewith children than I. Joyce--"

"What does Wainwright say?" interrupted Mr. Carlyle, speaking to hiswife, in his low tone. 

"I do not always see him when he comes, Archibald. Madame Vine does, Ibelieve. "

"Oh, dear!" cried Lucy, "can't we have tea? I want some bread and jam. "

Mr. Carlyle turned round, smiled and nodded at her. "Patience is goodfor little girls, Miss Lucy. Would you like some bread and jam, my boy?"

William shook his head. "I can't eat jam. I am only thirsty. "

Mr. Carlyle cast a long and intent look at him, and then left the room. Lady Isabel followed him, her thoughts full of her ailing child. 

"Do you think him very ill, sir?" she whispered. 

"I think he looks so. What does Mr. Wainwright say?"

"He says nothing to me. I have not inquired his true condition. Untilto-night it did not come to me that there was any apprehension. "

"Does he look so much worse to-night?"

"Not any worse than customary. Latterly he had looked just like thisin the evening. It was a remark of Hannah's that roused my alarm: shethinks he is on the road to death. What can we do to save him?"

She clasped her hands as she spoke, in the intensity of her emotion. Shealmost forgot, as they stood there together talking of the welfare ofthe child, their child, that he was no longer her husband. Almost, not quite, utterly impossible would it be for her wholly to forget thedreadful present. Neither he nor the child could again belong to her inthis world. 

A strange rising of the throat in her wild despair, a meek courtesy, asshe turned from him, his last words ringing in her ears: "I shall callin further advice for him, Madame Vine. "

William was clinging round Mrs. Carlyle, in a coaxing attitude, when shere-entered the gray parlor. "I know what I could eat, mamma, if you'dlet me have it, " cried he, in answer to her remonstrance that he musteat something. 

"What could you eat?"

"Some cheese. "

"Cheese! Cheese with tea!" laughed Mrs. Carlyle. 

"For the last week or two he has fancied strange things, the effect ofa diseased appetite, " exclaimed Madame Vine; "but if I allow them to bebrought in he barely tastes them. "

"I am sure, mamma, I could eat some cheese now, " said William. 

"You may have it, " answered Mrs. Carlyle. 

As she turned to leave the room, the impatient knock and ring of avisitor was heard. Barbara wondered who could be arriving at that, theirdinner hour. Sailing majestically into the hall, her lips compressed, her aspect threatening, came Miss Carlyle. 

Now it turned out that Miss Corny had been standing at her own window, grimly eyeing the ill doings of the street, from the fine housemaidopposite, who was enjoying a flirting interview with the baker, to theragged urchins, pitch-polling in the gutter and the dust. And there shecaught sight of the string, justices and others, who came flowing outof the office of Mr. Carlyle. So many of them were they that Miss Cornyinvoluntarily thought of a conjuror flinging flowers out of a hat--thefaster they come, the more it seems there are to come. "What on earth isup?" cried Miss Corny, pressing her nose flat against the pane, that shemight see better. 

They filed off, some one way, some another. Miss Carlyle's curiositywas keener than her appetite, for she stayed on the watch, although justinformed that her dinner was served. Presently Mr. Carlyle appeared andshe knocked at the window with her knuckles. He did not hear it; he hadturned off at a quick pace toward home. Miss Corny's temper rose. 

The clerks came out next, one after another; and the last was Mr. Dill. He was less hurried than Mr. Carlyle had been, and heard Miss Corny'ssignal. 

"What in the name of wonder, did all that stream of people want at theoffice?" began she, when Mr. Dill had entered in obedience to it. 

"That was the deputation, Miss Cornelia. "

"What deputation?"

"The deputation to Mr. Archibald. They want him to become their newmember. "

"Member of what?" cried she, not guessing at the actual meaning. 

"Of parliament, Miss Corny; to replace Mr. Attley. The gentlemen came tosolicit him to be put in nomination. "

"Solicit a donkey!" irascibly uttered Miss Corny, for the tidings didnot meet her approbation. "Did Archibald turn them out again?"

"He gave them no direct answer, ma'am. He will consider of it betweennow and to-morrow morning. "

"_Consider_ of it!" shrieked she. "Why, he'd never, never be such a flatas to comply. He go into parliament! What next?"

"Why should he not, Miss Corny? I'm sure I should be proud to see himthere. "

Miss Corny gave a sniff. "You are proud of things more odd than evenJohn Dill. Remember that fine shirt front! What has become of it? Is itlaid up in lavender?"

"Not exactly in lavender, Miss Corny. It lies in the drawer; for I havenever liked to put it on since, after what you said. "

"Why don't you sell it at half-price, and buy a couple of good usefulones with the money?" returned she, tartly. "Better that than keepthe foppish thing as a witness of your folly. Perhaps he'll be buyingembroidered fronts next, if he goes into that idle, do-nothing House ofCommons. I'd rather enter myself for six months at the treadmill. "

"Oh, Miss Corny! I don't think you have well considered it. It's a greathonor, and worthy of him. He will be elevated above us all, as it were, and he deserves to be. "

"Elevate him on a weathercock!" raged Miss Corny. "There, you may go. I've heard quite enough. "

Brushing past the old gentleman, leaving him to depart or not, as hemight please, Miss Carlyle strode upstairs, flung on her shawland bonnet, and strode down again. Her servant looked considerablysurprised, and addressed her as she crossed the hall. 

"Your dinner, ma'am?" he ventured to say. 

"What's my dinner to you?" returned Miss Corny, in her wrath. "You havehad yours. "

Away she strode. And thus it happened that she was at East Lynne almostas soon as Mr. Carlyle. 

"Where's Archibald?" began she, without ceremony, the moment she sawBarbara. 

"He is here. Is anything the matter?"

Mr. Carlyle, hearing the voice, came out and she pounced upon him withher tongue. 

"What's this about your becoming the new member for West Lynne?"

"West Lynne wishes it, " said Mr. Carlyle. "Sit down, Cornelia. "

"Sit down yourself, " retorted she, keeping on her feet. "I want myquestion answered. _Of course_ you will decline?"

"On the contrary, I have made up my mind to accept. "

Miss Corny untied the strings of her bonnet, and flung them behind her. 

"Have you counted the cost?" she asked, and there was something quitesepulchral in her solemn tone. 

"I have given it consideration, Cornelia; both as regards money andtime. The expenses are not worth naming, should there be no opposition. And if there is any--"

"Ay!" groaned Miss Corny. "If there is?"

"Well? I am not without a few hundred to spare for the playing, " hesaid, turning upon her the good-humored light of his fine countenance. 

Miss Carlyle emitted some dismal groans. 

"That ever I should have lived to see this day! To hear money talkedof as though it were dirt. And what's to become of your business?" shesharply added. "Is that to be let run to rack and ruin, while you arekicking up your heels in that wicked London, under plea of being at theHouse night after night?"

"Cornelia, " he gravely said, "were I dead, Dill could carry on thebusiness just as well as it is being carried on now. I might go into aforeign country for seven years and come back to find the business asflourishing as ever, for Dill could keep it together. And even werethe business to drop off--though I tell you it will not do so--I amindependent of it. "

Miss Carlyle faced tartly round upon Barbara. 

"Have you been setting him on to this?"

"I think he had made up his mind before he spoke to me. But, " addedBarbara, in her truth, "I urged him to accept it. "

"Oh, you did! Nicely moped and miserable you'll be here, if he goes toLondon for months on the stretch. You did not think of that, perhaps. "

"But he would not have me here, " said Barbara, her eyelashes becomingwet at the thought, as she unconsciously moved to her husband's side. "He would take me with him. "

Miss Carlyle made a pause, and looked at them alternately. 

"Is that decided?" she asked. 

"Of course it is, " laughed Mr. Carlyle, willing to joke the subject andhis sister into good-humor. "Would you wish to separate man and wife, Cornelia?"

She made no reply. She rapidly tied her bonnet-strings, the ribbonstrembling ominously in her fingers. 

"You are not going, Cornelia? You must stay to dinner, now that you arehere--it is ready--and we will talk this further over afterward. "

"This has been dinner enough for me for one day, " spoke she, putting onher gloves. "That I should have lived to see my father's son throw uphis business, and change himself into a lazy, stuck-up parliament man!"

"Do stay and dine with us, Cornelia; I think I can subdue yourprejudices, if you will let me talk to you. "

"If you wanted to talk to me about it, why did you not come in when youleft the office?" cried Miss Corny, in a greater amount of wrath thanshe had shown yet. And there's no doubt that, in his not having done so, lay one of the sore points. 

"I did not think of it, " said Mr. Carlyle. "I should have come in andtold you of it to-morrow morning. "

"I dare say you would, " she ironically answered. "Good evening to youboth. "

And, in spite of their persuasions, she quitted the house and wentstalking down the avenue. 

Two or three days more, and the address of Mr. Carlyle to theinhabitants of West Lynne appeared in the local papers, while the wallsand posts convenient were embellished with various colored placards, "Vote for Carlyle. " "Carlyle forever!"

Wonders never cease. Surprises are the lot of man; but perhaps a greatersurprise had never been experienced by those who knew what was what, than when it went forth to the world that Sir Francis Levison hadconverted himself from--from what he was--into a red-hot politician. 

Had he been offered the post of prime minister? Or did his consciencesmite him, as was the case with a certain gallant captain renownedin song? Neither the one nor the other. The simple fact was, that SirFrancis Levison was in a state of pecuniary embarrassment, and requiredsomething to prop him up--some snug sinecure--plenty to get and nothingto do. 

Patch himself up he must. But how? He had tried the tables, but luck wasagainst him; he made a desperate venture upon the turf, a grand _coup_that would have set him on his legs for some time, but the ventureturned out the wrong way, and Sir Francis was a defaulter. He began thento think there was nothing for it but to drop into some nice governmentnest, where, as I have told you, there would be plenty to get andnothing to do. Any place with much to do would not suit him, or he it;he was too empty-headed for work requiring talent; you may have remarkedthat a man given to Sir Francis Levison's pursuits generally is. 

He dropped into something good, or that promised good--nothing less thanthe secretaryship to Lord Headthelot, who swayed the ministers in theupper House. But that he was a connection of Lord Headthelot's he neverwould have obtained it, and very dubiously the minister consented totry him. Of course a condition was, that he should enter parliamentthe first opportunity, his vote to be at the disposal of theministry--rather a shaky ministry--and supposed, by some, to be on itslast legs. And this brings us to the present time. 

In a handsome drawing-room in Eaton Square, one sunny afternoon, sata lady, young and handsome. Her eyes were of violet blue, her hair wasauburn, her complexion delicate; but there was a stern look of anger, amounting to sullenness, on her well-formed features, and her prettyfoot was beating the carpet in passionate impatience. It was LadyLevison. 

The doings of the past had been coming home to her for some timenow--past doings, be they good or be they ill, are sure to come home, one day or another, and bring their fruits with them. 

In the years past--many years past now--Francis Levison had lost hisheart--or whatever the thing might be that, with him, did duty forone--to Blanche Challoner. He had despised her once to Lady Isabel--asLord Thomas says in the old ballad; but that was done to suit his ownpurpose, for he had never, at any period, cared for Lady Isabel as hehad cared for Blanche. He gained her affection in secret--they engagedthemselves to each other. Blanche's sister, Lydia Challoner, two yearsolder than herself suspected it, and taxed Blanche with it. Blanche, true to her compact of keeping it a secret, denied it with manyprotestations. "_She_ did not care for Captain Levison; rather dislikedhim, in fact. " "So much the better, " was Miss Challoner's reply; for shehad no respect for Captain Levison, and deemed him an unlikely man tomarry. 

Years went on, and poor, unhappy Blanche Challoner remained faithful toher love. 

He played fast and loose with her--professing attachment for her insecret, and visiting at the house; perhaps he feared an outbreak fromher, an exposure that might be anything but pleasant, did he throw offall relations between them. Blanche summoned up her courage and spoke tohim, urging the marriage; she had not yet glanced at the fear that hisintention of marrying her, had he ever possessed such, was over. Bad menare always cowards. Sir Francis shrank from an explanation, and sofar forgot honor as to murmur some indistinct promise that the weddingshould be speedy. 

Lydia Challoner had married, and been left a widow, well off. Shewas Mrs. Waring; and at her house resided Blanche. For the girls wereorphans. Blanche was beginning to show symptoms of her nearly thirtyyears; not the years, but the long-continued disappointment, theheart-burnings, were telling upon her. Her hair was thin, her face waspinched, her form had lost its roundness. "Marry _her_, indeed!" scoffedto himself Sir Francis Levison. 

There came to Mrs. Waring's upon a Christmas visit a younger sister, Alice Challoner, a fair girl of twenty years. She resided generally withan aunt in the country. Far more beautiful was she than Blanche had everbeen, and Francis Levison, who had not seen her since she was a child, fell--as he would have called it--in love with her. Love! He became hershadow; he whispered sweet words in her ear; he turned her head giddywith its own vanity, and he offered her marriage. She accepted him, and preparations for the ceremony immediately began. Sir Francis urgedspeed, and Alice was nothing loth. 

And what of Blanche? Blanche was stunned. A despairing stupor tookpossession of her; and, when she woke from it, desperation set in. Sheinsisted upon an interview with Sir Francis, and evade it he could not, though he tried hard. Will it be believed that he denied the past--thathe met with mocking suavity her indignant reminders of what had beenbetween them? "Love! Marriage? Nonsense! Her fancy had been too muchat work. " Finally, he defied her to prove that he had regarded her withmore than ordinary friendship, or had ever hinted at such a thing as aunion. 

She could not prove it. She had not so much as a scrap of paper writtenon by him; she had not a single friend or enemy to come forward andtestify that they heard him breathe to her a word of love. He had beentoo wary for that. Moreover there was her own solemn protestations toher sister Lydia that there _was not_ anything between her and FrancisLevison; who would believe her if she veered round now, and avowed theseprotestations were false? No; she found that she was in a sinking ship;one there was no chance of saving. 

But one chance did she determine to try--an appeal to Alice. BlancheChalloner's eyes were suddenly and rudely opened to the badness of theman, and she was aware now how thoroughly unfit he was to become thehusband of her sister. It struck her that only misery could result fromthe union, and that, if possible, Alice should be saved from enteringupon it. Would she have married him herself, then? Yes. But it was adifferent thing for that fair, fresh young Alice; _she_ had not wastedher life's best years in waiting for him. 

When the family had gone to rest, and the house was quiet, BlancheChalloner proceeded to her sister's bedroom. Alice had not begun toundress; she was sitting in a comfortable chair before the fire, herfeet on the fender, reading a love letter from Sir Francis. 

"Alice, I am come to tell you a story, " she said quietly. "Will you hearit?"

"In a minute. Stop a bit, " replied Alice. She finished the perusalof the letter, put it aside, and then spoke again. "What did you say, Blanche? A story?"

Blanche nodded. "Several years ago there was a fair young girl, none toorich, in our station of life. A gentleman, who was none too rich either, sought and gained her love. He could not marry; he was not rich, I say. They loved on in secret, hoping for better times, she wearing out heryears and her heart. Oh, Alice! I cannot describe to you how she lovedhim--how she has continued to love him up to this moment. Through evilreport she clung to him tenaciously and tenderly as the vine clings toits trellis, for the world spoke ill of him. "

"Who was the young lady?" interrupted Alice. "Is this a fable ofromance, Blanche, or a real history?"

"A real history. I knew her. All those years--years and years, I say--hekept leading her on to love, letting her think that his love was hers. In the course of time he succeeded to a fortune, and the bar to theirmarriage was over. He was abroad when he came into it, but returned homeat once; their intercourse was renewed, and her fading heart woke uponce more to life. Still, the marriage did not come on; he said nothingof it, and she spoke to him. Very soon now, should it be, was hisanswer, and she continued to live on--in hope. "

"Go on, Blanche, " cried Alice, who had grown interested in the tale, never suspecting that it could bear a personal interest. 

"Yes, I will go on. Would you believe, Alice, that almost immediatelyafter this last promise, he saw one whom he fancied he should likebetter, and asked her to be his wife, forsaking the one to whom he wasbound by every tie of honor--repudiating all that had been between them, even his own words and promises?"

"How disgraceful! Were they married?"

"They are to be. Would you have such a man?"

"I!" returned Alice, quite indignant at the question. "It is not likelythat I would. "

"That man, Alice is Sir Francis Levison. "

Alice Challoner gave a start, and her face became scarlet. "How dare yousay so, Blanche? It is not true. Who was the girl, pray? She must havetraduced him. "

"She has not traduced him, " was the subdued answer. "The girl wasmyself. "

An awkward pause. "I know!" cried Alice, throwing back her headresentfully. "He told me I might expect something of this--that you hadfancied him in love with you, and were angry because he had chosen me. "

Blanche turned upon her with streaming eyes; she could no longer controlher emotion. "Alice, my sister, all the pride is gone out of me; all thereticence that woman loves to observe as to her wrongs and her inwardfeelings I have broken through for you this night. As sure as there is aheaven above us, I have told you the truth. Until you came I was engagedto Francis Levison. "

An unnatural scene ensued. Blanche, provoked at Alice's rejection of herwords, told all the ill she knew or heard of the man; she dwelt uponhis conduct with regard to Lady Isabel Carlyle, his heartlessafter-treatment of that unhappy lady. Alice was passionate and fiery. She professed not to believe a word of her sister's wrongs, and as tothe other stories, they were no affairs of hers, she said: "what had sheto do with his past life?"

But Alice Challoner did believe; her sister's earnestness and distress, as she told the tale, carried conviction with them. She did not verymuch care for Sir Francis; he was not entwined round her heart, as hewas round Blanche's; but she was dazzled with the prospect of so good asettlement in life, and she would not give him up. If Blanche broke herheart--why, she must break it. But she need not have mixed taunts andjeers with her refusal to believe; she need not have _triumphed_ openlyover Blanche. Was it well done? Was it the work of an affectionatesister! As we sow, so shall we reap. She married Sir Francis Levison, leaving Blanche to her broken heart, or to any other calamity that mightgrow out of the injustice. And there sat Lady Levison now, her threeyears of marriage having served to turn her love for Sir Francis intocontempt and hate. 

A little boy, two years old, the only child of the marriage, was playingabout the room. His mother took no notice of him; she was buried inall-absorbing thought--thought which caused her lips to contract, andher brow to scowl. Sir Francis entered, his attitude lounging, his airlistless. Lady Levison roused herself, but no pleasant manner of tonewas hers, as she set herself to address him. 

"I want some money, " she said. 

"So do I, " he answered. 

An impatient stamp of the foot and a haughty toss. "And I must have it. I _must_. I told you yesterday that I must. Do you suppose I can go on, without a sixpence of ready money day after day?"

"Do you suppose it is of any use to put yourself in this fury?" retortedSir Francis. "A dozen times a week do you bother me for money and adozen times do I tell you I have got none. I have got none for myself. You may as well ask that baby for money as ask me. "

"I wish he had never been born!" passionately uttered Lady Levison;"unless he had had a different father. "

That the last sentence, and the bitter scorn of its tone, would haveprovoked a reprisal from Sir Francis, his flashing countenance betrayed. But at that moment a servant entered the room. 

"I beg your pardon, sir. That man, Brown, forced his way into the hall, and--"

"I can't see him--I won't see him!" interrupted Sir Francis backing tothe furthest corner of the room, in what looked very like abject terror, as if he had completely lost his presence of mind. Lady Levison's lipscurled. 

"We got rid of him, sir, after a dreadful deal of trouble, I wasabout to say, but while the door was open in the dispute, Mr. Meredithentered. He has gone into the library, sir, and vows he won't stir tillhe sees you, whether you are sick or well. "

A moment's pause, a half-muttered oath, and the Sir Francis quitted theroom. The servant retired, and Lady Levison caught up her child. 

"Oh, Franky dear, " she wailed forth, burying her face in his warm neck. "I'd leave him for good and all, if I dared; but I fear he might keepyou. "

Now, the secret was, that for the last three days Sir Francis had beendesperately ill, obliged to keep his bed, and could see nobody, his lifedepending upon quiet. Such was the report, or something equivalent toit, which had gone in to Lord Headthelot, or rather, to the officialoffice, for that renowned chief was himself out of town; it had alsobeen delivered to all callers at Sir Francis Levison's house; theroyal truth being that Sir Francis was as well as you or I, but, fromsomething that had transpired touching one of his numerous debts, did not dare to show himself. That morning the matter had beenarranged--patched up for a time. 

"My stars, Levison!" began Mr. Meredith, who was a whipper-in of theministry, "what a row there is about you! Why, you look as well as everyou were. "

"A great deal better to-day, " coughed Sir Francis. 

"To think that you should have chosen the present moment for skulking!Here have I been dancing attendance at your door, day after day, in astate of incipient fever, enough to put me into a real one, and couldneither get admitted nor a letter taken up. I should have blown thehouse up to-day and got in amidst the flying debris. By the way, are youand my lady _two_ just now?"

"Two?" growled Sir Francis. 

"She was stepping into her carriage yesterday when they turned me fromthe door, and I made inquiry of her. Her ladyship's answer was, that sheknew nothing either of Francis or his illness. "

"Her ladyship is subject to flights of distemper, " chafed Sir Francis. "What desperate need have you of me, just now? Headthelot's away andthere's nothing doing. "

"Nothing doing up here; a deal too much doing somewhere else. Attley'sseat's in the market. "

"Well?"

"And you ought to have been down there about it three or four days ago. Of course you must step into it. "

"Of course I shan't, " returned Sir Francis. "To represent West Lynnewill not suit me. "

"Not suit you? West Lynne! Why, of all places, it is most suitable. It'sclose to your own property. "

"If you call ten miles close. I shall not put up for West Lynne, Meredith. "

"Headthelot came up this morning, " said Mr. Meredith. 

The information somewhat aroused Sir Francis. "Headthelot? What bringshim back?"

"You. I tell you, Levison, there's a hot row. Headthelot expected youwould be at West Lynne days past, and he has come up in an awful rage. Every additional vote we can count in the House is worth its weightin gold; and you, he says are allowing West Lynne to slip through yourfingers! You must start for it at once Levison. "

Sir Francis mused. Had the alternative been given him, he would havepreferred to represent a certain warm place underground, rather thanWest Lynne. But, to quit Headthelot, and the snug post he anticipated, would be ruin irretrievable; nothing short of outlawry, or the queen'sprison. It was awfully necessary to get his threatened person intoparliament, and he began to turn over in his mind whether he _could_bring himself to make further acquaintance with West Lynne. "The thingmust have blown over for good by this time, " was the result of hiscogitations, unconsciously speaking aloud. 

"I can understand your reluctance to appear at West Lynne, " cried Mr. Meredith; "the scene, unless I mistake, of that notorious affair ofyours. But private feelings must give way to public interests, and thebest thing you can do is to _start_. Headthelot is angry enough as itis. He says, had you been down at first, as you ought to have been, you would have slipped in without opposition, but now there will be acontest. "

Sir Francis looked up sharply. "A contest? Who is going to stand thefunds?"

"Pshaw! As if we should let funds be any barrier! Have you heard who isin the field?"

"No, " was the apathetic answer. 

"Carlyle. "

"Carlyle!" uttered Sir Francis, startled. "Oh, by George, though! Ican't stand against him. "

"Well, there's the alternative. If you can't, Thornton will. "

"I should run no chance. West Lynne would not elect me in preference tohim. I'm not sure, indeed, that West Lynne would have me in any case. "

"Nonsense! You know our interest there. Government put in Attley, and itcan put you in. Yes, or no, Levison?"

"Yes, " answered Sir Francis. 

An hour's time, and Sir Francis Levison went forth. On his way to beconveyed to West Lynne? Not yet. He turned his steps to ScotlandYard. In considerably less than an hour the following telegram, marked"Secret, " went down from the head office to the superintendent of policeat West Lynne. 

"Is Otway Bethel at West Lynne? If not; where is he? And when will he bereturning to it?"

It elicited a prompt answer. 

"Otway Bethel is not at West Lynne. Supposed to be in Norway. Movementsuncertain. "

CHAPTER XXXV. 

A MISHAP TO THE BLUE SPECTACLES. 

Mr. Carlyle and Barbara were seated at breakfast, when, somewhat totheir surprise, Mr. Dill was shown in. Following close upon his heelscame Justice Hare; and close upon his heels came Squire Pinner; whilebringing up the rear was Colonel Bethel. All the four had come upseparately, not together, and all four were out of breath, as if it hadbeen a race which should arrive soonest. 

Quite impossible was it for Mr. Carlyle, at first, to understand thenews they brought. All were talking at once, in the utmost excitement;and the fury of Justice Hare alone was sufficient to produce temporarydeafness. Mr. Carlyle caught a word of the case presently. 

"A second man? Opposition? Well, let him come on, " he good-humoredlycried. "We shall have the satisfaction of ascertaining who wins in theend. "

"But you have not heard who it is, Mr. Archibald, " cried Old Dill, "It--"

"Stand a contest with _him_?" raved Justice Hare. "He--"

"The fellow wants hanging, " interjected Colonel Bethel. 

"Couldn't he be ducked?" suggested Squire Pinner. 

Now all these sentences were ranted out together, and their respectiveutterers were fain to stop till the noise subsided a little. Barbaracould only look from one to the other in astonishment. 

"Who is this formidable opponent?" asked Mr. Carlyle. 

There was a pause. Not one of them but had the delicacy to shrink fromnaming that man to Mr. Carlyle. The information came at last from OldDill, who dropped his voice while he spoke it. 

"Mr. Archibald, the candidate who has come forward, is that manLevison. "

"Of course, Carlyle, you'll go into it now, neck and crop, " criedJustice Hare. 

Mr. Carlyle was silent. 

"You won't let the beast frighten you from the contest!" uttered ColonelBethel in a loud tone. 

"There's a meeting at the Buck's Head at ten, " said Mr. Carlyle, notreplying to the immediate question. "I will be with you there. "

"Did you not say, Mr. Dill, that was where the scoundrel Levison is--atthe Buck's Head?"

"He was there, " answered Mr. Dill. "I expect he is ousted by this time. I asked the landlord what he thought of himself, for taking in such acharacter, and what he supposed the justice would say to him. He vowedwith tears in his eyes that the fellow should not be there another hour, and that he should never have entered it, had he known who he was. "

A little more conversation, and the visitors filed off. Mr. Carlyle satdown calmly to finish his breakfast. Barbara approached him. 

"Archibald, you will not suffer this man's insolent doings to deter youfrom your plans--you will not withdraw?" she whispered. 

"I think not, Barbara. He has thrust himself offensively upon me in thismeasure; I believe my better plan will be to take no more heed of himthan I should of the dirt under my feet. "

"Right--right, " she answered, a proud flush deepening the rose on hercheeks. 

Mr. Carlyle was walking into West Lynne. There were the placards, sureenough, side by side with his own, bearing the name of that wickedcoward who had done him the greatest injury one man can do to another. Verily, he must possess a face of brass to venture there. 

"Archibald, have you heard the disgraceful news?"

The speaker was Miss Carlyle, who had come down upon her brother likea ship with all sails set. Her cheeks wore a flush; her eyes glistened;her tall form was drawn up to its most haughty height. 

"I have heard it, Cornelia, and, had I not, the walls would haveenlightened me. "

"Is he out of his mind?"

"Out of his reckoning, I fancy, " replied Mr. Carlyle. 

"You will carry on the contest now, " she continued, her countenanceflashing. "I was averse to it before, but I now withdraw all myobjection. You will be no brother of mine if you yield the field tohim. "

"I do not intend to yield it. "

"Good. You bear on upon your course, and let him crawl on upon his. Takeno more heed of him than if he were a viper. Archibald, you must canvassnow. "

"No, " said Mr. Carlyle, "I shall be elected without canvass. You'll see, Cornelia. "

"There will be plenty canvassing for you, if you don't condescend totake the trouble, my indifferent brother. I'll give a thousand poundsmyself, for ale, to the electors. "

"Take care, " laughed Mr. Carlyle. "Keep your thousand pounds in yourpocket, Cornelia. I have no mind to be unseated, on the plea of 'briberyand corruption. ' Here's Sir John Dobede galloping in, with a face as redas the sun in a fog. "

"Well, it may be he has heard the news. I can tell you, Archibald, WestLynne is in a state of excitement that has not been its lot for many aday. "

Miss Carlyle was right. Excitement and indignation had taken possessionof West Lynne. How the people rallied around Mr. Carlyle! Town andcountry were alike up in arms. But government interest was rife atWest Lynne, and, whatever the private and public feeling might be, collectively or individually, many votes should be recorded for SirFrancis Levison. 

One of the first to become cognizant of the affair was Lord MountSevern. He was at his club one evening in London, poring over an eveningpaper, when the names "Carlyle, " "West Lynne, " caught his view. Knowingthat Mr. Carlyle had been named as the probable member, and heartilywishing that he might become such, the earl naturally read theparagraph. 

He read it, and read it again; he rubbed his eyes, he rubbed hisglasses, he pinched himself, to see whether he was awake or dreaming. For believe what that paper asserted--that Sir Francis Levison hadentered the lists in opposition to Mr. Carlyle, and was at West Lynne, busily canvassing--he could not. 

"Do you know anything of this infamous assertion?" he inquired of anintimate friend--"infamous, whether true or false. "

"It's true, I heard of it an hour ago. Plenty of cheek that Levison musthave. "

"_Cheek!_" repeated the dismayed earl, feeling as if every part of him, body and mind, were outraged by the news, "don't speak of it in thatway. The hound deserves to be gibbeted. "

He threw aside the paper, quitted the club, returned home for a carpetbag, and went shrieking and whistling down to West Lynne, taking hisson with him. Or, if he did not whistle and shriek the engine did. Fullydetermined was the earl of Mount Severn to show _his_ opinion of theaffair. 

On these fine spring mornings, their breakfast over, Lady Isabel was inthe habit of going into the grounds with the children. They were on thelawn before the house, when two gentlemen came walking up the avenue;or, rather, one gentleman, and a handsome young stripling growing intoanother. Lady Isabel thought she should have dropped, for she stood faceto face with Lord Mount Severn. The earl stopped to salute the children, and raised his hat to the strange lady. 

"It is my governess, Madame Vine, " said Lucy. 

A silent courtesy from Madame Vine. She turned away her head and gaspedfor breath. 

"Is your papa at home, Lucy?" cried the earl. 

"Yes; I think he is at breakfast. I'm so glad you are come!"

Lord Mount Severn walked on, holding William by the hand, who hadeagerly offered to "take him" to papa. Lord Vane bent over Lucy to kissher. A little while, a very few more years, and my young lady would nothold up her rosy lips so boldly. 

"You have grown a dearer girl than ever, Lucy. Have you forgotten ourcompact?"

"No, " laughed she. 

"And you will not forget it?"

"Never, " said the child, shaking her head. "You shall see if I do. "

"Lucy is to be my wife, " cried he, turning to Madame Vine. "It is abargain, and we have both promised. I mean to wait for her till she isold enough. I like her better than anybody else in the world. "

"And I like him, " spoke up Miss Lucy. "And it's all true. "

Lucy was a child--it may almost be said an infant--and the viscount wasnot of an age to render important such avowed passions. Nevertheless, the words did thrill through the veins of the hearer. She spoke, shethought, not as Madame Vine would have spoken and thought, but as theunhappy mother, the ill-fated Lady Isabel. 

"You must not say these things to Lucy. It could never be. "

Lord Vane laughed. 

"Why?" asked he. 

"Your father and mother would not approve. "

"My father would--I know he would. He likes Lucy. As to my mother--oh, well, she can't expect to be master and mistress too. You be off for aminute, Lucy; I want to say some thing to Madame Vine. Has Carlyle shotthat fellow?" he continued, as Lucy sprung away. "My father is so stiff, especially when he's put up, that he would not sully his lips with thename, or make a single inquiry when we arrived; neither would he let me, and I walked up here with my tongue burning. "

She would have responded, what fellow? But she suspected too well, andthe words died away on her unwilling lips. 

"That brute, Levison. If Carlyle riddled his body with shots for thismove, and then kicked him till he died, he'd only get his deserts, andthe world would applaud. _He_ oppose Carlyle! I wish I had been a mana few years ago, he'd have got a shot through his heart then. I say, "dropping his voice, "did you know Lady Isabel?"

"Yes--no--yes. "

She was at a loss what to say--almost as unconscious what she did say. 

"She was Lucy's mother, you know, and I loved her. I think that's whyI love Lucy, for she is the very image of her. Where did you know her?Here?"

"I knew her by hearsay, " murmured Lady Isabel, arousing to recollection. 

"Oh, hearsay! _Has_ Carlyle shot the beast, or is he on his legs yet?By Jove! To think that he should sneak himself up, in this way, at WestLynne!"

"You must apply elsewhere for information, " she gasped. "I know nothingof these things. "

She turned away with a beating heart, and took Lucy's hand, anddeparted. Lord Vane set off on a run toward the house, his heels flyingbehind him. 

And now the contest began in earnest--that is, the canvass. Sir FrancisLevison, his agent, and a friend from town, who, as it turned out, instead of being some great gun of the government, was a private chum ofthe baronet's by name Drake, sneaked about the town like dogs with theirtails burnt, for they were entirely alive to the color in which theywere held, their only attendants being a few young gentlemen and ladiesin rags, who commonly brought up the rear. The other party presented astately crowd--county gentry, magistrates, Lord Mount Severn. SometimesMr. Carlyle would be with them, arm-and-arm with the latter. If thecontesting groups came within view of each other, and were likely tomeet, the brave Sir Francis would disappear down an entry, behind ahedge, any place convenient; with all his "face of brass, " he could notmeet Mr. Carlyle and that condemning jury around him. 

One afternoon it pleased Mrs. Carlyle to summon Lucy and the governessto accompany her into West Lynne. She was going shopping. Lady Isabelhad a dread and horror of appearing in there while that man was in town, but she could not help herself. There was no pleading illness, for shewas quite well; there must be no saying, "I will not go, " for she wasonly a dependant. They started, and had walked as far as Mrs. Hare'sgate, when Miss Carlyle turned out of it. 

"Your mamma's not well, Barbara. "

"Is she not?" cried Barbara, with quick concern. "I must go and seeher. "

"She has had one of those ridiculous dreams again, " pursued MissCarlyle, ignoring the presence of the governess and Lucy. "I was sure ofit by her very look when I got in, shivering and shaking, and glancingfearfully around, as if she feared a dozen spectres were about to burstout of the walls. So I taxed her with it, and she could make no denial. Richard is in some jeopardy, she protests, or will be. And there she is, shaking still, although I told her that people who put faith in dreamswere only fit for a lunatic asylum. "

Barbara looked distressed. She did not believe in dreams any more thanMiss Carlyle, but she could not forget how strangely peril to Richard_had_ supervened upon some of these dreams. 

"I will go in now and see mamma, " she said. "If you are returning home, Cornelia, Madame Vine can walk with you, and wait for me there. "

"Let me go in with you, mamma!" pleaded Lucy. 

Barbara mechanically took the child's hand. The gates closed on them, and Miss Carlyle and Lady Isabel proceeded in the direction of the town. But not far had they gone when, in turning a corner, the wind, which washigh, blew away with the veil of Lady Isabel, and, in raising her handin trepidation to save it before it was finally gone, she contrived toknock off her blue spectacles. They fell to the ground, and were broken. 

"How did you manage that?" uttered Miss Carlyle. 

How, indeed? She bent her face on the ground, looking at the damage. What should she do? The veil was over the hedge, the spectacles werebroken--how could she dare show her naked face? That face was rosy justthen, as in former days, the eyes were bright, and Miss Carlyle caughttheir expression, and stared in very amazement. 

"Good heavens above, " she uttered, "what an extraordinary likeness!" AndLady Isabel's heart turned faint and sick within her. 

Well it might. And, to make matters worse, bearing down right upon them, but a few paces distant, came Sir Francis Levison. 

Would _he_ recognize her?

Standing blowing in the wind at the turning of the road were MissCarlyle and Lady Isabel Vane. The latter, confused and perplexed, waspicking up the remnant of her damaged spectacles; the former, littleless perplexed, gazed at the face which struck upon her memory as beingso familiar. Her attention, however, was called off the face to theapparition of Sir Francis Levison. 

He was close upon them, Mr. Drake and the other comrade being with him, and some tagrag in attendance, as usual. It was the first time he andMiss Carlyle had met face to face. She bent her condemning brow, haughtyin its bitter scorn, full upon him, for it was not in the nature of MissCarlyle to conceal her sentiments, especially when they were rather ofthe strongest. Sir Francis, when he arrived opposite, raised his hat toher. Whether it was done in courtesy, in confused unconsciousness, orin mockery, cannot be told. Miss Carlyle assumed it to have been thelatter, and her lips, in their anger grew almost as pale as those of theunhappy woman who was cowering behind her. 

"Did you intend that insult for me, Francis Levison?"

"As you please to take it, " returned he, calling up insolence to hisaid. 

"_You_ dare to lift off your hat to me! Have you forgotten that I amMiss Carlyle?"

"It would be difficult for _you_ to be forgotten, once seen. "

Now this answer _was_ given in mockery; his tone and manner wereredolent of it, insolently so. The two gentlemen looked on indiscomfort, wondering what it meant; Lady Isabel hid her face as bestshe could, terrified to death lest his eyes should fall on it: while thespectators, several of whom had collected now, listened with interest, especially some farm laborers of Squire Pinner's who had happened to bepassing. 

"You contemptible worm!" cried Miss Carlyle, "do you think you canoutrage me with impunity as you, by your presence in it, are outragingWest Lynne? Out upon you for a bold, bad man!"

Now Miss Corny, in so speaking, had certainly no thought of present andimmediate punishment for the gentleman; but it appeared that the mobaround had. The motion was commented by those stout-shouldered laborers. Whether excited thereto by the words of Miss Carlyle--who, whatever mayhave been her faults of manner, held the respect of the neighborhood, and was looked up to only in a less degree than her brother; whetherSquire Pinner, their master, had let drop, in their hearing, a word ofthe ducking he had hinted at, when at East Lynne, or whether their ownfeelings alone spurred them on, was best known to the men themselves. Certain it is, that the ominous sound of "Duck him, " was breathed forthby a voice, and it was caught up and echoed around. 

"Duck him! Duck him! The pond be close at hand. Let's give him a tasteof his deservings! What do he the scum, turn himself up at West Lynnefor, bearding Mr. Carlyle? What have he done with Lady Isabel? _Him_put up for others at West Lynne! West Lynne's respectable, it don't wanthim; it have got a better man; it won't have a villain. Now, lads!"

His face turned white, and he trembled in his shoes--worthless men arefrequently cowards. Lady Isabel trembled in hers; and well she might, hearing that one allusion. They set upon him, twenty pairs of hands atleast, strong, rough, determined hands; not to speak of the tagrag'shelp, who went in with cuffs, and kicks, and pokes, and taunts, andcheers, and a demoniac dance. 

They dragged him through a gap in the hedge, a gap that no baby couldhave got through in a cool moment; but most of us know the differencebetween coolness and excitement. The hedge was extensively damaged, butJustice Hare, to whom it belonged, would forgive that. Mr. Drake and thelawyer--for the other was a lawyer--were utterly powerless to stopthe catastrophe. "If they didn't mind their own business, and keepthemselves clear, they'd get served the same, " was the promise held outin reply to their remonstrances; and the lawyer, who was short and fat, and could not have knocked a man down, had it been to save his life, backed out of the _melee_, and contented himself with issuing forthconfused threatenings of the terrors of the law. Miss Carlyle stoodher ground majestically, and looked on with a grim countenance. Had sheinterfered for his protection, she could not have been heard; and if shecould have been, there's no knowing whether she would have done it. 

On, to the brink of the pond--a green, dank, dark, slimy sour, stinkingpond. His coat-tails were gone by this time, and sundry rents anddamages appeared in--in another useful garment. One pulled him, anotherpushed him, a third shook him by the collar, half a dozen buffeted him, and all abused him. 

"In with him, boys!"

"Mercy! Mercy!" shrieked the victim, his knees bending and his teethchattering--"a little mercy for the love of Heaven!"

"Heaven! Much he knows of Heaven!"

A souse, a splash, a wild cry, a gurgle, and Sir Francis Levison wasfloundering in the water, its green poison, not to mention its addersand thads and frogs, going down his throat by bucketfuls. A hoarse, derisive laugh, and a hip, hip, hurrah! broke from the actors; while thejuvenile ragtag, in wild delight, joined their hands round the pool, anddanced the demon's dance, like so many red Indians. They had never hadsuch a play acted for them before. 

Out of the pea-soup before he was quite dead, quite senseless. Of alldrowned rats, he looked the worst, as he stood there with his white, rueful face, his shivery limbs, and his dilapidated garments, shakingthe wet off him. The laborers, their duty done, walked coolly away; thetagrag withdrew to a safe distance, waiting for what might come next;and Miss Carlyle moved away also. Not more shivery was that wretchedman than Lady Isabel, as she walked by her side. A sorry figure to cut, that, for her once chosen cavalier. What did she think of his beautynow? I know what she thought of her past folly. 

