n, we must extend our
hospitality and protection to him, concealing him in the best manner we
can. I thought it well that this confidence should be reposed in you,
Joyce. Come now and see him."

Considering that it was a subdued interview--the voices subdued, I
mean--it was a confused one. Richard talking vehemently, Joyce asking
question after question, Miss Carlyle's tongue going as fast as theirs.
The only silent one was Mr. Carlyle. Joyce could not refuse to believe
protestations so solemn, and her suspicions veered round upon Captain
Thorn.

"And now about the bed," interjected Miss Carlyle, impatiently. "Where's
he to sleep, Joyce? The only safe room that I know of will be the one
through mine."

"He can't sleep there, ma'am. Don't you know that the key of the door
was lost last week, and we cannot open it?"

"So much the better. He'll be all the safer."

"But how is he to get in?"

"To get in? Why, through my room, of course. Doesn't mine open to it,
stupid?"

"Oh, well, ma'am, if you would like him to go through yours, that's
different."

"Why shouldn't he go through? Do you suppose I mind young Dick Hare? Not
I, indeed," she irascibly continued. "I only wish he was young enough
for me to flog him as I used to, that's all. He deserves it as much as
anybody ever did, playing the fool, as he has done, in all ways. I shall
be in bed, with the curtains drawn, and his passing through won't harm
me, and my lying there won't harm him. Stand on ceremony with Dick Hare!
What next, I wonder?"

Joyce made no reply to this energetic speech, but at once retired to
prepare the room for Richard. Miss Carlyle soon followed. Having made
everything ready, Joyce returned.

"The room is ready, sir," she whispered, "and all the household are in
bed."

"Then now's your time, Richard. Good-night."

He stole upstairs after Joyce, who piloted him through the room of Miss
Carlyle. Nothing could be seen of that lady, though something might
be heard, one given to truth more than politeness might have called
it snoring. Joyce showed Richard his chamber, gave him the candle, and
closed the door upon him.

Poor hunted Richard, good-night to you.

CHAPTER XXX.

BARBARA'S HEART AT REST.

Morning dawned. The same dull weather, the same heavy fall of snow. Miss
Carlyle took her breakfast in bed, an indulgence she had not favored for
ever so many years. Richard Hare rose, but remained in his chamber, and
Joyce carried h