Then there was silence.

“God bless her!” said Dudley at last, in a hoarse whisper.

Another silence.

“What did you tell her?” whispered Dudley.

“What could I tell her?  I said you were mad.”

“And what did you—­think?”

“Well, I hardly know myself.”

“That’s right!  That’s the proper attitude!” cried Dudley.

And then he laughed again uproariously.

And in the midst of his laughter there was a knock at the door.

For a moment neither man moved.  Then Dudley got up slowly and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.  Max heard him open the outer door, and then he heard a voice he knew—­a young girl’s voice—­say: 

“This is Mr. Dudley Horne’s place, and you are Mr. Dudley Horne?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me come in.  I’ve come from—­”

The voice dropped, and Max did not catch the rest.

“Stop!  I’ll speak to you here,” said Dudley, trying to keep her in the little ante-room.

But the girl came straight in.  It was Carrie.

CHAPTER XVII.

A SORCERESS.

Max was standing on the other side of the lamp, and Carrie did not see him.  She announced her errand at once in a straightforward and matter-of-fact manner.

“Dick Barker’s been nabbed for stealing a watch.  You’ve got to get him off.”

“What do you mean?  I’ve got to get him off?” cried Dudley, indignantly.

Carrie laughed.

“It’s the message I was told to give you; that’s all.”

“Well, take this message back:  that I refuse to have anything to do with your pickpocket.”

Carrie turned to the door.

“All right.  I’m to say that to Mrs. Higgs?”

“Stop!” thundered Dudley.

Carrie paused, with her hand on the door.

“Did Mrs. Higgs send you?”

“Yes.”

“Then wait a minute.”

All the indignation, all the defiance, had gone from his tone.  He looked anxious, haggard.

Carrie sat down like an automaton in the chair nearest to the door.

There was a silence of some minutes’ duration when Carrie announced herself as a messenger from Mrs. Higgs.

Dudley, who had either forgotten the presence of Max or was past caring how much his friend learned, since he already knew so much, walked up and down between the fireplace and the bookcase on the opposite wall, evidently debating what he should do.  Carrie never once raised her eyes from the carpet, but sat like a statue beside the door, apparently as indifferent as possible as to the message she should take back.

Max had risen from his seat and was standing where he could get a full view of her over the lamp on the dinner-table between them.  Perhaps it was the yellow paper shade around the light which made the young girl’s face look so ghastly, or the rusty black clothes she wore.  A plain skirt, the same that she had worn when he saw her first, a black stuff cape of home-made pattern, and a big black straw hat which had evidently done duty throughout the summer; all were neatly brushed and clean, but well-worn and lusterless, and they heightened the appearance of deadly pallor which, struck Max so much.