“You are not hurt?” she asked, almost incredulously.  Her eyes rested on her friend’s face with a wistful look.

“No, I assure you, not in the least,” he said.  “But your poor husband is very ill—­very ill indeed.”

“Tell me,” said she quietly, “is he dead?  Are you trying to break it to me?”

“No—­no indeed.  He is alive—­he may even recover.  But that is very uncertain.  It might be best to wait until the doctor has been again.  I will come back and fetch you—­”

“Oh, no, I will go at once.  I would like to walk.  It will do me good.”

So the two set out without further words upon their errand.  Mr. Juxon had purposely omitted to speak of Mr. Booley’s arrival.  It would be easy, he thought, to prevent them from meeting in the great house.

“Do you know,” said Mary Goddard, as they walked together, “it is very hard to wish that he may recover—­” she stopped short.

“Very hard,” answered the squire.  “His life must be one of misery, if he lives.”

“Of course you would send him back?” she asked nervously.

“My dear friend, there is no other course open to me.  Your own safety requires it.”

“God knows—­you would only be doing right,” she said and was silent again.  She knew, though the squire did not, what fate awaited Walter Goddard if he were given up to justice.  She knew that he had taken life and must pay the penalty.  Yet she was very calm; her senses were all dulled and yet her thoughts seemed to be consecutive and rational.  She realised fully that the case of life and death was ill balanced; death had it which ever course events might take, and she could not save her husband.  She thought of it calmly and calmly hoped that he might die now, in his bed, with her by his side.  It was a better fate.

“You say that the doctor thinks he must have been ill some time?” she asked after a time.

“Yes—­he was quite sure of it,” answered 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.