“Good night, Barbara,” said Mr. Carlyle.

“Will you not come in and say good night to mamma?”

“Not now; it is late.  Tell her how glad I am things have gone off so well.”

He started off at a strapping pace toward his home, and Barbara leaned on the gate to indulge her tears.  Not a soul passed to interrupt her, and the justice did not come.  What could have become of him?  What could the Buck’s Head be thinking of, to retain respectable elderly justices from their beds, who ought to go home early and set a good example to the parish?  Barbara knew, the next day, that Justice Hare, with a few more gentlemen, had been seduced from the staid old inn to a friend’s house, to an entertainment of supper, pipes, and whist, two tables, penny points, and it was between twelve and one ere the party rose from the fascination.  So far, well—­as it happened.

Barbara knew not how long she lingered at the gate; ten minutes it may have been.  Nobody summoned her.  Mrs. Hare was indulging her grief indoors, giving no thought to Barbara, and the justice did not make his appearance.  Exceedingly surprised was Barbara to hear fast footsteps, and to find that they were Mr. Carlyle’s.

“The more haste, the less speed, Barbara,” he called out as he came up.  “I had got half-way home and have had to come back again.  When I went into your sitting-room, I left a small parcel, containing a parchment, on the sideboard.  Will you get it for me?”

Barbara ran indoors and brought forth the parcel, and Mr. Carlyle, with a brief word of thanks, sped away with it.

She leaned on the gate as before, the ready tears flowing again; her heart was aching for Richard; it was aching for the disappointment the night had brought forth respecting Captain Thorn.  Still nobody passed; still the steps of her father were not heard, and Barbara stayed on.  But—­what was that figure cowering under the shade of the hedge at a distance, and seemingly, watching her?  Barbara strained her eyes, while her heart beat as if it would burst its bounds.  Surely, surely, it was her brother?  What had he ventured back for?

Richard Hare it was.  When fully assured that Barbara was standing there, he knew the justice was still absent, and ventured to advance.  He appeared to be in a strange state of emotion—­his breath labored, his whole frame trembling.

“Barbara!  Barbara!” he called.  “I have seen Thorn.”

Barbara thought him demented.  “I know you saw him,” she slowly said, “but it was not the right Thorn.”

“Not he,” breathed Richard; “and not the gentleman I saw to-night in Carlyle’s office.  I have seen the fellow himself.  Why to you stare at me so, Barbara?”

Barbara was in truth scanning his face keenly.  It appeared to her a strange tale that he was telling.