down his pen and looked full in the old man's face; he
had never seen him so excited.

"It's that man, Levison."

"I do not understand you," said Mr. Carlyle. He did not. It was as good
as Hebrew to him. "The Levison of to-day, your opponent, is the Thorn
who went after Afy Hallijohn. It is so, Mr. Archibald."

"It cannot be!" slowly uttered Mr. Carlyle, thought upon thought working
havoc with his brain. "Where did you hear this?"

Mr. Dill told his tale. Otway Bethel's recognition of him; Sir Francis
Levison's scared paleness, for he had noticed that; Mr. Ebenezer's
revelation. The point in it all, that finally settled most upon Mr.
Carlyle, was the thought that if Levison were indeed the man, _he_ could
not be instrumental in bringing him to justice.

"Bethel has denied to me more than once that he knew Thorn, or was aware
of such a man being in existence," observed Mr. Carlyle.

"He must have had a purpose in it, then," returned Mr. Dill. "They
knew each other to-day. Levison recognized him for certain, although he
carried it off with a high hand, pretending not."

"And it was not as Levison, but as Thorn, that Bethel recognized him?"

"There's little doubt of that. He did not mention the name, Thorn;
but he was evidently struck with astonishment at hearing that it was
Levison. If they have not some secret between them, Mr. Archibald, I'll
never believe my own eyes again."

"Mrs. Hare's opinion is that Bethel had to do with the murder," said Mr.
Carlyle, in a low tone.

"If that is their secret, Bethel knows the murderer, rely upon it," was
the answer. "Mr. Archibald, it seems to me that now or never is the time
to clear up Richard."

"Aye; but how set about it?" responded Mr. Carlyle.

Meanwhile Barbara had proceeded home in her carriage, her brain as
busy as Mr. Carlyle's, perhaps more troubled. Her springing lightly and
hastily out the moment it stopped, disdaining the footman's arm, her
compressed lips and absent countenance, proved that her resolution was
set upon some plan of action. William and Madame Vine met her in the
hall.

"We have seen Dr. Martin, Mrs. Carlyle."

"And he says--"

"I cannot stay to hear now, William. I will see you later, madame."

She ran upstairs to her dressing-room, Madame Vine following her with
her reproachful eyes. "Why should she care?" thought madame. "It is not
her child."

Throwing her parasol on one chair, her gloves on another, down sat
Barbara to her wr