y had retreated to
the witness-room again, after giving evidence, and there she remained to
the close, agreeably occupied in a mental debate. What would they make
out from her admission regarding her sojourn in London and the morning
calls? How would that precious West Lynne construe it? She did not much
care; 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 proceedings
terminated. Afy was right glad to remain where she was, till some of the
bustle had gone.

"How was it ended?" asked she of Mr. Ball, who, being a bachelor, was
ever regarded with much graciousness by Afy, for she kept her eyes open
to contingencies; although Mr. Joe Jiffin was held in reserve.

"They are both committed for wilful murder--off to Lynneborough within
an hour!"

Afy's color rose. "What a shame! To commit two innocent men upon such a
charge."

"I can tell you what, Miss Afy, the sooner you disabuse your mind of
that prejudice, the better. Levison has been as good as proved guilty
to-day; but if proof were wanting, he and Bethel have criminated each
other. 'When rogues fall out, honest men get their own.' Not that I can
quite fathom Bethel's share in the exploit, though I can pretty well
guess at it. And, in proving themselves guilty they have proved the
innocence 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, was
enacted 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 conviction
that his words were true, forced itself upon her, was enough to sober
her for a whole lifetime. _Thorn!_ Her sight failed; her head reeled;
her very heart turned to sickness. One struggling cry of pain; and, for
the second time that day, Afy Hallijohn fell forward in a fainting fit.

Shouts, hisses, execrations, yells! The prisoners were being brought
forth, to be conveyed to Lynneborough. A whole posse of constables
was necessary to protect them against the outbreak of the mob, which
outbreak was not directed against Otway Bethel, but against Sir Francis
Levison. Cowering like the gu