"It doesn't do to think of them, does it? You should see the letters on my table! But I may have to take a few days' rest, some time. Should I find you in Long Whindale--if I dropped down on you--over Goat Scar?" "Yes--from December till March!" Then she suddenly checked the happiness of her look and tone. "I needn't warn you that it rains." "Doesn't it rain! And everybody pretends it doesn't. The lies one tells!" She laughed. They stood looking at each other. An atmosphere seemed to have sprung up round them in which every tone and movement had suddenly become magnified--significant. Meynell recovered himself. He held out his hand in farewell, but he had scarcely turned away from her, when she made a startled movement toward the open window. "What is that?" There was a sound of shouting and running in the street outside. A crowd seemed to be approaching. Meynell ran out into the garden to listen. By this time the noise had grown considerably, and he thought he distinguished his own name among the cries. "Something has happened at the colliery!" he said to Mary, who had followed him. And he hurried toward the gate, bareheaded, just as a gray-haired lady in black entered the garden. "Mother," cried Mary, in amazement. Catharine Elsmere paused--one moment; she looked from her daughter to Meynell. Then she hurried to the Rector. "You are wanted!" she said, struggling to get her breath. "A terrible thing has happened. They think four lives have been lost--some accident to the cage--and people blame the man in charge. They've got him shut up in the colliery office--and declare they'll kill him. The crowd looks dangerous--and there are very few police. I heard you were here--some one, the postman, saw you come in--you must stop it. The people will listen to you." Her fine, pale face, framed in her widow's veil, did not so much ask as command. He replied by a gesture--then by two or three rapid inquiries. Mary--bewildered--saw them for an instant as allies and equals, each recognizing the other. Then Meynell ran to the gate, and was at once swallowed up in the moving groups which had gathered there, and seemed to carry him back with them toward the colliery. Catharine Elsmere turned to follow--Mary at her side. Mary looked at her in anxiety, dreading the physical strain for one, of late, so frail. "Mother darling!--ought you?" Catharine took no heed whatever of the question. "It is the women who are so terrible," she said in a low voice, as they hurried on; "their faces were like wild beasts. They have telephoned to Cradock for police. If Mr. Meynell can keep them in check for half an hour, there may be hope."