Miss Carlyle never spoke a word. She sailed on, with her head up, thoughit was turned occasionally to look at the face of Madame Vine, at thedeep distressing blush which this gaze called into her cheeks. "It'svery odd, " thought Miss Corny. "The likeness, especially in the eyes, is--Where are you going, madame?"

They were passing a spectacle shop, and Madame Vine had halted at thedoor, one foot on its step. "I must have my glasses to be mended, if youplease. "

Miss Carlyle followed her in. She pointed out what she wanted done tothe old glasses, and said she would buy a pair of new ones to wear whilethe job was about. The man had no blue ones, no green; plenty of white. One ugly, old pair of green things he had, with tortoise-shell rims, left by some stranger, ages and ages ago, to be mended, and never calledfor again. This very pair of ugly old green things was chosen by LadyIsabel. She put them on, there and then, Miss Carlyle's eyes searchingher face inquisitively all the time. 

"Why do you wear glasses?" began Miss Corny, abruptly as soon as theywere indoors. 

Another deep flush, and an imperceptible hesitation. 

"My eyes are not strong. "

"They look as strong as eyes can look. But why wear colored glasses?White ones would answer every purpose, I should suppose. "

"I am accustomed to colored ones. I should not like white ones now. "

Miss Corny paused. 

"What is your Christian name, madame?" began she, again. 

"Jane, " replied madame, popping out an unflinching story in her alarm. 

"Here! Here! What's up? What's this?"

It was a crowd in the street, and rather a noisy one. Miss Corny flew tothe window, Lady Isabel in her wake. Two crowds, it may almost besaid; for, from the opposite way, the scarlet-and-purple party--as Mr. Carlyle's was called, in allusion to his colors--came in view. Quite acollection of gentlemen--Mr. Carlyle and Lord Mount Severn heading them. 

What could it mean, the mob they were encountering? The yellow party, doubtless, but in a disreputable condition. Who or what _was_ thatobject in advance of it, supported between Drake and the lawyer, and looking like a drowned rat, hair hanging, legs tottering, cheeksshaking, and clothes in tatters, while the mob, behind, had swollento the length of the street, and was keeping up a perpetual fire ofderisive shouts, groans, and hisses. The scarlet-and-purple halted inconsternation, and Lord Mount Severn, whose sight was not as good as ithad been twenty years back, stuck his pendent eye glasses astride on thebridge of his nose. 

_Sir Francis Levison?_ Could it be? Yes, it actually was! What on earthhad put him into that state? Mr. Carlyle's lip curled; he continued hisway and drew the peer with him. 

"What the deuce is a-gate now?" called out the followers of Mr. Carlyle. "That's Levison! Has he been in a railway smash, and got drenched by theengine?"

"He has been _ducked_!" grinned the yellows, in answer. "They have beenand ducked him in the rush pool on Mr. Justice Hare's land. "

The soaked and miserable man increased his speed as much as his cold andtrembling legs would allow him; he would have borne on without legsat all, rather than remain under the enemy's gaze. The enemy loftilycontinued their way, their heads in the air, and scorning furthernotice, all, save young Lord Vane. He hovered round the ranks of theunwashed, and looked vastly inclined to enter upon an Indian jig, on hisown account. 

"What a thundering ass I was to try it on at West Lynne!" was theenraged comment of the sufferer. 

Miss Carlyle laid her hand upon the shrinking arm of her pale companion. 

"You see him--my brother Archibald?"

"I see him, " faltered Lady Isabel. 

"And you see _him_, that pitiful outcast, who is too contemptible tolive? Look at the two, and contrast them. Look well. "

"Yes!" was the gaping answer. 

"The woman who called him, that noble man, husband, quitted him for theother! Did she come to repentance, think you?"

You may wonder that the submerged gentleman should be _walking_ throughthe streets, on his way to his quarters, the Raven Inn--for he had beenejected from the Buck's Head--but he could not help himself. As he wasdripping and swearing on the brink of the pond, wondering how he shouldget to the Raven, an empty fly drove past, and Mr. Drake immediatelystopped it; but when the driver saw that he was expected to convey notonly a passenger, but a tolerable quantity of water as well, and thatthe passenger, moreover, was Sir Francis Levison, he refused the job. His fly was fresh lined with red velvet, and he "weren't a going tohave it spoilt, " he called out, as he whipped his horse and droveaway, leaving the three in wrathful despair. Sir Francis wanted anotherconveyance procured; his friends urged that if he waited for that hemight catch his death, and that the shortest way would be to hasten tothe inn on foot. He objected. But his jaws were chattering, his limbswere quaking, so they seized him between them, and made off, but neverbargained for the meeting of Mr. Carlyle and his party. Francis Levisonwould have stopped in the pond, of his own accord, head downward, ratherthan faced _them_. 

Miss Carlyle went that day to dine at East Lynne, walking back with Mrs. Carlyle, Madame Vine and Lucy. Lord Vane found them out, and returned atthe same time; of course East Lynne was the headquarters of himself andhis father. He was in the seventh heaven, and had been ever since theencounter with the yellows. 

"You'd have gone into laughing convulsions, Lucy had you seen thedrowned cur. I'd give all my tin for six months to come to have aphotograph of him as he looked then!"

Lucy laughed in glee; she was unconscious, poor child, how deeply the"drowned cur" had injured her. 

When Miss Carlyle was in her dressing-room taking her things off--theroom where once had slept Richard Hare--she rang for Joyce. These tworooms were still kept for Miss Carlyle--for she did sometimes visitthem for a few days--and were distinguished by her name--"Miss Carlyle'srooms. "

"A fine row we have had in the town, Joyce, this afternoon. "

"I have heard of it, ma'am. Served him right, if they had let him drown!Bill White, Squire Pinner's plowman, called in here and told us thenews. He'd have burst with it, if he hadn't, I expect; I never saw achap so excited. Peter cried. "

"Cried?" echoed Miss Carlyle. 

"Well, ma'am, you know he was very fond of Lady Isabel, was Peter, andsomehow his feelings overcame him. He said he had not heard anything toplease him so much for many a day; and with that he burst out crying, and gave Bill White half a crown out of his pocket. Bill White said itwas he who held one leg when they soused him in. Afy saw it--if you'llexcuse me mentioning her name to you, ma'am, for I know you don't thinkwell of her--and when she got in here, she fell into hysterics. "

"How did she see it?" snapped Miss Carlyle, her equanimity upset by thesound of the name. "I didn't see her, and I was present. "

"She was coming here with a message from Mrs. Latimer to the governess. "

"What did she go into hysterics for?" again snapped Miss Carlyle. 

"It upset her so, she said, " returned Joyce. 

"It wouldn't have done her harm had they ducked her too, " was the angryresponse. 

Joyce was silent. To contradict Miss Corny brought triumph to nobody. And she was conscious, in her innermost heart, that Afy merited a littlewholesome correction, not perhaps to the extent of a ducking. 

"Joyce, " resumed Miss Carlyle, abruptly changing the subject, "who doesthe governess put you in mind of?"

"Ma'am?" repeated Joyce, in some surprise, as it appeared. "Thegoverness? Do you mean Madame Vine?"

"Do I mean you, or do I mean me? Are we governesses?" irascibly criedMiss Corny. "Who should I mean, but Madame Vine?"

She turned herself round from the looking-glass, and gazed full inJoyce's face, waiting for the answer. Joyce lowered her voice as shegave it. 

"There are times when she puts me in mind of my late lady both in herface and manner. But I have never said so, ma'am; for you know LadyIsabel's name must be an interdicted one in this house. "

"Have you seen her without her glasses?"

"No; never, " said Joyce. 

"I did to-day, " returned Miss Carlyle. "And I can tell you, Joyce, thatI was confounded at the likeness. It is an extraordinary likeness. One would think it was a ghost of Lady Isabel Vane come into the worldagain. "

That evening after dinner, Miss Carlyle and Lord Mount Severn sat sideby side on the same sofa, coffee cups in hand. Miss Carlyle turned tothe earl. 

"Was it a positively ascertained fact that Lady Isabel died?"

The earl stared with all his might; he thought it the strangest questionthat ever was asked him. "I scarcely understand you, Miss Carlyle. Died?Certainly she died. "

"When the result of the accident was communicated to you, you madeinquiry yourself into its truth, its details, I believe?"

"It was my duty to do so. There was no one else to undertake it. "

"Did you ascertain positively, beyond all doubt, that she did die?"

"Of a surety I did. She died in the course of the same night. Terriblyinjured she was. "

A pause. Miss Carlyle was ruminating. But she returned to the charge, asif difficult to be convinced. 

"You deem that there could be no possibility of an error? You are surethat she is dead?"

"I am as sure that she is dead as that we are living, " decisivelyreplied the earl: and he spoke but according to his belief. "Whereforeshould you be inquiring this?"

"A thought came over me--only to-day--to wonder whether she was reallydead. "

"Had any error occurred at that time, any false report of her death, Ishould soon have found it out by her drawing the annuity I settled uponher. It has never been drawn since. Besides, she would have written tome, as agreed upon. No, poor thing, she is gone beyond all doubt, andhas taken her sins with her. "

Convincing proofs; and Miss Carlyle lent her ear to them. 

The following morning while Madame Vine was at breakfast, Mr. Carlyleentered. 

"Do you admit intruders here Madame Vine?" cried he, with his sweetsmile, and attractive manner. 

She arose; her face burning, her heart throbbing. 

"Keep your seat, pray; I have but a moment to stay, " said Mr. Carlyle. "I have come to ask you how William seems?"

"There was no difference, " she murmured, and then she took courage andspoke more openly. "I understood you to say the other night, sir, thathe should have further advice. "

"Ay; I wish him to go over to Lynneborough, to Dr. Martin; the drive, Ithink, will do him good, " replied Mr. Carlyle. "And I would like youto accompany him, if you do not mind the trouble. You can have the ponycarriage, it will be better to go in that than boxed up in the railwaycarriage. You can remind Dr. Martin that the child's constitutionis precisely what his mother's was, " continued Mr. Carlyle, a tingelightening his face. "It may be a guide to his treatment; he saidhimself it was, when he attended him for an illness a year or two ago. "

"Yes, sir. "

He crossed the hall on his entrance to the breakfast-room. She toreupstairs to her chamber, and sank down in an agony of tears and despair. Oh, to love him as she did now! To yearn after his affection with thispassionate, jealous longing, and to know that they were separated forever and ever; that she was worse to him than nothing!

Softly, my lady. This is not bearing your cross. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

APPEARANCE OF A RUSSIAN BEAR AT WEST LYNNE. 

Mr. Carlyle harangued the populace from the balcony of the Buck's Head, a substantial old House, renowned in the days of posting, now past andgone. Its balcony was an old-fashioned, roomy balcony, painted green, where there was plenty of space for his friends to congregate. He was apersuasive orator, winning his way to ears and hearts; but had he spokenwith plums in his mouth, and a stammer on his tongue, and a break-downat every sentence, the uproarious applause and shouts would be equallyrife. Mr. Carlyle was intensely popular in West Lynne, setting aside hiscandidateship and his oratory; and West Lynne made common cause againstSir Francis Levison. 

Sir Francis Levison harangued the mob from the Raven, but in a moreignoble manner. For the Raven possessed no balcony, and he was fain tolet himself down with a stride and a jump from the first floor windowon the top of the bow-window of the parlor, and stand there. The Raven, though a comfortable, old established, and respectable inn, could boastonly of casements for its upper windows, and they are not convenient todeliver speeches from. He was wont, therefore to take his seat on thebow-window, and, that was not altogether convenient either, for itwas but narrow, and he hardly dared move an arm or a leg for fear ofpitching over on the upturned faces. Mr. Drake let himself down also, tosupport him on one side, and the first day, the lawyer supported him onthe other. For the first day only; for that worthy, being not as highas Sir Francis Levison's or Mr. Drake's shoulder, and about five timestheir breadth, had those two been rolled into one, experienced a slightdifficulty in getting back again. It was accomplished at last, SirFrancis pulling him up, and Mr. Drake hoisting him from behind, just asa ladder was being brought out to the rescue amidst shouts of laughter. The stout man wiped the perspiration from his face when he was landed insafety, and recorded a mental vow never to descend from a window again. After that the candidate and his friend shared the shelf between them. The lawyer's name was Rubiny, ill-naturedly supposed to be a corruptionof Reuben. 

They stood there one afternoon, Sir Francis' eloquence in full play, buthe was a shocking speaker, and the crowd, laughing, hissing, groaningand applauding, blocking up the road. Sir Francis could not complainof one thing--that he got no audience; for it was the pleasure of WestLynne extensively to support him in that respect--a few to cheer, a great many to jeer and hiss. Remarkably dense was the mob on thisafternoon, for Mr. Carlyle had just concluded his address from theBuck's Head, and the crowd who had been listening to him came rushing upto swell the ranks of the other crowd. They were elbowing, and pushing, and treading on each other's heels, when an open barouche drove suddenlyup to scatter them. Its horses wore scarlet and purple rosettes; and onelady, a very pretty one, sat inside of it--Mrs. Carlyle. 

But the crowd could not be so easily scattered; it was too thick; thecarriage could advance but at a snail's pace, and now and then came toa standstill also, till the confusion should be subsided; for where wasthe use of wasting words? He did not bow to Barbara; he remembered theresult of his having done so to Miss Carlyle, and the little interludeof the pond had washed most of his impudence out of him. He remained athis post, not looking at Barbara, not looking at anything in particular, waiting till the interruption should have passed. 

Barbara, under cover of her dainty lace parasol, turned her eyes uponhim. At that very moment he raised his right hand, slightly shook hishead back, and tossed his hair off his brow. His hand, ungloved, waswhite and delicate as a lady's, and his rich diamond ring gleamed in thesun. The pink flush on Barbara's cheek deepened to a crimson damask, andher brow contracted with a remembrance of pain. 

"The very action Richard described! The action he was always using atEast Lynne! I believe from my heart that the man is Thorn; that Richardwas laboring under some mistake when he said he knew Sir FrancisLevison. "

She let her hands fall upon her knee as she spoke, heedless of thecandidate, heedless of the crowd, heedless of all save her own troubledthoughts. A hundred respected salutations were offered her; she answeredthem mechanically; a shout was raised, "Long live Carlyle! Carlyleforever!" Barbara bowed her pretty head on either side, and the carriageat length got on. 

The parting of the crowd brought Mr. Dill, who had come to listen foronce to the speech of the second man, and Mr. Ebenezer James closeto each other. Mr. Ebenezer James was one who, for the last twelve orfifteen years, had been trying his hand at many trades. And had not comeout particularly well at any. A rolling stone gathers no moss. First, he had been clerk to Mr. Carlyle; next, he had been seduced intojoining the corps of the Theatre Royal at Lynneborough; then he turnedauctioneer; then travelling in the oil and color line; then a parson, the urgent pastor of some new sect; then omnibus driver; then collectorof the water rate; and now he was clerk again, not in Mr. Carlyle'soffice, but in that of Ball & Treadman, other solicitors of West Lynne. A good-humored, good-natured, free-of-mannered, idle chap was Mr. Ebenezer James, and that was the worst that could be urged against him, save that he was sometimes out at pocket and out at elbows. His fatherwas a respectable man, and had made money in trade, but he had married asecond wife, had a second family, and his eldest son did not come infor much of the paternal money, though he did for a large share of thepaternal anger. 

"Well, Ebenezer, and how goes the world with you?" cried Mr. Dill by wayof salutation. 

"Jogging on. It never gets to a trot. "

"Didn't I see you turning into your father's house yesterday?"

"I pretty soon turned out of it again. I'm like the monkey when Iventure there--get more kicks than halfpence. Hush, old gentleman! Weinterrupt the eloquence. "

Of course "the eloquence" applied to Sir Francis Levison, and they setthemselves to listen--Mr. Dill with a serious face, Mr. Ebenezer with agrinning one. But soon a jostle and movement carried them to the outsideof the crowd, out of sight of the speaker, though not entirely out ofhearing. By these means they had a view of the street, and discernedsomething advancing to them, which they took for a Russian bear on itshind legs. 

"I'll--be--blest, " uttered Mr. Ebenezer James, after a prolonged pauseof staring consternation, "if I don't believe its Bethel!"

"Bethel!" repeated Mr. Dill, gazing at the approaching figure. "What hashe been doing to himself?"

Mr. Otway Bethel it was, just arrived from foreign parts in histravelling costume--something shaggy, terminating all over with tails. Awild object he looked; and Mr. Dill rather backed as he drew near, as iffearing he was a real animal which might bite him. 

"What's your name?" cried he. 

"It used to be Bethel, " replied the wild man, holding out his hand toMr. Dill. "So you are in the world, James, and kicking yet?"

"And hope to kick in it for some time to come, " replied Mr. James. "Where did you hail from last? A settlement at the North Pole?"

"Didn't get quite as far. What's the row here?"

"When did you arrive, Mr. Otway?" inquired old Dill. 

"Now. Four o'clock train. I say, what's up?"

"An election; that's all, " said Mr. Ebenezer. "Attley went and kickedthe bucket. "

"I don't ask about the election; I heard all that at the railwaystation, " returned Otway Bethel, impatiently. "What's _this_?" wavinghis hand at the crowd. 

"One of the candidates wasting breath and words--Levison. "

"I say, " repeated Otway Bethel, looking at Mr. Dill, "wasn't itrather--rather of the ratherest, for _him_ to oppose Carlyle?"

"Infamous! Contemptible!" was the old gentleman's excited answer. "Buthe'll get his deserts yet, Mr. Otway; they have already begun. He wastreated to a ducking yesterday in Justice Hare's green pond. "

"And he did look a miserable devil when he came out, trailing throughthe streets, " added Mr. Ebenezer, while Otway Bethel burst into a laugh. "He was smothered into some hot blankets at the Raven, and a pint ofburnt brandy put into him. He seems all right to-day. "

"Will he go in and win?"

"Chut! Win against Carlyle! He has not the ghost of a chance; andgovernment--if it is the government who put him on--must be a pack offools; they can't know the influence of Carlyle. Bethel, is that styleof costume the fashion where you come from?"

"For slender pockets. I'll sell 'em to you now, James, at half price. Let's get a look at this Levison, though. I have never seen the fellow. "

Another interruption of the crowd, even as he spoke, caused by therailway van bringing up some luggage. They contrived, in the confusion, to push themselves to the front, not far from Sir Francis. Otway Bethelstared at him in unqualified amazement. 

"Why, what brings _him_ here? What is he doing?"

"Who?"

He pointed his finger. "The one with the white handkerchief in hishand. "

"That is Sir Francis. "

"No!" uttered Bethel, a whole world of astounded meaning in his tone. "By Jove! _He_ Sir Francis Levison?"

At that moment their eyes met, Francis Levison's and Otway Bethel's. Otway Bethel raised his shaggy hat in salutation, and Sir Francisappeared completely scared. Only for an instant did he lose his presenceof mind. The next, his eyeglass was stuck in his eye and turned on Mr. Bethel, with a hard, haughty stare; as much as to say, who are you, fellow, that you should take such a liberty? But his cheeks and lipswere growing as white as marble. 

"Do you know Levison, Mr. Otway?" inquired old Dill. 

"A little. Once. "

"When he was not Levison, but somebody else, " laughed Mr. EbenezerJames. "Eh, Bethel?"

Bethel turned as reproving a stare on Mr. Ebenezer as the baronet hadjust turned on him. "What do you mean, pray? Mind your own business. "

A nod to old Dill, and he turned off and disappeared, taking no furthernotice of James. The old gentleman questioned the latter. 

"What was that little bit of by-play, Mr. Ebenezer?"

"Nothing much, " laughed Mr. Ebenezer. "Only he, " nodding towards SirFrancis, "was not always the great man he is now. "

"Ah!"

"I have held my tongue about it, for it's no affair of mine, but I don'tmind letting you into the secret. Would you believe that that grandbaronet there, would-be member for West Lynne, used, years ago, tododge about Abbey Wood, mad after Afy Hallijohn? He didn't call himselfLevison then. "

Mr. Dill felt as if a hundred pins and needles were pricking at hismemory, for there rose up in it certain doubts and troubles touchingRichard Hare and one Thorn. He laid his eager hand upon the other's arm. "Ebenezer James, what did he call himself?"

"Thorn. A dandy, then, as he is now. He used to come galloping down theSwainson road at dusk, tie his horse in the woods, and monopolize MissAfy. "

"How do you know this?"

"Because I've seen it a dozen times. I was spooney after Afy myself inthose days, and went down there a good deal in an evening. If it hadn'tbeen for him, and--perhaps that murdering villain, Dick Hare, Afy wouldhave listened to me. Not that she cared for Dick; but, you see, theywere gentlemen. I am thankful to the stars, now, for my luck in escapingher. With her for a wife, I should have been in a pickle always; as itis, I do get out of it once in a while. "

"Did you know then that he was Francis Levison?"

"Not I. He called himself Thorn, I tell you. When he came down to offerhimself for member, and oppose Carlyle, I was thunderstruck--like Bethelwas a minute ago. Ho ho, said I, so Thorn's defunct, and Levison hasrisen. "

"What had Otway Bethel to do with him?"

"Nothing--that I know of. Only Bethel was fond of the woods also--afterother game than Afy, though--and may have seen Thorn often. You saw thathe recognized him. "

"Thorn--Levison, I mean--did not appear to like the recognition, " saidMr. Dill. 

"Who would, in his position?" laughed Ebenezer James. "I don't like tobe reminded of many a wild scrape of my past life, in my poor station;and what would it be for Levison, were it to come out that he oncecalled himself Thorn, and came running after Miss Afy Hallijohn?"

"Why did he call himself Thorn? Why disguise his own name?"

"Not knowing, can't say. _Is_ his name Levison, or is it Thorn?"

"Nonsense, Mr. Ebenezer!"

Mr. Dill, bursting with the strange news he had heard, endeavored toforce his way through the crowd, that he might communicate it to Mr. Carlyle. The crowd was, however, too dense for him, and he had to waitthe opportunity of escaping with what patience he might. When it came hemade his way to the office, and entered Mr. Carlyle's private room. Thatgentleman was seated at his desk, signing letters. 

"Why, Dill, you are out of breath!"

"Well I may be! Mr. Archibald, I have been listening to the mostextraordinary statement. I have found out about Thorn. Who do you thinkhe is?"

Mr. Carlyle put down his pen and looked full in the old man's face; hehad never seen him so excited. 

"It's that man, Levison. "

"I do not understand you, " said Mr. Carlyle. He did not. It was as goodas Hebrew to him. "The Levison of to-day, your opponent, is the Thornwho went after Afy Hallijohn. It is so, Mr. Archibald. "

"It cannot be!" slowly uttered Mr. Carlyle, thought upon thought workinghavoc with his brain. "Where did you hear this?"

Mr. Dill told his tale. Otway Bethel's recognition of him; Sir FrancisLevison's scared paleness, for he had noticed that; Mr. Ebenezer'srevelation. The point in it all, that finally settled most upon Mr. Carlyle, was the thought that if Levison were indeed the man, _he_ couldnot be instrumental in bringing him to justice. 

"Bethel has denied to me more than once that he knew Thorn, or was awareof such a man being in existence, " observed Mr. Carlyle. 

"He must have had a purpose in it, then, " returned Mr. Dill. "Theyknew each other to-day. Levison recognized him for certain, although hecarried it off with a high hand, pretending not. "

"And it was not as Levison, but as Thorn, that Bethel recognized him?"

"There's little doubt of that. He did not mention the name, Thorn;but he was evidently struck with astonishment at hearing that it wasLevison. If they have not some secret between them, Mr. Archibald, I'llnever believe my own eyes again. "

"Mrs. Hare's opinion is that Bethel had to do with the murder, " said Mr. Carlyle, in a low tone. 

"If that is their secret, Bethel knows the murderer, rely upon it, " wasthe answer. "Mr. Archibald, it seems to me that now or never is the timeto clear up Richard. "

"Aye; but how set about it?" responded Mr. Carlyle. 

Meanwhile Barbara had proceeded home in her carriage, her brain asbusy as Mr. Carlyle's, perhaps more troubled. Her springing lightly andhastily out the moment it stopped, disdaining the footman's arm, hercompressed lips and absent countenance, proved that her resolution wasset upon some plan of action. William and Madame Vine met her in thehall. 

"We have seen Dr. Martin, Mrs. Carlyle. "

"And he says--"

"I cannot stay to hear now, William. I will see you later, madame. "

She ran upstairs to her dressing-room, Madame Vine following her withher reproachful eyes. "Why should she care?" thought madame. "It is nother child. "

Throwing her parasol on one chair, her gloves on another, down satBarbara to her writing-table. "I will write to him; I will have himhere, if it be but for an hour!" she passionately exclaimed. "This shallbe, so far, cleared up. I am as sure as sure can be that it is that man. The very action Richard described! And there was the diamond ring! Forbetter, for worse, I will send for him; but it will not be for worse ifGod is with us. "

She dashed off a letter, getting up ere she had well begun it, to orderher carriage round again. She would trust none but herself to put it inthe post. 

"MY DEAR MR. SMITH--We want you here. Something has arisen that it isnecessary to see you upon. You can get here by Saturday. Be in _these_grounds, near the covered walk, that evening at dusk. Ever yours, "B. "

And the letter was addressed to Mr. Smith, of some street in Liverpool, the address furnished by Richard. Very cautions to see, was Barbara. Sheeven put "Mr. Smith, " inside the letter. 

"Now stop, " cried Barbara to herself, as she was folding it. "I ought tosend him a five pound note, for he may not have the means to come; and Idon't think I have one of that amount in the house. "

She looked in her secretaire. Not a single five-pound note. Out of theroom she ran, meeting Joyce, who was coming along the corridor. 

"Do you happen to have a five-pound note, Joyce?"

"No, ma'am, not by me. "

"I dare say Madame Vine has. I paid her last week, and there were twofive-pound notes amongst it. " And away went Barbara to the gray parlor. 

"Could you lend me a five-pound note, Madame Vine? I have occasion toenclose one in a letter, and find I do not possess one. "

Madame Vine went to her room to get it. Barbara waited. She askedWilliam what Dr. Martin said. 

"He tried my chest with--oh, I forget what they call it--and he said Imust be a brave boy and take my cod-liver oil well, and port wine, andeverything I liked that was good. And he said he should be at West Lynnenext Wednesday afternoon; and I am to go there, and he would call in andsee me. "

"Where are you to meet him?"

"He said, either at papa's office or at Aunt Cornelia's, as we mightdecide. Madame fixed it for papa's office, for she thought he might liketo see Dr. Martin. I say, mamma. "

"What?" asked Barbara. 

"Madame Vine has been crying ever since. Why should she?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Crying!"

"Yes but she wipes her eyes under her spectacles, and thinks I don't seeher. I know I am very ill, but why should she cry for that?"

"Nonsense, William. Who told you you were very ill?"

"Nobody. I suppose I am, " he thoughtfully added. "If Joyce or Lucycried, now, there'd be some sense in it, for they have known me all mylife. "

"You are so apt to fancy things! You are always doing it. It is notlikely that madame would be crying because you are ill. "

Madame came in with the bank-note. Barbara thanked her, ran upstairs, and in another minute or two was in her carriage. 

She was back again, and dressing when the gentlemen returned to dinner. Mr. Carlyle came upstairs. Barbara, like most persons who do thingswithout reflection, having had time to cool down from her ardor, wasdoubting whether she had acted wisely in sending so precipitately forRichard. She carried her doubt and care to her husband, her sure refugein perplexity. 

"Archibald, I fear I have done a foolish thing. "

He laughed. "I fear we all do that at times, Barbara. What is it?"

He had seated himself in one of Barbara's favorite low chairs, and shestood before him, leaning on his shoulder, her face a little behind, so that he could not see it. In her delicacy she would not look at himwhile she spoke what she was going to speak. 

"It is something that I have had upon my mind for years, and I did notlike to tell it to you. "

"For years?"

"You remember that night, years ago, when Richard was at the Grove indisguise--"

"Which night, Barbara? He came more than once. "

"The night--the night that Lady Isabel quitted East Lynne, " sheanswered, not knowing how better to bring it to his recollection andshe stole her hand lovingly into his, as she said it. "Richard came backafter his departure, saying he had met Thorn in Bean lane. He describedthe peculiar motion of the hand as he threw back his hair from his brow;he spoke of the white hand and the diamond ring--how it glittered in themoonlight. Do you remember?"

"I do. "

"The motion appeared perfectly familiar to me, for I had seen itrepeatedly used by one then staying at East Lynne. I wondered you didnot recognize it. From that night I had little doubt as to the identityof Thorn. I believed that he and Captain Levison were one. "

A pause. "Why did you not tell me so, Barbara?"

"How could I speak of that man to you, at that time? Afterwards, whenRichard was here, that snowy winter's day, he asserted that he knew SirFrances Levison; that he had seen him and Thorn together; and thatput me off the scent. But to-day, as I was passing the Raven, in thecarriage--going very slow, on account of the crowd--he was perched outthere, addressing the people, and I saw the very same action--the oldaction that I had used to see. "

Barbara paused. Mr. Carlyle did not interrupt her. 

"I feel a conviction that they are the same--that Richard must have beenunder some unaccountable mistake in saying that he knew Francis Levison. Besides, who but he, in evening dress, would have been likely to gothrough Bean lane that night? It leads to no houses, but one wishing toavoid the high road could get into it from these grounds, and so on toWest Lynne. He must have gone back directly on foot to West Lynne, toget the post carriage, as was proved, and he would naturally go throughBean lane. Forgive me, Archibald, for recalling these things to you, butI feel so sure that Levison and Thorn are one. "

"I know they are, " he quietly said. 

Barbara, in her astonishment drew back and stared him in the face--aface of severe dignity it was just then. 

"Oh, Archibald! Did you know it at that time?"

"I did not know it until this afternoon. I never suspected it. "

"I wonder you did not. I have wondered often. "

"So do I now. Dill, Ebenezer James, and Otway Bethel--who came hometo-day--were standing before the Raven, listening to his speech, whenBethel recognized him; not as Levison--he was infinitely astonished tofind he was Levison. Levison, they say, was scared at the recognition, and changed color. Bethel would give no explanation, and moved away; butJames told Dill that Levison was the man Thorn who used to be after AfyHallijohn. "

"How did you know?" breathlessly asked Barbara. 

"Because Mr. Ebenezer was after Afy himself, and repeatedly saw Thornin the wood. Barbara, I believe now that it was Levison who killedHallijohn, but I should like to know what Bethel had to do with it. "

Barbara clasped her hands. "How strange it is!" she exclaimed, in someexcitement. "Mamma told me, yesterday, that she was convinced somethingor other was going to turn up relative to the murder. She had had themost distressing dream, she said, connected with Richard and Bethel, and somebody else, whom she appeared to know in the dream, but couldnot recognize or remember when she was awake. She was as ill as couldbe--she does put such faith in these wretched dreams. "

"One would think you did also, Barbara, by your vehemence. "

"No, no; you know better. But it is strange--you must acknowledge thatit is--that, so sure as anything fresh happens touching the subject ofthe murder, so sure is a troubled dream the forerunner of it. Mamma doesnot have them at other times. Bethel denied to you that he knew Thorn. "

"I know he did. "

"And now it turns out that he does know him, and he is always in mamma'sdreams--none more prominent in them than Bethel. But, Archibald, I amnot telling you--I have sent for Richard. "

"You have?"

"I felt sure that Levison was Thorn. I did not expect that others wouldrecognize him, and I acted on the impulse of the moment and wrote toRichard, telling him to be here on Saturday evening. The letter isgone. "

"Well, we must shelter him as best we can. "

"Archibald--dear Archibald, what can be done to clear him?" she asked, the tears rising to her eyes. 

"Being Levison, I cannot act. "

"What!" she uttered. "Not act--not act for Richard!"

He bent his clear, truthful eyes upon her. 

"My dearest, how can I?"

She looked a little rebellious, and the tears fell. 

"You have not considered, Barbara. Any one in the world but Levison; itwould look like my own revenge. "

"Forgive me!" she softly whispered. "You are always right. I did notthink of it in that light. But, what steps do you imagine can be taken?"

"It is a case encompassed with difficulties, " mused Mr. Carlyle. "Let uswait until Richard comes. "

"Do you happen to have a five-pound note in your pocket, Archibald? Ihad not one to send to him, and borrowed it from Madame Vine. "

He took out his pocket book and gave it to her. 

In the gray parlor, in the dark twilight of the April evening--or it wasgetting far into the night--were William Carlyle and Lady Isabel. It hadbeen a warm day, but the spring evenings were still chilly, and a fireburned in the grate. There was no blaze, the red embers were smolderingand half dead, but Madame Vine did not bestir herself to heed the fire. William lay on the sofa, and she sat by, looking at him. Her glasseswere off, for the tears wetted them continually; and it was not therecognition of the children she feared. He was tired with the driveto Lynneborough and back, and lay with eyes shut; she thought asleep. Presently he opened them. 

"How long will it be before I die?"

The words took her utterly by surprise, and her heart went round in awhirl. "What do you mean, William? Who said anything about dying?"

"Oh, I know. I know by the fuss there is over me. You heard what Hannahsaid the other night. "

"What? When?"

"When she brought in the tea, and I was lying on the rug. I was notasleep, though you thought I was. You told her she ought to be morecautious, for that I might not have been asleep. "

"I don't remember much about it, " said Lady Isabel, at her wits' endshow to remove the impression Hannah's words must have created, had heindeed heard them. "Hannah talks great nonsense sometimes. "

"She said I was going on fast to the grave. "

"Did she? Nobody attends to Hannah. She is only a foolish girl. We shallsoon have you well, when the warm weather comes. "

"Madame Vine. "

"Well, my darling?"

"Where's the use of your trying to deceive me? Do you think I don't seethat you are doing it? I'm not a baby; you might if it were Archibald. What is it that's the matter with me?"

"Nothing. Only you are not strong. When you get strong again, you willbe as well as ever. "

William shook his head in disbelief. He was precisely that sort of childfrom whom it is next to impossible to disguise facts; quick, thoughtful, observant, and advanced beyond his years. Had no words been dropped inhis hearing, he would have suspected the evil, by the care evincedfor him, but plenty of words had been dropped; hints, by which he hadgathered suspicion; broad assertions, like Hannah's, which had too fullysupplied it; and the boy in his inmost heart, knew as well that deathwas coming for him as that death itself did. 

"Then, if there's nothing the matter with me, why could not Dr. Martinspeak to you before me to-day? Why did he send me into the other roomwhile he told you what he thought? Ah, Madame Vine, I am as wise asyou. "

"A wise little boy, but mistaken sometimes, " she said from her achingheart. 

"It's nothing to die, when God loves us. Lord Vane says so. He had alittle brother who died. "

"A sickly child, who was never likely to live, he had been pale andailing from a baby, " spoke Lady Isabel. 

"Why! Did you know him?"

"I--I heard so, " she replied, turning off her thoughtless avowal in thebest manner she could. 

"Don't _you_ know that I am going to die?"

"No. "

"Then why have you been grieving since we left Dr. Martin's? And why doyou grieve at all for me? I am not your child. "

The words, the scene altogether, overcame her. She knelt down by thesofa, and her tears burst forth freely. "There! You see!" cried William. 

"Oh, William, I--I had a little boy of my own, and when I look at you, Ithink of him, and that is why I cry. "

"I know. You have told us of him before. His name was William, too. "

She leaned over him, her breath mingling with his; she took his littlehand in hers; "William, do you know that those whom God loves best Hetakes first? Were you to die, you would go to Heaven, leaving all thecares and sorrows of the world behind you. It would have been happierfor many of us had we died in infancy. "

"Would it have been happier for you?"

"Yes, " she faintly said. "I have had more than my share of sorrow. Sometimes I think that I cannot support it. "

"Is it not past, then? Do you have sorrow now?"

"I have it always. I shall have it till I die. Had I died a child, William, I should have escaped it. Oh! The world is full of it! full andfull. "

"What sort of sorrow?"

"All sorts. Pain, sickness, care, trouble, sin, remorse, weariness, " shewailed out. "I cannot enumerate the half that the world brings upon us. When you are very, very tired, William, does it not seem a luxury, asweet happiness, to lie down at night in your little bed, waiting forthe bliss of sleep?"

"Yes. And I am often tired; so tired as that. "

"Then just so do we, who are tired of the world's cares, long for thegrave in which we shall lie down to rest. We _covet_ it, William; longfor it; but you cannot understand that. "

"_We_ don't lie in the grave, Madame Vine. "

"No, no, child. Our bodies lie there, to be raised again in beauty atthe last day. We go into a blessed place of rest, where sorrow and paincannot come. I wish--I wish, " she uttered, with a bursting heart, "thatyou and I were both there!"

"Who says the world's so sorrowful, Madame Vine? I think it is lovely, especially when the sun's shining on a hot day, and the butterfliescome out. You should see East Lynne on a summer's morning, when you arerunning up and down the slopes, and the trees are waving overhead, andthe sky's blue, and the roses and flowers are all out. You would notcall it a sad world. "

"A pleasant world one might regret to leave if we were not weariedby pain and care. But, what is this world, take it at its best, incomparison with that other world, Heaven? I have heard of some peoplewho are afraid of death; they fear they shall not go to it; but when Godtakes a little child there it is because He loves him. It is a land, as Mrs. Barbauld says, where the roses are without thorns, where theflowers are not mixed with brambles--"

"I have seen the flowers, " interrupted William, rising in hisearnestness. "They are ten times brighter than our flowers here. "

"Seen the flowers! The flowers we shall see in Heaven?" she echoed. 

"I have seen a picture of them. We went to Lynneborough to see Martin'spicture of the Last Judgment--I don't mean Dr. Martin, " said Williaminterrupting himself. 

"I know. "

"There were three pictures. One was called the 'Plains of Heaven, ' and Iliked that best; and so we all did. Oh, you should have seen it! Did youever see them, Madame Vine?"

"No. I have heard of them. "

"There was a river, you know, and boats, beautiful gondolas they looked, taking the redeemed to the shores of Heaven. They were shadowy figuresin white robes, myriads of them, for they reached all up in the air tothe holy city; it seemed to be in the clouds coming down from God. Theflowers grew on the banks of the river, pink, and blue, and violet, allcolors they were, but so bright and beautiful; brighter than our flowersare. "

"Who took you to see the pictures?"

"Papa. He took me and Lucy; and Mrs. Hare went with us, and Barbara--shewas not our mamma then. But, madame"--dropping his voice--"what stupidthing do you think Lucy asked papa?"

"What did she ask him?"

"She asked whether mamma was amongst that crowd in the white robes;whether she was gone up to Heaven? Our mamma that was, you know, andlots of people could hear what she said. "

Lady Isabel dropped her face upon her hands. 

"What did your papa answer?" she breathed. 

"I don't know. Nothing, I think; he was talking to Barbara. But it wasvery stupid of Lucy, because Wilson has told her over and over againthat she must never talk of Lady Isabel to papa. Miss Manning told herso too. When we got home, and Wilson heard of it, she said Lucy deserveda good shaking. "

"Why must not Lady Isabel be talked of to him?"

A moment after the question had left her lips, she wondered whatpossessed her to give utterance to it. 

"I'll tell you, " said William in a whisper. "She ran away from papa. Lucy talks nonsense about her having been kidnapped, but she knowsnothing. I do, though they don't think it, perhaps. "

"She may be among the redeemed, some time, William, and you with her. "

He fell back on the sofa-pillow with a weary sigh, and lay in silence. Lady Isabel shaded her face, and remained in silence also. Soon she wasaroused from it; William was in a fit of loud, sobbing tears. 

"Oh, I don't want to die! I don't want to die! Why should I go and leavepapa and Lucy?"

She hung over him; she clasped her arms around him; her tears, her sobs, mingling with his. She whispered to him sweet and soothing words; sheplaced him so that he might sob out his grief upon her bosom; and in alittle while the paroxysm had passed. 

"Hark!" exclaimed William. "What's that?"

A sound of talking and laughter in the hall. Mr. Carlyle, Lord MountSevern, and his son were leaving the dining-room. They had somecommittee appointed that evening at West Lynne and were departing tokeep it. As the hall-door closed upon them, Barbara came into the grayparlor. Up rose Madame Vine, scuffled on her spectacles, and took herseat soberly upon a chair. 

"All in the dark, and your fire going out!" exclaimed Barbara, as shehastened to stir the latter and send it into a blaze. "Who's on thesofa? William, you ought to be to bed!"

"Not yet, mamma. I don't want to go yet. "

"But it is quite time that you should, " she returned, ringing the bell. "To sit up at night is not the way to make you strong. "

William was dismissed. And then she returned to Madame Vine, andinquired what Dr. Martin had said. 

"He said the lungs were undoubtedly affected; but, like all doctors, hewould give no decisive opinion. I could see that he had formed one. "

Mrs. Carlyle looked at her. The firelight played especially upon thespectacles, and she moved her chair into the shade. 

