“It is about Mrs. Goddard,” said the squire, looking hard at his visitor.  “Of course it is between ourselves,” he added.

The vicar’s long upper lip descended upon its fellow and he bent his rough grey eyebrows, returning Mr. Juxon’s sharp look with interest.  He could not imagine what the squire could have to say about Mrs. Goddard, unless, like poor John, he had fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her; which appeared improbable.

“What is it?” he said sharply.

“I daresay you do not know that I am acquainted with her story,” began Mr. Juxon.  “Do not be surprised.  She saw fit to tell it me herself.”

“Indeed?” exclaimed the vicar in considerable astonishment.  In that case, he argued quickly, Mr. Juxon was not thinking of marrying her.

“Yes—­it is not necessary to go into that,” said Mr. Juxon quickly.  “The thing I want to tell you is this—­Goddard the forger has escaped—­”

“Escaped?” echoed the vicar in real alarm.  “You don’t mean to say so!”

“Gall the constable came here this morning,” continued Mr. Juxon.  “He told me that there were general orders out for his arrest.”

“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.