"Why not? Every time he comes she will give him money. The more money she gives him the more often he will come, unless we put an end to his coming altogether."
"You seem to forget," urged Mr. Ambrose, "that there will be a vigorous search made for him. Why not telegraph to the governor of Portland?"
"I thought you wanted to save Mrs. Goddard from needless scandal; did you not?" returned the squire. "The governor of Portland would send down a squad of police who would publish the whole affair. He would have done so as soon as the man escaped had he known that Mrs. Goddard lived here."
"I wonder how Goddard himself knew it," remarked Mr. Ambrose.
"I don't know. Perhaps she told him she was coming here, at their last interview. Or perhaps she wrote to him in prison and the governor overlooked the letter. Anything like that would account for it."
"But if you catch him—alive," hesitated the vicar, "it will all be known at once. I do not see how you can prevent that."
"If I catch him alive, I will take him out of Billingsfield without any one's knowledge. I do not mean to hurt him. I only want to get him back to prison. Believe me, I am much more anxious than you can possibly be to save Mrs. Goddard from harm."
"Very well. I have done my errand," said Mr. Ambrose, with a sort of sigh of relief. "I confess, I am in great anxiety of mind, both on your account and on hers. I never dreamed that such things could happen in Billingsfield."
"You are certainly not responsible for them," answered Mr. Juxon. "It is not your fault—"
"Not altogether, perhaps. But I was perhaps wrong in letting her come here—no, I am sure I was not," he added impulsively, as though ashamed of having said anything so unkind.