this wretch lay there mumbling her name in
his ravings! This was the husband of that gentle creature with sad
pathetic eyes, so delicate, so refined that it seemed as though the
coarser breath of the world of sin and shame could never come near
her--this was her husband! It was horrible. This was the father of lovely
Nellie, too. Was anything wanting to make the contrast more hideous?

Mr. Juxon felt that it was impossible to foresee what Walter Goddard
might say in the course of another hour. He had often seen people in a
delirium and knew how strangely that inarticulate murmuring sometimes
breaks off into sudden incisive speech, astonishing every one who hears.
The man had already betrayed that he knew Mary Goddard; at the next
interval in his ravings he might betray that she was his wife. John was
still standing by the bedside, not having recovered from his
astonishment; if John heard any more, he would be in possession of Mrs.
Goddard's secret. The squire was an energetic man, equal to most
emergencies; he suddenly made up his mind.

"Mr. Short," he said, "I will tell you something. You will see the
propriety of being very discreet, in fact it is only to ensure your
discretion that I wish to tell you this much. I have reason to believe
that this fellow is a convict--do not be surprised--escaped from prison.
He is a man who once--was in love with Mrs. Goddard, which accounts for
his having found his way to Billingsfield. Yes--I know what you are going
to say--Mrs. Goddard is aware of his presence, and that accounts for her
excitement and her fainting. Do you understand?"

"But--good heavens!" exclaimed John in amazement. "Why did she not give
information, if she knew he was in the neighbourhood?"

"That would be more than could be expected of any woman, Mr. Short. You
forget that the man once loved her."

"And how did you--well, no. I won't ask any questions."

"No," said the squire, "please don't. You would be placing me in a
disagreeable position. Not that I do not trust you implicitly, Mr.
Short," he added frankly, "but I should be betraying a confidence. If
this fellow dies here, he will be buried as an unknown tramp. I found no
trace of a name upon his clothes. If he recovers, we will decide what
course to pursue. We will do our best for him--it is a delicate case of
conscience. Possibly the poor fellow would very much prefer being allowed
to die; but we cannot let him. Humanity, for some unexplained reason