was comparatively dry and was in every way preferable, as a resting-place for one night, to the interior of a mouldy haystack in the open fields. He did not dare show himself again at the "Feathers" inn, lest he should be held to do the day's work he had promised in payment for his night in the barn. All that morning and afternoon he had lain hidden in the quickset hedge near the park gate, within sight of the cottage, and he had been rewarded. The food he had taken with him the night before had sufficed him and he had quenched his thirst with rain-water from the ditch. Having seen that the squire went back towards the Hall, Goddard slunk away to his hiding-place to wait for the night. He lay down as best he might, and listened for the hours and half-hours as the church clock tolled them out from the lofty tower above. Mary Goddard had told him to come later than before, and it was after half-past ten when he tapped upon the shutter of the little drawing-room. All was dark within, and he held his breath as he stood among the wet creepers, listening intently for the sound of his wife's coming. Presently the glass window inside was opened. "Is that you?" asked Mary's voice in a tremulous whisper. "Yes," he answered. "Let me in." Then the shutter was cautiously unfastened and opened a little and in the dim starlight Goddard recognised his wife's pale face. Her hand went out to him, with something in it. "There is the money," she whispered. "Go as quickly as you can. They are looking for you--there are orders out to arrest you." Goddard seized her fingers and took the money. She would have withdrawn her hand but he held it firmly. "Who told you that they were after me?" he asked in a fierce whisper. "Mr. Juxon--let me go." "Mr. Juxon!" The convict uttered a rough oath. "Your friend Mr. Juxon, eh? He is after me, is he? Tell him--" "Hush, hush!" she whispered. "He has no idea you are here--" "I should think not," muttered Walter. "He would not be sneaking in here on the sly to see you if he knew I were about!" "What do you mean?" asked Mary. "Oh, Walter, let me go--you hurt me so!" He held her fingers as in a vice. "Hurt you! I wish I could strangle you and him too! Ha, you thought I was not looking this afternoon when he came! He went to the corner of the road with the parson, and when the parson was out of sight he came back! I saw you!" "You saw nothing!" answered his wife desperately. "How can you say so! If you knew how kind he has been, what a loyal gentleman he is, you would not dare to say such things." "You used to say I was a loyal gentleman, Mary," retorted the convict. "I daresay he is of the same stamp as I. Look here, Mary, if I catch this loyal gentleman coming here any more I will cut his throat--so look out!" "You do not mean to say you are going to remain here any longer, in danger of your life?" said Mary in great alarm.