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