had been absolutely
harmless, still less that it might prove to have been the means of saving
the convict's life. It was terribly hard to say that he desired to save
the man, and yet the honest man in his heart prayed that he might really
hope for that result. It would be far worse, should Goddard die, to
remember that he had wished for his death. But it would be hard to
imagine a more unexpected position than that in which the squire found
himself; by a perfectly natural chain of circumstances he was now tending
with the utmost care the man who had tried to murder him, and who of all
men in the world, stood most in the way of the accomplishment of his
desires.

He could not hide from himself the fact that he hated the sick man, even
though he hoped, or tried to hope for his recovery. He hated him for the
shame and suffering he had brought upon Mary Goddard in the first
instance, for the terrible anxiety he had caused her by his escape and
sudden appearance at her house; he hated him for being what he was, being
also the father of Nellie, and he hated him honestly for his base attempt
upon himself that night. He had good cause to hate him, and perhaps he
was not ashamed of his hatred. To be called upon, however, to return good
for such an accumulated mass of evil was almost too much for his human
nature. It was but a faint satisfaction to think that if he recovered he
was to be sent back to prison. Mr. Juxon did not know that there was
blood upon the man's hands--he had yet to learn that; he would not deign
to mention the assault in the park when he handed him over to the
authorities; the man should simply go back to Portland to suffer the term
of his imprisonment, as soon as he should be well enough to be moved--if
that time ever came. If he died, he should be buried decently in a
nameless grave, "six feet by four, by two," as Thomas Reid would have
said--if he died.

Meanwhile, however, there was yet another consideration which disturbed
the squire's meditations. Mrs. Goddard had a right to know that her
husband was dying and, if she so pleased, she had a right to be at his
bedside. But at the same time it would be necessary so to account for her
presence as not to arouse Doctor Longstreet's suspicions, nor the
comments of Holmes, the butler, and of his brigade in the servants' hall.
It was no easy matter to do this unless Mrs. Goddard were accompanied by
the vicar's wife, the excellent and maternally minded Mrs. Am