"Dr. Martin will see him again next week; he is coming to West Lynne. I am sure, by the tone of his voice, by his evasive manner, that heanticipates the worst, although he would not say so in words. "

"I will take William into West Lynne myself, " observed Barbara. "Thedoctor will, of course, tell me. I came in to pay my debts, " she added, dismissing the subject of the child, and holding out a five-pound note. 

Lady Isabel mechanically stretched out her hand for it. 

"Whilst we are, as may be said, upon the money topic, " resumed Barbara, in a gay tone, "will you allow me to intimate that both myself and Mr. Carlyle very much disapprove of your making presents to the children. I was calculating, at a rough guess the cost of the toys and things youhave bought for them, and I think it must amount to a very large portionof the salary you have received. Pray do not continue this, MadameVine. "

"I have no one else to spend my money on; I love the children, " wasmadame's answer, somewhat sharply given, as if she were jealous of theinterference between her and the children, and would resent it. 

"Nay, you have yourself. And if you do not require much outlay, youhave, I should suppose, a reserve fund to which to put your money. Beso kind as to take the hint, madame, otherwise I shall be compelled moreperemptorily to forbid your generosity. It is very good of you, verykind; but if you do not think yourself, we must for you. "

"I will buy them less, " was the murmured answer. "I must give them alittle token of love now and then. "

"That you are welcome to do--a 'little token, ' once in a way, butnot the costly toys you have been purchasing. Have you ever had anacquaintance with Sir Francis Levison?" continued Mrs. Carlyle, passingwith abruptness from one point to another. 

An inward shiver, a burning cheek, a heartpang of wild remorse, and afaint answer. "No. "

"I fancied from your manner when I was speaking of him the other day, that you knew him or had known him. No compliment, you will say, toassume an acquaintance with such a man. He is a stranger to you, then?"

Another faint reply. "Yes. "

Barbara paused. 

"Do you believe in fatality, Madame Vine?"

"Yes, I do, " was the steady answer. 

"I don't, " and yet the very question proved that she did not whollydisbelieve it. "No, I don't, " added Barbara, stoutly, as she approachedthe sofa vacated by William, and sat down upon it, thus bringing herselfopposite and near to Madame Vine. "Are you aware that it was FrancisLevison who brought the evil to this house?"

"The evil----" stammered Madame Vine. 

"Yes, it was he, " she resumed, taking the hesitating answer for anadmission that the governess knew nothing, or but little, of pastevents. "It was he who took Lady Isabel from her home--though perhapsshe was as willing to go as he was to take her; I do know--"

"Oh, no, no!" broke from the unguarded lips of Madame Vine. "At least--Imean--I should think not, " she added, in confusion. 

"We shall never know; and of what consequence is it? One thing iscertain, _she went_; another thing, almost equally certain, is, she didnot go against her will. Did you ever hear the details?"

"N--o. " Her answer would have been "Yes, " but possibly the next questionmight have been, "From whom did you hear them?"

"He was staying at East Lynne. The man had been abroad; outlawed;dared not show his face in England; and Mr. Carlyle, in his generosity, invited him to East Lynne as a place of shelter, where he would be safefrom his creditors while something was arranged. He was a connection insome way of Lady Isabel's, and they repaid Mr. Carlyle, he and she, byquitting East Lynne together. "

"Why did Mr. Carlyle give that invitation?" The words were uttered in aspirit of remorseful wailing. Mrs. Carlyle believed they were a questionput, and she rose up haughtily against it. 

"Why did he give the invitation? Did I hear you aright, Madame Vine? DidMr. Carlyle know he was a reprobate? And, if he had known it, was notIsabel his wife? Could he dream of danger for her? If it pleased Mr. Carlyle to fill East Lynne with bad men to-morrow, what would that beto me--to my safety, to my well-being, to my love and allegiance to myhusband? What were you thinking of, madame?"

"Thinking of?" She leaned her troubled head upon her hand. Mrs. Carlyleresumed, --

"Sitting alone in the drawing-room just now, and thinking matters over, it did seem to me very like what people call a fatality. That man, Isay, was the one who wrought the disgrace, the trouble to Mr. Carlyle'sfamily; and it is he, I have every reason now to believe, who broughta nearly equal disgrace and trouble upon mine. Did you know--" Mrs. Carlyle lowered her voice--"that I have a brother in evil--in shame?"

Lady Isabel did not dare to answer that she did know it. Who had therebeen likely to inform her, the strange governess of the tale of RichardHare!

"So the world calls it--shame, " pursued Barbara, growing excited. "And it is shame, but not as the world thinks it. The shame lies withanother, who had thrust the suffering and shame upon Richard; and thatother is Francis Levison. I will tell you the tale. It is worth thetelling. "

She could only dispose herself to listen; but she wondered what FrancisLevison had to do with Richard Hare. 

"In the days long gone by, when I was little more than a child, Richardtook to going after Afy Hallijohn. You have seen the cottage in thewood; she lived there with her father and Joyce. It was very foolishfor him; but young men will be foolish. As many more went after her, orwanted to go after her, as she could count upon her ten fingers. Amongthem, chief of them, more favored even than Richard, was one calledThorn, by social position a gentleman. He was a stranger, and used toride over in secret. The night of the murder came--the dreadful murder, when Hallijohn was shot down dead. Richard ran away; testimony wasstrong against him, and the coroner's jury brought in a verdict of'Wilful Murder against Richard Hare the younger. ' We never supposed butwhat he was guilty--of the act, mind you, not of the intention; evenmamma, who so loved him, believed he had done it; but she believed itwas the result of accident, not design. Oh, the trouble that has beenthe lot of my poor mamma!" cried Barbara, clasping her hands. "And shehad no one to sympathize with her--no one, no one! I, as I tell you, waslittle more than a child; and papa, who might have done it, took partagainst Richard. It went on for three or four years, the sorrow, andthere was no mitigation. At the end of that period Richard came for afew hours to West Lynne--came in secret--and we learnt for the firsttime that he was _not_ guilty. The man who did the deed was Thorn;Richard was not even present. The next question was, how to find Thorn. Nobody knew anything about him--who he was, what he was, where he camefrom, where he went to; and thus more years passed on. Another Thorncame to West Lynne--an officer in her majesty's service; and hisappearance tallied with the description Richard had given. I assumedit to be the one; Mr. Carlyle assumed it; but, before anything could bedone or even thought of Captain Thorn was gone again. "

Barbara paused to take breath, Madame Vine sat listless enough. What wasthis tale to her?

"Again years went on. The period came of Francis Levison's sojourn atEast Lynne. Whilst I was there, Captain Thorn arrived once more, ona visit to the Herberts. We then strove to find out points of hisantecedents, Mr. Carlyle and I, and we became nearly convinced that hewas the man. I had to come here often to see Mr. Carlyle, for mamma didnot dare to stir in the affair, papa was so violent against Richard. Thus I often saw Francis Levison; but he was visible to scarcely anyother visitor, being at East Lynne _en cachette_. He intimated that hewas afraid of encountering creditors. I now begin to doubt whether thatwas not a false plea; and I remember Mr. Carlyle said, at the time, thathe had no creditors in or near West Lynne. "

"Then what was his motive for shunning society--for never going out?"interrupted Lady Isabel. Too well she remembered that bygone time;Francis Levison had told that the fear of his creditors kept him up soclosely; though he had once said to her they were not in the immediateneighborhood of East Lynne. 

"He had a worse fear upon him than that of creditors, " returned Mrs. Carlyle. "Singular to say, during this visit of Captain Thorn to theHerberts, we received an intimation from my brother that he was oncemore about to venture for a few hours to West Lynne. I brought the newsto Mr. Carlyle. I had to see him and consult with him more frequentlythan ever; mamma was painfully restless and anxious, and Mr. Carlyle aseager as we were for the establishment of Richard's innocence; for MissCarlyle and papa are related, consequently the disgrace may be said toreflect on the Carlyle name. "

Back went Lady Isabel's memory and her bitter repentance. She rememberedhow jealously she had attributed these meetings between Mr. Carlyle andBarbara to another source. Oh! Why had she suffered her mind to be sofalsely and fatally perverted?

"Richard came. It was hastily arranged that he should go privatelyto Mr. Carlyle's office, after the clerks had left for the night, beconcealed there, and have an opportunity given him of seeing CaptainThorn. There was no difficulty, for Mr. Carlyle was transacting somematter of business for the captain, and appointed him to be at theoffice at eight o'clock. A memorable night, that, to Mr. Carlyle, for itwas the one of his wife's elopement. "

Lady Isabel looked up with a start. 

"It was, indeed. She--Lady Isabel--and Mr. Carlyle were engaged to adinner party; and Mr. Carlyle had to give it up, otherwise he couldnot have served Richard. He is always considerate and kind, thinking ofothers' welfare--never of his own gratification. Oh, it was an anxiousnight. Papa was out. I waited at home with mamma, doing what I couldto sooth her restless suspense, for there was hazard to Richard in hisnight walk through West Lynne to keep the appointment; and, when it wasover, he was to come home for a short interview with mamma, who had notseen him for several years. "

Barbara stopped, lost in thought. Not a word spoke Madame Vine. Shestill wondered what this affair touching Richard Hare and Thorn couldhave to do with Francis Levison. 

"I watched from the window and saw them come in at the garden gate--Mr. Carlyle and Richard--between nine and ten o'clock, I think it must havebeen then. The first words they said to me were that it was not theCaptain Thorn spoken of by Richard. I felt a shock of disappointment, which was wicked enough of me, but I had been so sure he was the man;and to hear that he was not, seemed to throw us further back than ever. Mr. Carlyle, on the contrary, was glad for he had taken a liking toCaptain Thorn. Well, Richard went in to mamma, and Mr. Carlyle wasso kind as to accede to her request that he would remain and pace thegarden with me. We were so afraid of papa's coming home; he was bitteragainst Richard, and would inevitably have delivered him up at once tojustice. Had he come in, Mr. Carlyle was to keep him in the garden bythe gate whilst I ran in to give notice and conceal Richard in the hall. Richard lingered; papa did not come; and I cannot tell how long we pacedthere; but I had my shawl on, and it was a lovely moonlight night. "

That unhappy listener clasped her hands to pain. The matter-of-facttone, the unconscious mention of commonplace trifles, proved thatthey had not been pacing about in disloyalty to her, or for their owngratification. _Why_ had she not trusted her noble husband? Why had shelistened to that false man, as he pointed them out to her walking therein the moonlight? Why had she given vent, in the chariot, to that burstof passionate tears, of angry reproach? Why, oh! why had she hastenedto be revenged? But for seeing them together, she might not have done asshe did. 

"Richard came forth at last, and departed, to be again an exile. Mr. Carlyle also departed; and I remained at the gate, watching for papa. By and by Mr. Carlyle came back again; he had got nearly home when heremembered that he had left a parchment at our house. It seemed tobe nothing but coming back; for just after he had gone a second time, Richard returned in a state of excitement, stating that he had seenThorn--Thorn the murderer, I mean--in Bean lane. For a moment I doubtedhim, but not for long, and we ran after Mr. Carlyle. Richard describedThorn's appearance; his evening dress, his white hands and diamond ring;more particularly he described a peculiar motion of his hand as he threwback his hair. In that moment it flashed across me that Thorn must beCaptain Levison; the description was exact. Many and many a time sincehave I wondered that the thought did not strike Mr. Carlyle. "

Lady Isabel sat with her mouth open, as if she could not take in thesense of the words; and when it did become clear to her, she utterlyrejected it. 

"Francis Levison a murderer! Oh, no! bad man as he is, he is not that. "

"Wait, " said Mrs. Carlyle. "I did not speak of this doubt--nay, thisconviction--which had come; how could I mention to Mr. Carlyle the nameof the man who did him that foul wrong? And Richard has remained so longin exile, with the ban of guilt upon him. To-day as my carriage passedthrough West Lynne, Francis Levison was haranguing the people. I sawthat very same action--the throwing back of the hair with his whitehand. I saw the selfsame diamond ring; and my conviction that he was thesame man became more firmly seated than ever. "

"It is impossible!" murmured Lady Isabel. 

"Wait, I say, " said Barbara. "When Mr. Carlyle came home to dinner, I, for the first time, mentioned this to him. It was no news--the factwas not. This afternoon during that same harangue, Francis Levison wasrecognized by two witnesses to be the man Thorn--the man who went afterAfy Hallijohn. It is horrible. "

Lady Isabel sat and looked at Mrs. Carlyle. Not yet did she believe it. 

"Yes, it does appear to me as being perfectly horrible, " continued Mrs. Carlyle. "He murdered Hallijohn--he, that bad man; and my poor brotherhas suffered the odium. When Richard met him that night in Bean lane, hewas sneaking to West Lynne in search of the chaise that afterward boreaway him and his companion. Papa saw them drive away. Papa stayed outlate; and, in returning home, a chaise and four tore past, just as hewas turning in at the gate. If that miserable Lady Isabel had butknown with whom she was flying! A murderer! In addition to his otherachievements. It is a mercy for her that she is no longer alive. Whatwould her feelings be?"

What were they, then, as she sat there? A _murderer_? And she had----Inspite of her caution, of her strife for self-command, she turned of adeadly whiteness, and a low, sharp cry of horror and despair burst fromher lips. 

Mrs. Carlyle was astonished. Why should her communication have producedthis effect upon Madame Vine? A renewed suspicion that she knew more ofFrancis Levison than she would acknowledge, stole over her. 

"Madame Vine, what is he to you?" she asked, bending forward. 

Madame Vine, doing fierce battle with herself, recovered her outwardequanimity. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Carlyle, " she said, shivering;"I am apt to picture things too vividly. It is, as you say, so veryhorrible. "

"Is he nothing to you? Don't you know him?"

"He is nothing to me--less than nothing. As to knowing him--I saw himyesterday, when they put him into the pond. A man like that! I shouldshudder to meet him!"

"Ay, indeed!" said Barbara, reassured. "You will understand, MadameVine, that this history has been given to you in confidence. I look uponyou as one of ourselves. "

There was no answer. Madame Vine sat on, with her white face. She and itwore altogether a ghastly look. 

"It tells like a fable out of a romance, " resumed Mrs. Carlyle. "Wellfor him if the romance be not ended in the gibbet. Fancy what it wouldbe for him--Sir Francis Levison--to be hung for murder!"

"Barbara, my dearest!"

The voice was Mr. Carlyle's, and she flew off on the wings of love. Itappeared that the gentlemen had not yet departed, and now thought theywould take coffee first. 

She flew off to her idolized husband, leaving her who had once beenidolized to her loneliness. She sank down on the sofa; she threw herarms up in her heart-sickness; she thought she would faint; she prayedto die. It _was_ horrible, as Barbara had called it. For that manwith the red stain upon his hand and soul she had flung away ArchibaldCarlyle. 

If ever retribution came home to woman, it came home in that hour toLady Isabel. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

MR. CARLYLE INVITED TO SOME PATE DE FOIE GRAS. 

A sighing morning wind swept round the domains of East Lynne, bendingthe tall poplar trees in the distance, swaying the oak and elms nearer, rustling the fine old chestnuts in the park, a melancholy, sweeping, fitful wind. The weather had changed from brightness and warmth, andheavy, gathering clouds seemed to be threatening rain; so, at least, deemed one wayfarer, who was journeying on a solitary road that Saturdaynight. 

He was on foot. A man attired in the garb of a sailor, with black, curling ringlets of hair, and black, curling whiskers; a prodigiouspair of whiskers, hiding his neck above his blue, turned collar, hiding partially his face. The glazed hat, brought low upon his brows, concealed it still more; and he wore a loose, rough pea-jacket and widerough trousers hitched up with a belt. Bearing steadily on, he struckinto Bean lane, a by-way already mentioned in this history, and fromthence, passing through a small, unfrequented gate, he found himself inthe grounds of East Lynne. 

"Let me see, " mused he as he closed the gate behind him, and slipped thebolt. "The covered walk? That must be near the acacia trees. Then Imust wind round to the right. I wonder if either of them will be there, waiting for me?"

Yes. Pacing the covered walk in her bonnet and mantle, as if taking anevening stroll--had any one encountered her, which was very unlikely, seeing that it was the most retired spot in the grounds--was Mrs. Carlyle. 

"Oh, Richard! My poor brother!"

Locked in a yearning embrace, emotion overpowered both. Barbara sobbedlike a child. A little while, and then he put her from him, to look ather. 

"So Barbara, you are a wife now?"

"Oh, the happiest wife! Richard, sometimes I ask myself what I have donethat God should have showered down blessings so great upon me. Butfor the sad trouble when I think of you, my life would be as one longsummer's day. I have the sweetest baby--nearly a year old he is now; Ishall have another soon, God willing. And Archibald--oh, I am so happy!"

She broke suddenly off with the name "Archibald;" not even to Richardcould she speak of her intense love for, and happiness in her husband. 

"How is it at the Grove?" he asked. 

"Quite well; quite as usual. Mamma has been in better health lately. Shedoes not know of this visit, but--"

"I must see her, " interrupted Richard. "I did not see her the last time, you remember. "

"All in good time to talk of that. How are you getting on in Liverpool?What are you doing?"

"Don't inquire too closely, Barbara. I have no regular work, but I get ajob at the docks, now and then, and rub on. It is seasonable help, that, which comes to me occasionally from you. Is it from you or Carlyle?"

Barbara laughed. "How are we to distinguish? His money is mine now, andmine is his. We don't have separate purses, Richard; we send it to youjointly. "

"Sometimes I have fancied it came from my mother. "

Barbara shook her head. "We have never allowed mamma to know that youleft London, or that we hold an address where we can write to you. Itwould not have done. "

"Why have you summoned me here, Barbara? What has turned up?"

"Thorn has--I think. You would know him again Richard?"

"Know him!" passionately echoed Richard Hare. 

"Were you aware that a contest for the membership is going on at WestLynne?"

"I saw it in the newspapers. Carlyle against Sir Francis Levison. I say, Barbara, how could he think of coming here to oppose Carlyle after hisdoing with Lady Isabel?"

"I don't know, " said Barbara. "I wonder that he should come here forother reasons also. First of all, Richard, tell me how you came to knowSir Francis Levison. You say you did know him, and that you had seen himwith Thorn. "

"So I do know him, " answered Richard. "And I saw him with Thorn twice. "

"Know him by sight only, I presume. Let me hear how you came to knowhim. "

"He was pointed out to me. I saw him walk arm-in-arm with a gentleman, and I showed them to the waterman at the cab-stand hard by. 'Do you knowthat fellow?' I asked him, indicating Thorn, for I wanted to come at whohe really is--which I didn't do. 'I don't know that one, ' the old chapanswered, 'but the one with him is Levison the baronet. They are oftentogether--a couple of swells they looked. '"

"And that's how you got to know Levison?"

"That was it, " said Richard Hare. 

"Then, Richard, you and the waterman made a mess of it between you. Hepointed out the wrong one, or you did not look at the right. Thorn isSir Francis Levison. "

Richard stared at her with all his eyes. 

"Nonsense, Barbara!"

"He is, I have never doubted it since the night you saw him in Beanlane. The action you described, of his pushing back his hair, his whitehands, his sparkling diamond ring, could only apply in my mind to oneperson--Francis Levison. On Thursday I drove by the Raven, when he wasspeechifying to the people, and I noticed the selfsame action. In theimpulse of the moment I wrote off for you, that you might come andset the doubt at rest. I need not have done it, it seems, for when Mr. Carlyle returned home that evening, and I acquainted him with what I haddone, he told me that Thorn and Francis Levison are one and the same. Otway Bethel recognized him that same afternoon, and so did EbenezerJames. "

"They'd both know him, " eagerly cried Richard. "James I am positivewould, for he was skulking down to Hallijohn's often then, and saw Thorna dozen times. Otway Bethel must have seen him also, though he protestedhe had not. Barbara!"

The name was uttered in affright, and Richard plunged amidst the trees, for somebody was in sight--a tall, dark form advancing from the end ofthe walk. Barbara smiled. It was only Mr. Carlyle, and Richard emergedagain. 

"Fears still, Richard, " Mr. Carlyle exclaimed, as he shook Richardcordially by the hand. "So you have changed your travelling toggery. "

"I couldn't venture here again in the old suit; it had been seen, yousaid, " returned Richard. "I bought this rig-out yesterday, second-hand. Two pounds for the lot--I think they shaved me. "

"Ringlets and all?" laughed Mr. Carlyle. 

"It's the old hair oiled and curled, " cried Dick. "The barber charged ashilling for doing it, and cut my hair into the bargain. I told him notto spare grease, for I liked the curls to shine--sailors always do. Mr. Carlyle, Barbara says that Levison and that brute Thorn--the one's asmuch of a brute as the other, though--have turned out to be the same. "

"They have, Richard, as it appears. Nevertheless, it may be as well foryou to take a private view of Levison before anything is done--as youonce did by the other Thorn. It would not do to make a stir, and thendiscover that there was a mistake--that he was not Thorn. "

"When can I see him?" asked Richard, eagerly. 

"It must be contrived somehow. Were you to hang about the doors of theRaven--this evening, even--you'd be sure to get the opportunity, forhe is always passing in and out. No one will know you, or think of you, either: their heads are turned with the election. "

"I shall look odd to people's eyes. You don't get many sailors in WestLynne. "

"Not odd at all. We have a Russian bear here at present, and you'll benobody beside him. "

"A Russian bear!" repeated Richard, while Barbara laughed. 

"Mr. Otway Bethel has returned in what is popularly supposed to be abear's hide; hence the new name he is greeted with. Will it turn out, Richard that he had anything to do with the murder?"

Richard shook his head. 

"He couldn't have, Mr. Carlyle; I have said so all along. But aboutLevison. If I find him to be the man Thorn, what steps can then betaken?"

"That's the difficulty, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"Who will set it agoing. Who will move in it?"

"You must, Richard. "

"I!" uttered Richard Hare, in consternation. "I move in it!"

"You, yourself. Who else is there? I have been thinking it well over, and can hit upon no one. "

"Why, won't you take it upon yourself, Mr. Carlyle?"

"No. Being Levison, " was the answer. 

"Curse him!" impetuously retorted Richard. "Curse him doubly if he bethe double villain. But why should you scruple Mr. Carlyle? Most men, wronged as you have been, would leap at the opportunity for revenge. "

"For the crime perpetrated upon Hallijohn I would pursue him to thescaffold. For my own wrong, no. But the remaining negative has cost mesomething. Many a time, since this appearance of his at West Lynne, have I been obliged to lay violent control upon myself, or I should havehorsewhipped him within an ace of his life. "

"If you horsewhipped him to death he would only meet his deserts. "

"I leave him to a higher retribution--to One who says, 'Vengeance ismine. ' I believe him to be guilty of the murder but if the uplifting ofmy finger would send him to his disgraceful death, I would tie down myhand rather than lift it, for I could not, in my own mind, separatethe man from the injury. Though I might ostensibly pursue him as thedestroyer of Hallijohn, to me he would appear ever as the destroyerof another, and the world, always charitable, would congratulate Mr. Carlyle upon gratifying his revenge. I stir in it not, Richard. "

"Couldn't Barbara?" pleaded Richard. 

Barbara was standing with her arm entwined within her husband's, and Mr. Carlyle looked down as he answered, --

"Barbara is my wife. "

It was a sufficient answer. 

"Then the thing's again at an end, " said Richard, gloomily, "and I mustgive up hope of ever being cleared. "

"By no means, " said Mr. Carlyle. "The one who ought to act in this isyour father, Richard; but we know he will not. Your mother cannot. Shehas neither health nor energy for it; and if she had a full supply ofboth, she would not dare to brave her husband and use them in the cause. My hands are tied; Barbara's equally so, as part of me. There onlyremains yourself. "

"And what can I do?" wailed poor Dick. "If your hands are tied, I'm suremy whole body is, speaking in comparison; hands, and legs, and _neck_. It's in jeopardy, that is, every hour. "

"Your acting in this affair need not put it any the more in jeopardy. You must stay in the neighborhood for a few days--"

"I dare not, " interposed Richard, in a fright. "Stay in the neighborhoodfor a few days! No; that I never may. "

"Listen, Richard. You must put away these timorous fears, or else youmust make up your mind to remain under the ban for good; and, remember, your mother's happiness is at stake equally with yours--I could almostsay her life. Do you suppose I would advise you for danger? You usedto say there was some place, a mile or two from this, where you couldsojourn in safety. "

"So there is. But I always feel safer when I get away from it. "

"There your quarters must be, for two or three days at any rate. Ihave turned matters over in my own mind, and will tell you what I thinkshould be done, so far as the preliminary step goes, though I do notinterfere myself. "

"Only the preliminary step! There must be a pretty many to follow it, sir, if it's to come to anything. Well, what is it?"

"Apply to Ball & Treadman, and get them to take it. "

They were now slowly pacing the covered walk, Barbara on her husband'sarm, Richard by the side of Mr. Carlyle. Dick stopped when he heard thelast words. 

"I don't understand you, Mr. Carlyle. You might as well advise me to gobefore the bench of magistrates at once. Ball & Treadman would walk meoff there as soon as I showed myself. "

"Nothing of the sort, Richard. I do not tell you to go openly to theiroffice, as another client would. What I would advise is this--make afriend of Mr. Ball; he can be a good man and true, if he chooses; tellthe whole story to him in a private place and interview, and ask himwhether he will carry it through. If he is fully impressed with theconviction that you are innocent, as the facts appear to warrant, hewill undertake it. Treadman need know nothing of the affair at first;and when Ball puts things in motion, he need not know that you are here, or where you are to be found. "

"I don't dislike Ball, " mused Richard, "and if he would only give hisword to be true, I know he would be. The difficulty will be, who is toget the promise from him?"

"I will, " said Mr. Carlyle. "I will so far pave the way for you. Thatdone, my interference is over. "

"How will he go about it, think you, if he does take it up?"

"That is his affair. I know how I should. "

"How, sir?"

"You cannot expect me to say, Richard. I might as well act for you. "

"I know. You'd go at it slap-dash, and arrest Levison offhand on thecharge. "

A smile parted Mr. Carlyle's lips, for Dick had just guessed it. But hiscountenance gave no clue by which anything could be gathered. 

A thought flashed across Richard's mind; a thought which rose up on endeven his false hair. "Mr. Carlyle, " he uttered, in an accent of horror, "if Ball should take it up in that way against Levison, he must apply tothe bench for a warrant. "

"Well?" quietly returned Mr. Carlyle. 

"And they'd send and clap me into prison. You know the warrant is alwaysout against me. "

"You'd never make a conjurer, Richard. I don't pretend to say, or guessat, what Ball's proceedings may be. But, in applying to the bench fora warrant against Levison--should that form part of them--is there anynecessity for him to bring you in--to say: 'Gentlemen, Richard Hare iswithin reach, ready to be taken?' Your fears run away with your commonsense, Richard. "

"Ah, well, if you had lived with the cord around your neck this manya year, not knowing any one hour but it might get tied the next, you'dlose your common sense, too, at times, " humbly sighed poor Richard. "What's to be my first move, sir?"

"Your first move, Richard, must be to go to this place of concealment, which you know of, and remain quiet there until Monday. On Monday, atdusk, be here again. Meanwhile, I will see Ball. By the way, though, before speaking to Ball, I must hear from yourself that Thorn andLevison are one. "

"I will go down to the Raven at once, " eagerly cried Richard. "I'll comeback here, to this walk, as soon as I have obtained sight of him. " Withthe last words he turned, and was speeding off, when Barbara caught him. 

"You will be so tired, Richard. "

"Tired!" echoed Richard Hare. "A hundred miles on foot would not tire meif Thorn was at the end of them, waiting to be identified. I may notbe back for two or three hours, but I will come, and wait here till youcome out to me. "

"You must be hungry and thirsty, " returned Barbara, the tears in hereyes. "How I wish we dare have you in, and shelter you. But I can manageto bring some refreshments out here. "

"I don't require it, Barbara. I left the train at the station nextbefore West Lynne, and dropped into a roadside public house as I walked, and got a good supper. Let me go, dear, I am all in a fever. "

Richard departed, reached the part of West Lynne where the Raven wassituated, and was so far favored by fortune that he had not long towait. Scarcely had he taken up his lounge outside, when two gentlemencame forth from it, arm-in-arm. Being the headquarters of one of thecandidates, the idlers of the place thought they could not do betterthan make it their headquarters also, and the road and pavement werenever free from loitering starers and gossipers. Richard Hare, his hatwell over his eyes, and his black ringlets made the most of, only addedone to the rest. 

Two gentlemen came forth, arm-in-arm. The loiterers raised a feebleshout of "Levison forever!" Richard did not join in the shout, but hispulses were beating, and his heart leaped up within him. The one wasThorn; the other the gentleman he had seen with Thorn in London, pointedout to him--as he had believed--as Sir Francis Levison. 

"Which of those two is Levison?" he inquired of a man near whom hestood. 

"Don't you know him? Him with the hat off, bowing his thanks to us, isLevison. "

No need to inquire further. It was the Thorn of Richard's memory. Hisungloved hand, raised to his hat, was as white as ever; more sparklingthan ever, as it flashed in the street gaslight, was the diamond ring. By the hand and ring alone Richard would have sworn to the man, had itbeen needful. 

"Who is the other one?" he continued. 

"Some gent as came down from London with him. His name's Drake. Be youyellow, sailor, or be you scarlet-and-purple?"

"I am neither. I am only a stranger, passing through the town. "

"On the tramp?"

"Tramp? No. " And Richard moved away, to make the best of his progress toEast Lynne and report to Mr. Carlyle. 

Now it happened, on that windy night, that Lady Isabel, her minddisordered, her brow fevered with its weight of care, stole out intothe grounds, after the children had left her for the night, courting anydiscomfort she might meet. As if they could, even for a moment, coolthe fire within! To the solitude of this very covered walk bent sheher steps; and, not long had she paced it, when she descried some manadvancing, in the garb of a sailor. Not caring to be seen, she turnedshort off amidst the trees, intending to emerge again when he hadpassed. She wondered who he was, and what brought him there. 

But he did not pass. He lingered in the walk, keeping her a prisoner. A minute more and she saw him joined by Mrs. Carlyle. They met with aloving embrace. 

Embrace a strange man? Mrs. Carlyle? All the blood in Lady Isabel'sbody rushed to her brain. Was she, his second wife, false to him--moreshamelessly false than even herself had been, inasmuch as she had hadthe grace to quit him and East Lynne before--as the servant girlssay, when they change their sweethearts--"taking up" with another? Thepositive conviction that such was the case seized firm hold upon herfancy; her thoughts were in a tumult, her mind was a chaos. Was thereany small corner of rejoicing in her heart that it was so? And yet, whatwas it to her? It could not alter by one iota her own position--it couldnot restore to her the love she had forfeited. 

Coupled lovingly together, they were now sauntering up the walk, thesailor's arm thrown round the waist of Mrs. Carlyle. "Oh! The shamelesswoman!" Ay; she could be bitter enough upon graceless doings whenenacted by another. 

But, what was her astonishment when she saw Mr. Carlyle advance, and that his appearance caused not the slightest change in theirgracelessness, for the sailor's arm was not withdrawn. Two or threeminutes they stood--the three--talking together in a group. Then thegood-nights were exchanged, the sailor left them, and Mr. Carlyle, hisown arm lovingly pressed where the other's had been, withdrew with hiswife. The truth--that it was Barbara's brother--dashed to the mind ofLady Isabel. 

"Was I mad?" she cried, with a hollow laugh. "_She_ false to him? No, no; that fate was reserved for me alone!"

She followed them to the house--she glanced in at the windows of thedrawing-room. Lights and fire were in the room, but the curtains andwindows were not closed for the night, for it was through those windowsthat Mr. Carlyle and his wife had passed in and out on their visits tothe covered walk. There they were, alone in their happiness, and shestopped to glance in upon it. Lord Mount Severn had departed for London, to be down again early in the week. The tea was on the table, butBarbara had not begun to make it. She sat on the sofa, by the fire, herface, with its ever loving gaze upon it, turned up to her husband's. Hestood near, was talking with apparent earnestness, and looking down atBarbara. Another moment, and a smile crossed his lips, the same sweetsmile so often bent upon her in the bygone days. Yes, they were togetherin their unclouded happiness, and she--she turned away toward her ownlonely sitting-room, sick and faint at heart. 

Ball & Treadman, as the brass plate on their office door intimated, wereconveyancers and attorneys at law. Mr. Treadman, who attended chieflyto the conveyancing, lived at the office, with his family. Mr. Ball, abachelor, lived away; Lawyer Ball, West Lynne styled him. Not a youngbachelor; midway, he may have been between forty and fifty. A shortstout man, with a keen face and green eyes. He took up any practice thatwas brought to him--dirty odds and ends that Mr. Carlyle would not havetouched with his toe--but, as that gentleman had remarked, he could behonest and true upon occasion, and there was no doubt that he would beso to Richard Hare. To his house, on Monday morning, early, so as tocatch him before he went out, proceeded Mr. Carlyle. A high respect forMr. Carlyle had Lawyer Ball, as he had had for his father before him. Many a good turn had the Carlyles done him, if only helping him and hispartner to clients whom they were too fastidious to take up. But thetwo, Mr. Carlyle and Lawyer Ball did not rank alike, though theirprofession was the same; Lawyer Ball knew that they did not, and wascontent to feel humble. The one was a received gentleman; the other wasa country attorney. 

Lawyer Ball was at breakfast when Mr. Carlyle was shown in. 

"Halloo, Carlyle! You are here betimes. "

"Sit still; don't disturb yourself. Don't ring; I have breakfasted. "

"The most delicious _pate de foie_, " urged Lawyer Ball, who was aregular gourmand. "I get 'em direct from Strasbourg. "

Mr. Carlyle resisted the offered dainty with a smile. "I have come onbusiness, " said he, "not to feast. Before I enter upon it, you will giveme your word, Ball, that my communication shall be held sacred, in theevent of your not consenting to pursue it further. "

"Certainly I will. What business is it? Some that offends the delicacyof the Carlyle office?" he added, with a laugh. "A would-be client whomyou turn over to me in your exclusiveness?"

"It is a client for whom I cannot act. But not from the motives youassume. It concerns that affair of Hallijohn's, " Mr. Carlyle continued, bending forward, and somewhat dropping his voice. "The murder. "

Lawyer Ball, who had just taken in a delicious _bonne bouche_ of the_foie gras_, bolted it whole in his surprise. "Why, that was enactedages and ages ago; it is past and done with, " he exclaimed. 

"Not done with, " said Mr. Carlyle. "Circumstances have come to lightwhich tend to indicate that Richard Hare was innocent--that it wasanother who committed the murder. "

"In conjunction with him?" interrupted the attorney. 

"No: alone. Richard Hare had nothing whatever to do with it. He was noteven present at the time. "

"Do you believe that?" asked Lawyer Ball. 

"I have believed it for years. "

"Then who did do it?"

"Richard accuses one of the name of Thorn. Many years back--ten atleast--I had a meeting with Richard Hare, and he disclosed certain factsto me, which if correct, could not fail to prove that he was not guilty. Since that period this impression has been gradually confirmed by littleand by little, trifle upon trifle and I would now stake my life uponhis innocence. I should long ago have moved in this matter, hit or miss, could I have lighted upon Thorn, but he was not to be found, neither anyclue to him, and we now know that this name, Thorn, was an assumed one. "

"Is he to be found?"

"He is found. He is at West Lynne. Mark you, I don't accuse him--I donot offer an opinion upon his guilt--I only state my belief in Richard'sinnocence; it may have been another who did it, neither Richard norThorn. It was my firm intention to take Richard's case up, the instant Isaw my way clearly in it, and now that that time has come I am debarredfrom doing so. "

"What debars you?"

"Hence I come to you, " continued Mr. Carlyle, disregarding the question. "I come on the part of Richard Hare. I have seen him lately, andconversed with him. I gave him my reasons for not personally acting, advised him to apply to you, and promised to come here and open thematter. Will you see Richard in good faith, and hear his story, givingthe understanding that he shall depart unmolested, as he came, althoughyou do not decide to entertain the business?"

"I'll give it with all the pleasure in life, " freely returned theattorney. "I'm sure I don't want to harm poor Dick Hare, and if he canconvince me of his innocence, I'll do my best to establish it. "

"Of his own tale you must be the judge. I do not wish to bias you. Ihave stated my belief in his innocence, but I repeat that I give noopinion myself as to who else may be guilty. Hear his account, and thentake up the affair or not, as you may think fit. He would not cometo you without your previous promise to hold him harmless; to be hisfriend, in short, for the time being. When I bear this promise to himfor you, my part is done. "

"I give it to you in all honor, Carlyle. Tell Dick he has nothing tofear from me. Quite the contrary; for if I can befriend him, I shallbe glad to do it, and I won't spare trouble. What can possibly be yourobjection to act for him?"

"My objection applies not to Richard. I would willingly appear for him, but I will not take proceedings against the man he accuses. If that manis to be denounced and brought before justice, I will hold neither actnor part in it. "

The words aroused the curiosity of Lawyer Ball, and he began to turnover all persons, likely and unlikely, in his mind, never, accordingto usage, giving a suspicion to the right one. "I cannot fathom you, Carlyle. "

"You will do that better, possibly, when Richard shall have made hisdisclosure. "

"It's--it's--never his own father that he accuses? Justice Hare?"

"Your wits must be wool-gathering, Ball. "

"Well, so they must, to give utterance to so preposterous a notion, "acquiesced the attorney, pushing back his chair and throwing hisbreakfast napkin on the carpet. "But I don't know a soul you couldobject to go against except the justice. What's anybody else in WestLynne to you, in comparison to restoring Dick Hare to his fair fame? Igive it up. "

"So do I, for the present, " said Mr. Carlyle, as he rose. "And now, about the ways and means for your meeting this poor fellow. Where canyou see him?"

"Is he at West Lynne?"

"No. But I can get a message conveyed to him, and he could come. "

"When?"

"To-night, if you like. "

"Then let him come here to this house. He will be perfectly safe. "

"So be it. My part is now over, " concluded Mr. Carlyle. And with a fewmore preliminary words, he departed. Lawyer Ball looked after him. 

"It's a queer business. One would think Dick accuses some old flame ofCarlyle's--some demoiselle or dame he daren't go against. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN. 

On Monday evening the interview between Lawyer Ball and Richard Haretook place. With some difficulty would the lawyer believe his tale--notas to its broad details; he saw that he might give credit to them butas to the accusation against Sir Francis Levison. Richard persisted, mentioned every minute particular he could think of--his meeting himthe night of the elopement in Bean lane, his meetings with him again inLondon, and Sir Francis's evident fear of him, and thence pursuit, andthe previous Saturday night's recognition at the door of the Raven, notforgetting to tell of the anonymous letter received by Justice Hare themorning that Richard was in hiding at Mr. Carlyle's. There was no doubtin the world it had been sent by Francis Levison to frighten Mr. Hareinto dispatching him out of West Lynne, had Richard taken refuge in hisfather's home. None had more cause to keep Dick from falling into thehands of justice than Francis Levison. 

"I believe what you say--I believe all you say, Mr. Richard, touchingThorn, " debated the attorney; "but it's next to impossible to take in soastounding a fact as that he is Sir Francis Levison. "

"You can satisfy yourself of the fact from other lips than mine, " saidRichard. "Otway Bethel could testify to it if he would, though I doubthis willingness. But there's Ebenezer James. "

"What does he know about it?" asked the attorney, in surprise. "EbenezerJames is in our office at present. "

"He saw Thorn often enough in those days, and has, I hear, recognizedhim as Levison. You had better inquire of him. Should you object to takecause against Levison?"

"Not a bit of it. Let me be assured that I am upon safe grounds as tothe identity of the man, and I'll proceed in it forthwith. Levison is anout-and-out scoundrel, _as_ Levison, and deserves hanging. I will sendfor James at once, and hear what he says, " he concluded, after a pauseof consideration. 

Richard Hare started wildly up. "Not while I am here; he must not seeme. For Heaven's sake, consider the peril to me, Mr. Ball!"

"Pooh, pooh!" laughed the attorney. "Do you suppose I have but thisone reception-room? We don't let cats into cages where canary birds arekept. "

Ebenezer James returned with the messenger dispatched after him. 

"You'll be sure to find him at the singing saloon, " Mr. Ball had said;and there the gentleman was found. 

"Is it any copying, sir, wanted to be done in a hurry?" cried James, when he came in. 

"No, " replied the attorney. "I wish a question or two answered, that'sall. Did you ever know Sir Francis Levison to go by any name but hisown?"

"Yes, sir. He has gone by the name of Thorn. "

A pause. "When was this?"

"It was the autumn when Hallijohn was killed. Thorn used to be prowlingabout there in an evening--in the wood and at the cottage, I mean. "

"What did he prowl for?"

Ebenezer James laughed. "For the same reason that several more did--I, for one. He was sweet upon Afy Hallijohn. "

"Where was he living at the time? I never remember him in West Lynne. "

"He was not at West Lynne, sir. On the contrary, he seemed to takeprecious good care that West Lynne and he kept separate. A splendidhorse he rode, a thoroughbred; and he used to come galloping into thewood at dusk, get over his chat with Miss Afy, mount, and gallop awayagain. "

"Where to? Where did he come from?"

