“Directly,” replied Mr. Carlyle, observing the mode of addressing him “sir.”  It spoke plainly of the scale of society in which Richard had been mixing; that he was with those who said it habitually; nay, that he used it habitually himself.  “From your description of the Lieutenant Thorn who destroyed Hallijohn, we believe this Captain Thorn to be the same man,” pursued Mr. Carlyle.  “In person he appears to tally exactly; and I have ascertained that a few years ago he was a deal at Swainson, and got into some sort of scrape.  He is in John Herbert’s regiment, and is here with him on a visit.”

“But what an idiot he must be to venture here!” uttered Richard.  “Here of all places in the world!”

“He counts, no doubt, on not being known.  So far as I can find out, Richard, nobody here did know him, save you and Afy.  I shall put you in Mr. Dill’s room—­you may remember the little window in it—­and from thence you can take a full view of Thorn, whom I shall keep in the front office.  You are sure you would recognize him at this distance of time?”

“I should know him if it were fifty years to come; I should know him were he disguised as I am disguised.  We cannot,” Richard sank his voice, “forget a man who has been the object of our frenzied jealousy.”

“What has brought you to East Lynne again, Richard?  Any particular object?”

“Chiefly a hankering within me that I could not get rid of,” replied Richard.  “It was not so much to see my mother and Barbara—­though I did want that, especially since my illness—­as that a feeling was within me that I could not rest away from it.  So I said I’d risk it again, just for a day.”

“I thought you might possibly want some assistance, as before.”

“I do want that, also,” said Richard.  “Not much.  My illness has run me into debt, and if my mother can let me have a little, I shall be thankful.”

“I am sure she will,” answered Mr. Carlyle.  “You shall have it from me to-night.  What has been the matter with you?”

“The beginning of it was a kick from a horse, sir.  That was last winter, and it laid me up for six weeks.  Then, in the spring, after I got well and was at work again, I caught some sort of fever, and down again I was for six weeks.  I have not been to say well since.”

“How is it you have never written or sent me your address?”

“Because I dared not,” answered Richard, timorously, “I should always be in fear; not of you, Mr. Carlyle, but of its becoming known some way or other.  The time is getting on, sir; is that Thorn sure to come?”

“He sent me word that he would, in reply to my note.  And—­there he is!” uttered Mr. Carlyle, as a ring was heard at the bell.  “Now, Richard, come this way.  Bring your hat.”

Richard complied by putting his hat on his head, pulling it so low that it touched his nose.  He felt himself safer in it.  Mr. Carlyle showed him into Mr. Dill’s room, and then turned the key upon him, and put it in his pocket.  Whether this precautionary measure was intended to prevent any possibility of Captain Thorn’s finding his way in, or of Richard’s finding his way out, was best known to himself.