ven they
wished Mr. Carlyle good-night, and departed, but Mr. Dill, in obedience
to a nod from his superior, remained.

"Sit down a moment, Dill; I want to ask you a question. You are intimate
with the Thorns, of Swainson; do they happen to have any relative, a
nephew 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 generally
gave. Mr. Carlyle smiled.

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

"About that. But you and I estimate age differently, Mr. Archibald. They
have no nephew; the old man never had but those two children, Jacob and
Edward. 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 he
heard of the brothers Thorn, tanners, curriers, and leather-dressers,
possessing a relative of the name. "Dill," said he, "something has
arisen which, in my mind, casts a doubt upon Richard Hare's guilt. I
question whether he had anything to do with the murder."

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

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

"Mr. Archibald!" remonstrated the old clerk; "as if those two respected
gentlemen, with their wives and babies, would come sneaking after that
flyaway 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 might
be 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 nobody
connected 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 middle
height, and would never see five and thirty again; her forehead was
broad, her gray eyes were deeply