The rushlight guttered in its stand. The shadows came out of their corners, and played with the ruddy glow from the peats. The wind sang for rain in the chimney-stack. As any frightened youngster might have done, Griff bent his head, and trembled before the majesty of Death, and sobbed for the littleness of his understanding.
CHAPTER XXV. THE BEGINNING OF THE RIFT.
It was three of the morning when Griff got back to Gorsthwaite. Kate heard him push the key into the lock and was down in a moment.
"Griff, where have you been?"
"What! not asleep, wifey? It is against orders for you to be up at this time of night."
He reached out his arms for her into the dark, and found her, and stroked her tumbled hair, mutely thanking God that he had time to collect himself before she could see his face.
"I couldn't sleep, dear. I have been so nervous about everything of late, and I feared—I don't know what."
She cried a little then, for her nerves were highly strung nowadays, and the relief from a molehill of dread was commensurate with a mountainous terror.