Looking round for something warm to throw over her shoulders, and catching up an article that looked as much like a green baize table-cover as anything else, and throwing it on, down stalked Miss Carlyle.
And in this trim Mr. Carlyle beheld her when he came out.
The figure presented by Miss Carlyle to her brother's eyes was certainly ridiculous enough. She gave him no time to comment upon it, however, but instantly and curtly asked,--"Who have you got in that room?"
"It is some one on business," was his prompt reply. "Cornelia, you cannot go in."
She very nearly laughed. "Not go in?"
"Indeed it is much better that you should not. Pray go back. You will make your cold worse, standing here.
"Now, I want to know whether you are not ashamed of yourself?" she deliberately pursued. "You! A married man, with children in your house! I'd rather have believed anything downright wicked of myself, than of you, Archibald."
Mr. Carlyle stared considerably.
"Come; I'll have her out. And out of this house she tramps to-morrow morning. A couple of audacious ones, to be in there with the door locked, the moment you thought you had got rid of me! Stand aside, I say, Archibald, I will enter."
Mr. Carlyle never felt more inclined to laugh. And, to Miss Carlyle's exceeding discomposure she, at this juncture, saw the governess emerge from the gray parlor, glance at the hall clock, and retire again.
"Why! She's there," she uttered. "I thought she was with you."
"Miss Manning, locked in with me! Is that the mare's nest, Cornelia? I think your cold must have obscured your reason."
"Well, I shall go in, all the same. I tell you, Archibald, that I will see who is there."
"If you persist in going in, you must go. But allow me to warn you that you will find tragedy in that room, not comedy. There is no woman in it, but there is a man; a man who came in through the window, like a hunted stag; a man upon whom a ban is set, who fears the police are upon his track. Can you guess his name?"
It was Miss Carlyle's turn to stare now. She opened her dry lips to speak, but they closed again.
"It is Richard Hare, your kinsman. There's not a roof in the wide world open to him this bitter night."
She said nothing. A long pause of dismay, and then she motioned to have the door opened.
"You will not show yourself--in--in that guise?"
"Not show myself in this guise to Richard Hare--whom I have whipped--when he was a child--ten times a day! Stand on ceremony with /him/! I dare say he looks no better than I do. But it's nothing short of madness, Archibald, for him to come here."
He left her to enter, telling her to lock the door as soon as she was inside, and went himself into the adjoining room, the one which, by another door, opened to the one Richard was in. Then he rang the bell.
It was answered by a footman.
"Send Peter to me."
"Lay supper here, Peter, for two," began Mr. Carlyle, when the old servant appeared. "A person is with me on business. What have you in the house?"
"There's the spiced beef, sir; and there are some home-made raised pork pies."
"That will do," said Mr. Carlyle. "Put a quart of ale on the table, and everything likely to be wanted. And then the household can go to bed; we may be late, and the things can be removed in the morning. Oh --and Peter--none of you must come near the room, this or the next, under any pretence whatever, unless I ring, for I shall be too busy to be disturbed."
"Very well, sir. Shall I serve the ham also?"
"The ham?"
"I beg pardon, sir; I guessed it might be Mr. Dill, and he is so fond of our hams."
"Ah, you were always a shrewd guesser, Peter," smiled his master. "He is fond of ham I know; yes, you may put it on the table. Don't forget the small kettle."
The consequence of which little finesse on Mr. Carlyle's part was, that Peter announced in the kitchen that Mr. Dill had arrived, and supper was to be served for two. "But what a night for the old gentleman to have trudged through on foot!" exclaimed he.
"And what a trudge he'll have of it back again, for it'll be worse then!" chimed in one of the maids.
When Mr. Carlyle got back in the other room, his sister and Richard Hare had scarcely finished staring at each other.
"Please lock the door, Miss Cornelia," began poor shivering ****.
"The door's locked," snapped she. "But what on earth brought you here, Richard? You must be worse than mad."
"The Bow-street officers were after me in London," he meekly responded, unconsciously using a term which had been familiar to his boyish years. "I had to cut away without a thing belonging to me, without so much as a clean shirt."
"They must be polite officers, not to have been after you before," was the consolatory remark of Miss Carlyle. "Are you going to dance a hornpipe through the streets of West Lynne to-morrow, and show yourself openly?"
"Not if I can help it," replied Richard.
"You might just as well do that, if you come to West Lynne at all; for you can't be here now without being found out. There was a bother about your having been here the last time: I should like to know how it got abroad."
"The life I lead is dreadful!" cried Richard. "I might make up my mind to toil, though that's hard, after being reared a gentleman; but to be an exile, banned, disgraced, afraid to show my face in broad daylight amidst my fellowmen, in dread every hour that the sword may fall! I would almost as soon be dead as continue to live it."
"Well, you have got nobody to grumble at; you brought it upon yourself," philosophically returned Miss Carlyle, as she opened the door to admit her brother. "You would go hunting after that brazen hussy, Afy, you know, in defiance of all that could be said to you."
"That would not have brought it upon me," said Richard. "It was through that fiend's having killed Hallijohn; that was what brought the ban upon me."
