Out there in the cold he stood and tried to feel, and wondered at the hideous blank that stretched on, on before him, characterless as the even plain of snow to north and south and east and west of this mid-moor house. He cried aloud in his desolation, and hard on the heels of the need to voice his trouble came the need for fellowship. He must have touch of human sympathy; that was the one thing needful, the one thing vital. Then, slowly, he began to think of the preacher, of Greta, of Leo Roddick. And Roddick seemed the strongest of them all, the fittest to give him help. Yes; he would hurry across to Wynyates. Old Roddick was never the man to mind being knocked up in the middle of the night, if there were need for it. And God knew there _was_ need for it now; he must save his reason, since all else had gone by the board. The snow was crisping under the frost fingers, and the stars shone clear. He tried not to let the quick motion, the keen air, bring back his scattered impressions of all that had happened during the past few days. When a memory cut at his heart, he walked faster, thinking to drive it out; when the memory returned, he quickened to a run, as if to dodge it by flight. He reached Wynyates at last, and pounded at the door with his fists. From within sounded a low cry, in a woman's voice, and the patter of feet across the hall. "Is that you, Leo?" said the voice. "Dear, I have waited so long for you." The door was opened, and on the threshold stood Janet Laverack, never doubting but that it was Roddick who waited on the other side. She was dressed as she had been for dinner that night at the Folly; but she had taken off her sodden shoes and stockings, and her little white feet peeped out from a pair of Roddick's old slippers, absurdly too large for her. The bottom of her skirt, too, was grievously bedrabbled. Griff stepped into the light. "I am Roddick's friend," he said vaguely. The girl looked and looked at him. He would have been an alarming object enough in broad daylight, and with help to be had for the asking; but to-night he showed ghastly, dishevelled as he was, his clothes steaming like a moor fog now that he had come into the warmth. Janet, however, knowing that she must face the danger by aid of her wits alone, neither screamed nor gave way. "Who are you?" she asked in a low voice. "Griff Lomax. I--I came to ask Roddick's help. Isn't he at home?" A curious half-smile played about the girl's lips. "_I_ came to ask his help, too; so we are friends so far. I know you well by name. You have had trouble lately?" Griff went light-headed for a moment. The oak panelling of the hall circled round him; he lifted his eyes to the girl's to steady himself. "Trouble?" he repeated, with an empty laugh. "Oh, nothing to speak of--wife and child left me for good, that is all--died, you know----" "Come and sit down here; you are not yourself," said the girl, peremptorily.