Godfrey took the hand of the smuggler and pressed it hard.

“Can you form no better scheme than that?”

“I understand you, Mr. Godfrey.  You are a perfect genius in wickedness.  The devil never found a fitter agent for doing his business on a grand scale.  Yes, yes, I understand you.”

“Would it be possible?”

“All things are possible to those who have the courage to perform.  If I could remove this obstacle out of your way, what would be my reward?”

“A thousand pounds!”

“Your conscience!  Do you think that I would risk my neck for such a paltry bribe?”

“You have done it often for the hundredth part.”

“That’s neither here nor there.  If I have played the fool a dozen times, that’s no reason that I am to do so again.  Go shares, and promise to make an honest woman of Mary, and you shall not be long out of possession.”

“The sacrifice is too great,” said Godfrey, musing.  “Let us say no more about it at present.”

“You will think about it?”

“Thoughts are free.”

“Not exactly.  Evil thoughts lead to evil deeds, as surely as fruit follows flowers upon the tree.  Try to lay that babe of the brain to rest, and see if it will not waken to plague you yet.”

“It was one of your own begetting—­you should know best how to quiet the imp.”

“Leave me alone for that.  The day is breaking; we must part.  We have both melancholy duties to perform.”

“I wish the funeral was over,” said Godfrey, “I hate being forced to act a conspicuous part in so grave a farce.”

“Your cousin will help you out.  He is the real mourner; you, the actor.  Remember what I hinted to you, and let me know your opinion in a few days.”

“The risk is too great,” said Godfrey, shrugging his shoulders.  “When I am reduced to my last shift, it will be time enough to talk of that.”

The grey misty dawn was just struggling into day, when Godfrey left the cottage.  Mathews looked after him, as, opening a side gate that led to a foot-path that intersected the park, he vanished from his sight.

“Well, there goes the greatest scoundrel that ever was unhung,” he muttered to himself.  “He has never shed blood, nor done what I have done, but hang me if I would exchange characters with him, bad as I may be.  He thinks to make a fool of me; but if I do not make him repay a thousand fold the injuries he has heaped on me and mine, may we swing on the same gallows.”

In no very enviable mood, Godfrey pursued his way though the lonely park.  The birds had not yet sung their matin hymn to awaken the earth.  Deep silence rested upon the august face of nature.  Not a breath of air stirred the branches, heavy with dew-drops.  The hour was full of beauty and mystery.  An awe fell insensibly upon the heart, as if it saw the eye of God visibly watching over the sleeping world.  Its holy influence was felt even by the selfish heartless Godfrey.