lyle. I saw her leave the room; I saw you come to the window and
open it, and then I spoke. Mr. Carlyle," he added, after a pause, "is
this life to go on with me forever?"

"I am deeply sorry for you, Richard," was the sympathizing answer. "I
wish I could remedy it."

Before another word was spoken the room door was tried, and then gently
knocked at. Mr. Carlyle placed his hand on Richard, who was looking
scared out of his wits.

"Be still; be at ease, Richard; no one shall come in. It is only Peter."

Not Peter's voice, however, but Joyce's was heard, in response to Mr.
Carlyle's demand of who was there.

"Miss Carlyle has left her handkerchief downstairs, sir, and has sent me
for it."

"You cannot come in--I am busy," was the answer, delivered in a clear
and most decisive tone.

"Who was it?" quivered Richard, as Joyce was heard going away.

"It was Joyce."

"What! Is she here still? Has anything ever been heard of Afy, sir?"

"Afy was here herself two or three months ago."

"Was she, though?" uttered Richard, beguiled for an instant from the
thought of his own danger. "What is she doing?"

"She is in service as a lady's maid. Richard, I questioned Afy about
Thorn. She protested solemnly to me that it was not Thorn who committed
the deed--that it could not have been he, for Thorn was with her at the
moment of its being done."

"It's not true!" fired Richard. "It was Thorn."

"Richard, you cannot tell; you did not _see_ it done."

"I know that no man could have rushed out in that frantic manner, with
those signs of guilt and fear about him, unless he had been engaged in a
bad deed," was Richard Hare's answer. "It could have been no one else."

"Afy declared he was with her," repeated Mr. Carlyle.

"Look here, sir, you are a sharp man, and folks say I am not, but I can
see things and draw my reasoning as well as they can, perhaps. If Thorn
were not Hallijohn's murderer, why should he be persecuting me--what
would he care about me? And why should his face turn livid, as it has
done, each time he has seen my eyes upon him? Whether he did commit the
murder, or whether he didn't, he must know that I did not, because he
came upon me, waiting, as he was tearing from the cottage."

Dick's reasoning was not bad.

"Another thing," he resumed. "Afy swore at the inquest that she was
_alone_ when the deed was done; that she was alone at the back of the
cottage, and knew nothing about it till afterwards. How c