Part 47 (1/2)

Captain Thorn explained his dilemma, and Mr. Carlyle told him what to do in it. ”Were you not at West Lynne some ten years ago?” he suddenly inquired, at the close of the conversation. ”You denied it to me once at my house; but I concluded from an observation you let fall, that you had been here.”

”Yes, I was,” replied Captain Thorn, in a confidential tone. ”I don't mind owning it to you in confidence, but I do not wish it to get abroad.

I was not at West Lynne, but in its neighborhood. The fact is, when I was a careless young fellow, I was stopping a few miles from here, and got into a sc.r.a.pe, through a--a--in short it was an affair of gallantry.

I did not show out very well at the time, and I don't care that it should be known in the country again.”

Mr. Carlyle's pulse--for Richard Hare's sake--beat a shade quicker. The avowal of ”an affair of gallantry” was almost a confirmation of his suspicions.

”Yes,” he pointedly said. ”The girl was Afy Hallijohn.”

”Afy--who?” repeated Captain Thorn, opening his eyes, and fixing them on Mr. Carlyle's.

”Afy Hallijohn.”

Captain Thorn continued to look at Mr. Carlyle, an amused expression, rather than any other, predominant on his features. ”You are mistaken,”

he observed. ”Afy Hallijohn? I never heard the name before in my life.”

”Did you ever hear or know that a dreadful tragedy was enacted in this place about that period?” replied Mr. Carlyle, in a low, meaning tone.

”That Afy Hallijohn's father was--”

”Oh, stay, stay, stay,” hastily interrupted Captain Thorn. ”I am telling a story in saying I never heard her name. Afy Hallijohn? Why, that's the girl Tom Herbert was telling me about--who--what was it?--disappeared after her father was murdered.”

”Murdered in his own cottage--almost in Afy's presence--murdered by--by- ---” Mr. Carlyle recollected himself; he had spoken more impulsively than was his custom. ”Hallijohn was my father's faithful clerk for many years,” he more calmly concluded.

”And he who committed the murder was young Hare, son of Justice Hare, and brother to that attractive girl, Barbara. Your speaking of this has recalled, what they told me to my recollection, the first evening I was at the Herberts. Justice Hare was there, smoking--half a dozen pipes there were going at once. I also saw Miss Barbara that evening at your park gates, and Tom told me of the murder. An awful calamity for the Hares. I suppose that is the reason the young lady is Miss Hare still.

One with her good fortune and good looks ought to have changed her name ere this.”

”No, it is not the reason,” returned Mr. Carlyle.

”What is the reason, then?”

A faint flush tinged the brow of Mr. Carlyle. ”I know more than one who would be glad to get Barbara, in spite of the murder. Do not depreciate Miss Hare.”

”Not I, indeed; I like the young lady too well,” replied Captain Thorn.

”The girl, Afy, has never been heard of since, has she?”

”Never,” said Mr. Carlyle. ”Do you know her well?” he deliberately added.

”I never knew her at all, if you mean Afy Hallijohn. Why should you think I did? I never heard of her till Tom Herbert amused me with the history.”

Mr. Carlyle most devoutly wished he could tell whether the man before him was speaking the truth or falsehood. He continued,--

”Afy's favors--I speak in no invidious sense--I mean her smiles and chatter--were pretty freely dispersed, for she was heedless and vain.

Amidst others who got the credit for occasional basking in her rays, was a gentleman of the name of Thorn. Was it not yourself?”

Captain Thorn stroked his moustache with an air that seemed to say he could boast of his share of such baskings: in short, as if he felt half inclined to do it. ”Upon my word,” he simpered, ”you do me too much honor; I cannot confess to having been favored by Miss Afy.”

”Then she was not the--the damsel you speak of, who drove you--if I understand aright--from the locality?” resumed Mr. Carlyle, fixing his eyes upon him, so as to take in every tone of the answer and shade of countenance as he gave it.

”I should think not, indeed. It was a married lady, more's the pity; young, pretty, vain and heedless, as you represent this Afy. Things went smoother after a time, and she and her husband--a stupid country yeoman- -became reconciled; but I have been ashamed of it since I have grown wiser, and I do not care ever to be recognized as the actor in it, or to have it raked up against me.”