“I took an oath I’d do it,” said the justice.

“You did not take an oath to go open-mouthed to the police station, upon the receipt of any despicable anonymous letter or any foolish report, to say, ‘I have news that my son will be here to-day; look after him.’  Nonsense, justice!  Let the police look out for themselves, but don’t you set them on.”

The justice growled, whether in assent or dissent did not appear, and Mr. Carlyle resumed,—­

“Have you shown this letter to Mrs. Hare, or mentioned it to her?”

“Not I. I didn’t give myself time.  I had gone down to the front gate, to see how deep the snow lay in the road, when the postman came up; so I read it as I stood there.  I went in for my coat and umbrella, to come off to you, and Mrs. Hare wanted to know where I was going in such a hurry, but I did not satisfy her.”

“I am truly glad to hear it,” said Mr. Carlyle.  “Such information as this could not fail to have a dangerous effect upon Mrs. Hare.  Do not suffer a hint of it to escape you justice; consider how much anxiety she has already suffered.”

“It’s partly her own fault.  Why can’t she drive the ill-doing boy from her mind?”

“If she could,” said Mr. Carlyle, “she would be acting against human nature.  There is one phase of the question which you may possibly not have glanced at, justice.  You speak of delivering your son up to the law; has it ever struck you that you would be delivering up at the same time your wife’s life?”

“Stuff!” said the justice.

“You would find it no ‘stuff.’  So sure as Richard gets brought to trial, whether through your means, or through any other, so sure will it kill your wife.”

Mr. Hare took up the letter, which had lain open on the table, folded it, and put it in its envelope.

“I suppose you don’t know the writing?” he asked of Mr. Carlyle.

“I never saw it before, that I remember.  Are you returning home?”

“No.  I shall go on to Beauchamp’s and show him this, and hear what he says.  It’s not much farther.”

“Tell him not to speak of it then.  Beauchamp’s safe, for his sympathies are with Richard—­oh, yes, they are, justice, ask him the question plainly if you like, and he will confess to it.  I can tell you more sympathy goes with Richard than is acknowledged to you.  But I would not show that letter to anyone else than Beauchamp,” added Mr. Carlyle, “neither would I speak of it.”

“Who can have written it?” repeated the justice.  “It bears, you see the London Post-mark.”

“It is too wide a speculation to enter upon.  And no satisfactory conclusion could come of it.”

Justice Hare departed.  Mr. Carlyle watched him down the avenue, striding under his umbrella, and then went up to Richard.  Miss Carlyle was sitting with the latter then.

“I thought I should have died,” spoke poor Dick.  “I declare, Mr. Carlyle, my very blood seemed turned to water, and I thought I should have died with fright.  Is he gone away—­is all safe?”