“Barbara!” he exclaimed in the extreme of astonishment.  “Barbara!”

“Archibald!  Archibald!” She panted, gasping for breath.  “I am not out of my mind—­but do come and speak to Richard!  He has just seen the real Thorn.”

Mr. Carlyle, amazed and wondering, turned back.  They got over the field stile, nearly opposite the gates, drew behind the hedge, and there Richard told his tale.  Mr. Carlyle did not appear to doubt it, as Barbara had done; perhaps he could not, in the face of Richard’s agitated and intense earnestness.

“I am sure there is no one named Thorn in the neighborhood, save the gentleman you saw in my office to-night, Richard,” observed Mr. Carlyle, after some deliberation.  “It is very strange.”

“He may be staying here under a feigned name,” replied Richard.  “There can be no mistake that it was Thorn whom I have just met.”

“How was he dressed?  As a gentleman?”

“Catch him dressing as anything else,” returned Richard.  “He was in an evening suit of black, with a sort of thin overcoat thrown on, but it was flung back at the shoulders, and I distinctly saw his clothes.  A gray alpaca, it looked like.  As I have told Barbara, I should have known him by this action of the hand,” imitating it, “as he pushed his hair off his forehead; it was the delicate white hand of the days gone by, Mr. Carlyle; it was the flashing of the diamond ring!”

Mr. Carlyle was silent; Barbara also; but the thoughts of both were busy.  “Richard,” observed the former, “I should advise you to remain a day or two in the neighborhood, and look out for this man.  You may see him again, and may track him home; it is very desirable to find out who he really is if practicable.”

“But the danger?” urged Richard.

“Your fears magnify that.  I am quite certain that nobody would know you in broad daylight, disguised as you are now.  So many years have flown since, that people have forgotten to think about you, Richard.”

But Richard could not be persuaded; he was full of fears.  He described the man as accurately as he could to Mr. Carlyle and Barbara, and told them they must look out.  With some trouble, Mr. Carlyle got from him an address in London, to which he might write, in case anything turned up, and Richard’s presence should be necessary.  He then once more said farewell, and quitted them, his way lying past East Lynne.

“And now to see you back, Barbara,” said Mr. Carlyle.

“Indeed you shall not do it—­late as it is, and tired as you must be.  I came here alone; Richard did not keep near me.”

“I cannot help your having come here alone, but you may rely upon it, I do not suffer you to go back so.  Nonsense, Barbara!  Allow you to go along the high road by yourself at eleven o’clock at night?  What are you thinking of?”

He gave Barbara his arm, and they pursued their way.  “How late Lady Isabel will think you!” observed Barbara.