Barbara rose.  Mr. Carlyle escorted her across the hall, and then strolled down the park by her side, deep in the subject, and quite unconscious that Lady Isabel’s jealous eyes were watching them from her dressing-room window.

“You say he seemed intimate with Otway Bethel?”

“As to being intimate, I cannot say.  Otway Bethel spoke as though he knew him.”

“This must have caused excitement to Mrs. Hare.”

“You forget, Archibald, that mamma was not told anything about Thorn,” was the answer of Barbara.  “The uncertainty would have worried her to death.  All Richard said to her was, that he was innocent, that it was a stranger who did the deed, and she asked for no particulars; she had implicit faith in Richard’s truth.”

“True; I did forget,” replied Mr. Carlyle.  “I wish we could find out some one who knew the other Thorn; to ascertain that they were the same would be a great point gained.”

He went as far as the park gates with Barbara, shook hands and wished her good evening.  Scarcely had she departed when Mr. Carlyle saw two gentlemen advancing from the opposite direction, in one of whom he recognized Tom Herbert, and the other—­instinct told him—­was Captain Thorn.  He waited till they came up.

“If this isn’t lucky, seeing you,” cried Mr. Tom Herbert, who was a free-and-easy sort of a gentleman, the second son of a brother justice of Mr. Hare.  “I wish to goodness you’d give us a draught of your cider, Carlyle.  We went up to Beauchamp’s for a stroll, but found them all out, and I’m awful thirsty.  Captain Thorn, Carlyle.”

Mr. Carlyle invited them to his house and ordered in refreshments.  Young Herbert coolly threw himself into an arm-chair and lit a cigar.  “Come, Thorn,” cried he, “here’s a weed for you.”

Captain Thorn glanced toward Mr. Carlyle; he appeared of a far more gentlemanly nature than Tom Herbert.

“You’ll have one too, Carlyle,” said Herbert, holding out his cigar-case.  “Oh, I forgot—­you are a muff; don’t smoke one twice a year.  I say how’s Lady Isabel?”

“Very ill still.”

“By Jove!  Is she, though?  Tell her I am sorry to hear it, will you, Carlyle?  But—­I say!  Will she smell the smoke?” asked he, with a mixture of alarm and concern in his face.

Mr. Carlyle reassured him upon the point, and turned to Captain Thorn.

“Are you acquainted with this neighborhood?”

Captain Thorn smiled.  “I only reached West Lynne yesterday.”

“You were never here before then?” continued Mr. Carlyle, setting down the last as a probably evasive answer.

“No.”

“He and my brother Jack, you know, are in the same regiment,” put in Tom, with scanty ceremony.  “Jack had invited him down for some fishing and that, and Thorn arrives.  But he never sent word he was coming, you see; Jack had given him up, and is off on some Irish expedition, the deuce knows where.  Precious unlucky that it should have happened so.  Thorn says he shall cut short his stay, and go again.”