Part 27 (1/2)

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.

”Well--a man can only hang once. Give me some more of that bread and cheese, Mary. It was exceedingly good.”

”Then let me go,” said his wife, trembling with horror at the threat she had just heard.

”Oh yes. I will let you go. But I will just hold the window open in case you don't come back soon enough. Look sharp!”

There was no need to hurry the unfortunate woman. In less than three minutes she returned, bringing a ”quartern” loaf and a large piece of cheese. She thrust them out upon the window-sill and withdrew her hand before he could catch it. But he held the window open.

”Now go!” she said. ”I cannot do more for you--for G.o.d's sake go!”

”You seem very anxious to see the last of me,” he whispered. ”I daresay if I am hanged you will get a ticket to see me turned off. Yes--we mention those things rather freely up in town. Don't be alarmed. I will come back to-morrow night--you had better listen. If you had shown a little more heart, I would have been satisfied, but you are so stony that I think I would like another fifty pounds to-morrow night. Those notes are so deliciously crisp--”

”Listen, Walter!” said Mary. ”Unless you promise to go I will raise an alarm at once. I can face shame again well enough. I will have you--hus.h.!.+

For G.o.d's sake--hus.h.!.+ There is somebody coming!”

The convict's quick ear had caught the sound. Instantly he knelt and then lay down at full length upon the ground below the window. It was a fine night and the conscientious Mr. Gall was walking his beat. The steady tramp of his heavy shoes had something ominous in it which struck terror into the heart of the wretched fugitive. With measured tread he came from the direction of the village. Reaching the cottage he paused and dimly in the starlight Mrs. G.o.ddard could distinguish his glazed hat--the provincial constabulary still wore hats in those days. Mr. Gall stood not fifteen yards from the cottage, failed to observe that a window was open on the lower floor, nodded to himself as though satisfied with his inspection and walked on. Little by little the sound of his steps grew fainter in the distance. Walter slowly raised himself again from the ground, and put his head in at the window.

”You see it would not be hard to have you caught,” whispered his wife, still breathless with the pa.s.sing excitement. ”That was the policeman. If I had called him, it would have been all over with you. I tell you if you try to come again I will give you up.”

”Oh, that's the way you treat me, is it?” said the convict with another oath. ”Then you had better look out for your dear Mr. Juxon, that's all.”

Without another word, G.o.ddard glided away from the window, let himself out by the wicket gate and disappeared across the road.

Mary G.o.ddard was in that moment less horrified by her husband's threat than by his base ingrat.i.tude to herself and by the accusation he seemed to make against her. Worn out with the emotions of fear and anxiety, she had barely the strength to close and fasten the window. Then she sank into the first chair she could find in the dark and stared into the blackness around her. It seemed indeed more than she could bear. She was placed in the terrible position of being obliged to betray her fugitive husband, or of living in constant fear lest he should murder the best friend she had in the world.

CHAPTER XVI.

On the morning after the events last described Mr. Ambrose sat at breakfast opposite his wife. The early post had just arrived, bringing the usual newspaper and two letters.

”Any news, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Ambrose with great suavity, as she rinsed her teacup in the bowl preparatory to repeating the dose. ”Is not it time that we should hear from John?”

”There is a letter from him, strange to say. Wait a minute--my dear, the Tripos is over and he wants to know if he may stop here--”

”The Tripos over already! How has he done? Do tell me, Augustin!”

”He does not know,” returned the vicar, quickly looking over the contents of the letter. ”The lists are not out--he thinks he has done very well--he has had a hint that he is high up--wants to know whether he may stop on his way to London--he is going to see his father--”

”Of course he shall come,” said Mrs. Ambrose with enthusiasm. ”He must stop here till the lists are published and then we shall know--anything else?”