Lady Isabel looked up with a start.

“It was, indeed.  She—­Lady Isabel—­and Mr. Carlyle were engaged to a dinner party; and Mr. Carlyle had to give it up, otherwise he could not have served Richard.  He is always considerate and kind, thinking of others’ welfare—­never of his own gratification.  Oh, it was an anxious night.  Papa was out.  I waited at home with mamma, doing what I could to sooth her restless suspense, for there was hazard to Richard in his night walk through West Lynne to keep the appointment; and, when it was over, he was to come home for a short interview with mamma, who had not seen him for several years.”

Barbara stopped, lost in thought.  Not a word spoke Madame Vine.  She still wondered what this affair touching Richard Hare and Thorn could have to do with Francis Levison.

“I watched from the window and saw them come in at the garden gate—­Mr. Carlyle and Richard—­between nine and ten o’clock, I think it must have been then.  The first words they said to me were that it was not the Captain Thorn spoken of by Richard.  I felt a shock of disappointment, which was wicked enough of me, but I had been so sure he was the man; and to hear that he was not, seemed to throw us further back than ever.  Mr. Carlyle, on the contrary, was glad for he had taken a liking to Captain Thorn.  Well, Richard went in to mamma, and Mr. Carlyle was so kind as to accede to her request that he would remain and pace the garden with me.  We were so afraid of papa’s coming home; he was bitter against Richard, and would inevitably have delivered him up at once to justice.  Had he come in, Mr. Carlyle was to keep him in the garden by the gate whilst I ran in to give notice and conceal Richard in the hall.  Richard lingered; papa did not come; and I cannot tell how long we paced there; but I had my shawl on, and it was a lovely moonlight night.”

That unhappy listener clasped her hands to pain.  The matter-of-fact tone, the unconscious mention of commonplace trifles, proved that they had not been pacing about in disloyalty to her, or for their own gratification. Why had she not trusted her noble husband?  Why had she listened to that false man, as he pointed them out to her walking there in the moonlight?  Why had she given vent, in the chariot, to that burst of passionate tears, of angry reproach?  Why, oh! why had she hastened to be revenged?  But for seeing them together, she might not have done as she did.

“Richard came forth at last, and departed, to be again an exile.  Mr. Carlyle also departed; and I remained at the gate, watching for papa.  By and by Mr. Carlyle came back again; he had got nearly home when he remembered that he had left a parchment at our house.  It seemed to be nothing but coming back; for just after he had gone a second time, Richard returned in a state of excitement, stating that he had seen Thorn—­Thorn the murderer, I mean—­in Bean lane.  For a moment I doubted him, but not for long, and we ran after Mr. Carlyle.  Richard described Thorn’s appearance; his evening dress, his white hands and diamond ring; more particularly he described a peculiar motion of his hand as he threw back his hair.  In that moment it flashed across me that Thorn must be Captain Levison; the description was exact.  Many and many a time since have I wondered that the thought did not strike Mr. Carlyle.”