Part 36 (2/2)
”Here's the bag, Miss Barbara. It had got among the folds of the rug.”
Benjamin held it out to her, but she took no notice; she was unconscious of all external things save one. That she beheld the real murderer of Hallijohn, she entertained no manner of doubt. In every particular he tallied with the description given by Richard; tall, dark, vain, handsome, delicate hands, jewellery, and--Captain Thorn! Barbara's cheeks grew white and her heart turned sick.
”The bag, Miss Barbara.”
Away tore Barbara, leaving Benjamin and the bag in wonder. She had caught sight of Mr. Wainwright, the surgeon, at a little distance, and sped toward him.
”Mr. Wainwright,” began she, forgetting ceremony in her agitation, ”you see that gentleman talking to Otway Bethel--who is he?”
Mr. Wainwright had to put his gla.s.ses across the bridge of his nose before he could answer, for he was short-sighted. ”That? Oh, it is a Captain Thorn. He is visiting the Herberts, I believe.”
”Where does he come from? Where does he live?” reiterated Barbara in her eagerness.
”I don't know anything about him. I saw him this morning with young Smith, and he told me he was a friend of the Herberts. You are not looking well, Miss Barbara.”
She made no answer. Captain Thorn and Mr. Bethel came walking down the street, and the latter saluted her, but she was too much confused to respond to it. Mr. Wainwright then wished her good day, and Barbara walked slowly back. Mrs. Hare was appearing at the shop door.
”My dear, how long you are! Cannot the bag be found?”
”I went to speak to Mr. Wainwright,” answered Barbara, mechanically taking the bag from Benjamin and giving it to her mother, her whole heart and eyes still absorbed with that one object moving away in the distance.
”You look pale, child. Are you well?”
”Oh, yes, quite. Let us get our shopping over, mamma.”
She moved on to their places at the counter as she spoke, eager to ”get it over” and be at home, that she might have time for thought. Mrs. Hare wondered what had come to her; the pleased interest displayed in their purchases previously was now gone, and she sat inattentive and absorbed.
”Now, my dear, it is only waiting for you to choose. Which of the two silks will you have?”
”Either--any. Take which you like, mamma.”
”Barbara, what has come to you?”
”I believe I am tired,” said Barbara, with a forced laugh, as she compelled herself to pay some sort of attention. ”I don't like the green; I will take the other.”
They arrived at home. Barbara got just five minutes alone in her chamber before the dinner was on the table. All the conclusion she could come to was, she could do nothing save tell the facts to Archibald Carlyle.
How could she contrive to see him? The business might admit of no delay.
She supposed she must go to East Lynne that evening; but where would be her excuse for it at home? Puzzling over it, she went down to dinner.
During the meal, Mrs. Hare began talking of some silk she had purchased for a mantle. She should have it made like Miss Carlyle's new one. When Miss Carlyle was at the grove, the other day, about Wilson's character, she offered her the pattern, and she, Mrs. Hare, would send one of the servants up for it after dinner.
”Oh, mamma, let me go!” burst forth Barbara, and so vehemently spoke she, that the justice paused in carving, and demanded what ailed her.
Barbara made some timid excuse.
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