A little before eight o'clock, Richard Hare, in his smock-frock and his slouching hat and his false whiskers, rang dubiously at the outer door of Mr. Carlyle's office. That gentleman instantly opened it. He was quite alone.

"Come in, Richard," said he, grasping his hand. "Did you meet any whom you knew?"

"I never looked at whom I met, sir," was the reply. "I thought that if I looked at people, they might look at me, so I came straight ahead with my eyes before me. How the place has altered! There's a new brick house on the corner where old Morgan's shop used to stand."

"That's the new police station. West Lynne I assure you, is becoming grand in public buildings. And how have you been, Richard?"

"Ailing and wretched," answered Richard Hare. "How can I be otherwise, Mr. Carlyle, with so false an accusation attached to me; and working like a slave, as I have to do?"

"You may take off the disfiguring hat, Richard. No one is here."

Richard slowly heaved it from his brows, and his fair face, so like his mother's, was disclosed. But the moment he was uncovered he turned shrinkingly toward the entrance door. "If any one should come in, sir?"

"Impossible!" replied Mr. Carlyle. "The front door is fast, and the office is supposed to be empty at this hour."

(Editor：library)