Richard Hare lifted his eyes in surprise. "How should I know? I was just
going to ask you."

Mr. Carlyle paused. He thought Richard's answer an evasive one. "She
disappeared immediately after the funeral; and it was thought--in short,
Richard, the neighborhood gave her credit for having gone after and
joined you."

"No! did they? What a pack of idiots! I have never seen or heard of her,
Carlyle, since that unfortunate night. If she went after anybody, it was
after Thorn."

"Was the man good-looking?"

"I suppose the world would call him so. Afy thought such an Adonis had
never been coined, out of fable. He had shiny black hair and whiskers,
dark eyes and handsome features. But his vain dandyism spoilt him; would
you believe that his handkerchiefs were soaked in scent? They were of
the finest cambric, silky as a hair, as fine as the one Barbara bought
at Lynneborough and gave a guinea for; only hers had a wreath of
embroidery around it."

Mr. Carlyle could ascertain no more particulars, and it was time Richard
went indoors. They proceeded up the path. "What a blessing it is the
servants' windows don't look this way," shivered Richard, treading on
Mr. Carlyle's heels. "If they should be looking out upstairs!"

His apprehensions were groundless, and he entered unseen.

Mr. Carlyle's part was over; he left the poor banned exile to his short