"Thorn--Levison, I mean--did not appear to like the recognition," said Mr. Dill.
"Who would, in his position?" laughed Ebenezer James. "I don't like to be 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 once called 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 to force 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 wait the opportunity of escaping with what patience he might. When it came he made his way to the office, and entered Mr. Carlyle's private room.
That gentleman 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 most extraordinary statement. I have found out about Thorn. Who do you think he is?"
Mr. Carlyle put down his pen and looked full in the old man's face; he had never seen him so excited.
"It's that man, Levison."
"I do not understand you," said Mr. Carlyle. He did not. It was as good as Hebrew to him. "The Levison of to-day, your opponent, is the Thorn who went after Afy Hallijohn. It is so, Mr. Archibald."
"It cannot be!" slowly uttered Mr. Carlyle, thought upon thought working havoc with his brain. "Where did you hear this?"
Mr. Dill told his tale. Otway Bethel's recognition of him; Sir Francis Levison's scared paleness, for he had noticed that; Mr. Ebenezer's revelation. The point in it all, that finally settled most upon Mr. Carlyle, was the thought that if Levison were indeed the man, /he/ could not be instrumental in bringing him to justice.
"Bethel has denied to me more than once that he knew Thorn, or was aware of such a man being in existence," observed Mr. Carlyle.
"He must have had a purpose in it, then," returned Mr. Dill. "They knew each other to-day. Levison recognized him for certain, although he carried 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 was Levison. If they have not some secret between them, Mr. Archibald, I'll never 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," was the answer. "Mr. Archibald, it seems to me that now or never is the time to clear up Richard."
"Aye; but how set about it?" responded Mr. Carlyle.
Meanwhile Barbara had proceeded home in her carriage, her brain as busy as Mr. Carlyle's, perhaps more troubled. Her springing lightly and hastily out the moment it stopped, disdaining the footman's arm, her compressed lips and absent countenance, proved that her resolution was set upon some plan of action. William and Madame Vine met her in the hall.
"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 with her reproachful eyes. "Why should she care?" thought madame. "It is not her child."
Throwing her parasol on one chair, her gloves on another, down sat Barbara to her writing-table. "I will write to him; I will have him here, if it be but for an hour!" she passionately exclaimed. "This shall be, 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! For better, for worse, I will send for him; but it will not be for worse if God is with us."
She dashed off a letter, getting up ere she had well begun it, to order her carriage round again. She would trust none but herself to put it in the post.
"MY DEAR MR. SMITH--We want you here. Something has arisen that it is necessary 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. She even put "Mr. Smith," inside the letter.
"Now stop," cried Barbara to herself, as she was folding it. "I ought to send him a five pound note, for he may not have the means to come; and I don't think I have one of that amount in the house."
She looked in her secretaire. Not a single five-pound note. Out of the room 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 two five-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 to enclose one in a letter, and find I do not possess one."
Madame Vine went to her room to get it. Barbara waited. She asked William what Dr. Martin said.
"He tried my chest with--oh, I forget what they call it--and he said I must be a brave boy and take my cod-liver oil well, and port wine, and everything I liked that was good. And he said he should be at West Lynne next Wednesday afternoon; and I am to go there, and he would call in and see me."
"Where are you to meet him?"
"He said, either at papa's office or at Aunt Cornelia's, as we might decide. Madame fixed it for papa's office, for she thought he might like to 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 see her. I know I am very ill, but why should she cry for that?"
"Nonsense, William. Who told you you were very ill?"
