and looked intently at Goddard's face.

"My name is Short," he answered mechanically. But the passing flash of
intelligence was already gone, and Goddard's look became a glassy and
idiotic stare. Still his lips moved. John came nearer and listened.

"Mary Goddard! Mary Goddard! Let me in!" said the sick man quite
intelligibly, in spite of his uncertain tone. John uttered an exclamation
of astonishment; his heart beat fast and he listened intently. The sick
man mumbled inarticulate sounds; not another word could be distinguished.
John looked for the bell, thinking that Mr. Juxon should be informed of
the strange phenomenon at once; but before he could ring the squire
himself entered the room, having finished and despatched his note to Mr.
Ambrose.

"It is most extraordinary," said John. "He spoke just now--"

"What did he say?" asked Mr. Juxon very quickly.

"He said first, 'Who are you?' and then he said 'Mary Goddard, let me
in!' Is it not most extraordinary? How in the world should he know
about Mrs. Goddard?"

The squire turned a little pale and was silent for a moment. He had left
John with the wounded man feeling sure that, for some time at least, the
latter would not be likely to say anything intelligible.

"Most extraordinary!" he repeated presently. Then he looked at Goddard
closely, and turned him again upon his back and put his injured hand
beneath the sheet.

"Do you understand me? Do you know who I am?" he asked in a loud tone
close to his ear.

But the unfortunate man gave no sign of intelligence, only his
inarticulate mumbling grew louder though not more distinct. Mr. Juxon
turned away impatiently.

"The fellow is in a delirium," he said. "I wish the doctor would come."
He had hardly turned his back when the man spoke again.

"Mary Goddard!" he cried. "Let me in!"

"There!" said John. "The same words!"

Mr. Juxon shuddered, and looked curiously at his companion; then thrust
his hands into his pockets and whistling softly walked about the room.
John was shocked at what seemed in the squire a sort of indecent levity;
he could not understand that his friend felt as though he should go mad.

Indeed the squire suffered intensely. The name of Mary Goddard,
pronounced by the convict in his delirium brought home more vividly than
anything could have done the relation between the wounded tramp and the
woman the squire loved. It was positively true, then--there was not a
shadow of doubt left, since