"Very," responded Mr. Carlyle, and it was all the answer he gave. The justice, tired of sitting indoors, tired, perhaps, of extracting nothing satisfactory from Mr. Carlyle, rose, shook himself, set his wig aright before the chimney-glass, and quitted the house on his customary evening visit to the Buck's Head. Barbara, who watched him down the path, saw that he encountered someone who happened to be passing the gate. She could not at first distinguish who it might be, nothing but an arm and shoulder cased in velveteen met her view, but as their positions changed in conversation--his and her father's--she saw that it was Locksley; he had been the chief witness, not a vindictive one; he could not help himself, against her brother Richard, touching the murder of Hallijohn.
Meanwhile Mrs. Hare had drawn Mr. Carlyle into a chair close by her own.
"Archibald, will you forgive me if I say a word upon the topic introduced by Mr. Hare?" she said, in a low tone, as she shook his hand. "You know how fondly I have ever regarded you, second only to my poor Richard. Your welfare and happiness are precious to me. I wish I could in any way promote them. It occurs to me, sometimes, that you are not at present so happy as you might be."
"I have some sources of happiness," said Mr. Carlyle. "My children and I have plenty of sources of interest. What do you mean, dear Mrs. Hare?"
"Your home might be made happier."
Mr. Carlyle smiled, nearly laughed. "Cornelia takes care of that, as she did in the old days, you know."
"Yes, I know. Would it not be as well to consider whether she would not be better in a home of her own--and for you to give East Lynne another mistress?"
He shook his head.
"Archibald, it would be happier for you; it would indeed. It is only in new ties that you can forget the past. You might find recompense yet for the sorrow you have gone through; and I know none," repeated Mrs. Hare, emphatically, "more calculated to bring it you than that sweet girl, Louisa Dobede."
"So long as--" Mr. Carlyle was beginning, and had not got so far in his sentence, when he was interrupted by an exclamation from Barbara.
"What can be the matter with papa? Locksley must have said something to anger him. He is coming in the greatest passion, mamma; his face crimson, and his hands and arms working."
"Oh, dear, Barbara!" was all poor Mrs. Hare's reply. The justice's great bursts of passion frightened her.
In he came, closed the door, and stood in the middle of the room, looking alternately at Mrs. Hare and Barbara.
"What is this cursed report, that's being whispered in the place!" quoth he, in a tone of suppressed rage, but not unmixed with awe.
"What report?" asked Mr. Carlyle, for the justice waited for an answer, and Mrs. Hare seemed unable to speak. Barbara took care to keep silence; she had some misgivings that the justice's words might be referring to herself--to the recent grievance.
"A report that he--/he/--has been here disguised as a laborer, has dared to show himself in the place where he'll come yet, to the gibbet."
Mrs. Hare's face turned as white as death; Mr. Carlyle rose and dexterously contrived to stand before her, so that it should not be seen. Barbara silently locked her hands, one within the other, and turned to the window.
"Of whom did you speak?" asked Mr. Carlyle, in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he were putting the most matter-of-fact question. He knew too well; but he thought to temporize for the sake of Mrs. Hare.
"Of whom do I speak!" uttered the exasperated justice, nearly beside himself with passion; "of whom would I speak but the bastard Dick! Who else in West Lynne is likely to come to a felon's death?"
"Oh, Richard!" sobbed forth Mrs. Hare, as she sank back in her chair, "be merciful. He is our own true son."
"Never a true son of the Hares," raved the justice. "A true son of wickedness, and cowardice, and blight, and evil. If he has dared to show his face at West Lynne, I'll set the whole police of England upon his track, that he may be brought here as he ought, if he must come.
When Locksley told me of it just now, I raised my hand to knock him down, so infamously false did I deem the report. Do /you/ know anything of his having been here?" continued the justice to his wife, in a pointed, resolute tone.
How Mrs. Hare would have extricated herself, or what she would have answered, cannot even be imagined, but Mr. Carlyle interposed.
"You are frightening Mrs. Hare, sir. Don't you see that she knows nothing of it--that the very report of such a thing is alarming her into illness? But--allow me to inquire what it may be that Locksley said?"
"I met him at the gate," retorted Justice Hare, turning his attention upon Mr. Carlyle. "He was going by as I reached it. 'Oh, justice, I am glad I met you. That's a nasty report in the place that Richard has been here. I'd see what I could do toward hushing it up, sir, if I were you, for it may only serve to put the police in mind of by gone things, which it may be better they should forget.' Carlyle, I went, as I tell you, to knock him down. I asked him how he could have the hardihood to repeat such slander to my face. He was on the high horse directly; said the parish spoke the slander, not he; and I got out of him what it was he had heard."
"And what was it?" interrupted Mr. Carlyle, more eagerly than he generally spoke.
"Why, they say the fellow showed himself here some time ago, a year or so, disguised as a farm laborer--confounded fools! Not but what he'd have been the fool had he done it."
"To be sure he would," repeated Mr. Carlyle, "and he is not fool enough for that, sir. Let West Lynne talk, Mr. Hare; but do not put faith in a word of its gossip. I never do. Poor Richard, wherever he may be--"
"I won't have him pitied in my presence," burst forth the justice.
"Poor Richard, indeed! Villain Richard, if you please."
