"I! Oh God of mercy! I wish I were." Again she buried her face in the cushion.

Her bosom heaved violently.
The squire started as though he had been struck, and the blood rushed to his brown face so that the great veins on his temples stood out like cords.
"Did I--did I understand you to say that--your husband is living ?" he asked in a strong, loud voice, ringing with emotion.
Mrs.Goddard moved a little and seemed to make a great effort to speak.
"Yes," she said very faintly.

The squire rose to his feet and paced the room in terrible agitation.
"But where ?" he asked, stopping suddenly in his walk.

"Mrs.Goddard, I think I have a right to ask where he is--why you have never spoken of him ?" By a supreme effort the unfortunate lady raised herself from her seat supporting herself upon one hand, and faced the squire with wildly staring eyes.
"You have a right to know," she said.

"He is in Portland--sentenced to twelve years hard labour for forgery." She said it all, to the end, and then fell back into her chair.