“Did you speak with him as Thorn?”
“Two or three times. I addressed him as Thorn, and he answered to the name. I had no suspicion but that it was his name. Otway Bethel”—casting his eyes on Mr. Otway, who stood in his shaggy attire—“also knew him as Thorn, and so I have no doubt, did Locksley, for he was always in the wood.”
“Anybody else?”
“Poor Hallijohn himself knew him as Thorn. He said to Afy one day, in my presence, that he would not have that confounded dandy, Thorn, coming there.”
“Were those the words he used?”
“They were; ‘that confounded dandy Thorn.’ I remember Afy’s reply—it was rather insolent. She said Thorn was as free to come there as anybody else, and she would not be found fault with, as though she was not fit to take care of herself.”
“That is nothing to the purpose. Were any others acquainted with this Thorn?”
“I should imagine the elder sister, Joyce, was. And the one who knew him best of all of us was young Richard Hare.”
Old Richard Hare, from his place on the bench, frowned menacingly at an imaginary Richard.
“What took Thorn into the wood so often?”