Part 35 (1/2)

”C.J. JUXON.

_N.B._--I am not hurt.”

Having ascertained that Reynolds was still in the kitchen, the missive was given to the old man with an injunction to use all speed, as the vicar might be going to bed and the note was important.

John, meanwhile, being left alone sat down near the wounded man's bed and waited, glancing at the flushed face and staring eyes from time to time, and wondering whether the fellow would recover. The young scholar had been startled by all that had occurred, and his ideas wandered back to the beginning of the evening, scarcely realising that a few hours ago he had not met Mrs. G.o.ddard, had not experienced a surprising change in his feelings towards her, had not witnessed the strange scene under the trees. It seemed as though all these things had occupied a week at the very least, whereas on that same afternoon he had been speculating upon his meeting with Mrs. G.o.ddard, calling up her features to his mind as he had last seen them, framing speeches which when the meeting came he had not delivered, letting his mind run riot in the delicious antic.i.p.ation of appearing before her in the light of a successful compet.i.tor for one of the greatest honours of English scholars.h.i.+p. And yet in a few hours all his feelings were changed, and to his infinite surprise, were changed without any suffering to himself; he knew well that, for some reason, Mrs. G.o.ddard had lost the mysterious power of making him blush, and of sending strange thrills through his whole nature when he sat at her side; with some justice he attributed his new indifference to the extraordinary alteration in her appearance, whereby she seemed now so much older than himself, and he forthwith moralised upon the mutability of human affairs, with all the mental fluency of a very young man whose affairs are still extremely mutable. He fell to musing on the accident in the park, wondering how he would have acted in Mr. Juxon's place, wondering especially what object could have led the wretched tramp to attack the squire, wondering too at the very great anxiety shown by Mrs. G.o.ddard.

As he sat by the bedside, the sick man suddenly moved and turning his eyes full upon John's face stared at him with a look of dazed surprise.

He thrust out his wounded hand, bound up in a white handkerchief through which a little blood was slowly oozing, and to John's infinite surprise he spoke.

”Who are you?” he asked in a strange, mumbling voice, as though he had pebbles in his mouth.

John started forward in his chair and looked intently at G.o.ddard's face.

”My name is Short,” he answered mechanically. But the pa.s.sing flash of intelligence was already gone, and G.o.ddard's look became a gla.s.sy and idiotic stare. Still his lips moved. John came nearer and listened.

”Mary G.o.ddard! Mary G.o.ddard! Let me in!” said the sick man quite intelligibly, in spite of his uncertain tone. John uttered an exclamation of astonishment; his heart beat fast and he listened intently. The sick man mumbled inarticulate sounds; not another word could be distinguished.

John looked for the bell, thinking that Mr. Juxon should be informed of the strange phenomenon at once; but before he could ring the squire himself entered the room, having finished and despatched his note to Mr.

Ambrose.

”It is most extraordinary,” said John. ”He spoke just now--”

”What did he say?” asked Mr. Juxon very quickly.

”He said first, 'Who are you?' and then he said 'Mary G.o.ddard, let me in!' Is it not most extraordinary? How in the world should he know about Mrs. G.o.ddard?”

The squire turned a little pale and was silent for a moment. He had left John with the wounded man feeling sure that, for some time at least, the latter would not be likely to say anything intelligible.

”Most extraordinary!” he repeated presently. Then he looked at G.o.ddard closely, and turned him again upon his back and put his injured hand beneath the sheet.

”Do you understand me? Do you know who I am?” he asked in a loud tone close to his ear.

But the unfortunate man gave no sign of intelligence, only his inarticulate mumbling grew louder though not more distinct. Mr. Juxon turned away impatiently.

”The fellow is in a delirium,” he said. ”I wish the doctor would come.”

He had hardly turned his back when the man spoke again.

”Mary G.o.ddard!” he cried. ”Let me in!”

”There!” said John. ”The same words!”

Mr. Juxon shuddered, and looked curiously at his companion; then thrust his hands into his pockets and whistling softly walked about the room.

John was shocked at what seemed in the squire a sort of indecent levity; he could not understand that his friend felt as though he should go mad.

Indeed the squire suffered intensely. The name of Mary G.o.ddard, p.r.o.nounced by the convict in his delirium brought home more vividly than anything could have done the relation between the wounded tramp and the woman the squire loved. It was positively true, then--there was not a shadow of doubt left, since this wretch lay there mumbling her name in his ravings! This was the husband of that gentle creature with sad pathetic eyes, so delicate, so refined that it seemed as though the coa.r.s.er breath of the world of sin and shame could never come near her--this was her husband! It was horrible. This was the father of lovely Nellie, too. Was anything wanting to make the contrast more hideous?

Mr. Juxon felt that it was impossible to foresee what Walter G.o.ddard might say in the course of another hour. He had often seen people in a delirium and knew how strangely that inarticulate murmuring sometimes breaks off into sudden incisive speech, astonis.h.i.+ng every one who hears.

The man had already betrayed that he knew Mary G.o.ddard; at the next interval in his ravings he might betray that she was his wife. John was still standing by the bedside, not having recovered from his astonishment; if John heard any more, he would be in possession of Mrs.