The lawyers assured me that I ought to keep my own little fortune.  I kept about five hundred a year.  It is more than I need, but it seemed very little then.  The lawyer who conducted the defence, such as it was, advised me to go abroad, but I would not.  Then he spoke of Mr. Ambrose, who had educated his son, and gave me a note to him.  I came here and I told Mr. Ambrose my whole story.  I only wanted to be alone—­I thought I did right—­”

Her courage had sustained her so far, but it had been a great effort.  Her voice trembled and broke and at last the tears began to glisten in her eyes.

“Does Nellie know?” asked the squire, who had sat very gravely by her side, but who was in reality deeply moved.

“No—­she thinks he—­that he is dead,” faltered Mrs. Goddard.  Then she fairly burst into tears and sobbed passionately, covering her face and rocking herself from side to side.

“My dear friend,” said Mr. Juxon very kindly and laying one hand upon her arm, “pray try and calm yourself.  Forgive me—­I beg you to forgive me for having caused you so much pain—­”

“Do you still call me a friend?” sobbed the poor lady.

“Indeed I do,” quoth the squire stoutly.  And he meant it.  Mrs. Goddard dropped her hands and stared into the fire through her falling tears.

“I think you behaved very honourably—­very generously,” continued Mr. Juxon, who did not know precisely how to console her, and indeed stood much in need of consolation himself.  “Perhaps I had better leave you—­you are very much agitated—­you must need rest—­would you not rather that I should go?”

“Yes—­it is better,” said she, still staring at the fire.  “You know all about me now,” she added in a tone of pathetic regret.  The squire rose to his feet.

“I hope,” he said with some hesitation, “that this—­this very unfortunate day will not prevent our being friends—­better friends than before?”

Mrs. Goddard looked up gratefully through her tears.

“How good you are!” she said softly.

“Not at all—­I am not at all good—­I only want to be your friend.  Good-bye—­G—­God bless you!” He seized her hand and squeezed it and then hurried out of the room.  A moment later he was crossing the road with Stamboul, who was very tired of waiting, bounding before him.

The squire was not a romantic character.  He was a strong plain man, who had seen the world and was used to most forms of danger and to a good many forms of suffering.  He was kind-hearted and generous, capable of feeling sincere sympathy for others, and under certain circumstances of being deeply wounded himself.  He had indeed a far more refined nature than he himself suspected and on this memorable day he had experienced more emotions than he remembered to have felt in the course of many years.