Mrs. Goddard could almost have laughed at that moment.  The excellent man had taken all this trouble in order to save her from the very thing which had already occurred on the previous night.  There was a bitter humour in the situation, in the squire’s kind-hearted way of breaking to her that news which she already knew so well, in his willingness to put off telling her until the morrow.  What would Mr. Juxon say, could he guess that she had herself already spoken with her husband and had promised to see him again that very night!  Forgetting that his last words required an answer, she leaned back in her chair and again folded her hands before her.  Her eyes were half closed and from beneath the drooping lids she gazed through the gathering gloom at the squire’s anxious face.

“I hope you think I did right,” said the latter in considerable doubt.

“Quite right.  I think you were both very kind to think of me as you did,” said she.

“I am sure, I always think of you,” answered Mr. Juxon simply.  “I hope that this thing will have no further consequences.  Of course, until we know of Mr. Goddard’s whereabouts we shall feel very anxious.  It seems probable that if he can get here unobserved he will do so.  He will probably ask you for some money.”

“Do you really think he could get here at all?” asked Mrs. Goddard.  She wanted to hear what he would say, for she thought she might judge from his words whether her husband ran any great risk.

“Oh no,” replied the squire.  “I think it is very improbable.  I fear this news has sadly disturbed you, Mrs. Goddard, but let us hope all may turn out for the best.”  Indeed he thought she showed very little surprise, though she had evidently been much moved.  Perhaps she had been accustomed to expect that her husband might one day escape.  She was ill, too, and her nerves were unstrung, he supposed.

She had really passed through a very violent emotion, but it had not been caused by her surprise, but by her momentary fear for the fugitive, instantly allayed by Mr. Juxon’s explanation.  She felt that for to-day at least Walter was safe, and by to-morrow he would be safe out of the neighbourhood.  But she reflected that it was necessary to say something; that if she appeared to receive the news too indifferently the squire’s suspicions might be aroused with fatal results.

“It is a terrible thing,” she said presently.  “You see I am not at all myself.”

It was not easy for her to act a part.  The words were commonplace.

“No,” said Mr. Juxon, “I see you are not.”  He on his part, instead of looking for a stronger expression of fear or astonishment, was now only too glad that she should be so calm.

“Would you advise me to do anything?” she asked presently.

“There is nothing to be done,” he answered quickly, glad of a chance to relieve the embarrassment of the situation.  “Of course we might put you under the protection of the police but—­what is the matter, Mrs. Goddard?” She had started as though in pain.