Mrs. Hare shook her heard.  “I tell you, my dear, the remembrance has passed from me; so whether his hair was black or light, I cannot say.  I think he was tall, but he was sitting down, and Otway Bethel stood behind his chair.  I seemed to feel that Richard was outside the door in hiding, trembling lest the man should go out and see him there; and I trembled, too.  Oh, Barbara, it was a distressing dream!”

“I wish you could avoid having them, mamma, for they seem to upset you very much.”

“Why did you ask whether the man was tall, and had black hair?”

Barbara returned an evasive answer.  It would not do to tell Mrs. Hare that her suspicions pointed to one particular quarter; it would have agitated her too greatly.

So vivid was the dream, she could scarcely persuade herself, when she awoke, that it was not real, and the murderer actually at West Lynne.

“Oh, Barbara, Barbara!” she exclaimed, in a wailing tone, “when will this mystery be cleared, and my own restored to me?  Seven years since he stole here to see us, and no tidings yet.”

“People say that changes come every seven years, mamma,” said Barbara, hopefully; “but I will go down and send you up some more tea.”

“And guard your countenance well,” returned her mother.  “Don’t let your father suspect anything.  Remember his oath to bring Richard to justice.  If he thought we dwelt on his innocence, there is no knowing what he might do to find him, he is so very just.”

“So very cruel and unnatural, I call it, mamma.  But never fear my betraying anything.  But have you heard about Joyce?”

“No.  What is it?”

“She had a severe fall while playing with little Isabel, and it is said she will be confined to bed for several weeks.  I am very sorry for her.”  And, composing her face, she descended to the breakfast-room.

The dinner hour at the Hares’, when they were alone, was four o’clock and it arrived that day as usual, and they sat down to table.  Mrs. Hare was better then; the sunshine and the business of stirring life had in some measure effaced the visions of the night, and restored her to her wonted frame of mind.

The cloth removed, the justice sat but a little while over his port wine, for he was engaged to smoke an after-dinner pipe with a brother magistrate, Mr. Justice Herbert.

“Shall you be home to tea, papa?” inquired Barbara.

“Is it any business of yours, young lady?”

“Oh, not in the least,” answered Miss Barbara.  “Only if you had been coming home to tea, I suppose we must have waited, had you not been in time.”

“I thought you said, Richard, that you were going to stay the evening with Mr. Herbert?” observed Mrs. Hare.

“So I am,” responded the justice.  “But Barbara has a great liking for the sound of her own tongue.”

The justice departed, striding pompously down the gravel walk.  Barbara waltzed round the large room to a gleeful song, as if she felt his absence a relief.  Perhaps she did.  “You can have tea now, mamma, at any time you please, if you are thirsty, without waiting till seven,” quoth she.