East Lynne [18]
might be discerned at it more frequently than was agreeable. The old gentleman had a desk, also, in their office, and there he frequently sat. He was sitting there, in state, this same morning, keeping a sharp lookout around him, when the door timidly opened, and the pretty face of Barbara Hare appeared at it, rosy with blushes.
"Can I see Mr. Carlyle?"
Mr. Dill rose from his seat and shook hands with her. She drew him into the passage and he closed the door. Perhaps he felt surprised, for it was /not/ the custom for ladies, young and single, to come there after Mr. Carlyle.
"Presently, Miss Barbara. He is engaged just now. The justices are with him."
"The justices!" uttered Barbara, in alarm; "and papa one? Whatever shall I do? He must not see me. I would not have him see me here for the world."
An ominous sound of talking; the justices were evidently coming forth. Mr. Dill laid hold of Barbara, whisked her through the clerks' room, not daring to take her the other way, lest he should encounter them, and shut her in his own. "What the plague brought papa here at this moment?" thought Barbara, whose face was crimson.
A few minutes and Mr. Dill opened the door again. "They are gone now, and the coast's clear, Miss Barbara."
"I don't know what opinion you must form of me, Mr. Dill," she whispered, "but I will tell you, in confidence, that I am here on some private business for mamma, who was not well enough to come herself. It is a little private matter that she does not wish papa to know of."
"Child," answered the manager, "a lawyer receives visits from many people; and it is not the place of those about him to 'think.' "
He opened the door as he spoke, ushered her into the presence of Mr. Carlyle, and left her. The latter rose in astonishment.
"You must regard me as a client, and pardon my intrusion," said Barbara, with a forced laugh, to hide her agitation. "I am here on the part of mamma--and I nearly met papa in your passage, which terrified me out of my senses. Mr. Dill shut me into his room."
Mr. Carlyle motioned to Barbara to seat herself, then resumed his own seat, beside his table. Barbara could not help noticing how different his manners were in his office from his evening manners when he was "off duty." Here he was the staid, calm man of business.
"I have a strange thing to tell you," she began, in a whisper, "but-- it is impossible that any one can hear us," she broke off, with a look of dread. "It would be--it might be--death!"
"It is quite impossible," calmly replied Mr. Carlyle. "The doors are double doors; did you notice that they were?"
Nevertheless, she left her chair and stood close to Mr. Carlyle, resting her hand upon the table. He rose, of course.
"Richard is here!"
"Richard!" repeated Mr. Carlyle. "At West Lynne!"
"He appeared at the house last night in disguise, and made signs to me from the grove of trees. You may imagine my alarm. He has been in London all this while, half starving, working--I feel ashamed to mention it to you--in a stable-yard. And, oh, Archibald! He says he is innocent."
Mr. Carlyle made no reply to this. He probably had no faith in the assertion. "Sit down, Barbara," he said drawing her chair closer.
Barbara sat down again, but her manner was hurried and nervous. "Is it quite sure that no stranger will be coming in? It would look so peculiar to see me here; but mamma was too unwell to come herself--or rather, she feared papa's questioning, if he found out that she came."
"Be at ease," replied Mr. Carlyle; "this room is sacred from the intrusion of strangers. What of Richard?"
"He says that he was not in the cottage at the time the murder was committed; that the person who really did it was a man of the name of Thorn."
"What Thorn?" asked Mr. Carlyle, suppressing all signs of incredulity.
"I don't know; a friend of Afy's, he said. Archibald, he swore to it in the most solemn manner; and I believe, as truly as that I am now repeating it to you, that he was speaking the truth. I want you to see Richard, if possible;
"Can I see Mr. Carlyle?"
Mr. Dill rose from his seat and shook hands with her. She drew him into the passage and he closed the door. Perhaps he felt surprised, for it was /not/ the custom for ladies, young and single, to come there after Mr. Carlyle.
"Presently, Miss Barbara. He is engaged just now. The justices are with him."
"The justices!" uttered Barbara, in alarm; "and papa one? Whatever shall I do? He must not see me. I would not have him see me here for the world."
An ominous sound of talking; the justices were evidently coming forth. Mr. Dill laid hold of Barbara, whisked her through the clerks' room, not daring to take her the other way, lest he should encounter them, and shut her in his own. "What the plague brought papa here at this moment?" thought Barbara, whose face was crimson.
A few minutes and Mr. Dill opened the door again. "They are gone now, and the coast's clear, Miss Barbara."
"I don't know what opinion you must form of me, Mr. Dill," she whispered, "but I will tell you, in confidence, that I am here on some private business for mamma, who was not well enough to come herself. It is a little private matter that she does not wish papa to know of."
"Child," answered the manager, "a lawyer receives visits from many people; and it is not the place of those about him to 'think.' "
He opened the door as he spoke, ushered her into the presence of Mr. Carlyle, and left her. The latter rose in astonishment.
"You must regard me as a client, and pardon my intrusion," said Barbara, with a forced laugh, to hide her agitation. "I am here on the part of mamma--and I nearly met papa in your passage, which terrified me out of my senses. Mr. Dill shut me into his room."
Mr. Carlyle motioned to Barbara to seat herself, then resumed his own seat, beside his table. Barbara could not help noticing how different his manners were in his office from his evening manners when he was "off duty." Here he was the staid, calm man of business.
"I have a strange thing to tell you," she began, in a whisper, "but-- it is impossible that any one can hear us," she broke off, with a look of dread. "It would be--it might be--death!"
"It is quite impossible," calmly replied Mr. Carlyle. "The doors are double doors; did you notice that they were?"
Nevertheless, she left her chair and stood close to Mr. Carlyle, resting her hand upon the table. He rose, of course.
"Richard is here!"
"Richard!" repeated Mr. Carlyle. "At West Lynne!"
"He appeared at the house last night in disguise, and made signs to me from the grove of trees. You may imagine my alarm. He has been in London all this while, half starving, working--I feel ashamed to mention it to you--in a stable-yard. And, oh, Archibald! He says he is innocent."
Mr. Carlyle made no reply to this. He probably had no faith in the assertion. "Sit down, Barbara," he said drawing her chair closer.
Barbara sat down again, but her manner was hurried and nervous. "Is it quite sure that no stranger will be coming in? It would look so peculiar to see me here; but mamma was too unwell to come herself--or rather, she feared papa's questioning, if he found out that she came."
"Be at ease," replied Mr. Carlyle; "this room is sacred from the intrusion of strangers. What of Richard?"
"He says that he was not in the cottage at the time the murder was committed; that the person who really did it was a man of the name of Thorn."
"What Thorn?" asked Mr. Carlyle, suppressing all signs of incredulity.
"I don't know; a friend of Afy's, he said. Archibald, he swore to it in the most solemn manner; and I believe, as truly as that I am now repeating it to you, that he was speaking the truth. I want you to see Richard, if possible;