第118章

"Bring them upon myself!" ranted the indignant justice. "I? Did I murder Hallijohn? Did I fly away from the law? Am I hiding, Beelzebub knows where? Do I take starts, right into my native parish, disguised as a laborer, on purpose to worry my own father? Do I write anonymous letters? Bring them upon myself, do I? That cobs all, Carlyle."

"You will not hear me out. It is known that you are much exasperated against Richard--"

"And if your son serves you the same when he is grown up, shan't you be exasperated, pray?" fired Justice Hare.

"Do hear me. It is known that you are much exasperated, and that any allusion to him excites and annoys you. Now, my opinion is, justice, that some busybody is raising these reports and writing these letters on purpose to annoy you. It may be somebody at West Lynne, very near to us, for all we know."

"That's all rubbish!" peevishly responded the justice, after a pause.

"It's not likely. Who'd do it?"

"It is very likely; but you may be sure they will not give us a clue as to the 'who.' I should put that letter in the fire, and think no more about it. That's the only way to serve them. A pretty laugh they have had in their sleeve, if it is anybody near, at seeing you wade up here through the snow this morning! They would know you were bringing the letter, to consult me."

The justice--in spite of his obstinacy he was somewhat easily persuaded to different views of things, especially by Mr. Carlyle--let fall his coat tails, which had been gathered in his arms, as he stood with his back to the fire, and brought down both his hands upon the table with force enough to break it.

"If I thought that," he spluttered, "if I could think it, I'd have the whole parish of West Lynne before me to-day, and commit them for trial."

"It's a pity but what you could," said Mr. Carlyle.

"Well, it may be, or it may not be, that that villain is coming here," he resumed. "I shall call in at the police station, and tell them to keep a sharp lookout."

"You will do nothing of the sort justice," exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, almost in agitation. "Richard is not likely to make his appearance at West Lynne; but if he did, would you, his own father, turn the flood upon him? Not a man living but would cry shame upon you."

"I took an oath I'd do it," said the justice.

"You did not take an oath to go open-mouthed to the police station, upon the receipt of any despicable anonymous letter or any foolish report, to say, 'I have news that my son will be here to-day; look after him.' Nonsense, justice! Let the police look out for themselves, but don't /you/ set them on."

The justice growled, whether in assent or dissent did not appear, and Mr. Carlyle resumed,--"Have you shown this letter to Mrs. Hare, or mentioned it to her?"

"Not I. I didn't give myself time. I had gone down to the front gate, to see how deep the snow lay in the road, when the postman came up; so I read it as I stood there. I went in for my coat and umbrella, to come off to you, and Mrs. Hare wanted to know where I was going in such a hurry, but I did not satisfy her."

"I am truly glad to hear it," said Mr. Carlyle. "Such information as this could not fail to have a dangerous effect upon Mrs. Hare. Do not suffer a hint of it to escape you justice; consider how much anxiety she has already suffered."

"It's partly her own fault. Why can't she drive the ill-doing boy from her mind?"

"If she could," said Mr. Carlyle, "she would be acting against human nature. There is one phase of the question which you may possibly not have glanced at, justice. You speak of delivering your son up to the law; has it ever struck you that you would be delivering up at the same time your wife's life?"

"Stuff!" said the justice.

"You would find it no 'stuff.' So sure as Richard gets brought to trial, whether through your means, or through any other, so sure will it kill your wife."

Mr. Hare took up the letter, which had lain open on the table, folded it, and put it in its envelope.

"I suppose you don't know the writing?" he asked of Mr. Carlyle.

"I never saw it before, that I remember. Are you returning home?"

"No. I shall go on to Beauchamp's and show him this, and hear what he says. It's not much farther."

"Tell him not to speak of it then. Beauchamp's safe, for his sympathies are with Richard--oh, yes, they are, justice, ask him the question plainly if you like, and he will confess to it. I can tell you more sympathy goes with Richard than is acknowledged to you. But I would not show that letter to anyone else than Beauchamp," added Mr. Carlyle, "neither would I speak of it."

"Who can have written it?" repeated the justice. "It bears, you see the London Post-mark."

"It is too wide a speculation to enter upon. And no satisfactory conclusion could come of it."

Justice Hare departed. Mr. Carlyle watched him down the avenue, striding under his umbrella, and then went up to Richard. Miss Carlyle was sitting with the latter then.

"I thought I should have died," spoke poor Dick. "I declare, Mr. Carlyle, my very blood seemed turned to water, and I thought I should have died with fright. Is he gone away--is all safe?"

"He is gone, and it's all safe."

"And what did he want? What was it he had heard about me?"

Mr. Carlyle gave a brief explanation, and Richard immediately set down the letter as the work of Thorn.

"Will it be possible for me to see my mother this time?" he demanded of Mr. Carlyle.

"I think it would be highly injudicious to let your mother know you are here, or have been here," was the answer of Mr. Carlyle. "She would naturally be inquiring into particulars, and when she came to hear that you were pursued, she would never have another minute's peace. You must forego the pleasure of seeing her this time, Richard."

"And Barbara?"

"Barbara might come and stay the day with you. Only----"

"Only what, sir?" cried Richard, for Mr. Carlyle had hesitated.

"I was thinking what a wretched morning it is for her to come out in."

"She would go through an avalanche--she'd wade through mountains of snow, to see me," cried Richard eagerly, "and be delighted to do it."