“You’d never make a conjurer, Richard.  I don’t pretend to say, or guess at, what Ball’s proceedings may be.  But, in applying to the bench for a warrant against Levison—­should that form part of them—­is there any necessity for him to bring you in—­to say:  ’Gentlemen, Richard Hare is within reach, ready to be taken?’ Your fears run away with your common sense, Richard.”

“Ah, well, if you had lived with the cord around your neck this many a year, not knowing any one hour but it might get tied the next, you’d lose your common sense, too, at times,” humbly sighed poor Richard.  “What’s to be my first move, sir?”

“Your first move, Richard, must be to go to this place of concealment, which you know of, and remain quiet there until Monday.  On Monday, at dusk, be here again.  Meanwhile, I will see Ball.  By the way, though, before speaking to Ball, I must hear from yourself that Thorn and Levison are one.”

“I will go down to the Raven at once,” eagerly cried Richard.  “I’ll come back here, to this walk, as soon as I have obtained sight of him.”  With the last words he turned, and was speeding off, when Barbara caught him.

“You will be so tired, Richard.”

“Tired!” echoed Richard Hare.  “A hundred miles on foot would not tire me if Thorn was at the end of them, waiting to be identified.  I may not be back for two or three hours, but I will come, and wait here till you come out to me.”

“You must be hungry and thirsty,” returned Barbara, the tears in her eyes.  “How I wish we dare have you in, and shelter you.  But I can manage to bring some refreshments out here.”

“I don’t require it, Barbara.  I left the train at the station next before West Lynne, and dropped into a roadside public house as I walked, and got a good supper.  Let me go, dear, I am all in a fever.”

Richard departed, reached the part of West Lynne where the Raven was situated, and was so far favored by fortune that he had not long to wait.  Scarcely had he taken up his lounge outside, when two gentlemen came forth from it, arm-in-arm.  Being the headquarters of one of the candidates, the idlers of the place thought they could not do better than make it their headquarters also, and the road and pavement were never free from loitering starers and gossipers.  Richard Hare, his hat well over his eyes, and his black ringlets made the most of, only added one to the rest.

Two gentlemen came forth, arm-in-arm.  The loiterers raised a feeble shout of “Levison forever!” Richard did not join in the shout, but his pulses were beating, and his heart leaped up within him.  The one was Thorn; the other the gentleman he had seen with Thorn in London, pointed out to him—­as he had believed—­as Sir Francis Levison.

“Which of those two is Levison?” he inquired of a man near whom he stood.

“Don’t you know him?  Him with the hat off, bowing his thanks to us, is Levison.”