Then, as if we hadn't troubles enough of our own, my Aunt Wood, George's mother, came from the Brigg to see my father about George's case. It must not be thought we had not worried about him. We had, and more than a little. Whenever I pictured to myself my cousin and more than friend, eating his heart out in a prison cell, I was near beside myself with grief. As for the end of it all, I dared not think of it. I had parted from George in anger; but I made no account of that. I was safe in Mary's love, and those who win can afford to be generous. And if these Luddite troubles had blown over, George might have come round, and tho' our relations might never have been what they had been, still we could have patched up a work-a-day friendship that would have served. But now George was in prison, charged with the most awful of all crimes, and tho' my gorge rose at the deed, I sorrowed for the man. It was sad to see the change in my Aunt Wood. She was never a strong woman, least-wise in my knowledge of her; but now she was piteous to look at. She was crushed by the burthen of sorrow and shame. Sorrow's bad enough: but add shame to it, and it's more than human soul can bear. My mother fair wept over her. "Eh, lass," she said, when she had taken my aunt's shawl and poke bonnet and got her seated by the fire, whilst Mary busied about boiling the kettle and making some tea. "Eh! lass, that ever we should live to see this day." My aunt drooped her head. She did not greet nor moan. I think the fountain of her tears was dry. "My heart's sore for yo', Matty, and glad I am yo've come to me i' yo'r trouble." "I had to come, Charlotte, for if yo'r William cannot help me, I dunnot know wheer to turn." "Aw'll do owt aw can. Yo' know that, Matty. Aw set a deal o' store on George. We all did. Aw cannot think what possessed him. More aw think on it, more awm capped, for George wer' noan o' th' sort to . . . . It's fair beyond me. What does Wood say?" "It's that's brought me here, William. It's a cruel thing to say; but in his heart o' hearts aw think mi husband's fair glad they'n fetched our George. He never took to th' lad, nor George to him. But yo'd ha' thowt at naa, when aw want all th' comfort aw can get, mi own husband 'ud be th' first to help." And Aunt Wood's lips trembled and she pressed her thin hand to her throat to keep down the sobs that choked her. "Dunnot tak' on, Matty," said my father. "We'st stand to yo', wet or fine."