"So, Afy, you have returned to let West Lynne know that you are alive.
Sit down."

"West Lynne may go a-walking for me in future, sir, for all the heed
I shall take of it," retorted Afy. "A set of wicked-minded
scandal-mongers, to take and say I had gone after Richard Hare!"

"You should not have gone off at all, Afy."

"Well, sir, that was my business, and I chose to go. I could not stop in
the cottage after that night's work."

"There is a mystery attached to that night's work, Afy," observed Mr.
Carlyle; "a mystery that I cannot fathom. Perhaps you can help me out."

"What mystery, sir?" returned Afy.

Mr. Carlyle leaned forward, his arms on the table. Afy had taken a
chair at the other end of it. "Who was it that committed the murder?" he
demanded, in a grave and somewhat imperative tone.

Afy stared some moments before she replied, astonished at the question.
"Who committed the murder, sir?" she uttered at length. "Richard Hare
committed it. Everybody knows that."

"Did you see it done?"

"No," replied Afy. "If I had seen it, the fright and horror would have
killed me. Richard Hare quarreled with my father, and drew the gun upon
him in passion."

"You assume this to have been the case, Afy, as others have assumed it.
I do not think that it was Richard Hare who killed your father."

"Not Richard Hare!" exclaimed Afy, after a pause. "Then who do you think
did it, sir--I?"

"Nonsense, Afy."

"I know he did it," proceeded Afy. "It is true that I did not see it
done, but I know it for all that. I _know_ it, sir."

"You cannot know it, Afy."

"I do know it, sir; I would not assert it to you if I did not. If
Richard Hare was here, present before us, and swore until he was black
in the face that it was not him, I could convict him."

"By what means?"

"I had rather not say, sir. But you may believe me, for I am speaking
truth."

"There was another friend of yours present that evening, Afy. Lieutenant
Thorn."

Afy's face turned crimson; she was evidently surprised. But Mr.
Carlyle's speech and manner were authoritative, and she saw it would be
useless to attempt to trifle with him.

"I know he was, sir. A young chap who used to ride over some evenings to
see me. He had nothing to do with what occurred."

"Where did he ride from?"

"He was stopping with some friends at Swainson. He was nobody, sir."

"What was his name?" questioned Mr. Carlyle.

"Thorn," said Afy.

"I mean his real name. T