She settled her spectacles carefully on her nose, and waded through the legal formulæ. "I didn't think it of you, Griff," was all she said, as she laid the paper down. But the lines on her old face were working pitiably, and Griff knew what she was suffering. He made a clean breast of it then, and the cloud on the mother's face lifted a little. "We shall not defend the action," he finished. Again the lines of pain struck across the woman's forehead and about her eyes. "But why, Griff? Surely, after what you have told me, you are not----" "Guilty? No; but in the eyes of any court we are. The servant was spying on us--Kate told me so to-day. She saw enough to prejudice our case from the start. Then Strangeways returned in time to see me at Peewit the next morning, so the evidence as to my passing the night there is clear enough." "Yes; but you can prove that it was impossible for you to get home." "I can; but why was I there as late as eight o'clock--the snow didn't fall thickly till then--with her husband away? Don't you see, mother, everything tells against us? Besides, we have burnt our bridges now; there can be no return for Kate." She was silent for a space, then-- "Do you want Strangeways to get the divorce, Griff?" she flashed. "Honestly, yes. But we have no choice in the matter; the verdict is bound to go against us, and it will spare Kate a great deal if we don't appear at all." Again Mrs. Lomax was silent. "Griff," she said, with another sudden glance, "do you intend to marry her?" "I do, mother." "Look me straight in the eyes, dear. I don't mean to doubt you, you know, if you will only answer me one question. You kissed each other that night; it was a grave wrong-doing. Was there no worse sin than that, Griff? Are you trying to shield the woman by lying to your mother?" "Mother, mother! Have I ever lied to you?" There was keen reproach in his voice. "Never, Griff; but, then, you have never been in love before." "With my mother--always. I swear to you that we are innocent." "Thank God for that, dear! I am behind the times in such things. It would have killed me, Griff, to think that you could stoop----" "Hush, mother! Kate is above it, whatever I may be." A long silence, broken by the patter of sleet against the window. "You might have married well, Griff." "Mother, that is not like you. Leave distinctions of that kind to people who cannot claim five hundred years of moor life." The old lady rose abruptly and went to the window. Blurred eyes saw through blurred panes some gallant hopes she had entertained on her son's behalf--saw the wife she had planned for him; saw jealousy, too, the fierce resentment of a mother who is robbed of her young; saw, finally, the way that meant happiness for Griff. "You are right, dear," she said, turning and taking his hands in her own lean, weather-stained palms. "If you will always follow your heart, I don't think it will take you far wrong."