“That you will,” responded Tom Herbert.  “He and the governor, and two or three more old codgers, are blowing clouds till you can’t see across the room; and they are sure to get at it after supper.  I say, Miss Barbara are you engaged for a few picnics?”

“Good for a great many,” returned Barbara.

“Our girls want to get up some in the next week or two.  Jack’s home, you know.”

“Is he?” said Barbara, in surprise.

“We had a letter yesterday, and he came to-day—­a brother officer with him.  Jack vows if the girls don’t cater well for them in the way of amusement, he’ll never honor them by spending his leave at home again; so mind you keep yourself in readiness for any fun that may turn up.  Good evening.”

“Good evening, Miss Hare,” added Otway Bethel.

As Barbara was returning the salutation, she became conscious of other footsteps advancing from the same direction that they had come, and moved her head hastily round.  Two gentlemen, walking arm-in-arm, were close upon her, in one of whom she recognized “Jack,” otherwise Major Herbert.  He stopped, and held out his hand.

“It is some years since we met, but I have not forgotten the pretty face of Miss Barbara,” he cried.  “A young girl’s face it was then, but it is a stately young lady’s now.”

Barbara laughed.  “Your brother has just told me you had arrived at West Lynne; but I did not know you were so close to me.  He has been asking me if I am ready for some pic—­”

Barbara’s voice faltered, and the rushing crimson dyed her face.  Whose face was that, who was he, standing opposite to her, side by side with John Herbert?  She had seen the face but once, yet it had implanted itself upon her memory in characters of fire.  Major Herbert continued to talk, but Barbara for once lost her self-possession; she could not listen, she could only stare at that face as if fascinated to the gaze, looking herself something like a simpleton, her shy blue eyes anxious and restless, and her lips turning to an ashy whiteness.  A strange feeling of wonder, of superstition was creeping over Barbara.  Was that man behind her in sober, veritable reality—­or was it but a phantom called up in her mind by the associations rising from her mamma’s dream; or by the conversation held not many moments ago with Mr. Carlyle.

Major Herbert may have deemed that Barbara, who evidently could not attend to himself, but was attending to his companion, wished for an introduction, and he accordingly made it. “Captain Thorn—­Miss Hare.”

Then Barbara roused herself; her senses were partially coming to her, and she became alive to the fact that they must deem her behavior unorthodox for a young lady.

“I—­I looked at Captain Thorn, for I thought I remembered his face,” she stammered.

“I was in West Lynne for a day or two, some five years ago,” he observed.

“Ah—­yes,” returned Barbara.  “Are you going to make a long stay now?”