ld more than ever try to be a
good friend to Mrs. Goddard.

He walked slowly through the storm towards his house, his broad figure
facing the wind and sleet with as much ease as a steamer forging against
a head sea. He was perfectly indifferent to the weather; but Stamboul
slunk along at his heels, shielding himself from the driving wet snow
behind his master's sturdy legs. The squire was very much disturbed. The
sight of his own solemn butler affected him strangely. He stared about
the library in a vacant way, as though he had never seen the place
before. The realisation of his own calm and luxurious life seemed
unnatural, and his thoughts went back to the poor weeping woman he had
just left. She, too, had enjoyed all this, and more also. She had
probably been richer than he. And now she was living on five hundred a
year in one of his own cottages, hiding her shame in desolate
Billingsfield, the shame of her husband, the forger.

It was such a hopeless position, the squire thought. No one could help
her, no one could do anything for her. For many weeks, revolving the
situation in his mind, he had amused himself by thinking how she would
look when she should be mistress of the Hall, and wondering whether
little Nellie would call him "father," or merely "Mr. Juxon." And now,
she turned out to be the wife of a forger, sentenced to hard labour in a
convict prison, for twelve years. For twelve years--nearly three must
have elapsed already. In nine years more Goddard would be out again.
Would he claim his wife? Of course--he would come back to her for
support. And poor little Nellie thought he was dead! It would be a
terrible day when she had to be told. If he only would die in
prison!--but men sentenced to hard labour rarely die. They are well cared
for. It is a healthy life. He would certainly live through it and come
back to claim his wife. Poor Mrs. Goddard! her troubles were not ended
yet, though the State had provided her with a respite of twelve years.

The squire sat long in his easy-chair in the great library, and forgot to
dress for dinner--he always dressed, even though he was quite alone. But
the solemn face of his butler betrayed neither emotion nor surprise when
the master of the Hall walked into the dining-room in his knickerbockers.

CHAPTER XII.

When Nellie came home from the vicarage she found her mother looking very
ill. There were dark rings under her eyes, and her features were drawn
and te