"How in the world did he get out?" cried the vicar. "I thought nobody was ever known to escape from Portland!" "So did I. But this fellow has--somehow. Gall did not know. Now, the question is, what is to be done?" "I am sure I don't know," returned the vicar, thrusting his hands into his pockets and marching to the window, the wide skirts of his coat seeming to wave with agitation as he walked. Mr. Juxon also put his hands into his pockets, but he stood still upon the hearth-rug and looked at the ceiling, softly whistling a little tune, a habit he had in moments of great anxiety. For three or four minutes neither of the two spoke. "Would you tell Mrs. Goddard--or not?" asked Mr. Juxon at last. "I don't know," said the vicar. "I am amazed beyond measure." He turned and slowly came back to the table. "I don't know either," replied the squire. "That is precisely the point upon which I think we ought to decide. I have known about the story for some time, but I did not anticipate that it would take this turn." "I think," said Mr. Ambrose after another pause, "I think that if there is any likelihood of the fellow finding her out, we ought to tell her. If not I think we had better wait until he is caught. He is sure to be caught, of course." "I entirely agree with you," returned Mr. Juxon. "Only--how on earth are we to find out whether he is likely to come here or not? If any one knows where he is, he is as good as caught already. If nobody knows, we can certainly have no means of telling." The argument was unanswerable. Again there was a long silence. The vicar walked about the room in great perplexity. "Dear me! Dear me! What a terrible business!" he repeated, over and over again. "Do you think we are called upon to do anything?" he asked at last, stopping in his walk immediately in front of Mr. Juxon. "If we can do anything to save Mrs. Goddard from annoyance or further trouble, we are undoubtedly called upon to do it," replied the squire. "If that wretch finds her out, he will try to break into the cottage at night and force her to give him money." "Do you really think so? Dear me! I hope he will do no such thing!" "So do I, I am sure," said Mr. Juxon, with a grim smile. "But if he finds her out, he will. I almost think it would be better to tell her in any case." "But think of the anxiety she will be in until he is caught!" cried the vicar. "She will be expecting him every day--every night. Well--I suppose we might tell Gall to watch the house." "That will not do," said Mr. Juxon firmly. "It would be a great injustice to allow Gall or any of the people in the village to know anything about her. She might be subjected to all kinds of insult. You know what these people are. A 'real lady,' who is at the same time the wife of a convict, is a thing they can hardly understand. I am sure both you and I secretly flatter ourselves that we have shown an unusual amount of good sense and generosity in understanding her position as we do."