But he rose at last and looked at his watch. "I really must be off; do you know what time it is, Mrs. Strangeways? The mother will think I have strayed into a bog, or something, if I keep her waiting much longer. Good night. No, don't come to the door; it is too cold for you." "Too cold for you." There was a tenderness in the thought that soothed the woman; there was an off-hand friendliness in the tone that hurt her in some unexplained way. He opened the heavy oak door, with its armour of nails and bolts and its out-of-date lock. A solid wall of fog came up close to the steps in front; snow showed white on the threshold, and drifting fog and snow combined took traveller's leave of the ingress afforded by the open door. "You can't cross the moor until the fog lifts," said Kate, at his elbow. "But I must. Mother will be sick with fear when she sees how bad the night is." Instinctively she laid a hand on his arm. "Better that than death," she said quietly. "I can find my way in a fog; it is only a little extra darkness, and I know every inch of the way." "Nonsense!" she said sharply. "No one can be sure of the road in a fog, and there is snow as well. I tell you, it is madness to venture out." Griff Lomax could not but admit as much, as he obeyed the pressure of the hand on his arm. "It will clear presently," he said, shutting the door, and following the woman into the parlour. "There's more nor one kind o' storm brewing, I fancy," muttered Hannah, peering through a nick in the kitchen door. The evening wore on. From time to time Lomax went to see if there were any change in the weather, but the fog showed no sign of lifting, and the snow crept earthward in bigger flakes than ever. "You must spend the night here," said Kate. Her voice was peremptory, but a hot blush came to her cheeks. "I ought to make an attempt to reach Marshcotes," muttered the other, doubtfully. Reason told him how foolhardy such an undertaking would be. "With the snow covering every track? How can you, even if the fog clears?" He gave in at last, as he was bound to do; but, once the point was settled, there was ample room for other disturbing thoughts. Hannah put her head in at the door presently. "Shall you be wanting owt more to-neet?" she demanded. "No; you can go to bed. Good night, Hannah." "Good neet, mum." Hannah's tread on the upstairs journey was heavy; her downward steps, some few minutes later, were correspondingly light. There was a silence between the two who were seated on either side of the great peat fire in the parlour. Lomax pulled at his pipe and stared into the glowing peat-ash; the woman watched his face. He grew conscious of her gaze, and turned his eyes suddenly to hers.