“It’s a most extraordinary thing, if anybody else did kill him, that the facts can’t be brought to light,” retorted Miss Carlyle.  “Here you tell a cock-and-bull story of some man’s having done it, some Thorn; but nobody ever saw or heard of him, at the time or since.  It looks like a made-up story, Mr. Dick, to whiten yourself.”

“Made up!” panted Richard, in agitation, for it seemed cruel to him, especially in his present frame of mind, to have a doubt cast upon his tale.  “It is Thorn who is setting the officers upon me.  I have seen him three or four times within the last fortnight.”

“And why did you not turn the tables, and set the officers upon him?” demanded Miss Carlyle.

“Because it would lead to no good.  Where’s the proof, save my bare word, that he committed the murder?”

Miss Carlyle rubbed her nose.  “Dick Hare,” said she.

“Well?”

“You know you always were the greatest natural idiot that ever was let loose out of leading strings.”

“I know I always was told so.”

“And it’s what you always will be.  If I were accused of committing a crime, which I knew another had committed and not myself, should I be such an idiot as not to give that other into custody if I got the chance?  If you were not in such a cold, shivery, shaky state, I would treat you to a bit of my mind, you may rely upon that.”

“He was in league with Afy, at that period,” pursued Richard; “a deceitful, bad man; and he carries it in his countenance.  And he must be in league with her still, if she asserts that he was in her company at the moment the murder was committed.  Mr. Carlyle says she does; that she told him so the other day, when she was here.  He never was; and it was he, and no other, who did the murder.”

“Yes,” burst forth Miss Carlyle, for the topic was sure to agitate her, “that Jezebel of brass did presume to come here!  She chose her time well, and may thank her lucky stars I was not at home.  Archibald, he’s a fool too, quite as bad a you are, Dick Hare, in some things—­actually suffered her to lodge here for two days!  A vain, ill-conducted hussy, given to nothing but finery and folly!”

“Afy said that she knew nothing of Thorn’s movements now, Richard, and had not for some time,” interposed Mr. Carlyle, allowing his sister’s compliments to pass in silence.  “She heard a rumor, she thought, that he had gone abroad with his regiment.”

“So much the better for her, if she does know nothing of him, sir,” was Richard’s comment.  “I can answer for it that he is not abroad, but in England.”

“And where are you going to lodge to-night?” abruptly spoke Miss Carlyle, confronting Richard.

“I don’t know,” was the broken-spirited answer, sighed forth.  “If I lay myself down in a snowdrift, and am found frozen in the morning, it won’t be of much moment.”

“Was that what you thought of doing?” returned Miss Carlyle.