t memorable day
when she had told him her story. And yet it would be quite impossible to
broach such a scheme without going at once into all the details of the
chief cause of her sorrows. The consequence was that in the windings of
his imagination the squire found himself perpetually turning in a vicious
circle; but since the exercise concerned Mrs. Goddard and her welfare it
was not uncongenial. He founded all his vague hopes upon one expression
she had used. When in making his proposal he had spoken of her as being a
widow, she had said, "Would to God that I were!" She had said it with
such vehemence that he had felt sure that if she had indeed been a widow
her answer to himself would have been favourable. Men easily retain such
impressions received in moments of great excitement, and found hopes upon
them.

So the days had gone by and the squire had thought much but had come to
no conclusion. On the morning when Walter Goddard crept into the disused
vault at the back of the church, the squire awoke from his sleep at his
usual early hour. He was not in a very good humour, if so equable a man
could be said to be subject to such weaknesses as humours. The weather
was very depressing--day after day brought only more rain, more wind,
more mud, more of everything disagreeable. The previous evening had been
unusually dull. He was never weary of being with Mary Goddard, but
occasionally, when the Ambroses were present, the conversation became
oppressive. Mr. Juxon almost wished that John Short would come back and
cause a diversion. His views concerning John had undergone some change
since he had discovered that nobody could marry Mrs. Goddard because she
was married already. He believed he could watch John's efforts to attract
her attention with indifference now, or if without indifference with a
charitable forbearance. John at least would help to make conversation,
and the conversation on the previous evening had been intolerably
wearisome. Almost unconsciously, since the chief interest and hope of his
daily life had been removed the squire began to long for a change; he
had been a wanderer by profession during thirty years of his life and he
was perhaps not yet old enough to settle into that absolute indifference
to novelty which seems to characterise retired sailors.

But as he brushed his smooth hair and combed his beard that morning,
neither change nor excitement were very far from him. He looked over his
dressing-glas