“Do you know Levison, Mr. Otway?” inquired old Dill.

“A little.  Once.”

“When he was not Levison, but somebody else,” laughed Mr. Ebenezer James.  “Eh, Bethel?”

Bethel turned as reproving a stare on Mr. Ebenezer as the baronet had just turned on him.  “What do you mean, pray?  Mind your own business.”

A nod to old Dill, and he turned off and disappeared, taking no further notice of James.  The old gentleman questioned the latter.

“What was that little bit of by-play, Mr. Ebenezer?”

“Nothing much,” laughed Mr. Ebenezer.  “Only he,” nodding towards Sir Francis, “was not always the great man he is now.”

“Ah!”

“I have held my tongue about it, for it’s no affair of mine, but I don’t mind letting you into the secret.  Would you believe that that grand baronet there, would-be member for West Lynne, used, years ago, to dodge about Abbey Wood, mad after Afy Hallijohn?  He didn’t call himself Levison then.”

Mr. Dill felt as if a hundred pins and needles were pricking at his memory, for there rose up in it certain doubts and troubles touching Richard Hare and one Thorn.  He laid his eager hand upon the other’s arm.  “Ebenezer James, what did he call himself?”

“Thorn.  A dandy, then, as he is now.  He used to come galloping down the Swainson road at dusk, tie his horse in the woods, and monopolize Miss Afy.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because I’ve seen it a dozen times.  I was spooney after Afy myself in those days, and went down there a good deal in an evening.  If it hadn’t been for him, and—­perhaps that murdering villain, Dick Hare, Afy would have listened to me.  Not that she cared for Dick; but, you see, they were gentlemen.  I am thankful to the stars, now, for my luck in escaping her.  With her for a wife, I should have been in a pickle always; as it is, I do get out of it once in a while.”

“Did you know then that he was Francis Levison?”

“Not I. He called himself Thorn, I tell you.  When he came down to offer himself for member, and oppose Carlyle, I was thunderstruck—­like Bethel was a minute ago.  Ho ho, said I, so Thorn’s defunct, and Levison has risen.”

“What had Otway Bethel to do with him?”

“Nothing—­that I know of.  Only Bethel was fond of the woods also—­after other game than Afy, though—­and may have seen Thorn often.  You saw that he recognized him.”

“Thorn—­Levison, I mean—­did not appear to like the recognition,” said Mr. Dill.

“Who would, in his position?” laughed Ebenezer James.  “I don’t like to be reminded of many a wild scrape of my past life, in my poor station; and what would it be for Levison, were it to come out that he once called himself Thorn, and came running after Miss Afy Hallijohn?”

“Why did he call himself Thorn?  Why disguise his own name?”

“Not knowing, can’t say. Is his name Levison, or is it Thorn?”