or. From
which it appears that Mrs. Ambrose was a brave woman. She passed rapidly
up the staircase to Goddard's room, but she paused as she laid her hand
upon the latch. From within she could hear Mary Goddard's voice, praying
aloud, as she had never heard any one pray before. She paused and
listened, hesitating to interrupt the unhappy lady in such a moment.
Moreover, though her goodwill was boundless, she had not any precise
idea how to manage the defence. But as she stood there, the thought that
the detective might at any moment follow her was predominant. The voice
within the room paused for an instant and Mrs. Ambrose entered, raising
one finger to her lips as though expecting that Mary Goddard would speak
to her. But Mary was not looking, and at first did not notice the
intrusion. She knelt by the bedside, her face buried in the coverlet, her
hands clasped and clasping the sick man's wounded hand.

Goddard's face was pale but not deathlike, and his breathing seemed
regular and gentle; but his eyes were almost closed and he seemed not
aware that any one had entered. Mrs. Ambrose was struck by his appearance
which was greatly changed since she had left him half an hour earlier,
his face purple and his harsh moaning continuing unceasingly. She said
to herself that he was probably better. There was all the more reason for
warning Mary Goddard of the new danger that awaited him. She shut the
door and locked it and withdrew the key. At the sound Mary looked
up--then rose to her feet with a sad look of reproach, as though not
wishing to be disturbed. But Mrs. Ambrose came quickly to her side, and
glancing once at Goddard, to see whether he was unconscious, she led her
away from the bed.

"My dear," she said very kindly, but in a voice trembling with
excitement, "I had to come. There are detectives in the house, clamouring
to take him away--but I will protect you--they shall not do it."

Mary Goddard started and her eyes stared wildly at her friend. But
presently the look of resigned sadness returned, and a faint and mournful
smile flickered on her lips.

"I think it is all over," she said. "He is still alive--but he will not
live till they come."

Then she bit her lip tightly, and all the features of her face trembled a
little. The tears would rise spasmodically, though they were only tears
of pity, not of love. Mrs. Ambrose, the severe, the stern, the eternally
vigilant Mrs. Ambrose, sat down by the window; she put