"From somewhere toward Swainson; a ten mile's ride, Afy used to say hehad. Now that he has appeared here in his own plumage, of course I canput two and two together, and not be at much fault for the exact spot. "

"And where's that?" asked the lawyer. 

"Levison Park, " said Mr. Ebenezer. "There's little doubt he was stoppingat his uncle's, and you know that is close to Swainson. "

Lawyer Ball thought things were becoming clearer--or darker, whateveryou may please to call it. He paused again, and then put a questionimpressively. 

"James, have you any doubt whatever, or shadow of doubt, that SirFrancis Levison is the same man you know as Thorn?"

"Sir, have I any doubt that you are Mr. Ball, or that I am Eb. James?"retorted Mr. Ebenezer. "I am as certain of that man's identity as I amof yours. "

"Are you ready to swear to that fact in a court of justice?"

"Ready and willing, in any court in the world. To-morrow, if I am calledupon. "

"Very well. You may go back to your singing club now. Keep a silenttongue in your head. "

"All close, sir, " answered Mr. Ebenezer James. 

Far into the middle of the night sat Lawyer Ball and Richard Hare, theformer chiefly occupied in taking notes of Richard's statement. 

"It's half a crochet, this objection of Carlyle's to interfere withLevison, " suddenly uttered Richard, in the midst of some desultoryconversation. "Don't you think so, Mr. Ball?"

The lawyer pursed up his lips. "Um! A delicate point. Carlyle was alwaysfastidiously honorable. _I_ should go at him, thunder and fury, in hisplace; but I and Carlyle are different. "

The following day, Tuesday, Mr. Ball was much occupied, putting, to usenearly Ebenezer James' words, that and that together. Later in the dayhe took a journey to Levison Park, ferreted out some information, andcame home again. On that same day, at evening, Richard departed forLiverpool--he was done with for the present--Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle being, as before, alone cognizant of his address. 

Wednesday morning witnessed the arrival again of the Earl of MountSevern. Lord Vane, too. The latter ought to have gone back to Eton, buthe had teased and prayed to be allowed to "see the fun out, " meaning theelection. "And that devil's discomfiture when he finds himself beaten, "he surreptitiously added, behind his father's back, who was a greatstickler for the boy's always being "gentlemanly. " So the earl hadyielded. They arrived, as before, about breakfast-time, having traveledall night. Subsequently, they and Mr. Carlyle walked into West Lynnetogether. 

West Lynne was alive and astir. The election was to come off thatweek, and people made it their business to be in a bustle over it, collectively and individually. Mr. Carlyle's committee sat at the Buck'sHead, and the traffic in and out was enough to wear the stones away. Thebench of justices were remarkably warm over it, neglecting the judicialbusiness, and showing themselves at the Buck's Head windows in purpleand scarlet streamers. 

"I will be with you in ten minutes, " said Mr. Carlyle, withdrawing hisarm from Lord Mount Severn's, as they approached his office, "but I mustgo in and read my letters. "

So the earl went on to the Buck's Head, and Lord Vane took a foot canterdown to the Raven, to reconnoiter it outside. He was uncommonly fond ofplanting himself where Sir Francis Levison's eyes were sure to fall uponhim--which eyes were immediately dropped, while the young gentleman'swould be fixed in an audacious stare. Being Lord Vane--or it may be morecorrect to say, being the Earl of Mount Severn's son, and under control, he was debarred from dancing and jeering after the yellow candidate, asthe unwashed gentry of his own age indulged in, but his tongue and hisfeet itched to do it. 

Mr. Carlyle took his seat in his private room, opened his letters, assorted them, marked on the back of some what was to be the purport oftheir answer, and then called in Mr. Dill. Mr. Carlyle put the lettersin his hand, gave some rapid instructions, and rose. 

"You are in a hurry, Mr. Archibald?"

"They want me at the Buck's Head. Why?"

"A curious incident occurred to me last evening, sir. I was anear-witness to a dispute between Levison and Otway Bethel. "

"Indeed!" carelessly replied Mr. Carlyle, who was busy at the timelooking for something in the deep drawer of the desk. 

"And what I heard would go far to hang Levison, if not Bethel. As sureas we are here, Mr. Archibald, they hold the secret of Hallijohn'smurder. It appears that Levison--"

"Stop!" interposed Mr. Carlyle. "I would prefer not to hear this. Levison may have murdered him, but it is no affair of mine, neithershall I make it such. "

Old Dill felt checkmated. "Meanwhile Richard Hare suffers, Mr. Archibald, " he observed, in a remonstrating tone. 

"I am aware he does. "

"Is it right that the innocent should suffer for the guilty?"

"No; very wrong. But the case is all too common. "

"If some one would take up Richard Hare's cause now, he might be provedinnocent, " added the old man, with a wistful look at Mr. Carlyle. 

"It is being taken up, Dill. "

A pause and a glad look. "That's the best news I have had for many aday, sir. But my evidence will be necessary to your case. Levison--"

"I'm not taking up the case. You must carry your news elsewhere. It isno affair of mine, I say. "

"Then who is taking it up?" echoed Mr. Dill, in astonishment. 

"Ball. He has had a meeting with Richard, and is now acting for himunder the rose. "

Mr. Dill's eyes sparkled. "Is he going to prosecute, Mr. Archibald?"

"I tell you I know nothing--I will know nothing. When the affair comesout to the public--if it ever does come out--I shall share in theinformation, Dill, and that is all. "

"Ah, well, I can understand. But I shall go on to their office at once, Mr. Archibald, and inform them of what I overheard, " spoke old Dill, invehement decision. 

"That is not my affair either, " laughed Mr. Carlyle, "it is yours. Butremember, if you do go, it is Ball, not Treadman. "

Waiting only to give certain orders to the head clerk, Mr. Dillproceeded to the office of Ball & Treadman. A full hour was he closetedthere with the senior partner. 

Not until three o'clock that afternoon did the justices take their seatson the bench. Scarcely were they seated when Lawyer Ball bustled in andcraved a secret hearing. His application was of the last importance, he promised, but, that the ends of justice might not be defeated it wasnecessary their worships should entertain it in private; he thereforecraved the bench to accord it to him. 

The bench consulted, looked wise, and, possibly possessing some latentcuriosity themselves upon the point, graciously acceded. They adjournedto a private room, and it was full half-past four before they came outof it. Very long faces, scared and grim, were their worships', as ifLawyer Ball's communication had both perplexed and confounded them. 

"This is the afternoon we are to meet Dr. Martin at papa's office, "William Carlyle had suddenly exclaimed that day at dinner. "Do we walkin, Madame Vine?"

"I do not know, William. Mrs. Carlyle is going to take you. "

"No, she is not; you are going to take me. "

A flush passed over Lady Isabel's face at the bare thought, though shedid not believe it. _She_ go to Mr. Carlyle's office! "Mrs. Carlyle toldme herself that she should take you, " was the reply. 

"All I know is, mamma told me this morning you would take me to WestLynne to-day, " persisted William. 

The discussion was interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Carlyle--interrupted and decided also. 

"Madame Vine, " she said, "you will be ready at three o'clock to go inwith William?"

Lady Isabel's heart beat. "I understood you to say that you should gowith him yourself, madame. "

"I know I did. I intended to do so, but I heard this morning that somefriends from a distance are coming this afternoon to call upon me, therefore I shall not go out. "

How she, Lady Isabel, wished that she dare say, also, "I shall not goout either. " But that might not be. Well, she must go through with it asshe had to go through with the rest. 

William rode his pony into West Lynne, the groom attending to take itback again. He was to walk home with Madame Vine, who walked both ways. 

Mr. Carlyle was not in when they arrived at the office. The boy wentboldly on to the private room, leaving Madame Vine to follow him. 

Presently Mr. Carlyle appeared. He was talking to Mr. Dill, who followedhim. 

"Oh, you are here, Madame Vine! I left word that you were to go intoMiss Carlyle's. Did I not leave word, Dill?"

"Not with me, sir. "

"I forgot it, then; I meant to do so. What is the time?" He looked athis watch: ten minutes to four. "Did the doctor say at what hour heshould call?" Mr. Carlyle added to Madame Vine. 

"Not precisely. I gathered that it would be very early in theafternoon. "

"Here he is!" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle with alacrity, as he went into thehall. She supposed he alluded to the physician--supposed he had seen himpass the window. Their entrance together woke up William. 

"Well, " said the doctor, who was a little man with a bald head, "and howfares it with my young patient? _Bon jour_ madame. "

"_Bon jour_, monsieur, " responded she. She wished everybody wouldaddress her in French, and take her for French; there seemed less chanceof recognition. She would have to speak in good plain English, however, if she must carry on conversation with the doctor. Beyond a familiarphrase or two, he was something like Justice Hare--_Nong parley Fronsay_me!

"And how does the cod-liver oil get on?" asked the doctor of William, ashe drew him to the light. "It is nicer now than it used to be, eh?"

"No, " said William; "it is nastier than ever. "

Dr. Martin looked at the boy; felt his pulse, his skin, listened to hisbreathing. "There, " said he, presently, "you may sit down and have yournap out. "

"I wish I might have something to drink; I am very thirsty. May I ringfor some water, papa?"

"Go and find your aunt's maid, and ask her for some, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"Ask her for milk, " called out Dr. Martin. "Not water. "

Away went William. Mr. Carlyle was leaning against the side of thewindow; Dr. Martin folded his arms before it: Lady Isabel stood near thelatter. The broad, full light was cast upon all, but the thick veil hidLady Isabel's face. It was not often she could be caught without thatveil, for she seemed to wear her bonnet at all sorts of seasonable andunseasonable times. 

"What is your opinion, doctor?" asked Mr. Carlyle. 

"Well, " began the doctor, in a _very_ professional tone, "the boy iscertainly delicate. But--"

"Stay, Dr. Martin, " was the interruption, spoken in a low, impressivevoice, "you will deal candidly with me. I must know the truth, withoutdisguise. Tell it me freely. "

Dr. Martin paused. "The truth is not always palatable, Mr. Carlyle. "

"True. But for that very reason, all the more necessary. Let me hear theworst. And the child has no mother, you know, to be shocked with it. "

"I fear that it will be the worst. "

"Death?"

"Ay. The seeds of consumption must have been inherent in him. They areshowing out too palpably. "

"Is there _no_ hope for the child?"

Dr. Martin looked at him. "You bade me give you the truth. "

"Nothing else; nothing but the truth, " returned Mr. Carlyle, his toneone of mingled pain and command. 

"Then, there is none; no hope whatever. The lungs are extensivelydiseased. "

"And how long--"

"That I cannot say, " interrupted the doctor, divining what the nextquestion was to be. "He may linger on for months; for a year, it mayeven be; or a very short period may see the termination. Don't worry himwith any more lessons and stuff of learning; he'll never want it. "

The doctor cast his eyes on the governess as he spoke; the injunctionconcerned her as much as it did Mr. Carlyle. And the doctor started, forhe thought she was fainting; her face had become so ghastly white; hecould see it through her veil. 

"You are ill, madame! You are ill? _Trouve malade_, don't you?"

She opened her lips to speak; her trembling lips, that would not obeyher. Dr. Martin, in his concern, pulled off the blue spectacles. Shecaught them from him with one hand, sat down on the nearest chair, andhid her face with the other. 

Mr. Carlyle, scarcely understanding the scuffle, came forward. "Are youill, Madame Vine?"

She was putting her spectacles under her veil, her face whiter thanever. "Pray do not interrupt your conversation to pay attention to me! Ithank you; I thank you both. I am subject to--slight spasms, and they domake me look ill for the moment. It has passed now. "

The doctor turned from her; Mr. Carlyle resumed his place by the window. "What should be the treatment?" asked the latter. 

"Almost anything you please--that the boy himself likes. Let him play orrest, ride or walk, eat and drink, or let it alone; it cannot make muchdifference. "

"Doctor! You yield it, as a last hope, very lightly. "

Dr. Martin shook his head. "I speak as I _know_. You insisted on havingmy true opinion. "

"A warmer climate?" suggested Mr. Carlyle eagerly, the idea crossing hismind. 

"It might prolong the end for a little while--a few weeks, perhaps--avert it it could not. And who could take him? You could notgo; and he has no mother. No! I should not advise it. "

"I wish you would see Wainwright--with reference to William. "

"I have seen him. I met him this afternoon, by chance, and told him myopinion. How is Mrs. Carlyle?"

"Pretty well. She is not in robust health, you are aware, just now. "

Dr. Martin smiled. "These things will happen. Mrs. Carlyle has athoroughly good constitution; a far stronger one than--than----"

"Than what?" said Mr. Carlyle, wondering why he hesitated. 

"You must grant me pardon. I may as well finish, now I have begun; butI was not thinking when I spoke. She is stronger than was Lady Isabel. Imust be off to catch the six train. "

"You will come over from time to time to East Lynne to see William?"

"If you wish it. It may be a satisfaction, perhaps. _Bon jour_, madame. "

Lady Isabel bowed to him as he left the room with Mr. Carlyle. "How fondthat French governess of yours is of the boy!" the doctor whispered, as they crossed the hall. "I detected it when she brought him toLynneborough. And you saw her just now! That emotion was all because hecould not live. Good-bye. "

Mr. Carlyle grasped his hand. "Doctor, I _wish_ you could save him!" hepassionately uttered. 

"Ah, Carlyle! If we humble mites of human doctors could but keep thosewhom it is the Great Physician's pleasure to take, how we should be runafter! There's hidden mercy, remember, in the darkest cloud. Farewell myfriend. "

Mr. Carlyle returned to the room. He approached Lady Isabel, lookingdown upon her as she sat; not that he could see much of her face. "Theseare grievous tidings. But you were more prepared for them, I fancy, thanI was. "

She started suddenly up, approached the window, and looked out, as ifshe saw somebody passing whom she would gaze at. All of emotion wasstirred up within her--her temples throbbed, her throat beat, her breathbecame hysterical. Could she bear thus to hold confidential conversewith him over the state of their child? She pulled off her gloves forcoolness to her burning hands, she wiped the moisture from her paleforehead, she struggled manfully for calmness. What excuse could sheoffer to Mr. Carlyle?

"I had begun to like the boy so very much, sir, " she said, half turninground. "And the doctor's fiat, too plainly pronounced has given me pain;pain to agitation. "

Again Mr. Carlyle approached her, following close up to where she stood. "You are very kind, thus to feel an interest in my child. "

She did not answer. 

"Here, papa, papa! I want you, " cried William, breaking into the room. "Let me walk home with you? Are you going to walk?"

How could he find it in his heart to deny anything to the child then?

"Very well, " he said. "Stay here till I come for you. "

"We are going home with papa, " proclaimed William to Madame Vine. 

Madame Vine did not relish the news. But there was no help for it. Ina very short time Mr. Carlyle appeared, and they set off; he holdingWilliam's hand; madame walking on the other side of the child. 

"Where's William Vane, papa?" asked the boy. 

"He has gone on with Lord Mount Severn. "

Scarcely had the words been spoken, when some one came bolting out ofthe post-office, and met them face to face; almost ran against them infact, creating some hindrance. The man looked confused, and slunk offinto the gutter. And you will not wonder that he did, when you hear thatit was Francis Levison. William, child like, turned his head to gaze atthe intruder. 

"I would not be an ugly bad man like him for the world, " quoth he, as heturned his back again. "Would you, papa?"

Mr. Carlyle did not answer, and Isabel cast an involuntary glanceupon him from her white face. His was impassive, save that a cast ofineffable scorn marred the delicate beauty of his lips. If humiliationfor the past had never wrung Lady Isabel's heart before, it would havewrung it then. 

At Mr. Justice Hare's gate they encountered that gentleman, who appearedto be standing there to give himself an airing. William caught sightof Mrs. Hare seated on the garden bench, outside the window, and ran tokiss her. All the children loved Mrs. Hare. The justice was looking--notpale; that would not be a term half strong enough: but yellow. The curlsof his best wig were limp, and all his pomposity appeared to have goneout of him. 

"I say, Carlyle, what on earth's this?" cried he, in a tone that, forhim, was wonderfully subdued and meek. "I was not on the bench thisafternoon, but Pinner has been telling me--of an application that wasmade to them in private. It's not true, you know; it can't be; it's toofar-fetched a tale. What do you know about it?"

"Nothing, " said Mr. Carlyle. "I do not know what you are talking of. Ihave been privy to no application. "

"It seems they want to make out now that Dick never murdered Hallijohn, "proceeded the justice, in a half whisper, glancing round as if to besure that there were no eaves-droppers amidst the trees. 

"Oh, " said Mr. Carlyle. 

"But that Levison did. _Levison_!"

Mr. Carlyle made no reply, save by a gesture; his face more impassivethan before. Not so another face beside him, a fair face; that turnedwhite again with emotion as she listened. 

"But it can't be, you know. It can't, I say. "

"So far as Richard's innocence goes, of that I have long beenconvinced, " spoke Mr. Carlyle. 

"And that Levison's guilty?" returned the justice, opening his eyes inpuzzled wonderment. 

"I have no opinion upon that point, " was the cold rejoinder. 

"It's impossible, I say. Dick can't be innocent. You may as well tell methat the world's turned upside down. "

"It is, sometimes, I think. That Richard was not the guilty man will beproved yet, justice, in the broad face of day. "

"If--if--that other did do it, I should think you'd take the warrant outof the hands of the police and capture him yourself. "

"I would not touch him with a pair of tongs, " spoke Mr. Carlyle, hislips curling again. "If the man goes to his punishment, he goes; but Ido not help him on his road thither. "

"_Can_ Dick be innocent?" mused the justice, returning to the thoughtwhich so troubled his mind. "Then why has he kept away? Why did he notcome back and say so?"

"That you might deliver him up, justice. You know you took an oath to doit. "

The justice looked green, and remarkably humble. 

"Oh, but Carlyle, " impulsively spoke he, the thought occurring to him, "what an awful revenge this would have been for you on--somebody--hadshe lived. How her false step would have come home to her now!"

"False steps come home to most people, " responded Mr. Carlyle, as hetook William by the hand, who then ran up. And, lifting his hat to Mrs. Hare in the distance, he walked on. 

She, Lady Isabel, walked on, too, by the side of the child, as before, walked on with a shivering frame, and a heart sick unto death. Thejustice looked after her, his mind unoccupied. He was in a maze ofbewilderment. Richard innocent! Richard, whom he had striven to pursueto a shameful end! And that other the guilty one! The world _was_turning upside down. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MRS. CARLYLE IN FULL DRESS, AFY ALSO. 

Merrily rose West Lynne on Thursday morning; merrily rang out the bells, clashing and chiming. The street was alive with people; the windows werecrowded with heads; something unusual was astir. It was the day of thenomination of the two candidates, and everybody took the opportunity tomake a holiday. 

Ten o'clock was the hour named; but, before that hour struck, West Lynnewas crammed. The country people had come in, thick and threefold; richand poor; people of note, and people of none; voters and non-voters, all eager to mix themselves up with the day's proceedings. You see thenotorious fact of Sir Francis Levison's having come forward to opposeMr. Carlyle, caused greater interest in this election than is usual, even in small country places--and that need not be. Barbara drove in hercarriage, the two children with her, and the governess. The governesssaid she preferred to remain at home. Barbara would not hear of it;almost felt inclined to resent it as a slight; besides, if she took nointerest in Mr. Carlyle, she must go to take care of Lucy; she, Barbara, would be too much occupied to look after children. So Madame Vine, perforce, stepped into the barouche and sat opposite to Mrs. Carlyle, her thick veil shading her features, and their pallor contrasting withthe blue spectacles. 

They alighted at the residence of Miss Carlyle. Quite a gathering wasalready there. Lady and Miss Dobede, the Herberts, Mrs. Hare, and manyothers; for the house was in a good spot for seeing the fun; and allthe people were eager to testify their respect to Mr. Carlyle, incontradiction to that other one. Miss Carlyle was in full rig; abrocaded dress, and a scarlet-and-purple bow in front of it, the size ofa pumpkin. It was about the only occasion, in all Miss Carlyle's life, that she deemed it necessary to attire herself beyond common. Barbarawore no bow, but she exhibited a splendid bouquet of scarlet-and-purpleflowers. Mr. Carlyle had himself given it to her that morning. 

Mr. Carlyle saw them all at the windows of the large upper drawing-room, and came in; he was then on his way to the town-hall. Shaking hands, laughter, hearty and hasty good wishes; and he quitted the room again. Barbara stole after him for a sweeter farewell. 

"God bless you and prosper you, Archibald, my dearest!"

The business of the day began. Mr. Carlyle was proposed by Sir JohnDobede, and seconded by Mr. Herbert. Lord Mount Severn, than whom nota busier man was there, would willingly have been proposer and secondertoo, but he had no local influence in the place. Sir Francis Levisonwas proposed also by two gentlemen of standing. The show of hands wasdeclared to be in favor of Mr. Carlyle. It just was in favor of him;about twenty to one. Upon which the baronet's friends demanded a poll. 

Then all was bustle, and scuffle, and confusion, every one tearingaway to the hustings, which had been fixed in a convenient spot, the town-hall, not affording the accommodation necessary for a poll. Candidates, and proposers and seconders, and gentlemen, and officers, and mob, hustling and jostling each other. Mr. Carlyle was linkedarm-in-arm with Sir John Dobede; Sir John's arm was within Lord MountSevern's--but, as to order, it was impossible to observe any. To gainthe place they had to pass the house of Miss Carlyle. Young Vane, whowas in the thick of the crowd, of course, cast his eyes up to its linedwindows, took off his hat and waved it. "Carlyle and honor forever!"shouted he. 

The ladies laughed and nodded, and shook their handkerchiefs, anddisplayed their scarlet and purple colors. The crowd took up the shout, till the very air echoed with it. "Carlyle and honor forever!" Barbara'stears were falling; but she smiled through them at one pair of lovingeyes, which sought out hers. 

"A galaxy of beauty!" whispered Mr. Drake in the ear of Sir Francis. "How the women rally round him! I tell you what, Levison, you and thegovernment were stupid to go on with the contest, and I said so daysago. You have no more chance against Carlyle than that bit of straw hasagainst the wind. You ought to have withdrawn in time. "

"Like a coward?" angrily returned Sir Francis. "No, I'll go on with itto the last, though I do get beaten. "

"How lovely his wife is, " observed Mr. Drake, his admiring eyes cast upat Barbara. "I say, Levison, was the first one as charming?"

Sir Francis looked perfectly savage; the allusion did not pleasehim. But, ere another word could be spoken, some one in the garb of apoliceman, who had wound his way through the crowd, laid his hand uponthe baronet. 

"Sir Francis Levison, you are my prisoner. "

Nothing worse than _debt_ occurred at that moment to the mind of SirFrancis. But that was quite enough, and he turned purple with rage. 

"Your hands off, vermin! How dare you?"

A quick movement, a slight click, a hustle from the wondering crowd moreimmediately around, and the handcuffs were on. Utter amazementalone prevented Mr. Drake from knocking down the policeman. A dozenvituperating tongues assailed him. 

"I'm sorry to do it in this public place and manner, " spoke the officer, partly to Sir Francis, partly to the gentlemen around, "but I couldn'tcome across you last night, do as I would. And the warrant has been inmy hands since five o'clock yesterday afternoon. Sir Francis Levison, Iarrest you for the wilful murder of George Hallijohn. "

The crowd fell back; the crowd was paralyzed with consternation; theword was passed from one extreme to the other, and back and acrossagain, and the excitement grew high. The ladies looking from MissCarlyle's windows saw what had happened, though they could not divinethe cause. Some of them turned pale at sight of the handcuffs, and MaryPinner, an excitable girl, fell into a screaming fit. 

Pale! What was their gentle paleness compared with the frightfully lividone of Francis Levison? His agitation was pitiable to witness, his facea terror to look upon; once or twice he gasped, as if in an agony; andthen his eyes happened to fall on Otway Bethel, who stood near. Shornof his adornments--which might not be thought adornments upon paper--thefollowing was the sentence that burst involuntarily from his lips, --

"You hound! It is you who have done this!"

"No! by--" Whether Mr. Otway Bethel was about to swear by Jupiter orJuno never was decided, the sentence being cut ignominiously short atthe above two words. Another policeman, in the summary manner exercisedtowards Sir Francis, had clapped a pair of handcuffs upon _him_. 

"Mr. Otway Bethel, I arrest you as an accomplice in the murder of GeorgeHallijohn. "

You may be sure that the whole assembly was arrested, too--figuratively--and stood with eager gaze and open ears. ColonelBethel, quitting the scarlet-and-purple, flashed into those of theyellows. He knew his nephew was graceless enough; but--to see him with apair of handcuffs on!

"What does all this mean?" he authoritatively demanded of the officers. 

"It's no fault of ours, colonel, we have but executed the warrant, "answered one of them. "The magistrate, issued it yesterday against thesetwo gentlemen, on suspicion of their being concerned in the murder ofHallijohn. "

"In conjunction with Richard Hare?" cried the astounded colonel, gazingfrom one to the other, prisoners and officers, in scared bewilderment. 

"It's alleged now that Richard Hare didn't have nothing to do with it, "returned the man. "It's said he is innocent. I'm sure I don't know. "

"I swear that I am innocent, " passionately uttered Otway Bethel. 

"Well, sir, you have only got to prove it, " civilly rejoined thepoliceman. 

Miss Carlyle and Lady Isabel leaned from the window, their curiosity toomuch excited to remain silent longer. Mrs. Hare was standing by theirside. 

"What is the matter?" both asked of the upturned faces immediatelybeneath. 

"Them two--the fine member as wanted to be, and young Bethel--bearrested for murder, " spoke a man's clear voice in answer. "The taleruns as they murdered Hallijohn, and then laid it on the shoulders ofyoung Dick Hare, who didn't do it after all. "

A faint wailing cry of startled pain, and Barbara flew to Mrs. Hare, from whom it proceeded. 

"Oh, mamma, my dear mamma, take comfort! Do not suffer this to agitateyou to illness. Richard _is_ innocent, and it will surely be so proved. Archibald, " she added, beckoning to her husband in her alarm, "come, ifyou can, and say a word of assurance to mamma!"

It was impossible that Mr. Carlyle could hear the words, but he couldsee that his wife was greatly agitated, and wanted him. 

"I will be back with you in a few moments, " he said to his friends, ashe began to elbow his way through the crowd, which made way when theysaw who the elbower was. 

Into another room, away from the gay visitors, they got Mrs. Hare, andMr. Carlyle locked the door to keep them out, unconsciously taking outthe key. Only himself and his wife were with her, except Madame Vine, in her bonnet, who had been dispatched by somebody with a bottle ofsmelling salts. Barbara knelt at her mamma's feet; Mr. Carlyle leanedover her, her hands held sympathizingly in his. Madame Vine would haveescaped, but the key was gone. 

"Oh, Archibald, tell me the truth. _You_ will not, deceive me?" shegasped, in earnest entreaty, the cold dew gathering on her pale, gentleface. "Is the time come to prove my boy's innocence?"

"It is. "

"Is it possible that it can be that false, bad man who is guilty?"

"From my soul I believe him to be, " replied Mr. Carlyle, glancing roundto make sure that none could hear the assertion save those present. "Butwhat I say to you and Barbara, I would not say to the world. Whateverbe the man's guilt, I am not his Nemesis. Dear Mrs. Hare, take courage, take comfort--happier days are coming round. "

Mrs. Hare was weeping silently. Barbara rose and laid her mamma's headlovingly upon her bosom. 

"Take care of her, my darling, " Mr. Carlyle whispered to his wife. "Don't leave her for a moment, and don't let that chattering crew infrom the next room. I beg your pardon, madame. "

His hand had touched Madame Vine's neck in turning round--that is, hadtouched the jacket that encased it. He unlocked the door and regainedthe street, while Madame Vine sat down with her beating and rebelliousheart. 

Amidst the shouts, the jeers, and the escort of the mob, Sir FrancisLevison and Otway Bethel were lodged in the station-house, preparatoryto their examination before the magistrates. Never, sure, was somortifying an interruption known. So thought Sir Francis's party. Andthey deemed it well, after some consultation amongst themselves, towithdraw his name as a candidate for the membership. That he never had ashadow of chance from the first, most of them knew. 

But there's an incident yet to tell of the election day. You haveseen Miss Carlyle in her glory, her brocaded silk standing on end withrichness, her displayed colors, her pride in her noble brother. But nowcould you--or she, which it is more to the purpose--have divined who andwhat was right above her head at an upper window, I know not what theconsequence would have been. 

No less an eyesore to Miss Carlyle than that "brazen hussy, " AfyHallijohn! Smuggled in by Miss Carlyle's servants, there she was--infull dress, too. A green-and-white checked sarcenet, flounced up to thewaist, over a crinoline extending from here to yonder; a fancy bonnet, worn on the plait of hair behind, with a wreath and a veil; delicatewhite gloves, and a swinging handkerchief of lace, redolent of musk. Itwas well for Miss Corny's peace of mind ever after that she remainedin ignorance of that daring act. There stood Afy, bold as a sunflower, exhibiting herself and her splendor to the admiring eyes of the mobbelow, gentle and simple. 

"He is a handsome man, after all, " quoth she to Miss Carlyle's maids, when Sir Francis Levison arrived opposite the house. 

"But such a horrid creature!" was the response. "And to think that heshould come here to oppose Mr. Archibald!"

"What's that?" cried Afy. "What are they stopping for? There are twopolicemen there! Oh!" shrieked Afy, "if they haven't put handcuffs onhim! Whatever has he done? What can he have been up to?"

"Where? Who? What?" cried the servants, bewildered with the crowd. "Puthandcuffs on which?"

"Sir Francis Levison. Hush! What is that they say?"

Listening, looking, turning from white to red, from red to white, Afystood. But she could make nothing of it; she could not divine the causeof the commotion. The man's answer to Miss Carlyle and Lady Dobede, clear though it was, did not quite reach her ears. 

"What did he say?" she cried. 

"Good Heavens!" cried one of the maids, whose hearing had been quickerthan Afy's. "He says they are arrested for the wilful murder of Hal---ofyour father, Miss Afy! Sir Francis Levison and Otway Bethel. "

"_What!_" shrieked Afy, her eyes starting. 

"Levison was the man who did it, he says, " continued the servant, bending her ear to listen. "And young Richard Hare, he says, has beeninnocent all along. "

Afy slowly gathered in the sense of the words. She gasped twice, as ifher breath had gone, and then, with a stagger and a shiver, fell heavilyto the ground. 

Afy Hallijohn, recovered from her fainting fit, had to be smuggled outof Miss Carlyle's, as she had been smuggled in. She was of an elasticnature, and the shock, or the surprise, or the heat, whatever it mayhave been, being over, Afy was herself again. 

Not very far removed from the residence of Miss Carlyle was a shop inthe cheese and ham and butter and bacon line. A very respectableshop, too, and kept by a very respectable man--a young man of mildcountenance, who had purchased the good-will of the business throughan advertisement, and come down from London to take possession. Hispredecessor had amassed enough to retire, and people foretold that Mr. Jiffin would do the same. To say that Miss Carlyle dealt at the shopwill be sufficient to proclaim the good quality of the articles kept init. 

When Afy arrived opposite the shop, Mr. Jiffin was sunning himself atthe door; his shopman inside being at some urgent employment overthe contents of a butter-cask. Afy stopped. Mr. Jiffin admired heruncommonly, and she, always ready for anything in that way, had alreadyenjoyed several passing flirtations with him. 

"Good day, Miss Hallijohn, " cried he, warmly, tucking up his white apronand pushing it round to the back of his waist, in the best manner hecould, as he held out his hand to her. For Afy had once hinted in termsof disparagement at that very apron. 

"Oh--how are you Jiffin?" cried Afy, loftily, pretending not to haveseen him standing there. And she condescended to put the tips ofher white gloves into the offered hand, as she coquetted with herhandkerchief, her veil, and her ringlets. "I thought you would have shutup your shop to-day, Mr. Jiffin, and taken a holiday. "

"Business must be attended to, " responded Mr. Jiffin, quite lost in thecontemplation of Afy's numerous attractions, unusually conspicuousas they were. "Had I known that you were abroad, Miss Hallijohn, andenjoying a holiday, perhaps I might have done it, too, in the hope ofcoming across you somewhere or other. "

His words were _bona fide_ as his admiration. Afy saw that, so she couldafford to treat him rather _de haut en bas_. "And he's as simple as acalf, " thought she. 

"The greatest pleasure I have in life, Miss Hallijohn, is to see you goby the shop window, " continued Mr. Jiffin. "I'm sure it's like as if thesun itself passed. "

"Dear me!" bridled Afy, with a simper, "I don't know any good _that_can do you. You might have seen me go by an hour or two ago--if you hadpossessed eyes. I was on my way to Miss Carlyle's, " she continued, withthe air of one who proclaims the fact of a morning call upon a duchess. 

"Where _could_ my eyes have been?" exclaimed Mr. Jiffin, in an agony ofregret. "In some of those precious butter-tubs, I shouldn't wonder! Wehave had a bad lot in, Miss Hallijohn, and I am going to return them!"

"Oh, " said Afy, conspicuously resenting the remark. "I don't knowanything about that sort of thing. Butter-tubs are beneath me. "

"Of course, of course, Miss Hallijohn, " deprecated poor Jiffin. "Theyare very profitable, though, to those who understand the trade. "

"What _is_ all that shouting?" cried Afy, alluding to a tremendous noisein the distance, which had continued for some little time. 

"It's the voters cheering Mr. Carlyle. I suppose you know that he'selected, Miss Hallijohn?"

"No, I didn't. "

"The other was withdrawn by his friends, so they made short work ofit, and Mr. Carlyle is our member. God bless him! there's not many like_him_. But, I say, Miss Hallijohn, whatever is it that the other one hasdone? Murder, they say. I can't make top nor tail of it. Of course weknow he was bad enough before. "

"Don't ask me, " said Afy. "Murder's not a pleasant subject for a lady todiscuss. Are all these customers? Dear me, you'll have enough to do toattend to them; your man can't do it all; so I won't stay talking anylonger. "

With a gracious flourish of her flounces and wave of the handkerchiefAfy sailed off. And Mr. Jiffin, when he could withdraw his fascinatedeyes from following her, turned into his shop to assist in serving fouror five servant girls, who had entered it. 

"It wouldn't be such a bad catch, after all, " soliloquized Afy, as sheand her crinoline swayed along. "Of course I'd never put my nose insidethe shop--unless it was to order things like another customer. The worstis the name. Jiffin, Joe Jiffin. How could I ever bear to be called Mrs. Joe Jiffin! Not but--Goodness me! what do you want?"

The interruption to Afy's chickens was caused by Mr. Ebenezer James. That gentleman, who had been walking with quick steps to overtake her, gave her flounces a twitch behind, to let her know somebody had come up. 

"How are you, Afy? I was going after you to Mrs. Latimer's, not knowingbut you had returned home. I saw you this morning at Miss Corny'swindows. "

"Now, I don't want any of your sauce, Ebenezer James. Afy-ing me! Theother day, when you were on with your nonsense, I said you should keepyour distance. You took and told Mr. Jiffin that I was an old sweetheartof yours. I heard of it. "

"So you were, " laughed Mr. Ebenezer. 

"I never was, " flashed Afy. "I was the company of your betters inthose days: and if there had been no betters in the case, I should havescorned _you_. Why! you have been a strolling player!"

"And what have you been?" returned Mr. Ebenezer, a quiet tone of meaningrunning through his good-humored laughter. 

Afy's cheeks flushed scarlet, and she raised her hand with a quick, menacing gesture. But that they were in the public street Mr. Ebenezermight have found his ears boxed. Afy dropped her hand again, and made adead standstill. 

"If you think any vile, false insinuations that you may concoct willinjure me, you are mistaken, Ebenezer James. I am too much respected inthe place. So don't try it on. "

"Why, Afy, what has put you out? I don't want to injure you. Couldn't doit, if I tried, as you say, " he added, with another quiet laugh. "I havebeen in too many scrapes myself to let my tongue bring other folks intoone. "

"There, that's enough. Just take yourself off. It's not over reputableto have you at one's side in public. "

"Well, I will relieve you of my company, if you'll let me deliver mycommission. Though, as to 'reputable'--however, I won't put you outfurther. You are wanted at the justice-room at three o'clock thisafternoon. And don't fail, please. "

"Wanted at the justice-room!" retorted Afy. "I! What for?"

"And must not fail, as I say, " repeated Mr. Ebenezer. "You saw Levisontaken up--your old flame----"

Afy stamped her foot in indignant interruption. "Take care what yousay, Ebenezer James! Flame! He? I'll have you put up for defamation ofcharacter. "

"Don't be a goose, Afy. It's of no use riding the high horse with me. You know where I saw you--and saw him. People here said you were withDick Hare; I could have told them better; but I did not. It was noaffair of mine, that I should proclaim it, neither is it now. Levison_alias_ Thorn is taken up for your father's murder, and you are wantedto give evidence. There! that's your subpoena; Ball thought you wouldnot come without one. "

"I will never give evidence against Levison, " she uttered, tearing thesubpoena to pieces, and scattering them in the street. "I swear I won't. There, for you! Will I help to hang an innocent man, when it was DickHare who was the guilty one? No! I'll walk myself off a hundred milesaway first, and stop in hiding till it's over. I shan't forget this turnthat you have chosen to play me, Ebenezer James. "

"I chosen! Why, do you suppose I have anything to do with it? Don't takeup that notion, Afy. Mr. Ball put that subpoena in my hand, and told meto serve it. He might have given it to the other clerk, just as hegave it to me; it was all chance. If I could do you a good turn I'd doit--not a bad one. "

Afy strode on at railroad speed, waving him off. "Mind you don't fail, Afy, " he said, as he prepared to return. 

"Fail, " answered she, with flashing eyes. "I shall fail giving evidence, if you mean that. They don't get me up to their justice-room, neither byforce or stratagem. "

Ebenezer James stood and looked after her as she tore along. 

"What a spirit that Afy has got, when it's put up!" quoth he. "She'llbe doing as she said--make off--unless she's stopped. She's a greatsimpleton! Nothing particular need come out about her and Thorn, unlessshe lets it out herself in her tantrums. Here comes Ball, I declare! Imust tell him. "

On went Afy, and gained Mrs. Latimer's. That lady, suffering fromindisposition was confined to the house. Afy, divesting herself ofcertain little odds and ends of her finery, made her way into Mrs. Latimer's presence. 

"Oh, ma'am, such heartrending news as I have had!" began she. "Arelation of mine is dying, and wants to see me. I ought to be away bythe next train. "

"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Latimer, after a pause of dismay. "But how can Ido without you, Afy?"

"It's a dying request, ma'am, " pleaded Afy, covering her eyes with herhandkerchief--not the lace one--as if in the depth of woe. "Of course Iwouldn't ask you under any other circumstances, suffering as you are!"

"Where is it to!" asked Mrs. Latimer. "How long shall you be away?"

Afy mentioned the first town that came uppermost, and "hoped" she mightbe back to-morrow. 

"What relation is it?" continued Mrs. Latimer. "I thought you had norelatives, except Joyce and your aunt, Mrs. Kane. "

"This is another aunt, " cried Afy, softly. "I have never mentioned her, not being friends. Differences divided us. Of course that makes me allthe more anxious to obey her request. "

An uncommon good hand at an impromptu tale was Afy. And Mrs. Latimerconsented to her demand. Afy flew upstairs, attired herself once more, put one or two things in a small leather bag, placed some money in herpurse, and left the house. 

Sauntering idly on the pavement on the sunny side of the street wasa policeman. He crossed over to Afy, with whom he had a slightacquaintance. 

"Good-day, Miss Hallijohn. A fine day, is it not?"

"Fine enough, " returned Afy, provoked at being hindered. "I can't talkto you now, for I am in a hurry. "

The faster she walked, the faster he walked, keeping at her side. Afy'space increased to a run. His increased to a run too. 

"Whatever are you in such haste over?" asked he. 

"Well, it's nothing to you. And I am sure I don't want you to danceattendance upon me just now. There's a time for all things. I'll havesome chatter with you another day. "

"One would think you were hurrying to catch a train. "

"So I am--if you must have your curiosity satisfied. I am going on alittle pleasure excursion, Mr. Inquisitive. "

"For long?"

"U--m! Home to-morrow, perhaps. Is it true that Mr. Carlyle's elected?"

"Oh, yes; don't go up that way, please. "

"Not up this way?" repeated Afy. "It's the nearest road to the station. It cuts off all that corner. "

The officer laid his hand upon her, gently. Afy thought he was venturingupon it in sport--as if he deemed her too charming to be parted with. 

"What do you mean by your nonsense? I tell you I have not time for itnow. Take your hand off me, " she added grimly--for the hand was claspingher closer. 

