The vault was comparatively dry and was in every way preferable, as a resting-place for one night, to the interior of a mouldy haystack in the open fields.
He did not dare show himself again at the "Feathers" inn, lest he should be held to do the day's work he had promised in payment for his night in the barn.

All that morning and afternoon he had lain hidden in the quickset hedge near the park gate, within sight of the cottage, and he had been rewarded.

The food he had taken with him the night before had sufficed him and he had quenched his thirst with rain-water from the ditch.

Having seen that the squire went back towards the Hall, Goddard slunk away to his hiding-place to wait for the night.

He lay down as best he might, and listened for the hours and half-hours as the church clock tolled them out from the lofty tower above.
Mary Goddard had told him to come later than before, and it was after half-past ten when he tapped upon the shutter of the little drawing-room.
All was dark within, and he held his breath as he stood among the wet creepers, listening intently for the sound of his wife's coming.
Presently the glass window inside was opened.
"Is that you ?" asked Mary's voice in a tremulous whisper.
"Yes," he answered.