ave got the lamp at the far end of the room, young lady, and can go
to 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. It
came, the signal, her quick eye caught it; a movement as if some person
or 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 might
render her less conspicuous to the justice, and her dress that evening
was a dark silk. She did not dare to stand still when she reached the
trees, 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 of
care; 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 the
world."

"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 every
inch of ground that this neighborhood contains."

"But you must wait, Richard, for reasons. That man who caused all the
mischief--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 a
tall man, very good-looking, very fond of dress and ornament, especially
of 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, perhaps
nothing can be done--immediately done--toward clearing you, but it shall
be a great point ascertained. Are you sure you should know him again?"

"Sure! That I should know _him_?" uttered Richard Hare. "Should I know
my own father? Should I know you? And are you not engraven on my heart
in 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 he