harshly. "I was off again. Pshaw! I did not really mean to
hurt him--he need not have set that beast at me. He did not catch me
though--Mary, I am going to die--will you pray for me? You are a good
woman--somebody will hear your prayers, I daresay. Do, Mary--I shall feel
better somehow, though I daresay it is very foolish of me."

"No, Walter--not foolish, not foolish. Would you like me to call Mr.
Ambrose? he is a clergyman--he is in the house."

"No, no. You Mary, you--nobody will hear anybody else's prayers--for
me--for poor me--"

"Try and pray with me, Walter," said Mary Goddard, very quietly. She
seemed to have an unnatural strength given to her in that hour of
distress and horror. She knelt down by the bedside and took his wounded
hand in hers, tenderly, and she prayed aloud in such words as she could
find.

Below, in the study, the detective had just finished telling his tale to
the squire, and the wheels of Doctor Longstreet's dog-cart ground upon
the gravel outside. The two men looked at each other for a moment, and
Mr. Juxon spoke first.

"That is the doctor," said he. "I will ask you to have patience for five
minutes, Mr. Booley. He will give you his opinion. I am still very much
shocked at what you have told me--I had no idea what had happened."

"No--I suppose not," answered Mr. Booley calmly. "If you will ask the
medical man to step in here for one moment, I will explain matters to
him. I don't think he will differ much from me."

"Very well," returned the squire, leaving the room. He went to meet
Doctor Longstreet, intending to warn him of the presence of Mr. Booley,
and meaning to entreat his support for the purpose of keeping Goddard in
the house until he should be recovered. He passed through the library and
exchanged a few words with Mr. Ambrose, explaining that the doctor had
come. Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose were sitting on opposite sides of the
fireplace in huge chairs, with a mournful air of resigned expectation
upon their worthy faces. The detective remained alone in the study.

Meanwhile John Short had refreshed himself from his fatigues, and came
down stairs in search of some breakfast. He had recovered from his
excitement and was probably the only one who thought of eating, as he was
also the one least closely concerned in what was occurring. Instead of
going to the library he went to the dining-room, and, seeing no one
about, entered the study from the door which on that side connected the