She longed to know where her wretched husband was; whether he had found shelter for the night, whether he was still free or whether he had even then fallen into the hands of his pursuers.

She knew that she could not have concealed him in the house and that she had done all that lay in her power for him.

But she started at every sound, as the rain rattled against the shutters and the wind howled down the chimney.
Walter Goddard, however, was safe for the present and was even luxuriously lodged, considering his circumstances, for he was comfortably installed amongst the hay in the barn of the "Feathers" inn.

He had been in Billingsfield since early in the afternoon and had considered carefully the question of his quarters for the night.

He had observed from a distance the landlord of the said inn, and had boldly offered to do a "day's work for a night's lodging." He said he was "tramping" his way back from London to his home in Yorkshire; he knew enough of the sound of the rough Yorkshire dialect to pass for a native of that county amongst ignorant labourers who had never heard the real tongue.