"Mr. Archibald!" remonstrated the old clerk; "as if those two respected gentlemen, with their wives and babies, would come sneaking after that flyaway Afy!"
"No reflection on them," returned Mr. Carlyle. "This was a young man, three or four and twenty, a head taller than either. I thought it might be a relative."
"I have repeatedly heard them say that they are alone in the world; that they are the two last of the name. Depend upon it, it was nobody connected with them;" and wishing Mr. Carlyle good-night, he departed.
The servant came in to remove the glasses and the obnoxious pipes. Mr. Carlyle sat in a brown study; presently he looked round at the man.
"Is Joyce gone to bed?"
"No, sir. She is just going."
"Send her here when you have taken away those things."
Joyce came in--the upper servant at Miss Carlyle's. She was of middle height, and would never see five and thirty again; her forehead was broad, her gray eyes were deeply set, and her face was pale.
Altogether she was plain, but sensible-looking. She was the half-sister of Afy Hallijohn.
"Shut the door, Joyce."
Joyce did as she was bid, came forward, and stood by the table.
"Have you ever heard from your sister, Joyce?" began Mr. Carlyle, somewhat abruptly.
"No, sir," was the reply; "I think it would be a wonder if I did hear."
"Why so?"
"If she would go off after Richard Hare, who had sent her father into his grave, she would be more likely to hide herself and her doings than to proclaim them to me, sir."
"Who was that other, that fine gentleman, who came after her?"
The color mantled in Joyce's cheeks, and she dropped her voice.
"Sir! Did you hear of him?"
"Not at that time. Since. He came from Swainson, did he not?"
"I believe so, sir. Afy never would say much about him. We did not agree upon the point. I said a person of his rank would do her no good; and Afy flew out when I spoke against him."
Mr. Carlyle caught her up. "His rank. What was his rank?"
"Afy bragged of his being next door to a lord; and he looked like it.
I only saw him once; I had gone home early, and there sat him and Afy.
His white hands were all glittering with rings, and his shirt was finished off with shining stones where the buttons ought to be."
"Have you seen him since?"
"Never since, never but once; and I don't think I should know him if I did see him. He got up, sir, as soon as I went into the parlor, shook hands with Afy, and left. A fine, upright man he was, nearly as tall as you, sir, but very slim. Those soldiers always carry themselves well."
"How do you know he was a soldier?" quickly rejoined Mr. Carlyle.
"Afy told me so. 'The Captain' she used to call him; but she said he was not a captain yet awhile--the next grade to it, a--a----"
"Lieutenant?" suggested Mr. Carlyle.
"Yes, sir, that was it--Lieutenant Thorn."
"Joyce," said Mr. Carlyle, "has it never struck you that Afy is more likely to have followed Lieutenant Thorn than Richard Hare?"
"No, sir," answered Joyce; "I have felt certain always that she is with Richard Hare, and nothing can turn me from the belief. All West Lynne is convinced of it."
Mr. Carlyle did not attempt to "turn her from her belief." He dismissed her, and sat on still, revolving the case in all its bearings.
Richard Hare's short interview with his mother had soon terminated. It lasted but a quarter of an hour, both dreading interruptions from the servants; and with a hundred pounds in his pocket, and desolation in his heart, the ill-fated young man once more quitted his childhood's home. Mrs. Hare and Barbara watched him steal down the path in the telltale moonlight, and gain the road, both feeling that those farewell kisses they had pressed upon his lips would not be renewed for years, and might not be forever.
