"No, no; you know better. But it is strange--you must acknowledge that
it is--that, so sure as anything fresh happens touching the subject of
the murder, so sure is a troubled dream the forerunner of it. Mamma does
not have them at other times. Bethel denied to you that he knew Thorn."

"I know he did."

"And now it turns out that he does know him, and he is always in mamma's
dreams--none more prominent in them than Bethel. But, Archibald, I am
not telling you--I have sent for Richard."

"You have?"

"I felt sure that Levison was Thorn. I did not expect that others would
recognize him, and I acted on the impulse of the moment and wrote to
Richard, telling him to be here on Saturday evening. The letter is
gone."

"Well, we must shelter him as best we can."

"Archibald--dear Archibald, what can be done to clear him?" she asked,
the tears rising to her eyes.

"Being Levison, I cannot act."

"What!" she uttered. "Not act--not act for Richard!"

He bent his clear, truthful eyes upon her.

"My dearest, how can I?"

She looked a little rebellious, and the tears fell.

"You have not considered, Barbara. Any one in the world but Levison; it
would look like my own revenge."

"Forgive me!" she softly whispered. "You are always right. I did not
think of it in that light. But, what steps do you imagine can be taken?"

"It is a case encompassed with difficulties," mused Mr. Carlyle. "Let us
wait until Richard comes."

"Do you happen to have a five-pound note in your pocket, Archibald? I
had not one to send to him, and borrowed it from Madame Vine."

He took out his pocket book and gave it to her.

In the gray parlor, in the dark twilight of the April evening--or it was
getting far into the night--were William Carlyle and Lady Isabel. It had
been a warm day, but the spring evenings were still chilly, and a fire
burned in the grate. There was no blaze, the red embers were smoldering
and half dead, but Madame Vine did not bestir herself to heed the fire.
William lay on the sofa, and she sat by, looking at him. Her glasses
were off, for the tears wetted them continually; and it was not the
recognition of the children she feared. He was tired with the drive
to Lynneborough and back, and lay with eyes shut; she thought asleep.
Presently he opened them.

"How long will it be before I die?"

The words took her utterly by surprise, and her heart went round in a
whirl. "What do you mean, William? Who said anything ab