John, much impressed by
the squire's unadorned tale. "What object can the fellow have had in
attacking you? Strange--his eyes are open, but he does not seem to
understand us."

Mr. Juxon walked to the bedside and contemplated the sick man's features
with undisguised disgust.

"You villain!" he said roughly. "Why don't you answer for yourself?" The
man did not move, and the squire began to pace the room. John was struck
by Mr. Juxon's tone: it was not like him, he thought, to speak in that
way to a helpless creature. He could not understand it. There was a long
silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of Goddard.

"Really, Mr. Short," said the squire at last, "I have no intention of
keeping you up all night. The village doctor must have been out. It may
be more than an hour before my man finds another."

"Never mind," said John quietly. "I will wait till he comes at all
events. You may need me before it is over."

"Do you think he looks as if he were going to die?" asked the squire
doubtfully, as he again approached the bedside.

"I don't know," answered John, standing on the other side. "I never saw
any one die. He looks very ill."

"Very ill. I have seen many people die--but somehow I have a strong
impression that this fellow will live."

"Let us hope so," said John.

"Well--" The squire checked himself. Probably the hope he would have
expressed would not have coincided with that to which John had given
utterance. "Well," he repeated, "I daresay he will. Mr. Short, are you at
all nervous? Since you are so good as to say you will wait until the
doctor comes, would you mind very much being left alone here for five
minutes?"

"No," answered John, stoutly, "not in the least." To be left in a
well-lighted room by the bedside of Walter Goddard, ill indeed, but alive
and breathing vigorously, was very different from being requested to
watch his apparently dead body out in the park under the moonlight.

With a word of thanks, the squire left the room, and hastened to his
study, where he proceeded to write a note, as follows:--

"MY DEAR MR. AMBROSE--The man we were speaking of yesterday morning
actually attacked me this evening. Stamboul worried him badly, but he is
not dead. He is lying here, well cared for, and I have sent for the
doctor. If convenient to you, would you come in the morning? I need not
recommend discretion.--Sincerely yours,

"C.J. JUXON.
_N.B._--I am not hurt."

Having ascertained that