"I am sorry to hurt a lady's feelings, especially yours, miss, but Idaren't take it off, and I daren't part with you. My instructions areto take you on at once to the witness-room. Your evidence is wanted thisafternoon. "

If you ever saw a ghost more livid than ghosts in ordinary, you maypicture to your mind the appearance of Afy Hallijohn just then. She didnot faint as she had done once before that day, but she looked as if sheshould die. One sharp cry, instantly suppressed, for Afy did retain somepresence of mind, and remembered that she was in the public road--onesharp tussle for liberty, over as soon, and she resigned herself, perforce, to her fate. 

"I have no evidence to give, " she said, in a calmer tone. "I knownothing of the facts. "

"I'm sure _I_ don't know anything of them, " returned the man. "I don'tknow why you are wanted. When instructions are given us, miss, we can'task what they mean. I was bid to watch that you didn't go off out of thetown, and to bring you on to the witness-room if you attempted it, and Ihave tried to do it as politely as possible. "

"You don't imagine I am going to walk through West Lynne with your handupon me!"

"I'll take it off, Miss Hallijohn, if you'll give a promise not to bolt. You see, 'twould come to nothing if you did, for I should be up with youin a couple of yards; besides, it would be drawing folks' attention onyou. You couldn't hope to outrun me, or be a match for me in strength. "

"I will go quietly, " said Afy. "Take it off. "

She kept her word. Afy was no simpleton, and knew that she _was_ nomatch for him. She had fallen into the hands of the Philistines, waspowerless, and must make the best of it. So they walked through thestreet as if they were taking a quiet stroll, he gallantly bearing theleather bag. Miss Carlyle's shocked eyes happened to fall upon themas they passed her window. She wondered where could be the eyes of theman's inspector. 

CHAPTER XL. 

THE JUSTICE-ROOM. 

The magistrates took their seats on the bench. The bench would not holdthem. All in the commission of the peace flocked in. Any other day theywould not have been at West Lynne. As to the room, the wonder was how itever got emptied again, so densely was it packed. Sir Francis Levison'sfriends were there in a body. They did not believe a word of theaccusation. "A scandalous affair, " cried they, "got up, probably, bysome sneak of the scarlet-and-purple party. " Lord Mount Severn, whochose to be present, had a place assigned him on the bench. Lord Vanegot the best place he could fight for amid the crowd. Mr. Justice Haresat as chairman, unusually stern, unbending, and grim. No favor wouldhe show, but no unfairness. Had it been to save his son from hanging, he would not adjudge guilt to Francis Levison against his conscience. Colonel Bethel was likewise on the bench, stern also. 

In that primitive place--primitive in what related to the justice-roomand the justices--things were not conducted with the regularity of thelaw. The law there was often a dead letter. No very grave cases weredecided there; they went to Lynneborough. A month at the treadmill, ora week's imprisonment, or a bout of juvenile whipping, were pretty nearthe harshest sentences pronounced. Thus, in this examination, as inothers, evidence was advanced that was inadmissible--at least, that would have been inadmissible in a more orthodox court--hearsaytestimony, and irregularities of that nature. Mr. Rubiny watched thecase on behalf of Sir Francis Levison. 

Mr. Ball opened the proceedings, giving the account which had beenimparted to him by Richard Hare, but not mentioning Richard as hisinformant. He was questioned as to whence he obtained his information, but replied that it was not convenient at present to disclose thesource. The stumbling block of the magistrates appeared to be theidentifying Levison with Thorn. Ebenezer James came forward to prove it. 

"What do you know of the prisoner, Sir Francis Levison?" questionedJustice Herbert. 

"Not much, " responded Mr. Ebenezer. "I used to know him as CaptainThorn. "

"_Captain_ Thorn?"

"Afy Hallijohn called him captain; but I understood he was but alieutenant. "

"From whom did you understand that?"

"From Afy. She was the only person I heard speak of him. "

"And you say you were in the habit of seeing him in the place mentioned, the Abbey Wood?"

"I saw him there repeatedly; also at Hallijohn's cottage. "

"Did you speak with him as Thorn?"

"Two or three times. I addressed him as Thorn, and he answered tothe name. I had no suspicion but that it was his name. OtwayBethel"--casting his eyes on Mr. Otway, who stood in his shaggyattire--"also knew him as Thorn, and so I have no doubt, did Locksley, for he was always in the wood. "

"Anybody else?"

"Poor Hallijohn himself knew him as Thorn. He said to Afy one day, inmy presence, that he would not have that confounded dandy, Thorn, comingthere. "

"Were those the words he used?"

"They were; 'that confounded dandy Thorn. ' I remember Afy's reply--itwas rather insolent. She said Thorn was as free to come there as anybodyelse, and she would not be found fault with, as though she was not fitto take care of herself. "

"That is nothing to the purpose. Were any others acquainted with thisThorn?"

"I should imagine the elder sister, Joyce, was. And the one who knew himbest of all of us was young Richard Hare. "

_Old_ Richard Hare, from his place on the bench, frowned menacingly atan imaginary Richard. 

"What took Thorn into the wood so often?"

"He was courting Afy. "

"With an intention of marrying her?"

"Well--no, " cried Mr. Ebenezer, with a twist of the mouth; "I should notsuppose he entertained any intention of the sort. He used to come overfrom Swainson, or its neighborhood, riding a splendid horse. "

"Whom did you suppose him to be?"

"I supposed him to be moving in the upper ranks of life. There was nodoubt of it. His dress, his manners, his tone, all proclaimed it. Heappeared to wish to shun observation, and evidently did not care to beseen by any of us. He rarely arrived until twilight. "

"Did you see him there on the night of Hallijohn's murder?"

"No. I was not there myself that evening, so could not have seen him. "

"Did a suspicion cross your mind at any time that he may have beenguilty of the murder?"

"Never. Richard Hare was accused of it by universal belief, and it neveroccurred to me to suppose he had not done it. "

"Pray, how many years is this ago?" sharply interrupted Mr. Rubiny, perceiving that the witness was done with. 

"Let's see!" responded Mr. Ebenezer. "I can't be sure as to a yearwithout reckoning up. A dozen, if not more. "

"And you mean to say that you can swear to Sir Francis Levison beingthat man, with all these years intervening?"

"I swear that he is the man. I am as positive of his identity as I am ofmy own. "

"Without having seen him from that time to this?" derisively returnedthe lawyer. "Nonsense, witness. "

"I did not say that, " returned Mr. Ebenezer. 

The court pricked up its ears. "Have you seen him between then and now?"asked one of them. 

"Once. "

"Where and when?"

"It was in London, about eighteen months after the period of the trial!"

"What communication had you with him?"

"None at all. I only saw him--quite by chance. "

"And whom did you suppose him to be then--Thorn or Levison?"

"Thorn, certainly. I never dreamt of his being Levison until he appearedhere, now, to oppose Mr. Carlyle. "

A wild, savage curse shot through Sir Francis's heart as he heard thewords. What demon had possessed him to venture his neck into the lion'sden? There had been a strong hidden power holding him back from it, independent of his dislike to face Mr. Carlyle; how could he be so madas to disregard it? How? Could a man go from his doom? Can any?

"You may have been mistaken, witness, as to the identity of the man yousaw in London. It may not have been the Thorn you had known here. "

Mr. Ebenezer James smiled a peculiar smile. "I was not mistaken, " hesaid, his tone sounding remarkably significant. "I am upon my oath. "

"Call Aphrodite Hallijohn. "

The lady appeared, supported by her friend, the policeman. And Mr. Ebenezer James was desired by Mr. Ball to leave the court while she gaveher evidence. Doubtless he had his reasons. 

"What is your name?"

"Afy, " replied she, looking daggers at everybody, and sedulously keepingher back turned upon Francis Levison and Otway Bethel. 

"You name in full, if you please. You were not christened 'Afy'?"

"Aphrodite Hallijohn. You all know my name as well as I do. Where's theuse of asking useless questions?"

"Swear the witness, " spoke up Mr. Justice Hare. The first word he haduttered. 

"I won't be sworn, " said Afy. 

"You must be sworn, " said Mr. Justice Herbert. 

"But I say I won't, " repeated Afy. 

"Then we must commit you to prison for contempt of court. "

There was no mercy in his tone, and Afy turned white. Sir John Dobedeinterposed. 

"Young woman, had _you_ a hand in the murder of your father?"

"I?" returned Afy, struggling with passion, temper, and excitement. "How dare you ask me such an unnatural question, sir? He was the kindestfather, " she added, battling with her tears. "I loved him dearly. Iwould have saved his life with mine. "

"And yet you refuse to give evidence that may assist in bringing hisdestroyer to justice. "

"No; I don't refuse on that score. I should like his destroyer to behanged, and I'd go to see it. But who knows what other questions you maybe asking me, about things that concerned neither you nor anybody else?That's why I object. "

"We have only to deal with what bears upon the murder. The questions putto you will relate to that. "

Afy considered. "Well, you may swear me, then, " she said. 

Little notion had she of the broad gauge those questions would run upon. And she was sworn accordingly. Very unwillingly yet; for Afy, who wouldhave told lies by the bushel _un_sworn, did look upon an oath as aserious matter, and felt herself compelled to speak the truth whenexamined under it. 

"How did you become acquainted with a gentleman you often saw in thosedays--Captain Thorn?"

"There, " uttered the dismayed Afy. "You are beginning already. _He_ hadnothing to do with it--he did not do the murder. "

"You have sworn to answer the questions put, " was the uncompromisingrejoinder. "How did you become acquainted with Captain Thorn?"

"I met him at Swainson, " doggedly answered Afy. "I went over there oneday, just for a spree, and I met him at a pastrycook's. "

"And he fell in love with your pretty face?" said Lawyer Ball, taking upthe examination. 

In the incense to her vanity, Afy nearly forgot her scruples. "Yes, hedid, " she answered, casting a smile of general satisfaction round uponthe court. 

"And got out of you where you lived, and entered upon his courting, riding over nearly every evening to see you?"

"Well, " acknowledged Afy, "there was no harm in it. "

"Oh, certainly not!" acquiesced the lawyer, in a pleasant, free tone, to put the witness at her ease. "Rather good, I should say: I wish I hadhad the like luck. Did you know him at the time by the name of Levison?"

"No! He said he was Captain Thorn, and I thought he was. "

"Did you know where he lived?"

"No! He never said that. I thought he was stopping temporarily atSwainson. "

"And--dear me! what a sweet bonnet that is you have on!"

Afy, whose egregious vanity was her besetting sin--who possessed enoughof it for any ten pretty women going--cast a glance out of the cornersof her eyes at the admired bonnet, and became Mr. Ball's entirely. 

"And how long was it, after your first meeting with him, before youdiscovered his real name?"

"Not for a long time--several months. "

"Subsequent to the murder, I presume?"

"Oh, yes!"

Mr. Ball's eyes gave a twinkle, and the unconscious Afy surreptitiouslysmoothed, with one finger, the glossy parting of her hair. 

"Besides Captain Thorn, what gentlemen were in the wood the night of themurder?"

"Richard Hare was there. Otway Bethel and Locksley also. Those were allI saw until the crowd came. "

"Were Locksley and Mr. Otway Bethel martyrs to your charms, as the othertwo were?"

"No, indeed!" was the witness's answer, with an indignant toss of thehead. "A couple of poaching fellows like them! They had better havetried it on!"

"Which of the two, Hare or Thorn, was inside the cottage with you thatevening?"

Afy came out of her vanity and hesitated. She was beginning to wonderwhere the questions would get to. 

"You are upon your oath, witness!" thundered Mr. Justice Hare. "If itwas my--if it was Richard Hare who was with you, say so. But there mustbe no equivocation here. "

Afy was startled. "It was Thorn, " she answered to Mr. Ball. 

"And where was Richard Hare?"

"I don't know. He came down, but I sent him away; I would not admit him. I dare say he lingered in the wood. "

"Did he leave a gun with you?"

"Yes. It was one he had promised to lend my father. I put it down justinside the door. He told me it was loaded. "

"How long after this was it, that your father interrupted you?"

"He didn't interrupt us at all, " returned Afy. "I never saw my fatheruntil I saw him dead. "

"Were you not in the cottage all the time?"

"No; we went out for a stroll at the back. Captain Thorn wished megood-bye there, and I stayed out. "

"Did you hear the gun go off?"

"I heard a shot as I was sitting on the stump of a tree, and wasthinking; but I attached no importance to it, never supposing it was inthe cottage. "

"What was it that Captain Thorn had to get from the cottage after hequitted you? What had he left there?"

Now, this was a random shaft. Lawyer Ball, a keen man, who had wellweighed all points in the tale imparted to him by Richard, as wellas other points, had colored them with his own deductions, and spokeaccordingly. Afy was taken in. 

"He had left his hat there--nothing else. It was a warm evening, and hehad gone out without it. "

"He told you, I believe, sufficient to convince you of the guilt ofRichard Hare?" Another shaft thrown at random. 

"I did not want convincing--I knew it without. Everybody else knew it. "

"To be sure, " equably returned Lawyer Ball. "Did Captain Thorn _see_ itdone--did he tell you that?"

"He had got his hat, and was away down the wood some little distance, when he heard voices in dispute in the cottage, and recognized one ofthem to be that of my father. The shot followed close upon it, andhe guessed some mischief had been done, though he did not suspect itsextent. "

"Thorn told you this--when?"

"The same night--much later. "

"How came you to see him?"

Afy hesitated; but she was sternly told to answer the question. 

"A boy came up to the cottage and called me out, and said a strangegentleman wanted to see me in the wood, and had given him sixpenceto come for me. I went, and found Captain Thorn. He asked me what thecommotion was about, and I told him Richard Hare had killed my father. He said, that now I spoke of him, he could recognize Richard Hare's ashaving been the other voice in the dispute. "

"What boy was that--the one who came for you?"

"It was Mother Whiteman's little son. "

"And Captain Thorn then gave you this version of the tragedy?"

"It was the right version, " resentfully spoke Afy. 

"How do you know that?"

"Oh! because I'm sure it was. Who else would kill him but Richard Hare?It is a scandalous shame, your wanting to put it upon Thorn!"

"Look at the prisoner, Sir Francis Levison. Is it he whom you knew asThorn?"

"Yes; but that does not make him guilty of the murder. "

"Of course it does not, " complacently assented Lawyer Ball. "How longdid you remain with Captain Thorn in London--upon that little visit, youknow?"

Afy started like anybody moonstruck. 

"When you quitted this place, after the tragedy, it was to join CaptainThorn in London. How long, I ask, did you remain with him?"

Entirely a random shaft, this. But Richard had totally denied to LawyerBall the popular assumption that Afy had been with him. 

"Who says I was with him? Who says I went after him?" flashed Afy, withscarlet cheeks. 

"I do, " replied Lawyer Ball, taking notes of her confusion. "Come, it'sover and done with--it's of no use to deny it now. We all go upon visitsto friends sometimes. "

"I never heard anything so bold!" cried Afy. "Where will you tell me Iwent next?"

"You are upon your oath, woman!" again interposed Justice Hare, and atrembling, as of agitation, might be detected in his voice, in spite ofits ringing severity. "Were you with the prisoner Levison, or were youwith Richard Hare?"

"I with Richard Hare!" cried Afy, agitated in her turn, and shaking likean aspen-leaf, partly with discomfiture, partly with unknown dread. "Howdare that cruel falsehood be brought up again, to my face? I never sawRichard Hare after the night of the murder. I swear it. I swear thatI never saw him since. Visit _him_! I'd sooner visit Calcraft, thehangman. "

There was truth in the words--in the tone. The chairman let fall thehand which had been raised to his face, holding on his eye-glasses;and a sort of self-condemning fear arose, confusing his brain. His son, proved innocent of one part, _might_ be proved innocent of the other;and then--how would his own harsh conduct show out! West Lynne, in itscharity, the justice in his, had cast more odium to Richard, with regardto his after conduct touching this girl, than it had on the score of themurder. 

"Come, " said Lawyer Ball, in a coaxing tone, "let us be pleasant. Of course you were not with Richard Hare--West Lynne is alwaysill-natured--you were on a visit to Captain Thorn, as--as any otheryoung lady might be?"

Afy hung her head, cowed down to abject meekness. 

"Answer the question, " came forth the chairman's voice again. "_Were_you with Thorn?"

"Yes, " though the answer was feeble enough. 

Mr. Ball coughed an insinuating cough. 

"Did you remain with him--say two or three years?"

"Not three. "

"A little over two, perhaps?"

"There was no harm in it, " shrieked Afy, with a catching sob of temper. "If I chose to live in London, and he chose to make a morning call uponme, now and then, as an old friend, what's that to anybody? Where wasthe harm, I ask?"

"Certainly--where was the harm? _I_ am not insinuating any, " returnedLawyer Ball, with a wink of the eye furthest from the witness and thebench. "And, during the time that--that he was making these littlemorning calls upon you, did you know him to be Levison?"

"Yes. I knew him to be Captain Levison then. "

"Did he ever tell you why he had assumed the name of Thorn?"

"Only for a whim, he said. The day he spoke to me in the pastrycook'sshop at Swainson, something came over him, in the spur of the moment, not to give his right name, so he gave the first that came into hishead. He never thought to retain it, or that other people would hear ofhim by it. "

"I dare say not, " laconically spoke Lawyer Ball. "Well, Miss Afy, Ibelieve that is all for the present. I want Ebenezer James in again, " hewhispered to an officer of the justice-room, as the witness retired. 

Ebenezer James reappeared and took Afy's place. 

"You informed their worships, just now, that you had met Thorn inLondon, some eighteen months subsequent to the murder, " began LawyerBall, launching another of his shafts. "This must have been during theperiod of Afy Hallijohn's sojourn with him. Did you also see _her_?"

Mr. Ebenezer opened his eyes. He knew nothing of the evidence just givenby Afy, and wondered how on earth it had come out--that she had beenwith Thorn at all. He had never betrayed it. 

"Afy?" stammered he. 

"Yes, Afy, " sharply returned the lawyer. "Their worships know that whenshe took that trip of hers from West Lynne it was to join Thorn notRichard Hare--though the latter has borne the credit of it. I ask you, did you see her? for she was then still connected with him. "

"Well--yes, I did, " replied Mr. Ebenezer, his own scruples removed, butwondering still how it had been discovered, unless Afy had--as he hadprophesied she would--let out in her "tantrums. " "In fact, it was Afywhom I first saw. "

"State the circumstances. "

"I was up Paddington way one afternoon, and saw a lady going intoa house. It was Afy Hallijohn. She lived there, I found--had thedrawing-room apartments. She invited me to stay to tea with her, and Idid. "

"Did you see Captain Levison there?"

"I saw Thorn--as I thought him to be. Afy told me I must be away byeight o'clock, for she was expecting a friend who sometimes came to sitwith her for an hour's chat. But, in talking over old times--not that Icould tell her much about West Lynne, for I had left it almost as longas she had--the time slipped on past the hour. When Afy found that outshe hurried me off, and I had barely got outside the gate when acab drove up, and Thorn alighted from it, and let himself in with alatch-key. That is all I know. "

"When you knew that the scandal of Afy's absence rested on Richard Hare, why could you not have said this, and cleared him, on your return toWest Lynne?"

"It was no affair of mine, that I should make it public. Afy asked menot to say I had seen her, and I promised her I would not. As to RichardHare, a little extra scandal on his back was nothing, while thereremained on it the worse scandal of murder. "

"Stop a bit, " interposed Mr. Rubiny, as the witness was about to retire. "You speak of the time being eight o'clock in the evening, sir. Was itdark?"

"Yes. "

"Then how can you be certain it was Thorn who got out of the cab andentered?"

"I am quite certain. There was a gas-lamp right at the spot, and I sawhim as well as I should have seen him in daylight. I knew his voice, too; could have sworn to it anywhere; and I would almost have sworn tohim by his splendid diamond ring. It flashed in the lamplight. "

"His voice! Did he speak to you?"

"No. But he spoke to the cabman. There was a half dispute between them. The man said Thorn had not paid him enough, that he had not allowed forhaving been kept waiting twenty minutes on the road. Thorn swore at hima bit, and then flung him an extra shilling. "

The next witness was a man who had been groom to the late Sir PeterLevison. He testified that the prisoner, Francis Levison had been on avisit to his master late in the summer and part of the autumn, the yearthat Hallijohn was killed. That he frequently rode out in the directionof West Lynne, especially toward evening; would be away three or fourhours, and come home with the horse in a foam. Also that he picked uptwo letters at different times, which Mr. Levison had carelessly letfall from his pocket, and returned them to him. Both the notes wereaddressed "Captain Thorn. " But they had not been through the post, forthere was no further superscription on them; and the writing looked likea lady's. He remembered quite well hearing of the murder of Hallijohn, the witness added, in answer to a question; it made a great stirthrough out the country. It was just at that same time that Mr. Levisonconcluded his visit, and returned to London. 

"A _wonderful_ memory!" Mr. Rubiny sarcastically remarked. 

The witness, a quiet, respectable man, replied that he _had_ a goodmemory; but that circumstances had impressed upon it particularly thefact that Mr. Levison's departure followed close upon the murder ofHallijohn. 

"One day, when Sir Peter was round at the stables, gentlemen, he wasurging his nephew to prolong his visit, and asked what sudden freak wastaking him off. Mr. Levison replied that unexpected business called himto London. While they were talking, the coachman came up, all in a heat, telling that Hallijohn, of West Lynne, had been murdered by young Mr. Hare. I remember Sir Peter said he could not believe it; and that itmust have been an accident, not murder. "

"Is that all?"

"There was more said. Mr. Levison, in a shameful sort of manner, askedhis uncle, would he let him have five or ten pounds? Sir Peter seemedangry, and asked, what had he done with the fifty-pound note he had madehim a present of only the previous morning? Mr. Levison replied thathe had sent that away to a brother officer, to whom he was in debt. SirPeter refused to believe it, and said he had more likely squanderedit upon some disgraceful folly. Mr. Levison denied that he had; buthe looked confused, indeed, his matter altogether was confused thatmorning. "

"Did he get the five or ten pounds?"

"I don't know, gentlemen. I dare say he did, for my master was aspersuadable as a woman, though he'd fly out a bit sometimes at first. Mr. Levison departed for London that same night. "

The last witness called was Mr. Dill. On the previous Tuesday evening, he had been returning home from spending an hour at Mr. Beauchamp's, when, in a field opposite to Mr. Justice Hare's, he suddenly heard acommotion. It arose from the meeting of Sir Francis Levison and OtwayBethel. The former appeared to have been enjoying a solitary moonlightramble, and the latter to have encountered him unexpectedly. Wordsensued. Bethel accused Sir Francis of "shirking" him. Sir Francisanswered angrily that he knew nothing of him, and nothing he wanted toknow. 

"'You were glad enough to know something of me the night of Hallijohn'smurder, ' retorted Bethel to this. 'Do you remember that I could hangyou. One little word from me, and you'd stand in Dick Hare's place. '

"'You fool!' passionately cried Sir Francis. 'You couldn't hang mewithout putting your own head in a noose. Did you not have your hushmoney? Are you wanting to do me out of more?'

"'A cursed paltry note of fifty pounds!' foamed Otway Bethel, 'which, many a time since, I have wished my fingers were blown off before theytouched. I never should have touched it, but that I was altogetheroverwhelmed with the moment's confusion. I have not been able to lookMrs. Hare in the face since, knowing that I held the secret that wouldsave her son from the hangman. '

"'And put yourself in his place, ' sneered Sir Francis. 

"'No. Put you. '

"'That's as it might be. But, if I went to the hangman, you would gowith me. There would be no excuse or escape for you. You know it. '"

The warfare continued longer, but this was the cream of it. Mr. Dillheard the whole, and repeated it now to the magistrate. Mr. Rubinyprotested that it was "inadmissible;" "hearsay evidence;" "contrary tolaw;" but the bench oracularly put Mr. Rubiny down, and told him theydid not want any stranger to come there and teach them their business. 

Colonel Bethel had leaned forward at the conclusion of Mr. Dill'sevidence, dismay on his face, agitation in his voice. "Are you sure thatyou made no mistake--that the other in this interview was Otway Bethel?"

Mr. Dill sadly shook his head. "Am I one to swear to a wrong man, colonel? I wish I had not heard it--save that it may be the means ofclearing Richard Hare. "

Sir Francis Levison had braved out the proceedings with a haughty, cavalier air, his delicate hands and his diamond ring remarkablyconspicuous. Was that stone the real thing, or a false one, substitutedfor the real? Hard up as he had long been for money, the suspicion mightarise. A derisive smile crossed his features at parts of the evidence, as much as to say, "You may convict me as to Mademoiselle Afy, but youcan't as to the murder. " When, however, Mr. Dill's testimony was given, what a change was there! His mood tamed down to what looked like abjectfear, and he shook in his shoes as he stood. 

"Of course your worships will take bail for Sir Francis?" said Mr. Rubiny, at the close of the proceedings. 

Bail! The bench looked at one another. 

"Your worships will not refuse it--a gentleman in Sir Francis Levison'sposition!"

The bench thought they never had so insolent an application made tothem. Bail for him!--on this charge! No; not if the lord chancellorhimself came down to offer it. 

Mr. Otway Bethel, conscious, probably, that nobody would offer bail forhim, not even the colonel, did not ask the bench to take it. So thetwo were fully committed to take their trial for the "Wilful murder, otherwise the killing and slaying of George Hallijohn;" and before nightwould be on their road to the county prison at Lynneborough. 

And that vain, ill-starred Afy! What of her? Well, Afy had retreated tothe witness-room again, after giving evidence, and there she remained tothe close, agreeably occupied in a mental debate. What would they makeout from her admission regarding her sojourn in London and the morningcalls? How would that precious West Lynne construe it? She did not muchcare; she would brave it out, and assail them with towering indignation, did any dare to cast a stone at her. 

Such was her final decision, arrived at just as the proceedingsterminated. Afy was right glad to remain where she was, till some of thebustle had gone. 

"How was it ended?" asked she of Mr. Ball, who, being a bachelor, wasever regarded with much graciousness by Afy, for she kept her eyes opento contingencies; although Mr. Joe Jiffin was held in reserve. 

"They are both committed for wilful murder--off to Lynneborough withinan hour!"

Afy's color rose. "What a shame! To commit two innocent men upon such acharge. "

"I can tell you what, Miss Afy, the sooner you disabuse your mind ofthat prejudice, the better. Levison has been as good as proved guiltyto-day; but if proof were wanting, he and Bethel have criminated eachother. 'When rogues fall out, honest men get their own. ' Not that I canquite fathom Bethel's share in the exploit, though I can pretty wellguess at it. And, in proving themselves guilty they have proved theinnocence of Richard Hare. "

Afy's face was changing to whiteness; her confident air to one of dread;her vanity to humiliation. 

"It--can't--be--true!" she gasped. 

"It's true enough. The part you have hitherto ascribed to Thorn, wasenacted by Richard Hare. He heard the shot from his place in the wood, and saw Thorn run, ghastly, trembling, horrified, from his wicked work. Believe me, it was Thorn who killed your father. "

Afy grew cold as she listened. That one awful moment, when convictionthat his words were true, forced itself upon her, was enough to soberher for a whole lifetime. _Thorn!_ Her sight failed; her head reeled;her very heart turned to sickness. One struggling cry of pain; and, forthe second time that day, Afy Hallijohn fell forward in a fainting fit. 

Shouts, hisses, execrations, yells! The prisoners were being broughtforth, to be conveyed to Lynneborough. A whole posse of constableswas necessary to protect them against the outbreak of the mob, whichoutbreak was not directed against Otway Bethel, but against Sir FrancisLevison. Cowering like the guilty culprit that he was, shivered he, hiding his white face--wondering whether it would be a repetition ofJustice Hare's green pond, or tearing him asunder piecemeal--and cursingthe earth because it did not open and let him in!

CHAPTER XLI. 

FIRM!

Miss Lucy was _en penitence_. She had been guilty of some childish faultthat day at Aunt Cornelia's, which, coming to the knowledge of Mrs. Carlyle, after their return home the young lady was ordered to thenursery for the rest of the day, and to be regaled upon bread and water. 

Barbara was in her pleasant dressing-room. There was to be a dinnerparty at East Lynne that evening, and she had just finished dressing. Very lovely looked she in her dinner dress, with purple and scarletflowers in her bosom. She glanced at her watch somewhat anxiously, forthe gentlemen had not made their appearance. Half-past six! And theywere to dine at seven. 

Madame Vine tapped at the door. Her errand was to beg grace for Lucy. She had been promised half an hour in the drawing-room, when the ladiesentered it from the dessert-table, and was now in agony of grief atthe disappointment. Would Mrs. Carlyle pardon her, and allow her to bedressed?

"You are too lenient to the child, madame, " spoke Barbara. "I don'tthink you ever would punish her at all. But when she commits faults, they must be corrected. "

"She is very sorry for her fault; she promises not to be rude again. Sheis crying as if she would cry her heart out. "

"Not for her ill-behavior, but because she's afraid of missing thedrawing-room to-night, " cried Barbara. 

"Do, pray, restore her to favor, " pleaded madame. 

"I shall see. Just look, Madame Vine! I broke this, a minute or two ago. Is it not a pity?"

Barbara held in her hand a beautiful toilette ornament, set in puregold. One of the petals had come off. 

Madame Vine examined it. "I have some cement upstairs that would joinit, " she exclaimed. "I could do it in two minutes. I bought it inFrance. "

"Oh, I wish you would, " was Barbara's delighted response. "Do bring ithere and join it now. Shall I bribe you?" she added, laughing. "Youmake this all right, and then you shall bear back grace to Lucy--for Iperceive that is what your heart is set upon. "

Madame Vine went, and returned with her cement. Barbara watched her, asshe took the pieces in her hand, to see how the one must fit on to theother. 

"This has been broken once, as Joyce tells me, " Barbara said. "But itmust have been imperceptibly joined, for I have looked in vain for thedamage. Mr. Carlyle bought it for his first wife, when they were inLondon, after their marriage. She broke it subsequently here, at EastLynne. You will never do it, Madame Vine, if your hand shakes like that. What is the matter?"

A great deal was the matter. First, the ominous words had been uponher tongue. "It was here where the stem joins the flower;" but sherecollected herself in time. Next came up the past vision of the placeand hour when the accident occurred. Her hanging sleeve had swept itoff the table. Mr. Carlyle was in the room, and he had soothed hersorrow--her almost childish sorrow with kisses sweet. Ah me! poor thing!I think our hands would have shaken as hers did. The ornament and thekisses were Barbara's now. 

"I ran quickly up the stairs and back again, " was the explanation sheoffered to Mrs. Carlyle for her shaking hands. 

At that moment Mr. Carlyle and their guests were heard to return, andascend to their respective apartments, Lord Vane's gleeful voice echoingthrough the house. Mr. Carlyle came into his wife's dressing-room, andMadame Vine would have made a precipitate retreat. 

"No, no, " said Barbara, "finish it, now you have begun. Mr. Carlyle willbe going to his room. Look at the misfortune I have had. Archibald, Ihave broken this. "

Mr. Carlyle glanced carelessly at the trinket, and at Madame Vine'swhite fingers. He crossed to the door of his dressing-room and openedit, then held out his hand in silence for Barbara to approach and drewher in with him. Madame Vine went on with her work. 

Presently Barbara returned, and approached the table where stood MadameVine, while she drew on her gloves. Her eyelashes were wet. 

"I could not help shedding a few tears of joy, " exclaimed Barbara, witha pretty blush, perceiving that madame observed the signs. "Mr. Carlylehas been telling me that my brother's innocence is now all but patentto the world. It came out upon the examination of those two men, Sir Francis and Otway Bethel. Lord Mount Severn was present at theproceedings, and says they have in some way incriminated each other. Papa sat in his place as chairman; I wonder that he liked to do so. "

Lower bent the head of Madame Vine over her employment. "Has anythingbeen proved against them?" she asked, in her usual soft tone, almost awhisper. 

"There is not the least doubt of the guilt of Levison, but OtwayBethel's share in the affair is a puzzle yet, " replied Mrs. Carlyle. "Both are committed for trial. Oh, that man! that man! how his sins comeout!" she continued in excitement. 

Madame Vine glanced up through her spectacles. 

"Would you believe, " continued Barbara, dropping her voice, "that whileWest Lynne, and I fear ourselves also, gave that miserable Afy creditfor having gone away with Richard, she was all the time with Levison?Ball, the lawyer got her to confess to-day. I am unacquainted with thedetails; Mr. Carlyle would not give them to me. He said the bare factwas quite enough, and considering the associations it involved, wouldnot do to talk of. "

Mr. Carlyle was right. 

"Out it seems to come, little by little, one wickedness after another!"resumed Barbara. "I do not like Mr. Carlyle to hear it. No, I don't. Ofcourse there is no help for it; but he must feel it terribly, as mustalso Lord Mount Severn. She _was_ his wife, you know, and the childrenare hers; and to think that she--I mean he--must feel it _for her_, "went on Barbara after her sudden pause, and there was some hauteur inher tone lest she should be misunderstood. "Mr. Carlyle is one of thevery few men, so entirely noble, whom the sort of disgrace reflectedfrom Lady Isabel's conduct cannot touch. "

The carriage of the first guest. Barbara ran across the room, andrattled at Mr. Carlyle's door. "Archibald do you hear?"

Back came the laughing answer. "I shan't keep them long. But they maysurely accord a few minutes' grace to a man who has just been convertedinto an M. P. "

Barbara descended to the drawing-room, leaving her, that unhappy lady, to the cement and the broken pieces, and to battle as best she couldwith her bitter heart. Nothing but stabs; nothing but stabs! Was herpunishment ever to end? No. The step she had taken in coming back toEast Lynne had precluded that. 

The guests arrived; all save Mr. And Mrs. Hare. Barbara received a notefrom her instead. The justice did not feel well enough to join them. 

I should think he did not. 

A pleasant party it was at East Lynne, and twelve o'clock struck beforethe carriage of the last guest drove away. It may have been from oneto two hours after that, and the house was steeped in moonlight andquietness, everybody being abed and asleep when a loud summons at thehall bell echoed through the stillness. 

The first to put her head out the window was Wilson. "Is it fire?"shrieked she, in the most excessive state of terror conceivable. Wilsonhad a natural dread of fire--some people do possess this dread more thanothers--and had oftentime aroused the house to a commotion by declaringshe smelt it. "Is it fire?" shrieked Wilson. 

"Yes!" was shouted at the top of a man's voice, who stepped from betweenthe entrance pillars to answer. 

Wilson waited for no more. Clutching at the baby with one hand--a fineyoung gentleman now of near twelve months old, promising fair to be asgreat a source of trouble to Wilson and the nursery as was his brotherArchibald, whom he greatly resembled--and at Archie with the other, outshe flew to the corridor screeching "Fire! fire! fire!" never ceasing, down tore Wilson with the four children, and burst unceremoniouslyinto the sleeping apartment of Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle. By this time thechildren, terrified out of their senses, not at Wilson's cry of alarm, but at the summary propelling downstairs, set up a shrieking, too. Madame Vine, believing that half the house as least was in flames, wasthe next to appear, throwing on a shawl she had caught up, and then cameJoyce. 

"Fire! fire! fire!" shouted Wilson; "we are all being burnt uptogether!"

Poor Mrs. Carlyle, thus wildly aroused from sleep, sprang out of bedand into the corridor in her night-dress. Everybody else was in anight-dress--when folks are flying for dear life, they don't stop tolook for their dress-coats and best blonde caps. Out came Mr. Carlyle, who has hastily assumed his pantaloons. 

He cast a rapid glance down to the hall, and saw that the stairs wereperfectly free for escape; therefore to hurry was not so violent. Everysoul around him was shrieking in concert, making the confusion and dinterrific. The bright moonlight streamed in at the corridor windows, butthere was no other light; shadowy and indistinct enough looked the whitefigures. 

"Where is the fire?" he exclaimed. "I don't smell any. Who gave thefirst alarm?"

The bell answered him. The hall-bell, which rang out ten times louderand longer than before. He opened one of the windows and leaned from it. "Who's there?" Madame Vine caught up Archie. 

"It's me, sir, " responded a voice, which he at once recognized to bethat of one of Mr. Hare's men-servants. "Master has been took in a fit, sir, and mistress sent me for you and Miss Barbara. You must please makehaste, sir, if you want to see him alive. "

Miss Barbara! It was more familiar to Jasper, in a moment of excitement, than the new name. 

"You, Jasper! Is the house on fire--this house?"

"Well, I don't know, sir. I can hear a dreadful deal of screeching init. "

Mr. Carlyle closed the window. He began to suspect that the danger layin fear alone. "Who told you there was fire?" he demanded of Wilson. 

"That man ringing at the door, " sobbed Wilson. "Thank goodness I havesaved the children!"

Mr. Carlyle felt somewhat exasperated at the mistake. His wife wastrembling from head to foot, her face of a deadly whiteness, and heknew that she was not in a condition to be alarmed, necessarily orunnecessarily. She clung to him in terror, asking if they _could_escape. 

"My darling, be calm! There's no fire; it's a stupid mistake. You mayall go back to bed and sleep in peace, " he added to the rest, "andthe next time that you alarm the house in the night, Wilson, have thegoodness to make yourself sure, first of all, that there's cause forit. "

Barbara, frightened still, bewildered and uncertain, escaped to thewindow and threw it open. But Mr. Carlyle was nearly as quick as she;he caught her to him with one hand, and drew the window down with theother. To have these tidings told to her abruptly would be worse thanall. By this time some of the servants had descended the other staircasewith a light, being in various stages of costume, and hastened to openthe hall-door. Jasper entered. The man had probably waited to help toput out the "fire. " Barbara caught sight of him ere Mr. Carlyle couldprevent it, and grew sick with fear, believing some ill had happened toher mother. 

Drawing her inside their chamber, he broke the news to her soothinglyand tenderly, making light of it. 

She burst into tears. "You are not deceiving me, Archibald? Papa is notdead?"

"Dead!" cheerfully echoed Mr. Carlyle, in the same tone he might haveused had Barbara wondered whether the justice was taking a night airingfor pleasure in a balloon. "Wilson has indeed frightened you, love. Dress yourself, and we will go and see him. "

At that moment Barbara recollected William. Strange that she should havebeen the first to do so--before Lady Isabel--before Mr. Carlyle. She ranout again to the corridors, where the boy stood shivering. "He mayhave caught his death!" she uttered, snatching him up in her arms. "Oh, Wilson! What have you done? His night-gown is damp and cold. "

Unfit as she was for the burden, she bore him to her own bed. Wilson wasnot at leisure to attend to reproaches just then. She was engaged in awordy war with Jasper, leaning over the balustrades to carry it on. 

"I never told you there was a fire!" indignantly denied Jasper. 

"You did. I opened the nursery window and called out 'Is it fire?' andyou answered 'Yes. '"

"You called out 'Is it Jasper?' What else should I say but 'Yes, ' tothat? Fire? Where was the fire likely to be--in the park?"

"Wilson take the children back to bed, " authoritatively spoke Mr. Carlyle, as he advanced to look down into the hall. "John, are youthere? The close carriage, instantly--look sharp. Madame Vine, praydon't continue to hold that heavy boy; Joyce can't you relieve madame?"

In crossing back to his room, Mr. Carlyle had brushed past madame, and noticed that she appeared to be shaking, as with the weight ofArchibald. In reality she was still alarmed, not understanding yet thecause of the commotion. Joyce, who comprehended it as little, and hadstood with her arms round Lucy, advanced to take Archibald, and Mr. Carlyle disappeared. Barbara had taken off her own warm night-gown then, and put it upon William in place of his cold one--had struck a light andwas busily dressing herself. 

"Just feel his night-gown Archibald! Wilson--"

A shrill cry of awful terror interrupted the words, and Mr. Carlyle madeone bound out again. Barbara followed; the least she thought was thatWilson had dropped the baby in the hall. 

That was not the catastrophe. Wilson, with the baby and Lucy, hadalready disappeared up the staircase, and Madame Vine was disappearing. Archibald lay on the soft carpet of the corridor, where madame hadstood; for Joyce, in the act of taking him, had let him slip to theground--let him fall from sheer terror. She held on to the balustrades, her face ghastly, her mouth open, her eyes fixed in horror--altogetheran object to look upon. Archie gathered himself on his sturdy legs, andstood staring. 

"Why, Joyce! What is the matter with _you_?" cried Mr. Carlyle. "Youlook as if you had seen a spectre. "

"Oh, master!" she wailed, "I have seen one. "

"Are you all going deranged together?" retorted he, wondering what hadcome to the house. "Seen a spectre, Joyce?"

Joyce fell on her knees, as if unable to support herself, and crossedher shaking hands upon her chest. Had she seen ten spectres she couldnot have betrayed more dire distress. She was a sensible and faithfulservant, one not given to flights of fancy, and Mr. Carlyle gazed at herin very amazement. 

"Joyce, what is this?" he asked, bending down and speaking kindly. 

"Oh, my dear master! Heaven have mercy upon us all!" was theinexplicable answer. 

"Joyce I ask you what is this?"

She made no reply. She rose up shaking; and, taking Archie's hand, slowly proceeded toward the upper stairs, low moans breaking from her, and the boy's naked feet pattering on the carpet. 

