“It is quite impossible,” calmly replied Mr. Carlyle.  “The doors are double doors; did you notice that they were?”

Nevertheless, she left her chair and stood close to Mr. Carlyle, resting her hand upon the table.  He rose, of course.

“Richard is here!”

“Richard!” repeated Mr. Carlyle.  “At West Lynne!”

“He appeared at the house last night in disguise, and made signs to me from the grove of trees.  You may imagine my alarm.  He has been in London all this while, half starving, working—­I feel ashamed to mention it to you—­in a stable-yard.  And, oh, Archibald!  He says he is innocent.”

Mr. Carlyle made no reply to this.  He probably had no faith in the assertion.  “Sit down, Barbara,” he said drawing her chair closer.

Barbara sat down again, but her manner was hurried and nervous.  “Is it quite sure that no stranger will be coming in?  It would look so peculiar to see me here; but mamma was too unwell to come herself—­or rather, she feared papa’s questioning, if he found out that she came.”

“Be at ease,” replied Mr. Carlyle; “this room is sacred from the intrusion of strangers.  What of Richard?”

“He says that he was not in the cottage at the time the murder was committed; that the person who really did it was a man of the name of Thorn.”

“What Thorn?” asked Mr. Carlyle, suppressing all signs of incredulity.

“I don’t know; a friend of Afy’s, he said.  Archibald, he swore to it in the most solemn manner; and I believe, as truly as that I am now repeating it to you, that he was speaking the truth.  I want you to see Richard, if possible; he is coming to the same place to-night.  If he can tell his own tale to you, perhaps you may find out a way by which his innocence may be made manifest.  You are so clever, you can do anything.”

Mr. Carlyle smiled.  “Not quite anything, Barbara.  Was this the purport of Richard’s visit—­to say this?”

“Oh, no!  He thinks it is of no use to say it, for nobody would believe him against the evidence.  He came to ask for a hundred pounds; he says he has an opportunity of doing better, if he can have that sum.  Mamma has sent me to you; she has not the money by her, and she dare not ask papa for it, as it is for Richard.  She bade me say that if you will kindly oblige her with the money to-day, she will arrange with you about the repayment.”

“Do you want it now?” asked Mr. Carlyle.  “If so, I must send to the bank.  Dill never keeps much money in the house when I’m away.”

“Not until evening.  Can you manage to see Richard?”

“It is hazardous,” mused Mr. Carlyle; “for him, I mean.  Still, if he is to be in the grove to-night, I may as well be there also.  What disguise is he in?”

“A farm laborer’s, the best he could adopt about here, with large black whiskers.  He is stopping about three miles off, he said, in some obscure hiding-place.  And now,” continued Barbara, “I want you to advise me; had I better inform mamma that Richard is here, or not?”