“Have you finished?” asks Mr. Godwin.

“No, not yet; I hold thee to thy promise,” returns Simon, with eager haste.  “Why do men lie? for their own profit.  What profit have I in lying, when I pray thee to put my word to the proof and not take it on trust, with the certainty of punishment even if the proof be doubtful.  Thee believest this woman is what she pretends to be; what does that show?—­your simplicity, not hers.  How would women trick their husbands without such skill to blind them by a pretence of love and virtue?”

“Say no more,” cries Mr. Godwin, hoarsely, “or I may strangle you before you pass trial.  Go your devilish way, I’ll follow.”

“Now God be praised for this!” cries Simon.  “Softly, softly!” adds he, creeping in the shade of the bank towards the house.

But ere he has gone a dozen paces Mr. Godwin repents him again, with shame in his heart, and stopping, says: 

“I’ll go no further.”

“Then thee doubtest my word no longer,” whispers Simon, quickly. “’Tis fear that makest thee halt,—­the fear of finding thy wife a wanton and a trickster.”

“No, no, by God!”

“If that be so, then art thee bound to prove her innocent, that I may not say to all the world, thee mightest have put her honour to the test and dared not—­choosing rather to cheat thyself and be cheated by her, than know thyself dishonoured.  If thee dost truly love this woman and believe her guiltless, then for her honour must thee put me—­not her—­to this trial.”

“No madman could reason like this,” says Mr. Godwin.  “I accept this trial, and Heaven forgive me if I do wrong.”

CHAPTER XXX.

How we are discovered and utterly undone.

“What!” cries Dawson, catching his daughter in his arms and hugging her to his breast, when the first shock of surprise was past.  “My own sweet Moll—­come hither to warm her old father’s heart?”

“And my own,” says she, tenderly, “which I fear hath grown a little wanting in love for ye since I have been mated.  But, though my dear Dick draws so deeply from my well of affection, there is still somewhere down here” (clapping her hand upon her heart) “a source that first sprang for you and can never dry.”

“Aye, and ’tis a proof,” says he, “your coming here where we may speak and act without restraint, though it be but for five minutes.”

“Five minutes!” cries she, springing up with her natural vivacity, “why, I’ll not leave you before the morning, unless you weary of me.”  And then with infinite relish and sly humour, she told of her device for leaving the Court without suspicion.

I do confess I was at first greatly alarmed for the safe issue of this escapade; but she assuring me ’twas a dirty night, and she had passed no one on the road, I felt a little reassured.  To be sure, thinks I, Mr. Godwin by some accident may return, but finding her gone, and hearing Captain Evans keeps me to my house, he must conclude she has come hither, and think no harm of her for that neither—­seeing we are old friends and sobered with years, for ’tis the most natural thing in the world that, feeling lonely and dejected for the loss of her husband, she should seek such harmless diversion as may be had in our society.