"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."

"What expedition?" questioned Richard. "The murder?"

"The riding after Afy. Richard, where is Afy?"