"It's the old hair oiled and curled," cried ****. "The barber charged a shilling for doing it, and cut my hair into the bargain. I told him not to spare grease, for I liked the curls to shine--sailors always do. Mr. Carlyle, Barbara says that Levison and that brute Thorn--the one's as much of a brute as the other, though--have turned out to be the same."
"They have, Richard, as it appears. Nevertheless, it may be as well for you to take a private view of Levison before anything is done--as you once did by the other Thorn. It would not do to make a stir, and then discover that there was a mistake--that he was not Thorn."
"When can I see him?" asked Richard, eagerly.
"It must be contrived somehow. Were you to hang about the doors of the Raven--this evening, even--you'd be sure to get the opportunity, for he is always passing in and out. No one will know you, or think of you, either: their heads are turned with the election."
"I shall look odd to people's eyes. You don't get many sailors in West Lynne."
"Not odd at all. We have a Russian bear here at present, and you'll be nobody beside him."
"A Russian bear!" repeated Richard, while Barbara laughed.
"Mr. Otway Bethel has returned in what is popularly supposed to be a bear's hide; hence the new name he is greeted with. Will it turn out, Richard that he had anything to do with the murder?"
Richard shook his head.
"He couldn't have, Mr. Carlyle; I have said so all along. But about Levison. If I find him to be the man Thorn, what steps can then be taken?"
"That's the difficulty," said Mr. Carlyle.
"Who will set it agoing. Who will move in it?"
"You must, Richard."
"I!" uttered Richard Hare, in consternation. "I move in it!"
"You, yourself. Who else is there? I have been thinking it well over, and can hit upon no one."
"Why, won't you take it upon yourself, Mr. Carlyle?"
"No. Being Levison," was the answer.
"Curse him!" impetuously retorted Richard. "Curse him doubly if he be the double villain. But why should you scruple Mr. Carlyle? Most men, wronged as you have been, would leap at the opportunity for revenge."
"For the crime perpetrated upon Hallijohn I would pursue him to the scaffold. For my own wrong, no. But the remaining negative has cost me something. Many a time, since this appearance of his at West Lynne, have I been obliged to lay violent control upon myself, or I should have horsewhipped him within an ace of his life."
"If you horsewhipped him to death he would only meet his deserts."
"I leave him to a higher retribution--to One who says, 'Vengeance is mine.' I believe him to be guilty of the murder but if the uplifting of my finger would send him to his disgraceful death, I would tie down my hand rather than lift it, for I could not, in my own mind, separate the man from the injury. Though I might ostensibly pursue him as the destroyer of Hallijohn, to me he would appear ever as the destroyer of another, and the world, always charitable, would congratulate Mr. Carlyle upon gratifying his revenge. I stir in it not, Richard."
"Couldn't Barbara?" pleaded Richard.
Barbara was standing with her arm entwined within her husband's, and Mr. Carlyle looked down as he answered,--"Barbara is my wife."
It was a sufficient answer.
"Then the thing's again at an end," said Richard, gloomily, "and I must give up hope of ever being cleared."
"By no means," said Mr. Carlyle. "The one who ought to act in this is your father, Richard; but we know he will not. Your mother cannot. She has neither health nor energy for it; and if she had a full supply of both, she would not dare to brave her husband and use them in the cause. My hands are tied; Barbara's equally so, as part of me. There only remains yourself."
"And what can I do?" wailed poor ****. "If your hands are tied, I'm sure my whole body is, speaking in comparison; hands, and legs, and /neck/. It's in jeopardy, that is, every hour."
"Your acting in this affair need not put it any the more in jeopardy.
You must stay in the neighborhood for a few days--"
"I dare not," interposed Richard, in a fright. "Stay in the neighborhood for a few days! No; that I never may."
"Listen, Richard. You must put away these timorous fears, or else you must make up your mind to remain under the ban for good; and, remember, your mother's happiness is at stake equally with yours--I could almost say her life. Do you suppose I would advise you for danger? You used to say there was some place, a mile or two from this, where you could sojourn in safety."
"So there is. But I always feel safer when I get away from it."
"There your quarters must be, for two or three days at any rate. I have turned matters over in my own mind, and will tell you what I think should be done, so far as the preliminary step goes, though I do not interfere myself."
"Only the preliminary step! There must be a pretty many to follow it, sir, if it's to come to anything. Well, what is it?"
"Apply to Ball & Treadman, and get them to take it."
They were now slowly pacing the covered walk, Barbara on her husband's arm, Richard by the side of Mr. Carlyle. **** stopped when he heard the last words.
"I don't understand you, Mr. Carlyle. You might as well advise me to go before the bench of magistrates at once. Ball & Treadman would walk me off there as soon as I showed myself."
"Nothing of the sort, Richard. I do not tell you to go openly to their office, as another client would. What I would advise is this--make a friend of Mr. Ball; he can be a good man and true, if he chooses; tell the whole story to him in a private place and interview, and ask him whether he will carry it through. If he is fully impressed with the conviction that you are innocent, as the facts appear to warrant, he will undertake it. Treadman need know nothing of the affair at first; and when Ball puts things in motion, he need not know that you are here, or where you are to be found."
"I don't dislike Ball," mused Richard, "and if he would only give his word to be true, I know he would be. The difficulty will be, who is to get the promise from him?"
