“Mr. Hare is not well, and we terribly fear he will be home early, in consequence; otherwise we should have been quite safe until after ten, for he is gone to the Buck’s Head, and they never leave, you know, till that hour has struck.  Should he come in and see Richard—­oh, I need not enlarge upon the consequences to you, Archibald; the very thought sends me into a shiver.  Barbara and I have been discussing it all the evening, and we can only think of one plan; it is, that you will kindly stay in the garden, near the gate; and, should he come in, stop him, and keep him in conversation.  Barbara will be with you, and will run in with the warning, and Richard can go inside the closet in the hall till Mr. Hare has entered and is safe in this room, and then he can make his escape.  Will you do this, Archibald?”

“Certainly I will.”

“I cannot part with him before ten o’clock, unless I am forced,” she whispered, pressing Mr. Carlyle’s hands, in her earnest gratitude.  “You don’t know what it is, Archibald, to have a lost son home for an hour but once in seven years.  At ten o’clock we will part.”

Mr. Carlyle and Barbara began to pace in the path in compliance with the wish of Mrs. Hare, keeping near the entrance gate.  When they were turning the second time, Mr. Carlyle offered her his arm; it was an act of mere politeness.  Barbara took it; and there they waited and waited; but the justice did not come.

Punctually to the minute, half after nine, Lady Isabel’s carriage arrived at Mrs. Jefferson’s, and she came out immediately—­a headache being the plea for her early departure.  She had not far to go to reach East Lynne—­about two miles—­and it was a by-road nearly all the way.  They could emerge into the open road, if they pleased, but it was a trifle further.  Suddenly a gentleman approached the carriage as it was bowling along, and waved his hand to the coachman to pull up.  In spite of the glowing moonlight, Lady Isabel did not at first recognize him, for he wore a disfigured fur cap, the ears of which were tied over his ears and cheeks.  It was Francis Levison.  She put down the window.

“I thought it must be your carriage.  How early you are returning!  Were you tired of your entertainers?”

“Why, he knew what time my lady was returning,” thought John to himself; “he asked me.  A false sort of a chap that, I’ve a notion.”

“I came out for a midnight stroll, and have tired myself,” he proceeded.  “Will you take compassion on me, and give me a seat home?”

She acquiesced.  She could not do otherwise.  The footman sprang from behind the door, and Francis Levison took his place beside Lady Isabel.  “Take the high road,” he put out his head to say to the coachman; and the man touched his hat—­which high road would cause them to pass Mr. Hare’s.

“I did not know you,” she began, gathering herself into her own corner.  “What ugly thing is that you have on?  It is like a disguise.”