o the town. If anybody asks questions say the man is a
tramp who attacked me in the park and Stamboul pulled him down. Send at
once, and bring me some brandy and light the fire here."

"Yes, sir," said Holmes, and left the room.

Mr. Juxon lighted other candles and examined the injured man. There was
now no doubt that he was alive. He breathed faintly but regularly; his
pulse beat less rapidly and more firmly. His face was deadly pale and
very thin, and his half-opened eyes stared unconsciously upwards, but
they were not glazed nor death-like. He seemed to have lost little
blood, comparatively speaking.

"Bah!" ejaculated the squire. "I believe he is only badly frightened,
after all."

Holmes brought brandy and warm water and again left the room. Mr. Juxon
bathed Goddard's face and neck with a sponge, eying him suspiciously all
the while. It would not have surprised him at any moment if he had leaped
from the bed and attempted to escape. To guard against surprise, the
squire locked the door and put the key in his pocket, watching the
convict to see whether he noticed the act or was really unconscious. But
Goddard never moved nor turned his motionless eyeballs. Mr. Juxon
returned to his side, and with infinite care began to remove his clothes.
They were almost in rags. He examined each article, and was surprised to
find money in the pockets, amounting to nearly sixty pounds; then he
smiled to himself, remembering that the convict had visited his wife and
had doubtless got the money from her to aid him in his escape. He put the
notes and gold carefully together in a drawer after counting them, and
returning to his occupation succeeded at last in putting Goddard to bed,
after staunching his wounds as well as he could with handkerchiefs.

He stood long by the bedside, watching the man's regular breathing, and
examining his face attentively. Many strange thoughts passed through his
mind, as he stood there, looking at the man who had caused such misery to
himself, such shame and sorrow to his fair wife, such disappointment to
the honest man who was now trying to save him from the very grasp of
death. So this was Mary Goddard's husband, little Nellie's father--this
grimy wretch, whose foul rags lay heaped there in the corner, whose
miserable head pressed the spotless linen of the pillow, whose
half-closed eyes stared up so senselessly at the squire's face. This was
the man for whose sake Mary Goddard started and turned pal