“Only this dreadful headache,” she said.  “Go on please.”

“Well, we might set Gall the policeman to watch your house; but that would be very unpleasant for you.  It would be like telling him and all the village people of your situation—­”

“Oh don’t!  Please don’t!”

“No, certainly not.  I think it very unwise.  Besides—­” he stopped short.  He was about to say that he felt much better able to watch over Mrs. Goddard himself than Gall the constable could possibly be; but he checked himself in time.

“Besides—­what?” she asked.

“Nothing—­Gall is not much of a policeman, that is all.  I do not believe you would be any the safer for his protection.  But you must promise me, my dear Mrs. Goddard, that if anything occurs you will let me know.  I may be of some assistance.”

“Thank you, so much,” said she.  “You are always so kind!”

“Not at all.  I am very glad if you think I was right to tell you about it.”

“Oh, quite right,” she answered.  “And now, Mr. Juxon, I am really not at all well.  All this has quite unnerved me—­”

“You want me to go?” said the squire smiling kindly as he rose.  “Yes, I understand.  Well, good-bye, my dear friend—­I hope everything will clear up.”

“Good-bye.  Thank you again.  You always do understand me,” she answered giving him her small cold hand.  “Don’t think me ungrateful,” she added, looking up into his eyes.

“No indeed—­not that there is anything to be grateful for.”

In a moment more he was gone, feeling that he had done his duty like a man, and that it had not been so hard after all.  He was glad it was done, however, and he felt that he could face the vicar with a bold front at their next meeting.  He went quickly down the path and crossed the road to his own gate with a light step.  As he entered the park he was not aware of a wretched-looking tramp who slouched along the quickset hedge and watched his retreating figure far up the avenue, till he was out of sight among the leafless trees.  If Stamboul had been with the squire the tramp would certainly not have passed unnoticed; but for some days the roads had been so muddy that Stamboul had been left behind when Mr. Juxon made his visits to the cottage, lest the great hound should track the mud into the spotless precincts of the passage.  The tramp stood still and looked after the squire so long as he could see him, and then slunk off across the wet meadows, where the standing water was now skimmed with ice.

Walter Goddard had spent the day in watching for the squire and he had seen him at last.  He had seen him go down the road with the vicar till they were both out of sight, and he had seen him come back and enter the cottage.  This proceeding, he argued, betrayed that the squire did not wish to be seen going into Mary’s house by the vicar.  The tortuous intelligences of bad men easily impute to others courses