swered the squire.

"Perhaps that was why he spoke so roughly to me," she said in a low
voice, as though speaking to herself.

The tears came into the squire's eyes for sheer pity. Even in this utmost
extremity the unhappy woman tried to account for her husband's rude and
cruel speech. Mr. Juxon did not answer but looked away. They passed the
spot where the scuffle had occurred on the previous night, but still he
said nothing, fearing to disturb her by making his story seem too vividly
real.

"Where is he?" she asked as they reached the Hall, looking up at the
windows.

"On the other side."

They went in and mounted the stairs towards the sick man's chamber. Mr.
Juxon went in, leaving Mrs. Goddard outside for a moment. She could
hear that hideous rattling monotonous moan, and she trembled from head to
foot. Presently Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose came out, looking very grave and
passed by her with a look of sympathy.

"Will you come in?" said the squire in a low voice.

Mrs. Goddard entered the room quickly. On seeing her husband, she uttered
a low cry and laid her hand upon Mr. Juxon's arm. For some seconds she
stood thus, quite motionless, gazing with intense and sympathetic
interest at the sick man's face. Then she went to his side and laid her
hand upon his burning forehead and looked into his eyes.

"Walter! Walter!" she cried. "Don't you know me? Oh, why does he groan
like that? Is he suffering?" she asked turning to Mr. Juxon.

"No--I do not think he suffers much. He is quite unconscious. He is
talking all the time but cannot pronounce the words."

The squire stood at a distance looking on, noting the womanly
thoughtfulness Mrs. Goddard displayed as she smoothed her husband's
pillow and tried to settle his head more comfortably upon the bags of
ice; and all the while she never took her eyes from Goddard's face, as
though she were fascinated by her own sorrow and his suffering. She moved
about the bed with that instinctive understanding of sickness which
belongs to delicate women, but her glance never strayed to Mr. Juxon; she
seemed forced by a mysterious magnetism to look at Walter and only at
him.

"Has he been long like this?" she asked.

"Ever since last night. He called you once--he said, 'Mary Goddard, let
me in!' And then he said something else--he said--I cannot remember what
he said." Mr. Juxon checked himself, remembering the words John had
heard, and of which he only half understood the import. B