was fired, turn round the corner in the direction of Hallijohn's.' 'So I
did,' he said, 'but only to strike into the wood, a few paces up. What's
your drift?' 'Did you not encounter Thorn, running from the cottage?'
I persisted. 'I have encountered no one,' he said, 'and I don't believe
anybody's about but ourselves and Locksley.' I quitted him, and came
off," concluded Richard Hare. "He evidently had not seen Thorn, and knew
nothing."

"And you decamped the same night, Richard; it was a fatal step."

"Yes, I was a fool. I thought I'd wait quiet, and see how things turned
out; but you don't know all. Three or four hours later, I went to the
cottage again, and I managed to get a minute's speech with Afy. I never
shall forget it; before I could say one syllable she flew out at me,
accusing me of being the murderer of her father, and she fell into
hysterics out there on the grass. The noise brought people from the
house--plenty were in it then--and I retreated. 'If _she_ can think me
guilty, the world will think me guilty,' was my argument; and that night
I went right off, to stop in hiding for a day or two, till I saw my way
clear. It never came clear; the coroner's inquest sat, and the verdict
floored me over. And Afy--but I won't curse her--fanned the flame
against me by denying that any one had been there that night. 'She had
been at home,' she said, 'and had strolled out at the back door, to the
path that led from West Lynne, and was lingering there when she heard
a shot. Five minutes afterward she returned to the house, and found
Locksley standing over her dead father.'"

Mr. Carlyle remained silent, rapidly running over in his mind the chief
points of Richard Hare's communication. "Four of you, as I understand
it, were in the vicinity of the cottage that night, and from one or