"Richard!" repeated Mr. Carlyle. "At West Lynne!"

"He appeared at the house last night in disguise, and made signs to me
from the grove of trees. You may imagine my alarm. He has been in London
all this while, half starving, working--I feel ashamed to mention it to
you--in a stable-yard. And, oh, Archibald! He says he is innocent."

Mr. Carlyle made no reply to this. He probably had no faith in the
assertion. "Sit down, Barbara," he said drawing her chair closer.

Barbara sat down again, but her manner was hurried and nervous. "Is it
quite sure that no stranger will be coming in? It would look so peculiar
to see me here; but mamma was too unwell to come herself--or rather, she
feared papa's questioning, if he found out that she came."

"Be at ease," replied Mr. Carlyle; "this room is sacred from the
intrusion of strangers. What of Richard?"

"He says that he was not in the cottage at the time the murder was
committed; that the person who really did it was a man of the name of
Thorn."

"What Thorn?" asked Mr. Carlyle, suppressing all signs of incredulity.

"I don't know; a friend of Afy's, he said. Archibald, he swore to it
in the most solemn manner; and I believe, as truly as that I am now
repeating it to you, that he was speaking the truth. I want you to see
Richard, if possible; he is coming to the same place to-night. If he can
tell his own tale to you, perhaps you may find out a way by which his
innocence may be made manifest. You are so clever, you can do anything."