"What can ail her?" whispered Barbara, following Joyce with her eyes. "What did she mean about a spectre?"

"She must have been reading a ghost-book, " said Carlyle. "Wilson's follyhas turned the house topsy-turvy. Make your haste, Barbara. "

Spring waned. Summer came, and would soon be waning, too, for the hotdays of July were now in. What had the months brought forth, since theelection of Mr. Carlyle in April? Be you very sure they had not beenwithout their events. 

Mr. Justice Hare's illness had turned out to be a stroke of paralysis. People cannot act with unnatural harshness toward a child, and thendiscover they have been in the wrong, with impunity. Thus it proved withMr. Justice Hare. He was recovering, but would never again be the manhe had been. The fright, when Jasper had gone to tell of his illness atEast Lynne, and was mistaken for fire, had done nobody any damage, saveWilliam and Joyce. William had caught a cold, which brought increasedmalady to the lungs; and Joyce seemed to have caught _fear_. She wentabout, more like one in a dream than awake, would be buried in a reveriefor an hour at a time, and if suddenly spoken to, would start andshiver. 

Mr. Carlyle and his wife departed for London immediately that Mr. Harewas pronounced out of danger; which was in about a week from the time ofhis seizure. William accompanied them, partly for the benefit of Londonadvice, partly that Mr. Carlyle would not be parted from him. Joycewent, in attendance with some of the servants. 

They found London ringing with the news of Sir Francis Levison's arrest. London could not understand it; and the most wild and improbable taleswere in circulation. The season was at its height; the excitement inproportion; it was more than a nine days' wonder. On the very evening oftheir arrival a lady, young and beautiful, was shown in to the presenceof Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle. She had declined to give her name, but therearose to Mr. Carlyle's memory, when he looked upon her, one whom he hadseen in earlier days as the friend of his first wife--Blanche Challoner. It was not Blanche, however. 

The stranger looked keenly at Mr. Carlyle. He was standing with hishat in his hand, on the point of going out. "Will you pardon thisintrusion?" she asked. "I have come to you as one human being in needcomes to crave help of another. I am Lady Levison. "

Barbara's face flushed. Mr. Carlyle courteously invited the strangerto a chair, remaining standing himself. She sat for a moment, and thenrose, evidently in an excess of agitation. 

"Yes, I am Lady Levison, forced to call that man husband. That he hasbeen a wicked man, I have long known; but now I hear he is a criminal. Ihear it, I say, but I can get the truth from none. I went to Lord MountSevern; he declined to give me particulars. I heard that Mr. Carlylewould be in town to-day, and I resolved to come and ask them of him. "

She delivered the sentences in a jerking, abrupt tone, betraying herinward emotion. Mr. Carlyle, looking somewhat unapproachable, made noimmediate reply. 

"You and I have both been deeply wronged by him, Mr. Carlyle, but Ibrought my wrong upon myself, you did not. My sister, Blanche, whom hehad cruelly treated--and if I speak of it, I only speak of what is knownto the world--warned me against him. Mrs. Levison, his grandmother, thatancient lady who must now be bordering upon ninety, she warned me. Thenight before my wedding day, she came on purpose to tell me that if Imarried Francis Levison I should rue it for life. There was yet timeto retract she said. Yes; there would have been time; but there wasno _will_. I would not listen to either. I was led away by vanity, by folly, by something worse--the triumphing over my own sister. PoorBlanche! But which has the best of the bargain now, she or I? And I havea child, " she continued, dropping her voice, "a boy who inherits hisfather's name. Mr. Carlyle, will they _condemn_ him?"

"Nothing, as yet, is positively proved against him, " replied Mr. Carlyle, compassionating the unhappy lady. 

"If I could but get a divorce!" she passionately uttered, apparentlylosing all self-control. "I might have got one, over and over again, since we married, but there would have been the _expose_ and thescandal. If I could but change my child's name! Tell me--does any chanceof redress remain for me?"

There was none, and Mr. Carlyle did not attempt to speak of any. Heoffered a few kind words of sympathy, very generally expressed, and thenprepared to go out. She moved, and stood in his way. 

"You will not leave until you have given me the particulars! I pray you, do not! I came trustingly to you, hoping to know them. "

"I am waited for, to keep an important engagement, " he answered. "Andwere my time at liberty, I should decline to tell them to you, on myown account, as well as on yours. Lay not discourtesy to my charge, LadyLevison. Were I to speak of the man, even to you, his name would blistermy lips. "

"In every word of hate spoken by you I would sympathize; everycontemptuous expression of scorn, cast upon him from your heart, I wouldjoin in, tenfold. "

Barbara was shocked. "He is your husband, after all, " she took leave towhisper. 

"My husband!" broke forth Lady Levison, in agitation, seemingly. "Yes!there's the wrong. Why did he, knowing what he was, delude me intobecoming his wife? You ought to feel for me, Mrs. Carlyle; and you dofeel for me, for you are a wife and mother. How dare these base menmarry--take to themselves an innocent, inexperienced girl, vowing, before God, to love and honor and cherish her? Were not his other sinsimpediment enough but he must have crime, also, and woo me! He hasdone me deep and irredeemable wrong, and has entailed upon his child aninheritance of shame. What had he or I done to deserve it, I ask?"

Barbara felt half frightened at her vehemence; and Barbara might bethankful not to understand it. All her native gentleness, all herreticence of feeling, as a wife and a gentlewoman, had been goadedout of her. The process had been going on for some time, but this lastrevelation was the crowning point; and Alice, Lady Levison, turned roundupon the world in her helpless resentment, as any poor wife, workingin a garret, might have done. There are certain wrongs which bring outhuman nature in the high-born, as well as in the low. "Still he is yourhusband, " was all Barbara could, with deprecation, again plead. 

"He made himself my husband by deceit, and I will throw him off in theface of day, " returned Lady Levison. "There is no moral obligation whyI should not. He has worked ill and ruin--ill and ruin upon me and mychild, and the world shall never be allowed to think I have borne myshare in it. How was it you kept your hands off him, when he reappeared, to brave you, in West Lynne?" she added, in a changed tone, turning toMr. Carlyle. 

"I cannot tell. I was a marvel oftentimes to myself. "

He quitted the room as he spoke, adding a few civil words about herwith Mrs. Carlyle. Barbara, not possessing the scruples of her husband, yielded to Lady Levison's request, and gave her the outline of the darktale. Its outline only; and generously suppressing Afy's name beyond theevening of the fatal event. Lady Levison listened without interruption. 

"Do you and Mr. Carlyle believe him to have been guilty?"

"Yes; but Mr. Carlyle will not express his opinion to the world. He doesnot repay wrong with revenge. I have heard him say that if the liftingof his finger would send the man to his punishment, he would tie downhis hand rather than lift it. "

"Was his first wife, Isabel Vane, mad?" she presently asked. 

"Mad!" echoed Barbara, in surprise. 

"When she quitted him for the other. It could have been nothing elsethan madness. I could understand a woman's flying from _him_ for love ofMr. Carlyle; but now that I have seen your husband, I cannot understandthe reverse side of the picture. I thank you for your courtesy, Mrs. Carlyle. "

And, without another word, Alice Levison quitted the room as abruptly asshe had entered it. 

Well, the London visit came to an end. It was of little more than threeweeks' duration, for Barbara must be safe at home again. Mr. Carlyleremained for the rest of the season alone, but he varied it withjourneys to East Lynne. He had returned home for good now, July, although the session had not quite terminated. There was another baby atEast Lynne, a lovely little baby, pretty as Barbara herself had been ata month old. William was fading rapidly. The London physicians had butconfirmed the opinion of Dr. Martin, and it was evident to all that theclose would not be long protracted. 

Somebody else was fading--Lady Isabel. The cross had been too heavy, andshe was sinking under its weight. Can you wonder at it?

An intensely hot day it was under the July sun. Afy Hallijohn wassailing up the street in its beams, finer and vainer than ever. Sheencountered Mr. Carlyle. 

"So, Afy, you are really going to be married at last?"

"Jiffin fancies so, sir. I am not sure yet but what I shall change mymind. Jiffin thinks there's nobody like me. If I could eat gold andsilver, he'd provide it; and he's as fond as fond can be. But then youknow, sir, he's half soft. "

"Soft as to you, perhaps, " laughed Mr. Carlyle. "I consider him a verycivil, respectable man, Afy. "

"And then, I never did think to marry a shopkeeper, " grumbled Afy; "Ilooked a little higher than that. Only fancy, sir, having a husband whowears a white apron tied round him!"

"Terrible!" responded Mr. Carlyle, with a grave face. 

"Not but what it will be a tolerable settlement, " rejoined Afy, veeringround a point. "He's having his house done up in style, and I shall keeptwo good servants, and do nothing myself but dress and subscribe to thelibrary. He makes plenty of money. "

"A very tolerable settlement, I should say, " returned Mr. Carlyle; andAfy's face fell before the glance of his eye, merry though it was. "Takecare you don't spend all his money for him, Afy. "

"I'll take care of that, " nodded Afy, significantly. "Sir, " she somewhatabruptly added, "what is it that's the matter with Joyce?"

"I do not know, " said Mr. Carlyle, becoming serious. "There does appearto be something the matter with her, for she is much changed. "

"I never saw anybody so changed in my life, " exclaimed Afy. "I toldher the other day that she was just like one who had got some dreadfulsecret upon their mind. "

"It is really more like that than anything else, " observed Mr. Carlyle. 

"But she is one of the close ones, is Joyce, " continued Afy. "No fearthat she'll give out a clue, if it does not suit her to do so. She toldme, in answer, to mind my own business, and not to take absurd fanciesin my head. How is the baby, sir, and Mrs. Carlyle?"

"All well. Good day, Afy. "

CHAPTER XLII. 

THE TRIAL. 

Spacious courts were the assize courts of Lynneborough; and it was wellthey were so, otherwise more people had been disappointed, and numberswere, of hearing the noted trial of Sir Francis Levison for the murderof George Hallijohn. 

The circumstances attending the case caused it to bear for the publican unparalleled interest. The rank of the accused, and his antecedents, more especially that particular local antecedent touching the LadyIsabel Carlyle; the verdict still out against Richard Hare; the lengthof time which had elapsed since; the part played in it by Afy; theintense curiosity as to the part taken in it by Otway Bethel; thespeculation as to what had been the exact details, and the doubt of aconviction--all contributed to fan the curiosity of the public. Peoplecame from far and near to be present--friends of Mr. Carlyle, friendsof the Hares, friends of the Challoner family, friends of the prisoner, besides the general public. Colonel Bethel and Mr. Justice Hare hadconspicuous seats. 

At a few minutes past nine the judge took his place on the bench, butnot before a rumor had gone through the court--a rumor that seemed toshake it to its centre, and which people stretched out their necks tohear--Otway Bethel had turned Queen's evidence, and was to be admittedas a witness for the crown. 

Thin, haggard, pale, looked Francis Levison as he was placed in thedock. His incarceration had not in any way contributed to his personaladvantages, and there was an ever-recurring expression of dread upon hiscountenance not pleasant to look upon. He was dressed in black, old Mrs. Levison having died, and his diamond ring shone conspicuous still on hiswhite hand, now whiter than ever. The most eminent counsel were engagedon both sides. 

The testimony of the witnesses already given need not be recapitulated. The identification of the prisoner with the man Thorn was fullyestablished--Ebenezer James proved that. Afy proved it, and also thathe, Thorn, was at the cottage that night. Sir Peter Levison's groom waslikewise re-examined. But still there wanted other testimony. Afy wasmade to re-assert that Thorn had to go to the cottage for his hat afterleaving her, but that proved nothing, and the conversation, or quarreloverheard by Mr. Dill was now again, put forward. If this was all theevidence, people opined that the case for the prosecution would breakdown. 

"Call Richard Hare" said the counsel for the prosecution. 

Those present who knew Mr. Justice Hare, looked up at him, wondering whyhe did not stir in answer to his name--wondering at the pallid hue whichoverspread his face. Not he, but another came forward--a fair, placid, gentlemanly young man, with blue eyes, fair hair, and a pleasantcountenance. It was Richard Hare the younger. He had assumed hisoriginal position in life, so far as attire went, and in that, at least, was a gentleman again. In speech also--with his working dress Richardhad thrown off his working manners. 

A strange hubbub arose in court. Richard Hare, the exile--the reporteddead--the man whose life was in jeopardy! The spectators rose with oneaccord to get a better view; they stood on tiptoe; they pushed forththeir necks; they strained their eyesight: and, amidst all the noisyhum, the groan bursting from the lips of Justice Hare was unnoticed. Whilst order was being called for, and the judge threatened to clearthe court, two officers moved themselves quietly up and stood behind thewitness. Richard Hare was in custody, though he might know it not. Thewitness was sworn. 

"What is your name?"

"Richard Hare. "

"Son of Mr. Justice Hare, I believe, of the Grove, West Lynne?"

"His only son. "

"The same against whom a verdict of wilful murder is out?" interposedthe judge. 

"The same, my lord, " replied Richard Hare, who appeared, strange as itmay seem, to have cast away all his old fearfulness. 

"Then, witness, let me warn you that you are not obliged to answer anyquestion that may tend to criminate yourself. "

"My lord, " answered Richard Hare, with some emotion, "I wish to answerany and every question put to me. I have but one hope, that the fulltruth of all pertaining to that fatal evening may be made manifest thisday. "

"Look round at the prisoner, " said the examining counsel. "Do you knowhim?"

"I know him now as Sir Francis Levison. Up to April last I believed hisname to be Thorn. "

"State what occurred on the evening of the murder, as far as yourknowledge goes. "

"I had an appointment that evening with Afy Hallijohn, and went down totheir cottage to keep it--"

"A moment, " interrupted the counsel. "Was your visit that evening madein secret?"

"Partially so. My father and mother were displeased, naturally, at myintimacy with Afy Hallijohn; therefore I did not care that they shouldbe cognizant of my visits there. I am ashamed to confess that I told myfather a lie over it that very evening. He saw me leave the dinner-tableto go out with my gun, and inquired where I was off to. I answered thatI was going out with young Beauchamp. "

"When, in point of fact, you were not?"

"No. I took my gun, for I had promised to lend it to Hallijohn while hisown was being repaired. When I reached the cottage Afy refused to admitme; she was busy, and could not, she said. I felt sure she had got Thornwith her. She had, more than once before, refused to admit me when Ihad gone there by her own appointment, and I always found that Thorn'spresence in the cottage was the obstacle. "

"I suppose you and Thorn were jealous of each other?"

"I was jealous of him; I freely admit it. I don't know whether he was ofme. "

"May I inquire what was the nature of your friendship for Miss AfyHallijohn?"

"I loved her with an honorable love, as I might have done by anyyoung lady in my own station of life. I would not have married herin opposition to my father and mother; but I told Afy that if she wascontent to wait for me until I was my own master I would then make hermy wife. "

"You had no views toward her of a different nature?"

"None; I cared for her too much for that; and I respected her father. Afy's mother had been a lady, too, although she had married Hallijohn, who was but clerk to Mr. Carlyle. No; I never had a thought of wrongtoward Afy--I never could have had. "

"Now relate the occurrences of the evening?"

"Afy would not admit me, and we had a few words over it; but at length Iwent away, first giving her the gun, and telling her it was loaded. Shelodged it against the wall, just inside the door, and I went into thewood and waited, determined to see whether or not Thorn was with her, for she had denied that he was. Locksley saw me there, and asked why Iwas hiding. I did not answer; but I went further off, quite out of viewof the cottage. Some time afterward, less than half an hour, I heard ashot in the direction of the cottage. Somebody was having a late pop atthe partridge, I thought. Just then I saw Otway Bethel emerge from thetrees, not far from me, and run toward the cottage. My lord, " addedRichard Hare, looking at the judge, "that was the shot that killedHallijohn!"

"Could the shot, " asked the counsel, "have been fired by Otway Bethel?"

"It could not. It was much further off. Bethel disappeared, and inanother minute there came some one flying down the path leading from thecottage. It was Thorn, and evidently in a state of intense terror. Hisface was livid, his eyes staring, and he panted and shook like one inthe ague. Past me he tore, on down the path, and I afterwards heard thesound of his horse galloping away; it had been tied in the wood. "

"Did you follow him?"

"No. I wondered what had happened to put him in that state; but I madehaste to the cottage, intending to reproach Afy with her duplicity. Ileaped up the two steps, and fell over the prostrate body of Hallijohn. He was lying dead within the door. My gun, just discharged, was flung onthe floor, its contents in Hallijohn's side. "

You might have heard a pin drop in court, so intense was the interest. 

"There appeared to be no one in the cottage, upstairs or down. I calledto Afy, but she did not answer. I caught up the gun, and was runningfrom the cottage when Locksley came out of the wood and looked at me. Igrew confused, fearful, and I threw the gun back again and made off. "

"What were your motives for acting in that way?"

"A panic had come over me, and in that moment I must have lost the useof my reason, otherwise I never should have acted as I did. Thoughts, especially of fear, pass through our minds with astonishing swiftness, and I feared lest the crime should be fastened upon me. It was fear mademe snatch up my gun, lest it should be found near the body; it was fearmade me throw it back again when Locksley appeared in view--a fear youunderstand, from which all judgment, all reason, had departed. But formy own conduct, the charge never would have been laid to me. "

"Go on. "

"In my flight I came upon Bethel. I knew that if he had gone toward thecottage after the shot was fired, he must have encountered Thorn flyingfrom it. He denied that he had; he said he had only gone along the pathfor a few paces, and had then plunged into the wood again. I believedhim and departed. "

"Departed from West Lynne?"

"That night I did. It was a foolish, fatal step, the result ofcowardice. I found the charge was laid to me, and I thought I wouldabsent myself for a day or two, to see how things turned out. Next camethe inquest and the verdict against me, and I then left for good. "

"This is the truth, so far as you are cognizant of it?"

"I swear that it is truth, and the whole truth, so far as I am cognizantof it, " replied Richard Hare, with emotion. "I could not assert it moresolemnly were I before God. "

He was subjected to a rigid cross-examination, but his testimony was notshaken in the least. Perhaps not one present but was impressed with itstruth. 

Afy Hallijohn was recalled, and questioned as to Richard's presenceat her father's house that night. It tallied with the account given byRichard; but it had to be drawn from her. 

"Why did you decline to receive Richard Hare into the cottage, afterappointing him to come?"

"Because I chose, " returned Afy. 

"Tell the jury why you chose. "

"Well, I had got a friend with me--it was Captain Thorn, " she added, feeling that she should only be questioned on this point, so might aswell acknowledge it. "I did not admit Richard Hare, for I fancied theymight get up a quarrel if they were together. "

"For what purpose did Richard Hare bring down his gun--do you know?"

"It was to lend to my father. My father's gun had something the matterwith it, and was at the smith's. I had heard him, the previous day, askMr. Richard to lend him one of his, and Mr. Richard said he would bringone, as he did. "

"You lodged the gun against the wall--safely?"

"Quite safely. "

"Was it touched by you, after placing it there, or by the prisoner?"

"I did not touch it; neither did he, that I saw. It was that same gunwhich was afterward found near my father, and had been discharged. "

The next witness called was Otway Bethel. He also held share in thecuriosity of the public, but not in equal degree with Afy, still lesswith Richard Hare. The substance of his testimony was as follows:--

"On the evening that Hallijohn was killed, I was in the Abbey Wood, andI saw Richard Hare come down the path with a gun, as if he had come downfrom his own home. "

"Did Richard Hare see you?"

"No; he could not see me; I was right in the thicket. He went to thecottage door, and was about to enter, when Afy Hallijohn came hastilyout of it, pulling the door to behind her, and holding it in her hand, as if afraid he would go in. Some colloquy ensued, but I was too far offto hear it; and then she took the gun from him and went indoors. Sometime after that I saw Richard Hare amid the trees at a distance, fartheroff the cottage, then, than I was, and apparently watching the path. Iwas wondering what he was up to, hiding there, when I head a shot fired, close, as it seemed, to the cottage, and--"

"Stop a bit, witness. Could that shot have been fired by Richard Hare?"

"It could not. He was a quarter of a mile, nearly, away from it. I wasmuch nearer the cottage than he. "

"Go on. "

"I could not imagine what that shot meant, or who could have firedit--not that I suspected mischief--and I knew that poachers did notcongregate so near Hallijohn's cottage. I set off to reconnoiter, andas I turned the corner, which brought the house within my view, I sawCaptain Thorn, as he was called, come leaping out of it. His face waswhite with terror, his breath was gone--in short, I never saw any livingman betray so much agitation. I caught his arm as he would have passedme. 'What have you been about?' I asked. 'Was it you that fired?' He--"

"Stay. Why did you suspect him?"

"From his state of excitement--from the terror he was in--that some illhad happened, I felt sure; and so would you, had you seen him as I did. My arresting him increased his agitation; he tried to throw me off, butI am a strong man, and I suppose he thought it best to temporize. 'Keepdark upon it, Bethel, ' he said, 'I will make it worth your while. Thething was not premeditated; it was done in the heat of passion. Whatbusiness had the fellow to abuse me? I have done no harm to the girl. 'As he thus spoke, he took out a pocket book with the hand that was atliberty; I held the other--"

"As the prisoner thus spoke, you mean?"

"The prisoner. He took a bank-note from his pocket book, and thrust itinto my hands. It was a note for fifty pounds. 'What's done can't beundone, Bethel, ' he said, 'and your saying that you saw me here canserve no good turn. Shall it be silence?' I took the note and answeredthat it should be silence. I had not the least idea that anybody waskilled. "

"What did you suppose had happened, then?"

"I could not suppose; I could not think; it all passed in the haste andconfusion of a moment, and no definite idea occurred to me. Thorn flewon down the path, and I stood looking after him. The next was I heardfootsteps, and I slipped within the trees. They were those of RichardHare, who took the path to the cottage. Presently he returned, littleless agitated than Thorn had been. I had gone into an open space, then, and he accosted me, asking if I had seen 'that hound' fly from thecottage? 'What hound?' I asked of him. 'That fine fellow, that Thorn, who comes after Afy, ' he answered, but I stoutly denied that I had seenany one. Richard Hare continued his way, and I afterward found thatHallijohn was killed. "

"And so you took a bribe to conceal one of the foulest crimes that manever committed, Mr. Otway Bethel!"

"I took the money, and I am ashamed to confess it. But it was donewithout reflection. I swear that had I known what crime it was intendedto hush up, I never would have touched it. I was hard up for funds, andthe amount tempted me. When I discovered what had really happened, andthat Richard Hare was accused, I was thunderstruck at my own deed; manya hundred times since have I cursed the money; and the fate of Richardhas been as a heavy weight upon my conscience. "

"You might have lifted the weight by confessing. "

"To what end? It was too late. Thorn had disappeared. I never heard ofhim, or saw him, until he came to West Lynne this last spring, asSir Francis Levison, to oppose Mr. Carlyle. Richard Hare had alsodisappeared--had never been seen or heard of, and most people supposedhe was dead. To what end then should I confess? Perhaps only tobe suspected myself. Besides, I had taken the money upon a certainunderstanding, and it was only fair that I should keep to it. "

If Richard Hare was subjected to a severe cross-examination, a far moresevere one was awaiting Otway Bethel. The judge spoke to him only once, his tone ringing with reproach. 

"It appears then, witness, that you have retained within you, all theseyears, the proofs of Richard Hare's innocence?"

"I can only acknowledge it with contrition, my lord. "

"What did you know of Thorn in those days?" asked the counsel. 

"Nothing, save that he frequented the Abbey Wood, his object being AfyHallijohn. I had never exchanged a word with him until that night; butI knew his name, Thorn--at least, the one he went by, and by hisaddressing me as Bethel, it appeared that he knew mine. "

The case for the prosecution closed. An able and ingenious speech wasmade for the defence, the learned counsel who offered it contendingthat there was still no proof of Sir Francis having been the guilty man. Neither was there any proof that the catastrophe was not the result ofpure accident. A loaded gun, standing against a wall in a small room, was not a safe weapon, and he called upon the jury not rashly to convictin the uncertainty, but to give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt. He should call no witnesses, he observed, not even to character. Character! for Sir Francis Levison! The court burst into a grin; theonly sober face in it being that of the judge. 

The judge summed up. Certainly not in the prisoner's favor; but, touse the expression of some amidst the audience, dead against him. OtwayBethel came in for a side shaft or two from his lordship; Richard Harefor sympathy. The jury retired about four o'clock, and the judge quittedthe bench. 

A very short time they were absent. Scarcely a quarter of an hour. Hislordship returned into court, and the prisoner was again placed in thedock. He was the hue of marble, and, in his nervous agitation, keptincessantly throwing back his hair from his forehead--the action alreadyspoken of. Silence was proclaimed. 

"How say you, gentlemen of the jury? Guilty, or not guilty?"

"GUILTY. "

It was a silence to be felt; and the prisoner gasped once or twiceconvulsively. 

"But, " said the foreman, "we wish to recommend him to mercy. "

"On what grounds?" inquired the judge. 

"Because, my lord, we believe it was not a crime planned by the prisonerbeforehand, but arose out of the bad passions of the moment, and was socommitted. "

The judge paused, and drew something black from the receptacle of hispocket, buried deep in his robes. 

"Prisoner at the bar! Have you anything to urge why sentence of deathshould not be passed upon you?"

The prisoner clutched the front of the dock. He threw up his head, asif shaking off the dread fear which had oppressed him, and the marble ofhis face changed to scarlet. 

"Only this, my lord. The jury, in giving their reason for recommendingme to your lordship's mercy, have adopted the right view of the case asit actually occurred. The man Hallijohn's life was taken by me, it willbe useless for me to deny, in the face of the evidence given this day, but it was not taken in malice. When I quitted the girl, Afy, and wentto the cottage for my hat, I no more contemplated injuring mortal manthan I contemplate it at this moment. He was there, the father, and inthe dispute that ensued the catastrophe occurred. My lord, it was notwilful murder. "

The prisoner ceased, and the judge, the black cap on his head, crossedhis hands one upon the other. 

"Prisoner at the bar. You have been convicted by clear and undoubtedevidence of the crime of wilful murder. The jury have pronounced youguilty; and in their verdict I entirely coincide. That you took thelife of that ill-fated and unoffending man, there is no doubt; you have, yourself, confessed it. It was a foul, a barbarous, a wicked act. I carenot for what may have been the particular circumstances attending it; hemay have provoked you by words; but no provocation of that nature couldjustify your drawing the gun upon him. Your counsel urged that you werea gentleman, a member of the British aristocracy, and therefore deservedconsideration. I confess that I was much surprised to hear such adoctrine fall from his lips. In my opinion, you being what you are, your position in life makes your crime the worse, and I have alwaysmaintained that when a man possessed of advantages falls into sin, he deserves less consideration than does one who is poor, simple, anduneducated. Certain portions of the evidence given to-day (and I do notnow allude to the actual crime) tell very greatly against you, and Iam sure not one in the court but must have turned from them withabhorrence. You were pursuing the daughter of this man with no honorablepurpose--and in this point your conduct contrasts badly with the avowalof Richard Hare, equally a gentleman with yourself. In this pursuityou killed her father; and not content with that, you still pursued thegirl--and pursued her to ruin, basely deceiving her as to the actualfacts, and laying the crime upon another. I cannot trust myself to speakfurther upon this point, nor is it necessary that I should; it is not toanswer for that, that you stand before me. Uncalled, unprepared, and byyou unpitied, you hurried that unfortunate man into eternity, and youmust now expiate the crime with your own life. The jury have recommendedyou to mercy, and the recommendation will be forwarded in due course tothe proper quarter, but you must be aware how frequently this clause isappended to a verdict, and how very rarely it is attended to, just causebeing wanting. I can but enjoin you, and I do so most earnestly, topass the little time that probably remains to you on earth in seekingrepentance and forgiveness. You are best aware, yourself, what your pastlife has been; the world knows somewhat of it; but there is pardon abovefor the most guilty, when it is earnestly sought. It now only remainsfor me to pass the sentence of the law. It is, that you, FrancisLevison, be taken back to the place from whence you came, and thence tothe place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck untilyou are dead. And may the Lord God Almighty have mercy on your soul!"

"Amen!"

The court was cleared. The day's excitement was over, and the next casewas inquired for. Not quite over, however, yet, the excitement, andthe audience crowded in again. For the next case proved to be thearraignment of Richard Hare the younger. A formal proceeding merely, in pursuance of the verdict of the coroner's inquest. No evidencewas offered against him, and the judge ordered him to be discharged. Richard, poor, ill-used, baited Richard was a free man again. 

Then ensued the scene of all scenes. Half, at least, of those present, were residents of, or from near West Lynne. They had known Richard Harefrom infancy--they had admired the boy in his pretty childhood--they hadliked him in his unoffending boyhood, but they had been none the lessready to cast their harsh stones at him, and to thunder down theirdenunciations when the time came. In proportion to their fiercenessthen, was their contrition now; Richard had been innocent all the while;they had been more guilty than he. 

An English mob, gentle or simple, never gets up its excitement byhalves. Whether its demonstration be of a laudatory or a condemnatorynature, the steam is sure to be put on to bursting point. With oneuniversal shout, with one bound, they rallied round Richard; theycongratulated him; they overwhelmed him with good wishes; they expressedwith shame their repentance; they said the future would atone for thepast. Had he possessed a hundred hands, they would have been shakenoff. And when Richard extracted himself, and turned, in his pleasant, forgiving, loving nature, to his father, the stern old justice, forgetting his pride and pomposity, burst into tears and sobbed like achild, as he murmured something about his also needing forgiveness. 

"Dear father, " cried Richard, his own eyes wet, "it is forgiven andforgotten already. Think how happy we shall be again together, you, andI, and my mother. "

The justice's hands, which had been wound around his son, relaxed theirhold. They were twitching curiously; the body also began to twitch, and he fell upon the shoulder of Colonel Bethel in a second stroke ofparalysis. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE DEATH CHAMBER. 

By the side of William Carlyle's dying bed knelt the Lady Isabel. The time was at hand, and the boy was quite reconciled to his fate. Merciful, indeed, is God to dying children! It is astonishing how veryreadily, when the right means are taken, they may be brought to lookwith pleasure, rather than fear, upon their unknown journey. 

The brilliant hectic, type of the disease, had gone from his cheeks, hisfeatures were white and wasted, and his eyes large and bright. His silkybrown hair was pushed off his temples, and his little hot hands werethrown outside the bed. 

"It won't be very long to wait, you know, will it, Madame Vine?"

"For what, darling?"

"Before they all come. Papa and mamma, and Lucy, and all of them. "

A jealous feeling shot across her wearied heart. Was _she_ nothing tohim? "Do you not care that I should come to you, William?"

"Yes, I hope you will. But do you think we shall know _everybody_ inHeaven? Or will it be only our own relations?"

"Oh, child! I think there will be no relations, as you call it, upthere. We can trust all that to God, however it may be. "

William lay looking upward at the sky, apparently in thought, a darkblue, serene sky, from which shone the hot July sun. His bed had beenmoved toward the window, for he liked to sit in it, and look at thelandscape. The window was open now, and the butterflies and bees sportedin the summer air. 

"I wonder how it will be?" pondered he, aloud. "There will be thebeautiful city, its gates of pearl, and its shining precious stones, andits streets of gold; and there will be the clear river, and the treeswith their fruits and their healing leaves, and the lovely flowers;and there will be the harps, and music, and singing. And what else willthere be?"

"Everything that is desirable and beautiful, William; but, what we maynot anticipate here. "

Another pause. "Madame Vine, will Jesus come for me, do you think, orwill He send an angel?"

"Jesus has _promised_ to come for His own redeemed--for those who loveHim and wait for Him. "

"Yes, yes, and then I shall be happy forever. It will be so pleasant tobe there, never to be tired or ill again. "

"Pleasant? Ay! Oh, William! Would that the time were come!"

She was thinking of herself--of her freedom--though the boy knew it not. She buried her face in her hands and continued speaking; William had tobend his ear to catch the faint whisper. 

"'And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying: neithershall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away. '"

"Madame Vine, do you think mamma will be there?" he presently asked. "Imean mamma that was. "

"Ay, ere long. "

"But how shall I know her? You see, I have nearly forgotten what she waslike. "

She leaned over him, laying her forehead upon his wasted arm, and burstinto a flood of impassioned tears. "You will know her, never fear, William; she has not forgotten you. "

"But how can we be sure that she will be there?" debated William, aftera pause of thought. "You know"--sinking his voice, and speaking withhesitation--"she was not quite good; she was not good enough to papa orto us. Sometimes I think, suppose she did not grow good, and did not askGod to forgive her!"

"Oh, William!" sobbed the unhappy lady, "her whole life, after sheleft you, was one long scene of repentance, of seeking forgiveness. Herrepentance, her sorrow, was greater than she could bear, and----"

"And what?" asked William, for there was a pause. 

"Her heart broke in it--yearning after you and your father. "

"What makes you think it?"

"Child, I _know_ it!"

William considered. Then, had he been strong enough, he would havestarted up with energy. "Madame Vine, you could only know that bymamma's telling you! Did you ever see her? Did you know her abroad?"

Lady Isabel's thoughts were far away--up in the clouds perhaps. Shereflected not on the possible consequences of her answer, or she hadnever given it. 

"Yes, I knew her abroad. "

"Oh!" said the boy. "Why did you never tell us? What did she say? Whatwas she like?"

"She said"--sobbing wildly--"that she was parted from her children here;but she should meet them in Heaven, and be with them forever. William, darling! all the awful pain, and sadness, and guilt of this world willbe washed out, and God will wipe your tears away. "

"What was her face like?" he questioned softly. 

"Like yours. Very much like Lucy's. "

"Was she pretty?"

A momentary pause. "Yes. "

"Oh, dear, I am ill. Hold me!" cried out William, as his head sank toone side, and great drops, as large as peas, broke forth upon hisclammy face. It appeared to be one of the temporary faint attacks thatoverpowered him at times lately, and Lady Isabel rang the bell hastily. 

Wilson came in, in answer. Joyce was the usual attendant upon the sickroom; but Mrs. Carlyle, with her infant, was passing the day at theGrove; unconscious of the critical state of William, and she had takenJoyce with her. It was the day following the trial. Mr. Justice Hare hadbeen brought to West Lynne in his second attack, and Barbara had goneto see him, to console her mother, and to welcome Richard to his homeagain. If one carriage drove, that day, to the Grove, with cards andinquiries, fifty did, not to speak of the foot callers. "It is all meantby way of attention to you, Richard, " said gentle Mrs. Hare, smilingthrough her loving tears at her restored son. Lucy and Archie weredining at Miss Carlyle's, and Sarah attended little Arthur, leavingWilson free. She came in, in answer to Madame Vine's ring. 

"Is he off in another faint?" unceremoniously cried she, hastening tothe bed. 

"I think so. Help to raise him. "

William did not faint. No; the attack was quite different from thosehe was subject to. Instead of losing consciousness and power, as wascustomary, he shook as if he had the ague, and laid hold both of MadameVine and Wilson, grasping them convulsively. 

"Don't let me fall! Don't let me fall!" he gasped. 

"My dear, you cannot fall, " responded Madame Vine. "You forget that youare on the bed. "

He clasped them yet, and trembled still, as from fear. "Don't let mefall! Don't let me fall" the incessant burden of his cry. 

The paroxysm passed. They wiped his brow, and stood looking at him;Wilson with a pursed up mouth, and a peculiar expression of face. Sheput a spoonful of restorative jelly between his lips, and he swallowedit, but shook his head when she would have given him another. Turninghis face to the pillow, in a few minutes he was in a doze. 

"What could it have been?" exclaimed Lady Isabel, in an undertone, toWilson. 

"_I_ know, " was the oracular answer. "I saw this same sort of an attackonce before, madame. "

"And what caused it?"

"Twasn't in a child though, " went on Wilson--"'twas in a grown person. But that's nothing, it comes for the same thing in all. I think he wastaken for death. "

"Who?" uttered Lady Isabel, startled. 

Wilson made no reply in words, but she pointed with her finger to thebed. 

"Oh, Wilson, he is not so ill as that. Mr. Wainwright said this morning, that he might last a week or two. "

Wilson composedly sat herself down in the easiest chair. She was notwont to put herself out of the way for the governess; and that governesswas too much afraid of her, in one sense, to let her know her place. "As to Wainwright, he's nobody, " quoth she. "And if he saw the child'sbreath going out before his face, and knew that the next moment would behis last, he'd vow to us all that he was good for twelve hours tocome. You don't know Wainwright as I do, madame. He was our doctor atmother's; and he has attended in all the places I have lived in since Iwent out to service. Five years I was maid at Mrs. Hare's. I came herewhen Miss Lucy was a baby, and in all my places has he attended, likeone's shadow. My Lady Isabel thought great guns of old Wainwright, Iremember. It was more than I did. "

My Lady Isabel made no response to this. She took a seat and watchedWilliam through her glasses. His breathing was more labored than usual. 

"That idiot, Sarah, says to me to-day, says she, 'Which of his twograndpapas will they bury him by, old Mr. Carlyle or Lord Mount Severn?''Don't be a calf!' I answered her. 'D'ye think they'll stick him outin the corner with my lord?--he'll be put into the Carlyle vault, ofcourse, ' It would have been different, you see, Madame Vine, if my ladyhad died at home, all proper--Mr. Carlyle's wife. They'd have buriedher, no doubt, by her father, and the boy would have been laid with her. But she did not. "

No reply was made by Madame Vine, and a silence ensued; nothing to beheard but that fleeting breath. 

"I wonder how that beauty feels?" suddenly broke forth Wilson again, hertone one of scornful irony. 

Lady Isabel, her eyes and her thoughts absorbed by William, positivelythought Wilson's words must relate to him. She turned to her insurprise. 

"That bright gem in the prison at Lynneborough, " exclaimed Wilson. "Ihope he may have found himself pretty well since yesterday! I wonder howmany trainfuls from West Lynne will go to his hanging?"

Isabel's face turned crimson, her heart sick. She had not dared toinquire how the trial terminated. The subject altogether was toodreadful, and nobody had happened to mention it in her hearing. 

"Is he condemned?" she breathed, in a low tone. 

"He is condemned, and good luck to him! And Mr. Otway Bethel's let looseagain, and good luck to _him_. A nice pair they are! Nobody went fromthis house to hear the trial--it might not have been pleasant, you know, to Mr. Carlyle; but people came in last night and told us all aboutit. Young Richard Hare chiefly convicted him. He is back again, and sonice-looking, they say--ten times more so than he was when quite ayoung man. You should have heard, they say, the cheering and shouts thatgreeted Mr. Richard when his innocence came out; it pretty near rose offthe roof of the court, and the judge didn't stop it. "

Wilson paused, but there was no answering comment. On she went again. 

"When Mr. Carlyle brought the news home last evening, and broke itto his wife, telling her how Mr. Richard had been received withacclamations, she nearly fainted, for she's not strong yet. Mr. Carlylecalled out to me to bring some water--I was in the next room with thebaby--and there she was, the tears raining from her eyes, and he holdingher to him. I always said there was a whole world of love between thosetwo; though he did go and marry another. Mr. Carlyle ordered me to putthe water down, and sent me away again. But I don't fancy he told her ofold Hare's attack until this morning. "

Lady Isabel lifted her aching forehead. "What attack?"

"Why, madame, don't you know. I declare you box yourself up in thehouse, keeping from everybody, and you hear nothing. You might as wellbe living at the bottom of a coal-pit. Old Hare had another stroke inthe court at Lynneborough, and that's why my mistress is gone to theGrove to-day. "

"Who says Richard Hare's come home, Wilson?"

The question--the weak, scarcely audible question--had come from thedying boy. Wilson threw up her hands, and made a bound to the bed. "Thelike of that!" she uttered, aside to Mrs. Vine. "One never knows when totake these sick ones. Master William, you hold your tongue and drop tosleep again. Your papa will be home soon from Lynneborough; and if youtalk and get tired, he'll say it's my fault. Come shut your eyes. Willyou have a bit more jelly?"

William, making no reply to the offer of jelly, buried his face again onthe pillow. But he was grievously restless; the nearly worn-out spiritwas ebbing and flowing. 

Mr. Carlyle was at Lynneborough. He always had much business there atassize time and the _Nisi Prius_ Court; but the previous day he had notgone himself, Mr. Dill had been dispatched to represent him. 

Between seven and eight he returned home, and came into William'schamber. The boy brightened up at the well-known presence. 

"Papa!"

Mr. Carlyle sat down on the bed and kissed him. The passing beams ofthe sun, slanting from the horizon, shone into the room, and Mr. Carlylecould view well the dying face. The gray hue of death was certainly onit. 

"Is he worse?" he exclaimed hastily, to Madame Vine, who was jacketed, and capped, and spectacled, and tied up round the throat, and otherwisedisguised, in her universal fashion. 

"He appears worse this evening, sir--more weak. "

"Papa, " panted William, "is the trial over?"

"What trial, my boy?"

"Sir Francis Levison's. "

"It was over yesterday. Never trouble your head about him, my brave boy, he is not worth it. "

"But I want to know. Will they hang him?"

