“I feel a conviction that they are the same—­that Richard must have been under some unaccountable mistake in saying that he knew Francis Levison.  Besides, who but he, in evening dress, would have been likely to go through Bean lane that night?  It leads to no houses, but one wishing to avoid the high road could get into it from these grounds, and so on to West Lynne.  He must have gone back directly on foot to West Lynne, to get the post carriage, as was proved, and he would naturally go through Bean lane.  Forgive me, Archibald, for recalling these things to you, but I feel so sure that Levison and Thorn are one.”

“I know they are,” he quietly said.

Barbara, in her astonishment drew back and stared him in the face—­a face of severe dignity it was just then.

“Oh, Archibald!  Did you know it at that time?”

“I did not know it until this afternoon.  I never suspected it.”

“I wonder you did not.  I have wondered often.”

“So do I now.  Dill, Ebenezer James, and Otway Bethel—­who came home to-day—­were standing before the Raven, listening to his speech, when Bethel recognized him; not as Levison—­he was infinitely astonished to find he was Levison.  Levison, they say, was scared at the recognition, and changed color.  Bethel would give no explanation, and moved away; but James told Dill that Levison was the man Thorn who used to be after Afy Hallijohn.”

“How did you know?” breathlessly asked Barbara.

“Because Mr. Ebenezer was after Afy himself, and repeatedly saw Thorn in the wood.  Barbara, I believe now that it was Levison who killed Hallijohn, but I should like to know what Bethel had to do with it.”

Barbara clasped her hands.  “How strange it is!” she exclaimed, in some excitement.  “Mamma told me, yesterday, that she was convinced something or other was going to turn up relative to the murder.  She had had the most distressing dream, she said, connected with Richard and Bethel, and somebody else, whom she appeared to know in the dream, but could not recognize or remember when she was awake.  She was as ill as could be—­she does put such faith in these wretched dreams.”

“One would think you did also, Barbara, by your vehemence.”

“No, no; you know better.  But it is strange—­you must acknowledge that it is—­that, so sure as anything fresh happens touching the subject of the murder, so sure is a troubled dream the forerunner of it.  Mamma does not have them at other times.  Bethel denied to you that he knew Thorn.”

“I know he did.”

“And now it turns out that he does know him, and he is always in mamma’s dreams—­none more prominent in them than Bethel.  But, Archibald, I am not telling you—­I have sent for Richard.”

“You have?”

“I felt sure that Levison was Thorn.  I did not expect that others would recognize him, and I acted on the impulse of the moment and wrote to Richard, telling him to be here on Saturday evening.  The letter is gone.”