“But who has written it?” danced Justice Hare.  “And is Dick at West Lynne—­that’s the question.”

“Now, is it likely that he should come to West Lynne?” remonstrated Mr. Carlyle.  “Justice, will you pardon me, if I venture to give you my candid opinion.”

“The fool at West Lynne, running into the very jaws of death!  By Jupiter!  If I can drop upon him, I’ll retain him in custody, and make out a warrant for his committal!  I’ll have this everlasting bother over.”

“I was going to give you my opinion,” quietly put in Mr. Carlyle.  “I fear, Justice, you bring these annoyances upon yourself.”

“Bring them upon myself!” ranted the indignant justice.  “I?  Did I murder Hallijohn?  Did I fly away from the law?  Am I hiding, Beelzebub knows where?  Do I take starts, right into my native parish, disguised as a laborer, on purpose to worry my own father?  Do I write anonymous letters?  Bring them upon myself, do I?  That cobs all, Carlyle.”

“You will not hear me out.  It is known that you are much exasperated against Richard—­”

“And if your son serves you the same when he is grown up, shan’t you be exasperated, pray?” fired Justice Hare.

“Do hear me.  It is known that you are much exasperated, and that any allusion to him excites and annoys you.  Now, my opinion is, justice, that some busybody is raising these reports and writing these letters on purpose to annoy you.  It may be somebody at West Lynne, very near to us, for all we know.”

“That’s all rubbish!” peevishly responded the justice, after a pause.  “It’s not likely.  Who’d do it?”

“It is very likely; but you may be sure they will not give us a clue as to the ‘who.’  I should put that letter in the fire, and think no more about it.  That’s the only way to serve them.  A pretty laugh they have had in their sleeve, if it is anybody near, at seeing you wade up here through the snow this morning!  They would know you were bringing the letter, to consult me.”

The justice—­in spite of his obstinacy he was somewhat easily persuaded to different views of things, especially by Mr. Carlyle—­let fall his coat tails, which had been gathered in his arms, as he stood with his back to the fire, and brought down both his hands upon the table with force enough to break it.

“If I thought that,” he spluttered, “if I could think it, I’d have the whole parish of West Lynne before me to-day, and commit them for trial.”

“It’s a pity but what you could,” said Mr. Carlyle.

“Well, it may be, or it may not be, that that villain is coming here,” he resumed.  “I shall call in at the police station, and tell them to keep a sharp lookout.”

“You will do nothing of the sort justice,” exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, almost in agitation.  “Richard is not likely to make his appearance at West Lynne; but if he did, would you, his own father, turn the flood upon him?  Not a man living but would cry shame upon you.”