aped up within him. The one was
Thorn; the other the gentleman he had seen with Thorn in London, pointed
out to him--as he had believed--as Sir Francis Levison.

"Which of those two is Levison?" he inquired of a man near whom he
stood.

"Don't you know him? Him with the hat off, bowing his thanks to us, is
Levison."

No need to inquire further. It was the Thorn of Richard's memory. His
ungloved hand, raised to his hat, was as white as ever; more sparkling
than ever, as it flashed in the street gaslight, was the diamond ring.
By the hand and ring alone Richard would have sworn to the man, had it
been needful.

"Who is the other one?" he continued.

"Some gent as came down from London with him. His name's Drake. Be you
yellow, sailor, or be you scarlet-and-purple?"

"I am neither. I am only a stranger, passing through the town."

"On the tramp?"

"Tramp? No." And Richard moved away, to make the best of his progress to
East Lynne and report to Mr. Carlyle.

Now it happened, on that windy night, that Lady Isabel, her mind
disordered, her brow fevered with its weight of care, stole out into
the grounds, after the children had left her for the night, courting any
discomfort she might meet. As if they could, even for a moment, cool
the fire within! To the solitude of this very covered walk bent she
her steps; and, not long had she paced it, when she descried some man
advancing, in the garb of a sailor. Not caring to be seen, she turned
short off amidst the trees, intending to emerge again when he had
passed. She wondered who he was, and what brought him there.

But he did not pass. He lingered in the walk, keeping her a prisoner.
A minute more and she saw him joined by Mrs. Carlyle. They met with a
loving embrace.

Embrace a strange man? Mrs. Carlyle? All the blood in Lady Isabel's
body rushed to her brain. Was she, his second wife, false to him--more
shamelessly false than even herself had been, inasmuch as she had had
the grace to quit him and East Lynne before--as the servant girls
say, when they change their sweethearts--"taking up" with another? The
positive conviction that such was the case seized firm hold upon her
fancy; her thoughts were in a tumult, her mind was a chaos. Was there
any small corner of rejoicing in her heart that it was so? And yet, what
was it to her? It could not alter by one iota her own position--it could
not restore to her the love she had forfeited.

Coupled lovingly together, the