to aid the law in its course, provided we do
not oppose it."

"It is something else," murmured Mrs. Goddard. "Oh! how shall I tell
you," she moaned turning her pale cheek to the back of the chair.

The vicar looked at her and began to think it was perhaps some strange
case of conscience with which he had to deal. He had very little
experience of such things save in the rude form they take among the
labouring classes. But he reflected that it was likely to be something of
the kind; in such a case Mrs. Goddard would naturally enough have sent
for him, more as her clergyman than as her friend. She looked like a
person suffering from some great mental strain. He sat down beside her
and took her passive hand. He was moved, and felt as though he might have
been her father.

"My dear," he said kindly, almost as though he were speaking to a child,
"have you anything upon your mind, anything which distresses you? Do you
wish to tell me? If so I will do my very best to help you."

Mrs. Goddard's fingers pressed his hand a little, but her face was still
turned away.

"It is Mr. Juxon," she almost whispered. If she had been watching the
vicar she would have noticed the strange air of perplexity which came
over his face when he heard the squire's name.

"Yes--Mr. Juxon," she moaned. Then the choked-down horror rose in her
throat. "Walter means to murder him!" she almost screamed. "Oh, my God,
my God, what shall I do!" she cried aloud clasping her hands suddenly
over her face and rocking herself to and fro.

The vicar was horror-struck; he could hardly believe his ears, and
believing them his senses swam. In his wildest dreams--and the good man's
dreams were rarely wild--he had never thought that such things could come
near him. Being a very good man and, moreover, a wise man when he had
plenty of time for reflection, he folded his hands quietly and bent his
head, praying fervently for the poor tortured woman who moaned and tossed
herself beside him. It was a terrible moment. Suddenly she controlled
herself and grasping one of the arms of the chair looked round at her
silent companion.

"You must save him," she said in agonised tones, "you must save them
both! Do not tell me you cannot--oh, do not tell me that!"

It was a passionate and heart-broken appeal, such a one as few men would
or could resist, coming as it did from a helpless and miserably unhappy
woman. Whether the vicar was wise in giving the answer he did, it wou