"But all this," I commented, "is but the raving of a drunken sot. People who really intend mischief don't go babbling their designs over a pot. They lie low and keep their mouths shut. Then their blow falls like lightning out of a summer sky. Besides, there's law in the land. As for the mill and our pieces, Jim and I can look after them. And as for Miriam--why, we aren't in the Highlands of Scotland, where such things might be, but in the West Riding of Yorkshire, and, anyway, Miriam is not the girl to be forced into marriage by Ephraim Sykes and all the Burnplatters put together." But Daft Billy was not to be moved by all my eloquence. "Yon lad means mischief," he said. "He'd care not a snap of his fingers for all th' law i' England. He's just out of his senses, what wi' brandy an' what wi' jealousy, an' what wi' longing for the maid hersen. An' when a man's mad, he's mad; an it s just sheer nonsense argeying about him as if he were i' his reet senses. He'll stick at nowt an' damn the consekences." "But what's to be done?" I asked with some impatience, for to tell the truth I attached mighty little importance to Daft Billy's story. "Jim and I can't put Mitchell Mill in our pockets and carry it about with us. And we can't keep Miriam under lock and key till we're wed--and that won't be for many a long day, worse luck. And it would never do to breathe a word to Miriam about the matter. The girl's happy enough now. Why, Billy, you would scarce know her for the same girl. Why don't you come to Pole Moor and drink a dish of tea with my father like a Christian man? Then you can see for yourself what a change has come over the dear lass." "She ailed nowt afore 'at aw e'er saw," averred Billy stoutly. "She's as happy as the day's long," I went on. "She'd but a dark childhood and maidenhood. But now the clouds have passed from her young life and her nature opens and blooms and is fragrant with sweet perfume like a rose under the summer sun. Ah! Billy, 't would do your heart good to see the glad light in her eyes and hear the glad song of her as she goes about her work. I'm not going to darken her days for her by filling her mind with bogeys. Besides, again, what _could_ we do?"