"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?"