e chose, than I could ever make her. 'A lady on the cross,' I
answered, 'but never on the square.' Thorn was not a man to entertain
honest intentions to one in the station of Afy Hallijohn; but girls are
simple as geese."

"By your description, it could not have been one of the Thorns of
Swainson. Wealthy tradesmen, fathers of young families, short, stout,
and heavy as Dutchmen, staid and most respectable. Very unlikely men are
they, 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 just
going to ask you."

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

"Was the man good-looking?"

"I suppose the world would call him so. Afy thought such an Adonis had
never been coined, out of fable. He had shiny black hair and whiskers,
dark eyes and handsome features. But his vain dandyism spoilt him; would
you believe that his handkerchiefs were soaked in scent? They were of
the finest cambric, silky as a hair, as fine as the one Barbara bought
at Lynneborough and gave a guinea for; only hers had a wreath of
embroidery around it."

Mr. Carlyle could ascertain no more particulars, and it was time Richard
went indoors. They proceeded up the path. "What a blessing it is the
servants' windows don't look this way," shivered Richard, treading on
Mr. 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 short
interview with his hysterical and tearful mother, Richard nearly as
hysterical as she, and made the best of his way home again, pondering
over what he had heard.

The magistrates made a good evening of it. Mr. Carlyle entertained them
to supper--mutton chops and bread and cheese. They took up their pipes
for another whiff when the meal was over, but Miss Carlyle retired to
bed; the smoke, to which she had not been accustomed since her father's
death, had made her head ache and her eyes smart. About ele