"He is sentenced to it. "

"Did he kill Hallijohn?"

"Yes. Who has been talking to him upon the subject?" Mr. Carlylecontinued to Madame Vine, with marked displeasure in his tone. 

"Wilson mentioned it, sir, " was the low answer. 

"Oh, papa! What will he do? Will Jesus forgive _him_?"

"We must hope it. "

"Do you hope it, papa?"

"Yes. I wish that all the world may be forgiven, William, whatever mayhave been their sins. My child, how restless you seem!"

"I can't keep in one place; the bed gets wrong. Pull me up on thepillow, will you Madame Vine?"

Mr. Carlyle gently lifted the boy himself. 

"Madame Vine is an untiring nurse to you, William, " he observed, gratefully casting a glance toward her in the distance, where she hadretreated, and was shaded by the window curtain. 

William made no reply; he seemed to be trying to recall something. "Iforget! I forget!"

"Forget what?" asked Mr. Carlyle. 

"It was something I wanted to ask you, or to tell you. Isn't Lucy comehome?"

"I suppose not. "

"Papa, I want Joyce. "

"I will send her home to you. I am going for your mamma after dinner. "

"For mamma?--oh, I remember now. Papa, how shall I know mamma in Heaven?Not this mamma. "

Mr. Carlyle did not immediately reply. The question may have puzzledhim. William continued hastily; possibly mistaking the motive of thesilence. 

"She _will_ be in Heaven, you know. "

"Yes, yes, child, " speaking hurriedly. 

"Madame Vine knows she will. She saw her abroad; and mamma told herthat--what was it, madame?"

Madame Vine grew sick with alarm. Mr. Carlyle turned his eyes uponher scarlet face--as much as he could get to see of it. She would haveescaped from the room if she could. 

"Mamma was more sorry than she could bear, " went on William, finding hewas not helped. "She wanted you, papa, and she wanted us, and her heartbroke, and she died. "

A flush rose to Mr. Carlyle's brow. He turned inquiringly to MadameVine. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, " she murmured, with desperate energy. "Iought not to have spoken; I ought not to have interfered in your familyaffairs. I spoke only as I thought it must be, sir. The boy seemedtroubled about his mother. "

Mr. Carlyle was at sea. "Did you meet his mother abroad? I scarcelyunderstand. "

She lifted her hand and covered her glowing face. "No, sir. " Surely therecording angel blotted out the words! If ever a prayer for forgivenesswent up from an aching heart, it must have gone up then, for theequivocation over her child's death-bed!

Mr. Carlyle went toward her. "Do you perceive the change in hiscountenance?" he whispered. 

"Yes, sir. He has looked like this since a strange fit of trembling thatcame on in the afternoon. Wilson thought he might be taken for death. Ifear that some four and twenty hours will end it. "

Mr. Carlyle rested his elbow on the window frame, and his hand upon hisbrow, his drooping eyelids falling over his eyes. "It is hard to losehim. "

"Oh, sir, he will be better off!" she wailed, choking down the sobs andthe emotion that arose threateningly. "We _can_ bear death; it is notthe worst parting that the earth knows. He will be quit of this cruelworld, sheltered in Heaven. I wish we were all there!"

A servant came to say that Mr. Carlyle's dinner was served, and heproceeded to it with what appetite he had. When he returned to the sickroom the daylight had faded, and a solitary candle was placed where itsrays could not fall upon the child's face. Mr. Carlyle took the light inhis hand to scan that face again. He was lying sideways on the pillow, his hollow breath echoing through the room. The light caused him to openhis eyes. 

"Don't, papa, please. I like it dark. "

"Only for a moment, my precious boy. " And not for more than a momentdid Mr. Carlyle hold it. The blue, pinched, ghastly look was there yet. Death was certainly coming on quick. 

At that moment Lucy and Archibald came in, on their return from theirvisit to Miss Carlyle. The dying boy looked up eagerly. 

"Good-bye, Lucy, " he said, putting out his cold, damp hand. 

"I am not going out, " replied Lucy. "We have but just come home. "

"Good-bye, Lucy, " repeated he. 

She laid hold of the little hand then, leaned over, and kissed him. "Good-bye, William; but indeed I am not going out anywhere. "

"I am, " said he. "I am going to Heaven. Where's Archie?"

Mr. Carlyle lifted Archie on to the bed. Lucy looked frightened, Archiesurprised. 

"Archie, good-bye; good-bye, dear, I am going to Heaven; to that bright, blue sky, you know. I shall see mamma there, and I'll tell her that youand Lucy are coming soon. "

Lucy, a sensitive child, broke into a loud storm of sobs, enough todisturb the equanimity of any sober sick room. Wilson hastened in atthe sound, and Mr. Carlyle sent the two children away, with soothingpromises that they should see William in the morning, if he continuedwell enough. 

Down on her knees, her face buried in the counterpane, a corner of itstuffed into her mouth that it might help to stifle her agony, kneltLady Isabel. The moment's excitement was well nigh beyond her strengthof endurance. Her own child--his child--they alone around its death-bed, and she might not ask or receive a word of comfort, of consolation!

Mr. Carlyle glanced at her as he caught her choking sobs just ashe would have glanced at any other attentive governess--feeling hersympathy, doubtless, but nothing more; she was not heart and part withhim and his departing boy. Lower and lower bent he over that boy; forhis eyes were wet. "Don't cry, papa, " whispered William, raising hisfeeble hand caressingly to his father's cheek, "I am not afraid to go. Jesus is coming for me. "

"Afraid to go! Indeed I hope not, my gentle boy. You are going toGod--to happiness. A few years--we know not how few--and we shall allcome to you. "

"Yes, you will be sure to come; I know that. I shall tell mamma so. Idare say she is looking out for me now. Perhaps she's standing on thebanks of the river, watching the boats. "

He had evidently got that picture of Martin's in his mind, "The Plainsof Heaven. " Mr. Carlyle turned to the table. He saw some strawberryjuice, pressed from the fresh fruit, and moistened with it the boy'sfevered lips. 

"Papa, I can't think how Jesus can be in all the boats! Perhaps theydon't go quite at the same time. He must be, you know, because He comesto fetch us. "

"He will be yours, darling, " was the whispered, fervent answer. 

"Oh, yes. He will take me all the way up to God, and say, 'Here's apoor little boy come, you must please to forgive him and let him go intoHeaven, because I died for him!' Papa did you know that mamma's heartbroke?"

"William, I think it likely that your poor mamma's heart did break, eredeath came. But let us talk of you, not of her. Are you in pain?"

"I can't breathe; I can't swallow. I wish Joyce was here. "

"She will not be long now. "

The boy nestled himself in his father's arms, and in a few minutesappeared to be asleep. Mr. Carlyle, after a while, gently laid him onhis pillow, and watched him, and then turned to depart. 

"Oh, papa! Papa!" he cried out, in a tone of painful entreaty, openingwide his yearning eyes, "say good-bye to me!"

Mr. Carlyle's tears fell upon the little upturned face, as he once morecaught it to his breast. 

"My darling, your papa will soon be back. He is going to bring mamma tosee you. "

"And pretty little baby Anna?"

"And baby Anna, if you would like her to come in. I will not leave mydarling boy for long; he need not fear. I shall not leave you againto-night, William, when once I am back. "

"Then put me down, and go, papa. "

A lingering embrace--a fond, lingering, tearful embrace--Mr. Carlyleholding him to his beating heart, then he laid him comfortably on hispillow, gave him a teaspoonful of strawberry juice, and hastened away. 

"Good-bye, papa!" came forth the little feeble cry. 

It was not heard. Mr. Carlyle was gone, gone from his livingchild--forever. Up rose Lady Isabel, and flung her arms aloft in a stormof sobs!

"Oh, William, darling! in this dying moment let me be to you as yourmother!"

Again he unclosed his wearied eyelids. It is probable that he onlypartially understood. 

"Papa's gone for her. "

"Not _her_! I--I----" Lady Isabel checked herself, and fell sobbing onthe bed. No; not even at the last hour when the world was closing onhim, dared she say, I am your mother. 

Wilson re-entered. "He looks as if he were dropping off to sleep, " quothshe. 

"Yes, " said Lady Isabel. "You need not wait, Wilson. I will ring if herequires anything. "

Wilson though withal not a bad-hearted woman, was not one to remain forpleasure in a sick-room, if told she might leave it. She, Lady Isabel, remained alone. She fell on her knees again, this time in prayer for thedeparting spirit, on its wing, and that God would mercifully vouchsafeherself a resting-place with it in heaven. 

A review of the past then rose up before her, from the time of her firstentering that house, the bride of Mr. Carlyle, to her present sojourn init. The old scenes passed through her mind like the changing picture ina phantasmagoria. 

Why should they have come, there and then? She knew not. 

William slept on silently; _she_ thought of the past. The dreadfulreflection, "If I had not done as I did, how different would it havebeen now!" had been sounding its knell in her heart so often that shehad almost ceased to shudder at it. The very nails of her hands had, before now, entered the palms, with the sharp pain it brought. Stealingover her more especially this night, there, as she knelt, her head lyingon the counterpane, came the recollection of that first illness of hers. How she had lain, and, in that unfounded jealousy, imagined Barbara thehouse's mistress. She dead! Barbara exalted to her place. Mr. Carlyle'swife, her child's stepmother! She recalled the day when, her mindexcited by a certain gossip of Wilson's--it was previously in a state offever bordering on delirium--she had prayed her husband, in terror andanguish, not to marry Barbara. "How could he marry her?" he had replied, in his soothing pity. "She, Isabel, was his wife. Who was Barbara?Nothing to them?" But it had all come to pass. _She_ had brought itforth. Not Mr. Carlyle; not Barbara; she alone. Oh, the dreadful miseryof the retrospect!

Lost in thought, in anguish past and present, in self-condemningrepentance, the time passed on. Nearly an hour must have elapsed sinceMr. Carlyle's departure, and William had not disturbed her. But who wasthis, coming into the room? Joyce. 

She hastily rose up, as Joyce, advancing with a quiet step drew asidethe clothes to look at William. "Master says he has been wanting me, "she observed. "Why--oh!"

It was a sharp, momentary cry, subdued as soon as uttered. Madame Vinesprang forward to Joyce's side, looking also. The pale young face laycalm in its utter stillness; the busy little heart had ceased to beat. Jesus Christ had indeed come and taken the fleeting spirit. 

Then she lost all self-control. She believed that she had reconciledherself to the child's death, that she could part with him without toogreat emotion. But she had not anticipated it would be quite so soon;she had deemed that some hours more would at least be given him, and nowthe storm overwhelmed her. Crying, sobbing, calling, she flung herselfupon him; she clasped him to her; she dashed off her disguising glasses;she laid her face upon his, beseeching him to come back to her, thatshe might say farewell--to her, his mother; her darling child, her lostWilliam!

Joyce was terrified--terrified for consequences. With her full strengthshe pulled her from the boy, praying her to consider--to be still. "Donot, do not, for the love of Heaven! _My lady! My lady!_"

It was the old familiar title that struck upon her fears and inducedcalmness. She stared at Joyce, and retreated backward, after the mannerof one receding from some hideous vision. Then, as recollection came toher, she snatched her glasses up and hurried them on. 

"My lady, let me take you into your room. Mr. Carlyle is come; he isjust bringing up his wife. Only think if you should give way before him!Pray come away!"

"How did you know me?" she asked in a hollow voice. 

"My lady, it was that night when there was an alarm of fire. I wentclose up to you to take Master Archibald from your arms; and, as sure asI am now standing here, I believe that for the moment my senses leftme. I thought I saw a spectre--the spectre of my dead lady. I forgotthe present; I forgot that all were standing round me; that you, MadameVine, were alive before me. Your face was not disguised then; themoonlight shone full upon it, and I knew it, after the first few momentsof terror, to be, in dreadful truth, the _living_ one of Lady Isabel. Mylady, come away! We shall have Mr. Carlyle here. "

Poor thing! She sank upon her knees, in her humility, her dread. "Oh, Joyce, have pity upon me! don't betray me! I will leave the house;indeed I will. Don't betray me while I am in it!"

"My lady, you have nothing to fear from me. I have kept the secretburied within my breast since then. Last April! It has nearly been toomuch for me. By night and by day I have had no peace, dreading whatmight come out. Think of the awful confusion, the consequences, shouldit come to the knowledge of Mr. And Mrs. Carlyle. Indeed, my lady, younever ought to have come. "

"Joyce, " she said, hollowly, lifting her haggard face, "I could not keepaway from my unhappy children. Is it no punishment to _me_, think you, the being here?" she added, vehemently. "To see him--my husband--thehusband of another! It is killing me. "

"Oh, my lady, come away! I hear him; I hear him!"

Partly coaxing, partly dragging her, Joyce took her into her own room, and left her there. Mr. Carlyle was at that moment at the door of thesick one. Joyce sprang forward. Her face, in her emotion and fear, wasof one livid whiteness, and she shook as William had shaken, poor child, in the afternoon. It was only too apparent in the well-lighted corridor. 

"Joyce, " he exclaimed, in amazement, "what ails you?"

"Sir! master!" she panted; "be prepared. Master William--MasterWilliam----"

"Joyce! Not _dead_!"

"Alas, yes, sir!"

Mr. Carlyle strode into the chamber. But ere he was well across it, heturned back to slip the bolt of the door. On the pillow lay the white, thin face, at rest now. 

"My boy! my boy! Oh, my God!" he murmured, in bowed reverence, "mayestThou have received this child to rest in Jesus, even as, I trust, Thouhadst already received his unhappy mother!"

CHAPTER XLIV. 

LORD VANE DATING FORWARD. 

To the burial of William Carlyle came Lord Mount Severn and his son. Wilson had been right in her surmises as to the resting-place. TheCarlyle vault was opened for him, and an order went forth to thesculptor for an inscription to be added to their marble tablet in thechurch: "William Vane Carlyle, eldest son of Archibald Carlyle, of EastLynne. " Amongst those who attended the funeral as mourners went onemore notable in the eyes of the gazers than the rest--Richard Hare theyounger. 

Lady Isabel was ill. Ill in mind, and ominously ill in body. She kepther room, and Joyce attended on her. The household set down madame'sillness to the fatigue of having attended upon Master William; it wasnot thought of seriously by any one, especially as she declined to see adoctor. All her thoughts now were directed to the getting away from EastLynne, for it would never do to remain there to die; and she knew thatdeath was on his way to her, and that no human power or skill--not allthe faculty combined--could turn him back again. The excessive dread ofdetection was not upon her as it had been formerly. I mean she did notdread the consequences so much, if detection came. In nearing the grave, all fears and hopes, of whatever nature, relating to this world, losetheir force, and fears or hopes regarding the next world take theirplace. Our petty feelings here are lost in the greater. 

In returning to East Lynne, Lady Isabel had entered upon a daring act, and she found, in the working, that neither strength nor spirit wasequal to it. Human passions and tempers were brought with us into thisworld, and they can only quit us when we bid it farewell, to enter uponimmortality in the next. 

When Lady Isabel was Mr. Carlyle's wife, she had never wholly loved him. The very utmost homage that esteem, admiration, affection could give washis, but that mysterious passion called by the name of love, and which, as I truly and heartily believe, cannot, in its refined etherealism, be known to many of us, had not been given to him. It was now. From thevery night she came back to East Lynne, her love for Mr. Carlyle hadburst forth with an intensity never before felt. It had been smolderingalmost ever since she quitted him. "Reprehensible!" groans a moralist. Very. Everybody knows that, as Afy would say. But her heart, you see, had _not_ done with human passions, and they work ill, and contrariness, let the word stand, critic, if you please, and precisely everything theyshould not. 

I shall get in for it, I fear, if I attempt to defend her. But it wasnot exactly the same thing, as though she suffered herself to fall inlove with somebody else's husband. Nobody would defend that. We have notturned Mormons yet, and the world does not walk upon its head. But thiswas a peculiar case. She, poor thing, almost regarded Mr. Carlyle as_her_ husband. The bent of her thoughts was only too much inclined tothis. The evil human heart again. Many and many a time did she wake upfrom a reverie, and strive to drive this mistaken view of things awayfrom her, taking shame to herself. Ten minutes afterward, she wouldcatch her brain reveling in the same rebellious vision. Mr. Carlyle'slove was not hers now, it was Barbara's. Mr. Carlyle did not belong toher, he belonged to his wife. It was not only that he was not hers--hewas another's. You may, therefore, if you have the pleasure of beingexperienced in this sort of thing, guess a little of what her inwardlife was. Had there been no Barbara in the case, she might have livedand borne it; as it was, it had killed her before her time, that and theremorse together. 

There had been other things, too. The re-appearance of Francis Levisonat West Lynne, in fresh contact, as may be said, with herself, hadstruck terror to her heart, and the dark charge brought against himaugmented awfully her remorse. Then, the sharp lances perpetually thrustupon her memory--the Lady Isabel's memory--from all sides, were full ofcruel stings, unintentionally though they were hurled. And there wasthe hourly chance of discovery, and the never ceasing battle with herconscience, for being at East Lynne at all. No wonder that the chords oflife were snapping; the wonder would have been had they remained whole. 

"She brought it upon herself--she ought not to have come back to EastLynne!" groans our moralist again. 

Didn't I say so? Of course she ought not. Neither ought she to havesuffered her thoughts to stray, in the manner they did, towards Mr. Carlyle. She ought not, but she did. If we all did just what we "ought, "this lower proverb touching _fruit defendu_ would go out as a deadletter. 

She was nearer to death than she imagined. She knew, judging by herdeclining strength and her inner feelings, that it could not be far off;but she did not deem it was coming so very soon. Her mother had diedin a similar way. Some said of consumption--Dr. Martin did, you mayremember; some said of "waste;" the earl, her husband, said a brokenheart--you heard him say so to Mr. Carlyle in the first chapter ofthis history. The earl was the one who might be supposed to know best. Whatever may have been Lady Mount Severn's malady, she--to give youthe phrase that was in people's mouth's at the time--"went out like thesnuff of a candle. " It was now the turn of Lady Isabel. She had no moredecided disorder than the countess had had, yet death had marked her. She felt that it had, and in its approach she dreaded not, as she oncehad done, the consequences that must ensue, did discovery come. Whichbrings us back to the point whence ensued this long digression. I daresay you are chafing at it, but it is not often I trouble you with one. 

But she would not willingly let discovery come, neither had she theleast intention of remaining at East Lynne to die. Where she should takerefuge was quite a secondary consideration, only let her get smoothlyand plausibly away. Joyce, in her dread, was forever urging it. Ofcourse, the preliminary step was to arrange matters with Mrs. Carlyle, and in the afternoon of the day following the funeral, Lady Isabelproceeded to her dressing-room, and craved an interview. 

Mr. Carlyle quitted the room as she entered it. Barbara, fatigued with arecent drive, was lying on the sofa. She would scarcely take the notice. 

"We shall be so sorry to lose you, Madame Vine. You are all we couldwish for Lucy, and Mr. Carlyle feels truly grateful for your love andattention to his poor boy. "

"To leave you will give me pain also, " Madame Vine answered, in asubdued tone. Pain? Ay. Mrs. Carlyle little guessed at its extent. Allshe cared for on earth she should leave behind her at East Lynne. 

"Indeed you must not leave, " resumed Barbara. "It would be unjustto allow you to do so. You have made yourself ill, waiting upon poorWilliam, and you must stay here and take a holiday until you are cured. You will soon get well, if you will only suffer yourself to be properlywaited on and taken care of. "

"You are very considerate. Pray do not think me insensible if I decline. I believe my strength is beyond getting up--that I shall never be ableto teach again. "

"Oh, nonsense, " said Barbara, in her quick way. "We are all given tofancy the worst when we are ill. I was feeling terribly weak, only a fewminutes ago, and said something of the same sort to Archibald. He talkedand soothed me out of it. I wish you had your dear husband living, Madame Vine, to support you and love you, as I have him. "

A tinge of scarlet streaked Madame Vine's pale face, and she laid herhand upon her beating heart. 

"How could you think of leaving? We should be glad to help re-establishyour health, in any case, but it is only fair to do it now. I feltsure, by the news brought to me when I was ill, that your attention uponWilliam was overtasking your strength. "

"It is not the attendance upon William that has brought me into thisstate, " was the quick answer. "I _must_ leave; I have well considered itover. "

"Would you like to go to the seaside?" exclaimed Barbara with suddenenergy. "I am going there on Monday next. Mr. Carlyle insists upon itthat I try a little change. I had intended only to take my baby, but wecan make different arrangements, and take you and Lucy. It might do yougood, Madame Vine. "

She shook her head. "No; it would make me worse. All that I want isperfect quiet. I must beg you to understand that I shall leave. And Ishould be glad if you could allow the customary notice to be dispensedwith, so that I may be at liberty to depart within a few days. "

"Look here, then, " said Barbara, after a pause of consideration, "youremain at East Lynne until my return, which will be in a fortnight. Mr. Carlyle cannot stay with me, so I know I shall be tired in less timethan that. I do not want you to remain to teach, you know, Madame Vine;I do not wish you to do a single thing. Lucy shall have a holiday, andMr. Kane can come up for her music. Only I could not be content to leaveher, unless under your surveillance; she is getting of an age now notto be consigned to servants, not to Joyce. Upon my return, if you stillwish to leave, you shall then be at liberty to do so. What do you say?"

Madame Vine said "Yes. " Said it eagerly. To have another fortnight withher children, Lucy and Archibald, was very like a reprieve, and sheembraced it. Although she knew, as I have said, that grim Death was onhis way, she did not think he had drawn so near the end of his journey. Her thoughts went back to the time when she had been ordered to theseaside after an illness. It had been a marvel if they had not. Sheremembered how he, her husband, had urged the change upon her; how hehad taken her, traveling carefully; how tenderly anxious he had beenin the arrangements for her comfort, when settling her in the lodgings;how, when he came again to see her, he had met her with his passionatefondness, thanking God for the visible improvement in her looks. Thatone injunction which she had called him back to give him, as he wasdeparting for the boat, was bitterly present to her now: "Do not getmaking love to Barbara Hare. " All this care, and love, and tendernessbelonged now of right to Barbara, and were given to her. 

But now Barbara, although she pressed Madame Vine to remain at EastLynne, and indeed would have been glad that she should do so, did nottake her refusal at heart. Barbara could not fail to perceive that shewas a thoroughly refined gentlewoman, far superior to the generality ofgovernesses. That she was truly fond of Lucy, and most anxious for herwelfare in every way, Barbara also saw. For Lucy's sake, therefore, shewould be grieved to part with Madame Vine, and would raise her salaryto anything in reason, if she would but stay. But, on her own score, Barbara had as soon Madame Vine went as not; for, in her heart ofhearts, she had never liked her. She could not have told why. Was itinstinct? Very probably. The birds of the air, the beasts of the field, the fishes of the sea, have their instincts, and so does man have his. Perhaps it was the unaccountable resemblance that Madame Vine bore toLady Isabel. A strange likeness! Barbara often thought, but whetherit lay in the face, the voice, or the manner, she could not decide. Asuspicion of the truth did not cross her mind. How should it? And shenever spoke of it; had the resemblance been to any one but Lady Isabelshe would have talked of it freely. Or, it may have been that there wasnow and then a tone in Madame Vine's voice that grated on her ear; awrung, impatient tone, wanting in respect, savoring of hauteur, whichBarbara did not understand, and did not like. However it may havebeen, certain it is that Mrs. Carlyle would not shed tears after thegoverness. Only for Lucy's sake did she regret parting with her. 

These different resemblances and reflections were separately passingthrough the minds of the two ladies when their conference was over. Madame Vine at length rose from her chair to depart. 

"Would you mind holding my baby for one minute?" cried Barbara. 

Madame Vine quite started. 

"The baby there!" she uttered. 

Barbara laughed. 

"It is lying by my side, under the shawl, quiet little sleeping thing. "

Madame Vine advanced and took the sleeping baby. How could she refuse?She had never had it in her arms before; she had, in fact, scarcely seenit. One visit of ceremony she had paid Mrs. Carlyle, as in politenessbound, a day or two after the young lady's arrival, and had been shown alittle face, nearly covered with lace, in a cradle. 

"Thank you. I can get up now. I might have half smothered it, had Iattempted before, " continued Barbara, still laughing. "I have been herelong enough, and am quite rested. Talking about smothering children, what accounts have we in the registrar-general's weekly returns ofhealth! So many children 'overlaid in bed, ' so many children 'suffocatedin bed. ' One week there were nearly twenty; and often there are asmany as eight or ten. Mr. Carlyle says he knows they are smothered onpurpose. "

"Oh, Mrs. Carlyle!"

"I exclaimed, just as you do, when he said it, and laid my hand over hislips. He laughed, and told me I did not know half the wickedness of theworld. Thank you, " again repeated Mrs. Carlyle, taking her child fromLady Isabel. "Is she not a pretty baby? Do you like the name--Anne?"

"It is a simple name, " replied Lady Isabel; "and simple names are alwaysthe most attractive. "

"That is just what Archibald thinks. But he wanted this child's to beBarbara. I would not have had it Barbara for the world. I rememberhis once saying, a long, long while ago that he did not like elaboratenames; they were mouthfuls; and he instanced mine and his sister's, andhis own. I recalled his words to him, and he said he may not have likedthe name of Barbara then, but he loved it now. So we entered into acompromise; Miss Baby was named Anne Barbara, with an understanding thatthe first name is to be for use, and the last for the registers. "

"It is not christened?" said Lady Isabel. 

"Only baptized. We should have had it christened before now, but forWilliam's death. Not that we give christening dinners; but I waited forthe trial at Lynneborough to be over, that my dear brother Richard mightstand to the child. "

"Mr. Carlyle does not like christenings made into festivals, " LadyIsabel dreamily observed, her thoughts buried in the past. 

"How do you know that?" exclaimed Barbara, opening her eyes. 

And poor Madame Vine, her pale face flushing, had to stammer forth someconfused words that she had "heard so somewhere. "

"It is quite true, " said Barbara. "He has never given achristening-dinner for any of his children, and gets out of attendingif invited to one. He cannot understand the analogy between a solemnreligious rite and the meeting together afterward to eat and drink andmake merry, according to the fashion of this world. "

As Lady Isabel quitted the room, young Vane was careering through thecorridor, throwing his head in all directions, and calling out, --

"Lucy! I want Lucy!"

"What do you want with her?" asked Madame Vine. 

"_Il m'est impossible de vous le dire madame_, " responded he. Being, foran Eton boy, wonderfully up in French, he was rather given to show itoff when he got the chance. He did not owe thanks for it to Eton. LadyMount Severn had taken better care than that. Better care? What _could_she want? There was one whole, real, live French tutor--and he anEnglishman!--for the eight hundred boys. Very unreasonable of herladyship to disparage that ample provision. 

"Lucy cannot come to you just now. She is practicing. "

"_Mais, il le faut. J'ai le droit de demander apres elle. Ellem'appartient, vous comprenez, madame, cette demoiselle la. _"

Madame could not forbear a smile. "I wish you would speak English sense, instead of French nonsense. "

"Then the English sense is that I want Lucy and I must have her. I amgoing to take her for a drive in the pony carriage, if you must know. She said she'd come, and John's getting it ready. "

"I could not possibly allow it, " said Madame Vine. "You'd be sure toupset her. "

"The idea!" he returned, indignantly. "As if I should upset Lucy! Why, I'm one of the great whips at Eton. I care for Lucy too much not todrive steadily. She is to be my wife, you know, _ma bonne dame_. "

At this juncture two heads were pushed out from the library, closeby; those of the earl and Mr. Carlyle. Barbara, also, attracted by thetalking, appeared at the door of her dressing-room. 

"What's that about a wife?" asked my lord of his son. 

The blood mantled in the young gentleman's cheek as he turned round andsaw who had spoken, but he possessed all the fearlessness of an Etonboy. 

"I intend Lucy Carlyle to be my wife, papa. I mean in earnest--when weshall both be grown up--if you will approve, and Mr. Carlyle will giveher to me. "

The earl looked somewhat impassable, Mr. Carlyle amused. "Suppose, " saidthe latter, "we adjourn the discussion to this day ten years?"

"But that Lucy is so very young a child, I should reprove you seriously, sir, " said the earl. "You have no right to bring Lucy's name into anysuch absurdity. "

"I mean it, papa; you'll all see. And I intend to keep out ofscrapes--that is, of nasty, dishonorable scrapes--on purpose that Mr. Carlyle shall find no excuse against me. I have made up my mind to bewhat he is--a man of honor. I am right glad you know about it, sir, andI shall let mamma know it before long. "

The last sentence tickled the earl's fancy, and a grim smile passed overhis lips. "It will be war to the knife, if you do. "

"I know that, " laughed the viscount. "But I am getting a better matchfor mamma in our battles than I used to be. "

Nobody saw fit to prolong the discussion. Barbara put her veto uponthe drive in the pony carriage unless John sat behind to look after thedriver, which Lord Vane still resented as an insult. Madame Vine, whenthe corridor became empty again, laid her hand upon the boy's arm as hewas moving away, and drew him to the window. 

"In speaking as you do of Lucy Carlyle, do you forget the disgracereflected on her by the conduct of her mother?"

"Her mother is not Lucy. "

"It may prove an impediment, that, with Lord and Lady Mount Severn. "

"Not with his lordship. And I must do--as you heard me say--battle withmy mother. Conciliatory battle, you understand, madame; bringing theenemy to reason. "

Madame Vine was agitated. She held her handkerchief to her mouth, andthe boy noticed how her hands trembled. 

"I have learnt to love Lucy. It has appeared to me in these few months'sojourn with her, that I have stood to her in light of a mother. WilliamVane, " she solemnly added, keeping her hold upon him, "I shall soonbe where earthly distinctions are no more; where sin and sorrow areno more. Should Lucy Carlyle indeed become your wife, in after years, never, never cast upon her, by so much as the slightest word ofreproach, the sin of Lady Isabel. "

Lord Vane threw back his head, his honest eyes flashing in theirindignant earnestness. 

"What do you take me for?"

"It would be a cruel wrong upon Lucy. She does not deserve it. Thatunhappy lady's sin was all her own; let it die with her. Never speak toLucy of her mother. "

The lad dashed his hand across his eyes for they were filling. 

"I shall. I shall speak to her often of her mother--that is, you know, after she's my wife. I shall tell her how I loved Lady Isabel--thatthere's nobody I ever loved so much in the world, but Lucy herself. _I_cast a reproach to Lucy on the score of her mother!" he hotly added. "Itis through her mother that I love her. You don't understand, madame. "

"Cherish and love her forever, should she become yours, " said LadyIsabel, wringing his hand. "I ask it you as one who is dying. "

"I will--I promise it. But I say, madame, " he continued, dropping hisfervent tone, "what do you allude to? Are you worse?"

Madame Vine did not answer. She glided away without speaking. 

Later, when she was sitting by twilight in the gray parlor, cold andshivering, and wrapped up in a shawl, though it was hot summer weather, somebody knocked at the door. 

"Come in, " cried she, apathetically. 

It was Mr. Carlyle who entered. She rose up, her pulses quickening, herheart thumping against her side. In her wild confusion she was drawingforward a chair for him. He laid his hand upon it, and motioned her toher own. 

"Mrs. Carlyle tells me that you have been speaking to her ofleaving--that you find yourself too much out of health to continue withus. "

"Yes, sir, " she faintly replied, having a most imperfect notion of whatshe did say. 

"What is it that you find to be the matter with you?"

"I--think--it is chiefly--weakness, " she stammered. 

Her face had grown as gray as the walls. A dusky, livid sort of hue, notunlike William's had worn the night of his death, and her voice soundedstrangely hollow. It, the voice, struck Mr. Carlyle and awoke his fears. 

"You cannot--you never can have caught William's complaint, in yourclose attendance upon him?" he exclaimed, speaking in the impulse of themoment, as the idea flashed across him. "I have heard of such things. "

"Caught it from him?" she rejoined, carried away also by impulse. "It ismore likely that he----"

She stopped herself just in time. _"Inherited it from me, "_ had been thedestined conclusion. In her alarm, she went off volubly, something tothe effect that "it was no wonder she was ill: illness was natural toher family. "

"At any rate, you have become ill at East Lynne, in attendance on mychildren, " rejoined Mr. Carlyle, decisively, when her voice died away. "You must therefore allow me to insist that you allow East Lynne todo what it can toward renovating you. What is your objection to see adoctor?"

"A doctor could do me no good, " she faintly answered. 

"Certainly not, so long as you will not consult one. "

"Indeed, sir, doctors could not cure me, nor, as I believe prolong mylife. "

Mr. Carlyle paused. 

"Are you believing yourself to be in danger?"

"Not in immediate danger, sir; only in so far as that I know I shall notlive. "

"And yet you will not see a doctor. Madame Vine, you must be aware thatI could not permit such a thing to go on in my house. Dangerous illnessand no advice!"

She could not say to him, "My malady is on the mind; it is a breakingheart, and therefore no doctor of physic could serve me. " That wouldnever do. She had sat with her hand across her face, between herspectacles and her wrapped-up chin. Had Mr. Carlyle possessed the eyesof Argus, backed by Sam Weller's patent magnifying microscopes of doublehextra power, he could not have made anything of her features in thebroad light of day. But _she_ did not feel so sure of it. There wasalways an undefined terror of discovery when in his presence, and shewished the interview at an end. 

"I will see Mr. Wainwright, if it will be any satisfaction to you, sir. "

"Madame Vine, I have intruded upon you here to say that you _must_ seehim, and, should he deem it necessary, Dr. Martin also. "

"Oh, sir, " she rejoined with a curious smile, "Mr. Wainwright will bequite sufficient. There will be no need of another. I will write a noteto him to-morrow. "

"Spare yourself the trouble. I am going into West Lynne, and will sendhim up. You will permit me to urge that you spare no pains or care, thatyou suffer my servants to spare no pains or care, to re-establish yourhealth. Mrs. Carlyle tells me that the question of your leaving remainsin abeyance until her return. "

"Pardon me, sir. The understanding with Mrs. Carlyle was that I shouldremain here until her return, and should then be at liberty at once toleave. "

"Exactly. That is what Mrs. Carlyle said. But I must express a hope thatby that time you may be feeling so much better as to reconsider yourdecision and continue with us. For my daughter's sake, Madame Vine, Itrust it will be so. "

He rose as he spoke, and held out his hand. What could she do but risealso, drop hers from her face, and give it him in answer? He retainedit, clasping it warmly. 

"How should I repay you--how thank you for your love to my poor, lostboy?"

His earnest, tender eyes were on her blue double spectacles; a sadsmile mingled with the sweet expression of his lips as he bent towardher--lips that had once been hers! A faint exclamation of despair, avivid glow of hot crimson, and she caught up her new black silk apron sodeeply bordered with crape, in her disengaged hand, and flung it up toher face. He mistook the sound--mistook the action. 

"Do not grieve for him. He is at rest. Thank you--thank you greatly foryour sympathy. "

Another wring of her hand, and Mr. Carlyle had quitted the room. Shelaid her head upon the table, and thought how merciful would be deathwhen he should come. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

"IT WON'T DO, AFY!"

Mr. Jiffin was in his glory. Mr. Jiffin's house was the same. Both werein apple-pie order to receive Miss Afy Hallijohn, who was, in a veryshort period, indeed, to be converted into Mrs. Jiffin. 

Mr. Jiffin had not seen Afy for some days--had never been able to comeacross her since the trial at Lynneborough. Every evening had hedanced attendance at her lodgings, but could not get admitted. "Notat home--not at home, " was the invariable answer, though Afy might besunning herself at the window in his very sight. Mr. Jiffin, throwingoff as best he could the temporary disappointment, was in an ecstasyof admiration, for he set it all down to Afy's retiring modesty on theapproach of the nuptial day. "And they could try to calumniate her!" heindignantly replied. 

But now, one afternoon, when Mr. Jiffin and his shopman, and his shop, and his wares, were all set out to the best advantage--and very temptingthey looked, as a whole, especially the spiced bacon--Mr. Jiffinhappening to cast his eyes to the opposite side of the street, beheldhis beloved sailing by. She was got up in the fashion. A mauve silkdress with eighteen flounces, and about eighteen hundred steel buttonsthat glittered your sight away; a "zouave" jacket worked with gold; ablack turban perched on the top of her skull, garnished in front withwhat court milliners are pleased to term a "plume de coq, " but which, byits size and height, might have been taken for a "coq" himself, whilea white ostrich feather was carried round and did duty behind, and aspangled hair net hung down to her waist. Gloriously grand was Afy thatday and if I had but a photographing machine at hand--or whatever may bethe scientific name of the thing--you should certainly have been regaledwith the sight of her. Joyce would have gone down in a fit had sheencountered her by an unhappy chance. Mr. Jiffin, dashing his apronanywhere, tore across. 

"Oh, it is you!" said Afy, freezingly, when compelled to acknowledgehim, but his offered hand she utterly repudiated. "Really, Mr. Jiffin, I should feel obliged if you would not come out to me in this offensiveand public manner. "

Mr. Jiffin grew cold. "Offensive! Not come out?" gasped he. "I do trustI have not been so unfortunate as to offend you, Miss Afy!"

"Well--you see, " said Afy, calling up all her impudence to say whatshe had made up her mind to say, "I have been considering it wellover, Jiffin, and I find that to carry out the marriage will not be formy--for our happiness. I intended to write to inform you of this; but Ishall be spared the trouble--as you _have_ come out to me. "

The perspiration, cold as ice, began to pour off Mr. Jiffin in his agonyand horror. You might have wrung every thread he had on. "You--don'tmean--to--imply--that--you--give--me--up--Miss--Afy?" he jerked out, unevenly. 

"Well, yes, I do, " replied Afy. "It's as good to be plain, and thenthere can be no misapprehension. I'll shake hands now with you, Jiffin, for the last time; and I am very sorry that we both made such amistake. "

Poor Jiffin looked at her. His gaze would have melted a heart of stone. "Miss Afy, you _can't_ mean it! You'd never, sure, crush a fellowin this manner, whose whole soul is yours; who trusted you entirely?There's not an earthly thing I would not do to please you. You have beenthe light of my existence. "

"Of course, " returned Afy, with a lofty and indifferent air, as if tobe "the light of his existence" was only her due. "But it's all done andover. It is not at all a settlement that will suit me, you see, Jiffin. A butter and bacon factor is so very--so very--what I have not beenaccustomed to! And then, those aprons! I never could get reconciled tothem. "

"I'll discard the aprons altogether, " cried he, in a fever. "I'll get asecond shopman, and buy a little gig, and do nothing but drive you out. I'll do anything if you will but have me still, Miss Afy. I have boughtthe ring, you know. "

"Your intentions are very kind, " was the distant answer, "but it'sa thing impossible; my mind is fully made up. So farewell for good, Jiffin; and I wish you better luck in your next venture. "

Afy, lifting her capacious dress, for the streets had just been watered, minced off. And Mr. Joe Jiffin, wiping his wet face as he gazed afterher, instantly wished that he could be nailed up in one of his pickledpork barrels, and so be out of his misery. 

"That's done with, thank goodness, " soliloquized Afy. "Have _him_, indeed. After what Richard let out on the trial. As if I should lookafter anybody less than Dick Hare! I shall get him, too. I always knewDick Hare loved me above everything on earth; and he does still, or he'dnever had said what he did in open court. 'It's better to be born luckythan rich. ' Won't West Lynne envy me! Mrs. Richard Hare of the Grove. Old Hare is on his last legs, and then Dick comes into his own. Mrs. Hare must have her jointure house elsewhere, for we shall want the Grovefor ourselves. I wonder if Madame Barbara will condescend to recognizeme. And that blessed Corny? I shall be a sort of cousin of Corny's then. I wonder how much Dick comes into--three or four thousand a year? Andto think that I had nearly escaped this by tying myself to that ape of aJiffin! What sharks do get in our unsuspecting paths in this world!"

On went Afy, through West Lynne, till she arrived close to Mr. JusticeHare's. Then she paced slowly. It had been a frequent walk of hers sincethe trial. Luck favored her to-day. As she was passing the gate, youngRichard Hare came up from the direction of East Lynne. It was the firsttime Afy had obtained speech of him. 

"Good day, Richard. Why! you were never going to pass an old friend?"

"I have so many friends, " said Richard, "I can scarcely spare time forthem individually. "

"But you might for me. Have you forgotten old days?" continued she, bridling and flirting, and altogether showing herself off to advantage. 

"No, I have not, " replied Richard. "And I am not likely to do so, " hepointedly added. 

"Ah, I felt sure of that. My heart told me so. When you went off, thatdreadful night, leaving me to anguish and suspense, I thought I shouldhave died. I never have had, so to say, a happy moment until this, whenI meet you again. "

"Don't be a fool, Afy!" was Richard's gallant rejoinder, borrowing thefavorite reproach of Miss Carlyle. "I was young and green once; youdon't suppose I have remained so. We will drop the past, if you please. How is Mr. Jiffin?"

