. She felt that she must
indulge in a few moments sobbing; Joyce was there, but Barbara was
sobbing when she entered it.

"It _is_ hard for him, Miss Barbara, if he is really innocent."

Barbara turned her streaming eyes upon her. "_If!_ Joyce do you doubt
that he is innocent?"

"I quite believe him to be so now, miss. Nobody could so solemnly assert
what was not true. The thing at present will be to find that Captain
Thorn."

"Joyce!" exclaimed Barbara, in excitement, seizing hold of Joyce's
hands, "I thought I had found him; I believed in my own mind that I knew
who he was. I don't mind telling you, though I have never before spoken
of it; and with one thing or other, this night I feel just as if I
should die--as if I must speak. I thought it was Sir Francis Levison."

Joyce stared with all her eyes. "Miss Barbara!"

"I did. I have thought it ever since the night that Lady Isabel went
away. My poor brother was at West Lynne then--he had come for a few
hours, and he met the man Thorn walking in Bean lane. He was in evening
dress, and Richard described a peculiar motion of his--the throwing off
of his hair from his brow. He said his white hand and his diamond ring
glittered in the moonlight. The white hand, the ring, the motion--for he
was always doing it--all reminded me of Captain Levison; and from that
hour until to-day I believed him to be the man Richard saw. To-day
Richard tells me that he knows Sir Francis Levison, and that he and
Thorn are intimate. What I think now is, that this Thorn must have paid
a flying visit to the neighborhood that night to assist Captain Levison
in the wicked work that he had on hand."

"How strange it all sounds!" uttered Joyce.

"And I never could tell my suspicions to Mr. Carlyle! I did not like to
mention Francis Levison's name to him."

Barbara soon returned down stairs. "I must be going home," she said to
Mr. Carlyle. "It is turned half-past seven, and mamma will be uneasy."

"Whenever you like, Barbara."

"But can I not walk? I am sorry to take out your ponies again, and in
this storm."

Mr. Carlyle laughed. "Which would feel the storm the worst, you or the
ponies?"

But when Barbara got outside, she saw that it was not the pony carriage,
but the chariot that was in waiting for her. She turned inquiringly to
Mr. Carlyle.

"Did you think I should allow you to go home in an open carriage
to-night, Barbara?"

"Are you coming also?"

"I suppose I had better," he