A pause.  Strange thoughts were running through Lady Isabel’s mind.  “Why so?” she inquired.

“Some business has arisen which I am compelled to attend to this evening.  As soon as I have snatched a bit of dinner at home I must hasten back to the office.”

Was he making this excuse to spend the hours of her absence with Barbara Hare?  The idea that it was so took firm possession of her mind, and remained there.  Her face expressed a variety of feelings, the most prominent that of resentment.  Mr. Carlyle saw it.

“You must not be vexed, Isabel.  I assure you it is no fault of mine.  It is important private business which cannot be put off, and which I cannot delegate to Dill.  I am sorry it should have so happened.”

“You never return to the office in the evening,” she remarked, with pale lips.

“No; because if anything arises to take us there after hours, Dill officiates.  But the business to-night must be done by myself.”

Another pause.  Lady Isabel suddenly broke it.  “Shall you join us later in the evening?”

“I believe I shall not be able to do so.”

She drew her light shawl around her shoulders, and swept down the staircase.  Mr. Carlyle followed to place her in the carriage.  When he said farewell, she never answered but looked out straight before her with a stony look.

“What time, my lady?” inquired the footman, as he alighted at Mrs. Jefferson’s.

“Early.  Half-past nine.”

A little before eight o’clock, Richard Hare, in his smock-frock and his slouching hat and his false whiskers, rang dubiously at the outer door of Mr. Carlyle’s office.  That gentleman instantly opened it.  He was quite alone.

“Come in, Richard,” said he, grasping his hand.  “Did you meet any whom you knew?”

“I never looked at whom I met, sir,” was the reply.  “I thought that if I looked at people, they might look at me, so I came straight ahead with my eyes before me.  How the place has altered!  There’s a new brick house on the corner where old Morgan’s shop used to stand.”

“That’s the new police station.  West Lynne I assure you, is becoming grand in public buildings.  And how have you been, Richard?”

“Ailing and wretched,” answered Richard Hare.  “How can I be otherwise, Mr. Carlyle, with so false an accusation attached to me; and working like a slave, as I have to do?”

“You may take off the disfiguring hat, Richard.  No one is here.”

Richard slowly heaved it from his brows, and his fair face, so like his mother’s, was disclosed.  But the moment he was uncovered he turned shrinkingly toward the entrance door.  “If any one should come in, sir?”

“Impossible!” replied Mr. Carlyle.  “The front door is fast, and the office is supposed to be empty at this hour.”

“For if I should be seen and recognized, it might come to hanging, you know, sir.  You are expecting that cursed Thorn here, Barbara told me.”