ards it.

"I'm glad you told me that," he said. "It may account for something
that's puzzled me a great deal--I must think it out. But at present--is
that the old woman's lamp?"

Avice led the way down to the hollow by a narrow path which took them
into a little stone-walled enclosure where a single Scotch fir-tree
stood sentinel over a typical moorland homestead of the smaller sort--a
one-storied house of rough stone, the roof of which was secured from
storm and tempest by great boulders slung on stout ropes, and having
built on to it an equally rough shelter for some small stock of cows and
sheep. Out of a sheer habit of reflection on things newly seen, Brereton
could not avoid wondering what life was like, lived in this solitude,
and in such a perfect hermitage--but his speculations were cut short by
the opening of the door set deep within the whitewashed porch. An old
woman, much bent by age, looked out upon him and Avice, holding a small
lamp so that its light fell on their faces.

"Come your ways in, joy!" she said hospitably. "I was expecting you'd
come up tonight: I knew you'd want to have a word with me as soon as
you could. Come in and sit you down by the fire--it's coldish o' nights,
to be sure, and there's frost in the air.

"This gentleman may come in, too, mayn't he, Mrs. Hamthwaite?" asked
Avice as she and Brereton stepped within the porch. "He's the
lawyer-gentleman who's defending my father--you won't mind speaking
before him, will you?"

"Neither before him, nor behind him, nor yet to him," answered Mrs.
Hamthwaite with a chuckle. "I've talked to lawyers afore today, many's
the time! Come your ways in, sir--sit you down."

She carefully closed the door on her guests and motioned them to seats
by a bright fire of turf, and then setting the lamp on the table, seated
herself in a corner of her long-settle and folding her hands in her
apron took a long look at her visitors through a pair of unusually large
spectacles. And Brereton, genuinely interested, took an equally long
look at her; and saw a woman who was obviously very old but whose face
was eager, intelligent, and even vivacious. As this queer old face
turned from one to the other, its wrinkles smoothed out into a smile.

"You'll be wondering what I've got to tell, love," said Mrs. Hamthwaite,
turning to Avice. "And no doubt you want to know why I haven't sent for
you before now. But you see, since that affair happened down your way, I
been