“Thorn—Levison, I mean—did not appear to like the recognition,” said Mr. Dill.
“Who would, in his position?” laughed Ebenezer James. “I don’t like to be reminded of many a wild scrape of my past life, in my poor station; and what would it be for Levison, were it to come out that he once called himself Thorn, and came running after Miss Afy Hallijohn?”
“Why did he call himself Thorn? Why disguise his own name?”
“Not knowing, can’t say. Is his name Levison, or is it Thorn?”
“Nonsense, Mr. Ebenezer!”
Mr. Dill, bursting with the strange news he had heard, endeavored to force his way through the crowd, that he might communicate it to Mr. Carlyle. The crowd was, however, too dense for him, and he had to wait the opportunity of escaping with what patience he might. When it came he made his way to the office, and entered Mr. Carlyle’s private room. That gentleman was seated at his desk, signing letters.
“Why, Dill, you are out of breath!”
“Well I may be! Mr. Archibald, I have been listening to the most extraordinary statement. I have found out about Thorn. Who do you think he is?”
Mr. Carlyle put down his pen and looked full in the old man’s face; he had never seen him so excited.
“It’s that man, Levison.”