Part 53 (1/2)

”Be still, Barbara,” he interrupted in a tone of pain. ”Imagination, indeed! Did I not tell you he was stamped here?” touching his breast.

”Do you take me for a child, or an imbecile, that I should fancy I see Thorn in every shadow, or meet people where I do not? He had his hat off, as if he had been walking fast and had got hot--fast he was walking; and he carried the hat in one hand, and what looked like a small parcel. With the other hand he was pus.h.i.+ng the hair from his brow- -in this way--a peculiar way,” added Richard, slightly lifting his own hat and pus.h.i.+ng back his hair. ”By that action alone I should have known him, for he was always doing it in the old days. And there was his white hand, adorned with his diamond ring! Barbara, the diamond glittered in the moonlight!”

Richard's voice and manner were singularly earnest, and a conviction of the truth of his a.s.sertion flashed over his sister.

”I saw his face as plainly as I ever saw it--every feature--he is scarcely altered, save for a haggardness in his cheeks now. Barbara, you need not doubt me; I swear it was Thorn!”

She grew excited as he was; now that she believed the news, it was telling upon her; reason left its place and impulse succeeded; Barbara did not wait to weigh her actions.

”Richard! Mr. Carlyle ought to know this. He has but just gone; we may overtake him, if we try.”

Forgetting the strange appearances it would have--her flying along the public road at that hour of the night--should she meet any who knew her- -forgetting what the consequence might be, did Justice Hare return and find her absent, Barbara set off with a fleet foot, Richard more stealthily following her--his eyes cast in all directions. Fortunately Barbara wore a bonnet and mantle, which she had put on to pace the garden with Mr. Carlyle; fortunately, also, the road was remarkably empty of pa.s.sengers. She succeeded in reaching Mr. Carlyle before he turned into East Lynne gates.

”Barbara!” he exclaimed in the extreme of astonishment. ”Barbara!”

”Archibald! Archibald!” She panted, gasping for breath. ”I am not out of my mind--but do come and speak to Richard! He has just seen the real Thorn.”

Mr. Carlyle, amazed and wondering, turned back. They got over the field stile, nearly opposite the gates, drew behind the hedge, and there Richard told his tale. Mr. Carlyle did not appear to doubt it, as Barbara had done; perhaps he could not, in the face of Richard's agitated and intense earnestness.

”I am sure there is no one named Thorn in the neighborhood, save the gentleman you saw in my office to-night, Richard,” observed Mr. Carlyle, after some deliberation. ”It is very strange.”

”He may be staying here under a feigned name,” replied Richard. ”There can be no mistake that it was Thorn whom I have just met.”

”How was he dressed? As a gentleman?”

”Catch him dressing as anything else,” returned Richard. ”He was in an evening suit of black, with a sort of thin overcoat thrown on, but it was flung back at the shoulders, and I distinctly saw his clothes. A gray alpaca, it looked like. As I have told Barbara, I should have known him by this action of the hand,” imitating it, ”as he pushed his hair off his forehead; it was the delicate white hand of the days gone by, Mr. Carlyle; it was the flas.h.i.+ng of the diamond ring!”

Mr. Carlyle was silent; Barbara also; but the thoughts of both were busy. ”Richard,” observed the former, ”I should advise you to remain a day or two in the neighborhood, and look out for this man. You may see him again, and may track him home; it is very desirable to find out who he really is if practicable.”

”But the danger?” urged Richard.

”Your fears magnify that. I am quite certain that n.o.body would know you in broad daylight, disguised as you are now. So many years have flown since, that people have forgotten to think about you, Richard.”

But Richard could not be persuaded; he was full of fears. He described the man as accurately as he could to Mr. Carlyle and Barbara, and told them they must look out. With some trouble, Mr. Carlyle got from him an address in London, to which he might write, in case anything turned up, and Richard's presence should be necessary. He then once more said farewell, and quitted them, his way lying past East Lynne.

”And now to see you back, Barbara,” said Mr. Carlyle.

”Indeed you shall not do it--late as it is, and tired as you must be. I came here alone; Richard did not keep near me.”

”I cannot help your having come here alone, but you may rely upon it, I do not suffer you to go back so. Nonsense, Barbara! Allow you to go along the high road by yourself at eleven o'clock at night? What are you thinking of?”

He gave Barbara his arm, and they pursued their way. ”How late Lady Isabel will think you!” observed Barbara.

”I don't know that Lady Isabel has returned home yet. My being late once in a while is of no consequence.”

Not another word was spoken, save by Barbara. ”Whatever excuse can I make, should papa come home?” Both were buried in their own reflections.

”Thank you very greatly,” she said as they reached her gate, and Mr.

Carlyle finally turned away. Barbara stole in, and found the coast clear; her papa had not arrived.

Lady Isabel was in her dressing-room when Mr. Carlyle entered; she was seated at a table, writing. A few questions as to her evening's visit, which she answered in the briefest way possible, and then he asked her if she was not going to bed.