rose. Being older and less excitable than John, he was
beginning to feel the need of rest. People who have watched often by the
sick know how terribly long are those hours of the night between three
o'clock and dawn; long always, but seeming interminable when one is
obliged to listen perpetually to a long-drawn, inarticulate moaning, a
constant effort to speak which never results in words.

"You are very good," said Mr. Juxon, quietly. "If you will give him the
things from time to time, I will take a nap."

With that he went and lay down upon the couch, and in three minutes was
as sound asleep as though he were in bed. John sat by the sick man and
looked at his flushed features and listened to the hard-drawn breath
followed each time by that terrible, monotonous, mumbling groan.

It might have been three-quarters of an hour since the squire had gone to
sleep when John thought he saw a change in Goddard's face; it seemed to
him that the flush subsided from his forehead, very slowly, leaving only
a bright burning colour in his cheeks. His eyes seemed suddenly to grow
clearer and a strange look of intelligence came into them; his whole
appearance was as though illuminated by a flash of some light different
from that of the candles which burned upon the table. John rose to his
feet and came and looked at him. The groaning suddenly ceased and
Goddard's eyelids, which had been motionless for hours, moved naturally.
He appeared to be observing John's face attentively.

"Where is the squire?" he asked quite naturally--so naturally that John
was startled.

"Asleep in the next room," replied the latter.

"I did not kill him after all," said Goddard, turning himself a little as
though to be more at his ease.

"No," answered John. "He is not hurt at all. Can you tell me who you
are?" For his life, he could not help asking the question. It seemed so
easy to find out who the fellow was, now that he could speak
intelligibly. But Goddard's face contracted suddenly, in a hideous smile.

"Don't you wish you knew?" he said roughly. "But I know you, my boy, I
know you--ha! ha! There's no getting away from you, my boy, is there?"

"Who am I?" asked John in astonishment.

"You are the hangman," said Goddard. "I know you very well. The hangman
is always so well dressed. I say, old chap, turn us off quick, you
know--no fumbling about the bolt. Look here--I like your face," he
lowered his voice--"there are nearly sixty pounds in my r