“I didn’t do it, because I was a fool, a weak coward, as I have been all my life,” rejoined Richard.  “I can’t help it; it was born with me, and will go with me to my grave.  What would my word have availed that it was Thorn, when there was nobody to corroborate it?  And the discharged gun, mine, was a damnatory proof against me.”

“Another thing strikes me as curious,” cried Mr. Carlyle.  “If this man, Thorn, was in the habit of coming to West Lynne, evening after evening, how was it that he never was observed?  This is the first time I have heard any stranger’s name mentioned in connection with the affair, or with Afy.”

“Thorn chose by-roads, and he never came, save that once, but at dusk and dark.  It was evident to me at the time that he was striving to do it on the secret.  I told Afy so, and that it augured no good for her.  You are not attaching credit to what I say, and it is only as I expected; nevertheless, I swear that I have related the facts.  As surely as that we—­I, Thorn, Afy and Hallijohn, must one day meet together before our Maker, I have told you the truth.”

The words were solemn, their tone earnest, and Mr. Carlyle remained silent, his thoughts full.

“To what end, else, should I say this?” went on Richard.  “It can do me no service; all the assertion I could put forth would not go a jot toward clearing me.”

“No, it would not,” assented Mr. Carlyle.  “If ever you are cleared, it must be by proofs.  But—­I will keep my thought on the matter, and should anything arise——­What sort of a man was this Thorn?”

“In age he might be three or four and twenty, tall and slender; an out-and-out aristocrat.”

“And his connections?  Where did he live?”

“I never knew.  Afy, in her boasting way, would say he had come from Swainson, a ten mile ride.”

“From Swainson?” quickly interrupted Mr. Carlyle.

“Could it be one of the Thorns of Swainson?”

“None of the Thorns that I know.  He was a totally different sort of man, with his perfumed hands, and his rings, and his dainty gloves.  That he was an aristocrat I believe, but of bad taste and style, displaying a profusion of jewellery.”

A half smile flitted over Carlyle’s face.

“Was it real, Richard?”

“It was.  He would wear diamond shirt-studs, diamond rings, diamond pins; brilliants, all of the first water.  My impression was, that he put them on to dazzle Afy.  She told me once that she could be a grander lady, if she chose, than I could ever make her.  ‘A lady on the cross,’ I answered, ‘but never on the square.’  Thorn was not a man to entertain honest intentions to one in the station of Afy Hallijohn; but girls are simple as geese.”

“By your description, it could not have been one of the Thorns of Swainson.  Wealthy tradesmen, fathers of young families, short, stout, and heavy as Dutchmen, staid and most respectable.  Very unlikely men are they, to run into an expedition of that sort.”