"Oh, the wretch!" shrieked Afy. "Is it possible that you can have falleninto the popular scandal that I have anything to say to _him_? You knowI'd never demean myself to it. That's West Lynne all over! Nothing butinventions in it from week's end to week's end. A man who sells cheese!Who cuts up bacon! Well, I am surprised at you, Mr. Richard!"

"I have been thinking what luck you were in to get him, " said Richard, with composure. "But it is your business not mine. "

"Could _you_ bear to see me stooping to him?" returned Afy, dropping hervoice to the most insinuating whisper. 

"Look you, Afy. What ridiculous folly you are nursing in your head Idon't trouble myself to guess, but, the sooner you get it out again thebetter. I was an idiot once, I don't deny it; but you cured me of that, and cured me with a vengeance. You must pardon me for intimating thatfrom henceforth we are strangers; in the street as elsewhere. I haveresumed my own standing again, which I periled when I ran after you. "

Afy turned faint. "How can you speak those cruel words?" gasped she. 

"You have called them forth. I was told yesterday that Afy Hallijohn, dressed up to a caricature, was looking after me again. It won't do, Afy. "

"Oh-o-o-oh!" sobbed Afy, growing hysterical, "and is this to be all myrecompense for the years I have spent pining after you, keeping singlefor your sake!"

"Recompense! Oh, if you want that, I'll get my mother to give Jiffinher custom. " And with a ringing laugh, which, though it had nothingof malice in it, showed Afy that he took her reproach for what it wasworth, Richard turned in at his own gate. 

It was a deathblow to Afy's vanity. The worst it had ever received;and she took a few minutes to compose herself, and smooth her ruffledfeathers. Then she turned and sailed back toward Mr. Jiffin's, herturban up in the skies and the plume de coq tossing to the admiration ofall beholders, especially of Miss Carlyle, who had the gratification ofsurveying her from her window. Arrived at Mr. Jiffin's, she was takenill exactly opposite his door, and staggered into the shop in a mostexhausted state. 

Round the counter flew Mr. Jiffin, leaving the shopman staring behindit. What _was_ the matter? What _could_ he do for her?

"Faint--heat of the sun--walked too fast--allowed to sit down for fiveminutes!" gasped Afy, in disjointed sentences. 

Mr. Jiffin tenderly conducted her through the shop to his parlor. Afycast half an eye round, saw how comfortable were its arrangements, andher symptoms of faintness increased. Gasps and hysterical sobs cameforth together. Mr. Jiffin was as one upon spikes. 

"She'd recover better there than in the public shop--if she'd onlyexcuse his bringing her in, and consent to stop for a few minutes. Noharm could come to her, and West Lynne could never say it. He'd standat the far end of the room, right away from her; he'd prop open thetwo doors and the windows; he'd call in the maid--anything she thoughtright. Should he get her a glass of wine?"

Afy declined the wine by a gesture, and sat fanning herself. Mr. Jiffinlooking on from a respectful distance. Gradually she grew composed--grewherself again. As she gained courage, Mr. Jiffin lost it, and heventured upon some faint words of reproach, of him. 

Afy burst into a laugh. "Did I not do it well?" she exclaimed. "Ithought I'd play off a joke upon you, so I came out this afternoon anddid it. "

Mr. Jiffin clasped his hands. "_Was it a joke_" he returned, tremblingwith agitation, uncertain whether he was in paradise or not. "Are youstill ready to let me call you mine?"

"Of course it was a joke, " said Afy. "What a soft you must have been, Mr. Jiffin, not to see through it! When young ladies engage themselvesto be married, you can't suppose they run back from it, close upon thewedding-day?"

"Oh, Miss Afy!" And the poor little man actually burst into delicioustears, as he caught hold of Afy's hand and kissed it. 

"A great green donkey!" thought Afy to herself, bending on him, howeverthe sweetest smile. 

Rather. But Mr. Jiffin is not the only great donkey in the world. 

Richard Hare, meanwhile, had entered his mother's presence. She wassitting at the open window, the justice opposite to her, in an invalidchair, basking in the air and the sun. This last attack of the justice'shad affected the mind more than the body. He was brought down to thesitting-room that day for the first time; but, of his mind, there waslittle hope. It was in a state of half imbecility; the most wonderfulcharacteristic being, that all its self-will, its surliness had gone. Almost as a little child in tractability, was Justice Hare. 

Richard came up to his mother, and kissed her. He had been to EastLynne. Mrs. Hare took his hand and fondly held it. The change in her waswonderful; she was a young and happy woman again. 

"Barbara has decided to go to the seaside, mother. Mr. Carlyle takes heron Monday. "

"I am glad, my dear, it will be sure to go her good. Richard"--bendingover to her husband, but still retaining her son's hand--"Barbara hasagreed to go to the seaside, I will set her up. "

"Ay, ay, " nodded the justice, "set her up. Seaside? Can't we go?"

"Certainly, dear, if you wish it; when you shall be a little stronger. "

"Ay, ay, " nodded the justice again. It was his usual answer now. "Stronger. Where's Barbara?"

"She goes on Monday, sir, " said Richard, likewise bending his head. "Only for a fortnight. But they talk of going again later in theautumn. "

"Can't I go, too?" repeated the justice, looking pleadingly in Richard'sface. 

"You shall, dear father. Who knows but a month or two's bracing wouldbring you quite round again? We might go all together, ourselves and theCarlyles. Anne comes to stay with us next week, you know, and we mightgo when her visit is over. "

"Aye, all go together. Anne's coming?"

"Have you forgotten, dear Richard? She comes to stay a month with us, and Mr. Clitheroe and the children. I am so pleased she will find youbetter, " added Mrs. Hare, her gentle eyes filling. "Mr. Wainwright saysyou may go out for a drive to-morrow. "

"And I'll be coachman, " laughed Richard. "It will be the old timescome round again. Do you remember, father, my breaking the pole, one moonlight night, and your not letting me drive for six monthsafterwards?"

The poor justice laughed in answer to Richard, laughed till the tearsran down his face, probably not knowing in the least what he waslaughing at. 

"Richard, " said Mrs. Hare to her son, almost in an apprehensive tone, her hand pressing his nervously, "was not that Afy Hallijohn I saw youspeaking with at the gate?"

"Did you? What a spectacle she had made of herself! I wonder she is notashamed to go through the streets in such a guise! Indeed, I wonder sheshows herself at all. "

"Richard, you--you--will not be drawn in again?" were the next whisperedwords. 

"Mother!" There was a sternness in his mild blue eyes as he castthem upon his mother. Those beautiful eyes--the very counterpart ofBarbara's, both his and hers the counterpart of Mrs. Hare's. The lookhad been sufficient refutation without words. 

"Mother mine, I am going to belong to you in the future, and to nobodyelse. West Lynne is already busy for me, I understand, pleasantlycarving out my destiny. One marvels whether I shall lose myself withMiss Afy; another, that I shall set on offhand, and court Louisa Dobede. They are all wrong; my place will be with my darling mother, --at least, for several years to come. "

She clasped his hand to her bosom in her glad delight. 

"We want happiness together, mother, to enable us to forget the past;for upon none did the blow fall, as upon you and upon me. And thehappiness we shall find, in our own home, living for each other, andstriving to amuse my poor father. "

"Aye, aye, " complacently put in Justice Hare. 

So it would be. Richard had returned to his home, had become, to allintent and purposes, its master; for the justice would never be in astate to hold sway again. He had resumed his position; and regained thefavor of West Lynne, which, always in extremes, was now wanting to killhim with kindness. A happy, happy home from henceforth; and Mrs. Harelifted up her full heart in thankfulness to God. Perhaps Richard's wentup also. 

One word touching that wretched prisoner in the condemned cell atLynneborough. As you must have anticipated, the extreme sentence was notcarried out. And, little favorite as Sir Francis is with you and withme, we can but admit that justice did not demand that it should be. That he had willfully killed Hallijohn, was certain; but the act wascommitted in a moment of wild rage; it had not been premeditated. Thesentence was commuted to transportation. A far more disgraceful one inthe estimation of Sir Francis; a far more unwelcome one in the eyes ofhis wife. It is no use to mince the truth, one little grain of comforthad penetrated to Lady Levison; the anticipation of the time when sheand her ill-fated child should be alone, and could hide themselves insome hidden nook of the wide world; _he_, and his crime, and his endgone; forgotten. But it seems he was not to go and be forgotten; sheand the boy must be tied to him still; and she was lost in horror andrebellion. 

He envied the dead Hallijohn, did that man, as he looked forth on thefuture. A cheering prospect truly! The gay Sir Francis Levison workingin chains with his gang! Where would his diamonds and his perfumedhandkerchiefs and his white hands be then? After a time he might get aticket-of-leave. He groaned in agony as the turnkey suggested it to him. A ticket-of-leave for _him_! Oh, why did they not hang him? he wailedforth as he closed his eyes to the dim light. The light of the cell, you understand; he could not close them to the light of the future. No;never again; it shone out all too plainly, dazzling his brain as with aflame of living fire. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

UNTIL ETERNITY. 

Barbara was at the seaside, and Lady Isabel was in her bed, dying. Youremember the old French saying, _L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose_. Anexemplification of it was here. 

She, Lady Isabel, had consented to remain at East Lynne during Mrs. Carlyle's absence, on purpose that she might be with her children. Butthe object was frustrated, for Lucy and Archibald had been removedto Miss Carlyle's. It was Mr. Carlyle's arrangement. He thought thegoverness ought to have entire respite from all charge; and that poorgoverness dared not say, let them stay with me. Lady Isabel had alsopurposed to be safely away from East Lynne before the time came for herto die; but that time had advanced with giant strides, and the periodfor removal was past. She was going out as her mother had done, rapidlyunexpectedly, "like the snuff of a candle. " Wilson was in attendance onher mistress; Joyce remained at home. 

Barbara had chosen a watering-place near, not thirty miles off, so thatMr. Carlyle went there most evenings, returning to his office in themornings. Thus he saw little of East Lynne, paying one or two flyingvisits only. From the Saturday to the Wednesday in the second week, hedid not come home at all, and it was in those few days that Lady Isabelhad changed for the worse. On the Wednesday he was expected home todinner and to sleep. 

Joyce was in a state of frenzy--or next door to it. Lady Isabel wasdying, and what would become of the ominous secret? A conviction, bornof her fears, was on the girl's mind that, with death, the whole mustbecome known; and who was to foresee what blame might not be cast uponher, by her master and mistress, for not having disclosed it? She mightbe accused of having been an abettor in the plot from the first! Fiftytimes it was in Joyce's mind to send for Miss Carlyle and tell her all. 

The afternoon was fast waning, and the spirit of Lady Isabel seemed tobe waning with it. Joyce was in the room in attendance upon her. She hadbeen in a fainting state all day, but felt better now. She was partiallyraised in bed by pillows, a white Cashmere shawl over her shoulders, hernightcap off, to allow as much air as possible to come to her, and thewindows stood open. 

Footsteps sounded on the gravel in the quiet stillness of the summerair. They penetrated even to her ear, for all her faculties were keenyet. Beloved footsteps; and a tinge of hectic rose to her cheeks. Joyce, who stood at the window, glanced out. It was Mr. Carlyle. 

"Joyce!" came forth a cry from the bed, sharp and eager. 

Joyce turned round. "My lady?"

"I should die happily if I might see him. "

"See him!" uttered Joyce, doubting her own ears. "My lady! See _him_!Mr. Carlyle!"

"What can it signify? I am already as one dead. Should I ask it or wishit, think you, in rude life? The yearning has been upon me for daysJoyce; it is keeping death away. "

"It could not be, my lady, " was the decisive answer. "It must not be. Itis as a thing impossible. "

Lady Isabel burst into tears. "I can't die for the trouble, " she wailed. "You keep my children from me. They must not come, you say, lest Ishould betray myself. Now you would keep my husband. Joyce, Joyce, letme see him!"

Her husband! Poor thing! Joyce was in a maze of distress, though not theless firm. Her eyes were wet with tears; but she believed she should beinfringing her allegiance to her mistress did she bring Mr. Carlyle tothe presence of his former wife; altogether it might be productive ofnothing but confusion. 

A knock at the chamber door. Joyce called out, "Come in. " The two maids, Hannah and Sarah, were alone in the habit of coming to the room, andneither of them had ever known Madame Vine as Lady Isabel. Sarah put inher head. 

"Master wants you, Miss Joyce. "

"I'll come. "

"He is in the dining-room. I have just taken down Master Arthur to him. "

Mr. Carlyle had got "Master Arthur" on his shoulder when Joyce entered. Master Arthur was decidedly given to noise and rebellion, and wasalready, as Wilson expressed it, "sturdy upon his pins. "

"How is Madame Vine, Joyce?"

Joyce scarcely knew how to answer. But she did not dare to equivocateas to her precarious state. And where the use, when a few hours wouldprobably see the end of it?

"She is very ill, indeed, sir. "

"Worse?"

"Sir, I fear she is dying. "

Mr. Carlyle, in his consternation, put down Arthur. "Dying!"

"I hardly think she will last till morning, sir!"

"Why, what has killed her?" he uttered in amazement. 

Joyce did not answer. She looked pale and confused. 

"Have you had Dr. Martin?"

"Oh, no, sir. It would be of no use. "

"No use!" repeated Mr. Carlyle, in a sharp accent. "Is that the way totreat dying people? Assume it is of no use to send for advice, and soquietly let them die! If Madame Vine is as ill as you say, a telegraphicmessage must be sent off at once. I had better see her, " he cried, moving to the door. 

Joyce, in her perplexity, dared to place her back against it, preventinghis egress. "Oh, master! I beg your pardon, but--it would not be right. Please, sir, do not think of going into her room!"

Mr. Carlyle thought Joyce was taken with a fit of prudery. "Why can't Igo in?" he asked. 

"Mrs. Carlyle would not like it, sir, " stammered Joyce, her cheeksscarlet now. 

Mr. Carlyle stared at her. "Some of you take up odd ideas, " he cried. "In Mrs. Carlyle's absence, it is necessary that some one should seeher! Let a lady die in my house, and never see after her! You are out ofyour senses, Joyce. I shall go in after dinner; so prepare Madame Vine. "

The dinner was being brought in then. Joyce, feeling like one ina nervous attack, picked up Arthur and carried him to Sarah in thenursery. What on earth was she to do?

Scarcely had Mr. Carlyle begun his dinner, when his sister entered. Somegrievance had arisen between her and the tenants of certain houses ofhers, and she was bringing the dispute to him. Before he would hear it, he begged her to go up to Madame Vine, telling her what Joyce had saidof her state. 

"Dying!" exclaimed Miss Corny, in disbelieving derision. "That Joyce hasbeen more like a simpleton lately than like herself. I can't think whathas come to the woman. "

She took off her bonnet and mantle, and laid them on a chair, gave atwitch or two to her cap, as she surveyed it in the pier-glass, and wentupstairs. Joyce answered her knock at the invalid's door; and Joyce, when she saw who it was, turned as white as any sheet. 

"Oh, ma'am, you must not come in!" she blundered out, in her confusionand fear, as she put herself right in the doorway. 

"Who is to keep me out?" demanded Miss Carlyle, after a pause ofsurprise, her tone of quiet power. "Move away, girl. Joyce, I think yourbrain must be softening. What will you try at next?"

Joyce was powerless, both in right and strength, and she knew it. Sheknew there was no help--that Miss Carlyle would and must enter. Shestood aside, shivering, and passed out of the room as soon as MissCarlyle was within it. 

Ah! there could no longer be concealment now! There she was, her paleface lying against the pillow, free from its disguising trappings. Theband of gray velvet, the spectacles, the wraps for the throat and chin, the huge cap, all were gone. It was the face of Lady Isabel; changed, certainly, very, very much; but still hers. The silvered hair fellon either side of her face, like the silky curls had once fallen; thesweet, sad eyes were the eyes of yore. 

"Mercy be good to us!" uttered Miss Carlyle. 

They remained gazing at each other, both panting with emotion; yes, evenMiss Carlyle. Though a wild suspicion had once crossed her brain thatMadame Vine might be Lady Isabel, it had died away again, from thesheer improbability of the thing, as much as from the convincing proofsoffered by Lord Mount Severn. Not but what Miss Carlyle had borne inmind the suspicion, and had been fond of tracing the likeness in MadameVine's face. 

"How could you dare come back here!" she abruptly asked, her tone ofsad, soft wailing, not one of reproach. 

Lady Isabel humbly crossed her attenuated hands upon her chest. "Mychildren, " she whispered. "How could I stay away from them? Have pity, Miss Carlyle! Don't reproach me. I am on my way to God, to answer forall my sins and sorrows. "

"I do not reproach you, " said Miss Carlyle. 

"I am so glad to go, " she continued to murmur, her eyes full of tears. "Jesus did not come, you know, to save the good like you; He came forthe sake of us poor sinners. I tried to take up my cross, as He bade us, and bear it bravely for His sake; but its weight has killed me. "

The good like you! Humbly, meekly, deferentially was it expressed, in all good faith and trust, as though Miss Corny was a sort of upperangel. Somehow the words grated on Miss Corny's ear: grated fiercely onher conscience. It came into her mind, then, as she stood there, thatthe harsh religion that she had through life professed, was not thereligion that would best bring peace to her dying bed. 

"Child, " said she, drawing near to and leaning over Lady Isabel, "had Ianything to do with sending you from East Lynne?"

Lady Isabel shook her head and cast down her gaze, as she whispered:"You did not send me; you did not help to send me. I was not very happywith you, but that was not the cause--of my going away. Forgive me, MissCarlyle, forgive me!"

"Thank God!" inwardly breathed Miss Carlyle. "Forgive me, " she said, aloud and in agitation, touching her hand. "I could have made your homehappier, and I wish I had done it. I have wished it ever since you leftit. "

Lady Isabel drew the hand in hers. "I want to see Archibald, " shewhispered, going back, in thought, to the old time and the old name. "I have prayed Joyce to bring him to me, and she will not. Only for aminute! Just to hear him say that he forgives me! What can it matter, now that I am as one lost to the world? I should die easier. "

Upon what impulse or grounds Miss Carlyle saw fit to accede to therequest, cannot be told. Probably she did not choose to refuse adeath-bed prayer; possibly she reasoned, as did Lady Isabel--what couldit matter? She went to the door. Joyce was in the corridor, leaningagainst the wall, her apron up to her eyes. Miss Carlyle beckoned toher. 

"How long have you known of this?"

"Since that night in the spring, when there was an alarm of fire. I sawher then, with nothing on her face, and knew her; though, at the firstmoment, I thought it was her ghost. Ma'am, I have just gone about since, like a ghost myself from fear. "

"Go and request your master to come up to me. "

"Oh, ma'am! Will it be well to tell him?" remonstrated Joyce. "Well thathe should see her?"

"Go and request your master to come to me, " unequivocally repeated MissCarlyle. "Are you mistress, Joyce, or am I?"

Joyce went down and brought Mr. Carlyle up from the dinner-table. 

"Is Madame Vine worse, Cornelia? Will she see me?"

"She wishes to see you. "

Miss Carlyle opened the door as she spoke. He motioned her to pass infirst. "No, " she said, "you had better see her alone. "

He was going in when Joyce caught his arm. "Master! Master! You ought tobe prepared. Ma'am, won't you tell him?"

He looked at them, thinking they must be moonstruck, for their conductseemed inexplicable. Both were in evident agitation, an emotion MissCarlyle was not given to. Her face and lips were twitching, but she kepta studied silence. Mr. Carlyle knit his brow and went into the chamber. They shut him in. 

He walked gently at once to the bed, in his straightforward manner. 

"I am grieved, Madame Vine----"

The words faltered on his tongue. He was a man as little given to showemotion as man can well be. Did he think, as Joyce had once done, thatit was a ghost he saw? Certain it is that his face and lips turned thehue of death, and he backed a few steps from the bed. The falling hair, the sweet, mournful eyes, the hectic which his presence brought to hercheeks, told too plainly of the Lady Isabel. 

"Archibald!"

She put out her trembling hand. She caught him ere he had drawn quitebeyond her reach. He looked at her, he looked round the room, as doesone awaking from a dream. 

"I could not die without your forgiveness, " she murmured, her eyesfalling before him as she thought of her past. "Do you turn from me?Bear with me a little minute! Only say you forgive me, and I shall diein peace!"

"Isabel?" he spoke, not knowing in the least what he said. "Are you--areyou--were you Madame Vine?"

"Oh, forgive--forgive me! I did not die. I got well from the accident, but it changed me dreadfully. Nobody knew me, and I came here as MadameVine. I could not stay away, Archibald, forgive me!"

His mind was in a whirl, his ideas had gone wool-gathering. The firstclear thought that came thumping through his brain was, that he must bea man of two wives. She noticed his perplexed silence. 

"I could not stay away from you and my children. The longing for youwas killing me, " she reiterated, wildly, like one talking in a fever. "I never knew a moment's peace after the mad act I was guilty of, inquitting you. Not an hour had I departed when my repentance set in; andeven then I would have retraced and come back, but I did not know how. See what it has done for me!" tossing up her gray hair, holding out herattenuated wrists. "Oh, forgive--forgive me! My sin was great, but mypunishment was greater. It has been as one long scene of mortal agony. "

"Why did you go?" asked Mr. Carlyle. 

"Did you not know?"

"No. It has always been a mystery to me. "

"I went out of love for you. "

A shade of disdain crossed his lips. She was equivocating to him on herdeath-bed. 

"Do not look in that way, " she panted. "My strength is nearly gone--youmust perceive that it is--and I do not, perhaps, express myself clearly. I loved you dearly, and I grew suspicious of you. I thought you werefalse and deceitful to me; that your love was all given to another; andin my sore jealousy, I listened to the temptings of that bad man, whowhispered to me of revenge. It was not so, was it?"

Mr. Carlyle had regained his calmness, outwardly, at any rate. He stoodby the side of the bed, looking down upon her, his arms crossed upon hischest, and his noble form raised to its full height. 

"Was it so?" she feverishly repeated. 

"Can you ask it, knowing me as you did then, as you must have known mesince? I never was false to you in thought, in word, or in deed. "

"Oh, Archibald, I was mad--I was mad! I could not have done it inanything but madness. Surely you will forget and forgive!"

"I cannot forget. I have already forgiven!"

"Try and forget the dreadful time that has passed since that night!" shecontinued, the tears falling on her cheeks, as she held up to him oneof her poor hot hands. "Let your thoughts go back to the days whenyou first knew me; when I was here, Isabel Vane, a happy girl with myfather. At times I have lost myself in a moment's happiness in thinkingof it. Do you remember how you grew to love me, though you thought youmight not tell it to me--and how gentle you were with me, when papadied--and the hundred pound note? Do you remember coming to CastleMarling?--and my promise to be your wife--and the first kiss you leftupon my lips? And, oh, Archibald! Do you remember the loving days afterI was your wife--how happy we were with each other? Do you rememberwhen Lucy was born, we thought I should have died; and your joy, yourthankfulness that God restored me? Do you remember all this?"

Aye. He did remember it. He took the poor hand into his, andunconsciously played with its wasted fingers. 

"Have you any reproach to cast to me?" he gently said, bending his heada little. 

"Reproach to you! To you, who must be almost without reproach in thesight of Heaven! You, who were everlasting to me--ever anxious for mywelfare! When I think of what you were, and are, and how I quitted you, I could sink into the earth with remorse and shame. My own sin, I havesurely expiated; I cannot expiate the shame I entailed upon you, andupon our children. "

Never. He felt it as keenly now as he had felt it then. 

"Think what it has been for me!" she resumed, and he was obliged to bendhis ear to catch her gradually weakening tones. "To live in this housewith your wife--to see your love for her--to watch the envied caressesthat once were mine! I never loved you so passionately as I havedone since I lost you. Think what it was to watch William's decayingstrength; to be alone with him in his dying hour, and not to be able tosay he is my child as well as yours! When he lay dead, and the news wentforth to the household, it was _her_ petty grief you soothed, not mine, his mother's. God alone knows how I have lived through it all; it asbeen to me as the bitterness of death. "

"Why did you come back?" was the response of Mr. Carlyle. 

"I have told you. I could not live, wanting you and my children. "

"It was wrong; wrong in all ways. "

"Wickedly wrong. You cannot think worse of it than I have done. Butthe consequences and the punishment would be mine alone, as long asI guarded against discovery. I never thought to stop here to die; butdeath seems to have come on me with a leap, like it came to my mother. "

A pause of labored hard breathing. Mr. Carlyle did not interrupt it. 

"All wrong, all wrong, " she resumed; "this interview with you, amongthe rest. And yet--I hardly know; it cannot hurt the new ties you haveformed, for I am as one dead now to this world, hovering on the brink ofthe next. But you _were_ my husband, Archibald; and, the last few days, I have longed for your forgiveness with a fevered longing. Oh! thatthe past could be blotted out! That I could wake up and find it but ahideous dream; that I were here as in old days, in health and happiness, your ever loving wife. Do you wish it, that the dark past had never hadplace?"

She put the question in a sharp, eager tone, gazing up to him with ananxious gaze, as though the answer must be one of life or death. 

"For your sake I wish it. " Calm enough were the words spoken; and hereyes fell again, and a deep sigh came forth. 

"I am going to William. But Lucy and Archibald will be left. Oh, do younever be unkind to them! I pray you, visit not their mother's sin upontheir heads! Do not in your love for your later children, lose your lovefor them!"

"Have you seen anything in my conduct that could give rise to fears ofthis?" he returned, reproach mingled in his sad tone. "The children aredear to me, as you once were. "

"As I once was. Aye, and as I might have been now. "

"Indeed you might, " he answered, with emotion. "The fault was not mine. "

"Archibald, I am on the very threshold of the next world. Will you notbless me--will you not say a word of love to me before I pass it! Letwhat I am, I say, be blotted for the moment from your memory; think ofme, if you can, as the innocent, timid child whom you made your wife. Only a word of love. My heart is breaking for it. "

He leaned over her, he pushed aside the hair from her brow with hisgentle hand, his tears dropping on her face. "You nearly broke mine, when you left me, Isabel, " he whispered. 

"May God bless you, and take you to His rest in Heaven! May He so dealwith me, as I now fully and freely forgive you. "

What was he about to do? Lower and lower bent his head, until his breathnearly mingled with hers. To kiss her? He best knew. But, suddenly, hisface grew red with a scarlet flush, and he lifted it again. Did the formof one, then in a felon's cell at Lynneborough, thrust itself beforehim, or that of his absent and unconscious wife?

"To His rest in Heaven, " she murmured, in the hollow tones of thedeparting. "Yes, yes I know that God had forgiven me. Oh, what astruggle it has been! Nothing but bad feelings, rebellion, and sorrow, and repining, for a long while after I came back here, but Jesus prayedfor me, and helped me, and you know how merciful He is to the weary andheavy-laden. We shall meet again, Archibald, and live together foreverand ever. But for that great hope I could hardly die. William saidmamma would be on the banks of the river, looking out for him; but it isWilliam who is looking for me. "

Mr. Carlyle released one of his hands; she had taken them both; and withhis own white handkerchief, wiped the death-dew from her forehead. 

"It is no sin to anticipate it, Archibald, for there will be no marryingor giving in marriage in Heaven: Christ said so. Though we do not knowhow it will be, my sin will be remembered no more there, and we shall betogether with our children forever and forever. Keep a little corner inyour heart for your poor lost Isabel. "

"Yes, yes, " he whispered. 

"Are you leaving me?" she uttered, in a wild tone of pain. 

"You are growing faint, I perceive, I must call assistance. "

"Farewell, then; farewell, until eternity, " she sighed, the tearsraining from her eyes. "It is death, I think, not faintness. Oh! but itis hard to part! Farewell, farewell my once dear husband!"

She raised her head from the pillow, excitement giving her strength; sheclung to his arm; she lifted her face in its sad yearning. Mr. Carlylelaid her tenderly down again, and suffered his wet cheek to rest uponhers. 

"Until eternity. "

She followed him with her eyes as he retreated, and watched him from theroom: then turned her face to the wall. "It is over. Only God now. "

Mr. Carlyle took an instant's counsel with himself, stopping at thehead of the stairs to do it. Joyce, in obedience to a sign from him, hadalready gone into the sick-chamber: his sister was standing at the door. 

"Cornelia. "

She followed him down to the dining-room. 

"You will remain here to-night? With _her_?"

"Do you suppose I shouldn't?" crossly responded Miss Corny; "where areyou off to now?"

"To the telegraph office, at present. To send for Lord Mount Severn. "

"What good can he do?"

"None. But I shall send for him. "

"Can't one of the servants go just as well as you? You have not finishedyour dinner; hardly begun it. "

He turned his eyes on the dinner-table in a mechanical sort of way, hismind wholly preoccupied, made some remark in answer, which Miss Cornydid not catch, and went out. 

On his return his sister met him in the hall, drew him inside thenearest room, and closed the door. Lady Isabel was dead. Had been deadabout ten minutes. 

"She never spoke after you left her, Archibald. There was a slightstruggle at the last, a fighting for breath, otherwise she went offquite peacefully. I felt sure, when I first saw her this afternoon, thatshe could not last till midnight. "

CHAPTER XLVII. 

I. M. V. 

Lord Mount Severn, wondering greatly what the urgent summons could befor, lost no time in obeying it, and was at East Lynne the followingmorning early. Mr. Carlyle had his carriage at the station--his closecarriage--and shut up in that he made the communication to the earl asthey drove to East Lynne. 

The earl could with difficulty believe it. Never had he been so utterlyastonished. At first he really could not understand the tale. 

"Did she--did she--come back to your house to die?" he blundered. "Younever took her in? I don't understand. "

Mr. Carlyle explained further; and the earl at length understood. But hedid not recover his perplexed astonishment. 

"What a mad act to come back here. Madame Vine! How on earth did sheescape detection?"

"She did escape it, " said Mr. Carlyle. "The strange likeness Madame Vinepossessed to my first wife did often strike me as being marvelous, butI never suspected the truth. It was a likeness, and not a likeness, forevery part of her face and form was changed except her eyes, and those Inever saw but through those disguising glasses. "

The earl wiped his hot face. The news had ruffled him no measureddegree. He felt angry with Isabel, dead though she was, and thankfulthat Mrs. Carlyle was away. 

"Will you see her?" whispered Mr. Carlyle as they entered the house. 

"Yes. "

They went up to the death-chamber, Mr. Carlyle procuring the key. It wasthe only time that he entered it. Very peaceful she looked now, her palefeatures so composed under her white cap and hands. Miss Carlyle andJoyce had done all that was necessary; nobody else had been sufferedto approach her. Lord Mount Severn leaned over her, tracing the formerlooks of Isabel; and the likeness grew upon him in a wonderful degree. 

"What did she die of?" he asked. 

"She said a broken heart. "

"Ah!" said the earl. "The wonder is that it did not break before. Poorthing! Poor Isabel!" he added, touching her hand, "how she marred herown happiness! Carlyle, I suppose this is your wedding ring?"

Mr. Carlyle cast his eyes upon the ring. "Very probably. "

"To think of her never having discarded it!" remarked the earl, releasing the cold hand. "Well, I can hardly believe the tale now. "

He turned and quitted the room as he spoke. Mr. Carlyle lookedsteadfastly at the dead face for a minute or two, his fingers touchingthe forehead; but what his thoughts or feelings may have been, none cantell. Then he replaced the sheet over her face, and followed the earl. 

They descended in silence to the breakfast-room. Miss Carlyle was seatedat the table waiting for them. "Where _could_ all your eyes have been?"exclaimed the earl to her, after a few sentences, referring to the eventjust passed. 

"Just where yours would have been, " replied Miss Corny, with a touch ofher old temper. "You saw Madame Vine as well as we did. "

"But not continuously. Only two or three times in all. And I do notremember ever to have seen her without her bonnet and veil. That Carlyleshould not have recognized her is almost beyond belief. "

"It _seems_ so, to speak of it, " said Miss Corny; "but facts are facts. She was young and gay, active, when she left here, upright as a dart, her dark hair drawn from her open brow, and flowing on her neck, hercheeks like crimson paint, her face altogether beautiful. Madame Vinearrived here a pale, stooping woman, lame of one leg, _shorter_ thanLady Isabel--and her figure stuffed out under those sacks of jackets. Not a bit, scarcely, of her forehead to be seen, for gray velvet andgray bands of hair; her head smothered under a close cap, large, blue, double spectacles hiding the eyes and their sides, and the throat tiedup; the chin partially. The mouth was entirely altered in its character, and that upward scar, always so conspicuous, made it almost ugly. Thenshe had lost some of her front teeth, you know, and she lisped when shespoke. Take her for all in all, " summed up Miss Carlyle, "she looked nomore like Isabel who went away from here than I look like Adam. Just getyour dearest friend damaged and disguised as she was, my lord, and seeif you'd recognize him. "

The observation came home to Lord Mount Severn. A gentleman whom he knewwell, had been so altered by a fearful accident, that little resemblancecould be traced to his former self. In fact, his own family could notrecognize him: and _he_ used an artificial disguise. It was a case inpoint; and--reader--I assure you it was a true one. 

"It was the _disguise_ that we ought to have suspected, " quietlyobserved Mr. Carlyle. "The likeness was not sufficiently striking tocause suspicion. "

"But she turned the house from that scent as soon as she came into it, "struck in Miss Corny, "telling of the 'neuralgic pains' that affectedher head and face, rendering the guarding them from exposure necessary. Remember, Lord Mount Severn, that the Ducies had been with her inGermany, and had never suspected her. Remember also another thing, that, however great a likeness we may have detected, we could not and didnot speak of it, one to another. Lady Isabel's name is never so much aswhispered among us. "

"True: all true, " nodded the earl. And they sat themselves down tobreakfast. 

On the Friday, the following letter was dispatched to Mrs. Carlyle. 

"MY DEAREST--I find I shall not be able to get to you on Saturdayafternoon, as I promised, but will leave here by the late train thatnight. Mind you don't sit up for me. Lord Mount Severn is here for a fewdays; he sends his regards to you. 

"And now, Barbara, prepare for news that will prove a shock. Madame Vineis dead. She grew rapidly worse, they tell me, after our departure, anddied on Wednesday night. I am glad you were away. 

"Love from the children. Lucy and Archie are still at Cornelia's; Arthurwearing out Sarah's legs in the nursery. 

"Ever yours, my dearest, "ARCHIBALD CARLYLE. "

Of course, as Madame Vine, the governess, died at Mr. Carlyle's house, he could not, in courtesy, do less than follow her to the grave. Sodecided West Lynne, when they found which way the wind was going toblow. Lord Mount Severn followed also, to keep him company, being ona visit to him, and very polite, indeed, of his lordship to doit--condescending, also! West Lynne remembered another funeral at whichthose two had been the only mourners--that of the earl. By some curiouscoincidence the French governess was buried close to the earl's grave. As good there as anywhere else, quoth West Lynne. There happened to be avacant spot of ground. 

The funeral took place on a Sunday morning. A plain, respectablefuneral. A hearse and pair, and mourning coach and pair, with a chariotfor the Rev. Mr. Little. No pall-bearers or mutes, or anything of thatshow-off kind; and no plumes on the horses, only on the hearse. WestLynne looked on with approbation, and conjectured that the governesshad left sufficient money to bury herself; but, of course, that was Mr. Carlyle's affair, not West Lynne's. Quiet enough lay she in her lastresting-place. 

They left her in it, the earl and Mr. Carlyle, and entered themourning-coach, to be conveyed back again to East Lynne. 

"Just a little stone of white marble, two feet high by a foot and a halfbroad, " remarked the earl, on their road, pursuing a topic they werespeaking upon. "With the initials 'I. V. ' and the date of the year. Nothing more. What do you think?"

"I. M. V. , " corrected Mr. Carlyle. 

"Yes. "

At this moment the bells of another church, not St. Jude's, broke out ina joyous peal, and the earl inclined his ear to listen. 

"What can they be ringing for?" he cried. 

They were ringing for a wedding. Afy Hallijohn, by the help of twoclergymen and six bridesmaids, of which you may be sure Joyce was _not_one, had just been converted into Mrs. Joe Jiffin. When Afy took a thinginto her heard, she somehow contrived to carry it through, and to bendeven clergymen and bridesmaids to her will. Mr. Jiffin was blest atlast. 

In the afternoon the earl left East Lynne, and somewhat later Barbaraarrived at it. Wilson scarcely gave her mistress time to step intothe house before her, and she very nearly left the baby in the fly. Curiously anxious was Wilson to hear all particulars as to whatevercould have took off that French governess. Mr. Carlyle was muchsurprised at their arrival. 

"How could I stay away, Archibald, even until Monday, after the news yousent me?" said Barbara. "What did she die of? It must have been awfullysudden. "

"I suppose so, " was his dreamy answer. He was debating a question withhimself, one he had thought over a good deal since Wednesday night. Should he, or should he not, tell his wife? He would have preferred notto tell her; and, were the secret confined to his own breast, he woulddecidedly not have done so. But it was known to three others--to MissCarlyle, to lord Mount Severn, and to Joyce. All trustworthy and of goodintention; but it was impossible for Mr. Carlyle to make sure that notone of them would ever, through any chance and unpremeditated word, letthe secret come to the knowledge of Mrs. Carlyle. That would not do, ifshe must hear it at all, she must hear it from him, and at once. He tookhis course. 

"Are you ill, Archibald?" she asked, noting his face. It wore a pale, worn sort of look. 

"I have something to tell you, Barbara, " he answered, drawing her handinto his, as they stood together. They were in her dressing-room, whereshe was taking off her things. "On the Wednesday evening when I got hometo dinner Joyce told me that she feared Madame Vine was dying, and Ithought it right to see her. "

"Certainly, " returned Barbara. "Quite right. "

"I went into her room, and I found that she was dying. But I foundsomething else, Barbara. She was not Madame Vine. "

"Not Madame Vine!" echoed Barbara, believing in good truth that herhusband could not know what he was saying. 

"It was my former wife, Isabel Vane. "

Barbara's face flushed crimson, and then grew white as marble; and shedrew her hand unconsciously from Mr. Carlyles's. He did not appear tonotice the movement, but stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece whilehe talked, giving her a rapid summary of the interview and its details. 

"She could not stay away from her children, she said, and came back asMadame Vine. What with the effects of the railroad accident in France, and those spectacles she wore, and her style of dress, and her grayhair, she felt secure in not being recognized. I am astonished now thatshe was not discovered. Were such a thing related to me I should give nocredence to it. "

Barbara's heart felt faint with its utter sickness, and she turned herface from the view of her husband. Her first confused thoughts wereas Mr. Carlyle's had been--that she had been living in his house withanother wife. "Did you suspect her?" she breathed, in a low tone. 

"Barbara! Had I suspected it, should I have allowed it to go on? Sheimplored my forgiveness for the past, and for having returned here, andI gave it to her fully. I then went to West Lynne, to telegraph to MountSevern, and when I came back she was dead. "

There was a pause. Mr. Carlyle began to perceive that his wife's facewas hidden from him. 

"She said her heart was broken. Barbara, we cannot wonder at it. "

There was no reply. Mr. Carlyle took his arm from the mantelpiece, andmoved so that he could see her countenance: a wan countenance, tellingof pain. 

He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and made her look at him. "Mydearest, what is this?"

"Oh, Archibald!" she uttered, clasping her hands together, all her pentup feelings bursting forth, and the tears streaming from her eyes, "hasthis taken your love from me?"

He took both her hands in one of his, he put the other round her waistand held her there, before him, never speaking, only looking gravelyinto her face. Who could look at its sincere truthfulness, at the sweetexpression of his lips, and doubt him? Not Barbara. She allowed themoment's excitement to act upon her feelings, and carry her away. 

"I had thought my wife possessed entire trust in me. "

"Oh, I do, I do; you know I do. Forgive me, Archibald, " she slowlywhispered. 

"I deemed it better to impart this to you, Barbara. Had there been wrongfeeling on my part, I should have left you in ignorance. My darling, Ihave told you it in love. "

She was leaning on his breast, sobbing gently, her repentant face turnedtowards him. He held her there in his strong protection, his enduringtenderness. 

"My wife! My darling! now and always. "

"It was a foolish feeling to cross my heart, Archibald. It is done withand gone. "

"Never let it come back, Barbara. Neither need her name be mentionedagain between us. A barred name it has hitherto been; so let itcontinue. "

"Anything you will. My earnest wish is to please you; to be worthyof your esteem and love, Archibald, " she timidly added, her eye-lidsdrooping, and her fair cheeks blushing, as she made the confession. "There has been a feeling in my heart against your children, a sort ofjealous feeling, you can understand, because they were hers; becauseshe had once been your wife. I knew how wrong it was, and I have triedearnestly to subdue it. I have, indeed, and I think it is nearly gone, "her voice sunk. "I constantly pray to be helped to do it; to love themand care for them as if they were my own. It will come with time. "

"Every good thing will come with time that we may earnestly seek, " saidMr. Carlyle. "Oh, Barbara, never forget--never forget that the onlyway to ensure peace in the end is to strive always to be doing right, unselfishly under God. "