"Prosecuted?" murmured Griff. "No, of course not."
The landlord turned with a sigh of relief. Truth to tell, Griff scarcely grasped what he had said. He was face to face with a situation which, until now, he had realized but dimly. That swift understanding of the thing called love had so lifted him out and beyond the little world about him, had given him such new forces, new hopes, that he had hardly paused to ask himself "What next?" To-night, though, the matter was practical, urgent. Instinctively he made for Wynyates, quickening his pace with every stride. Gabriel Hirst was coming out of his gate as he passed through Ling Crag.
"Is that you, Griff? I thought it looked like your stride, though it's almost too dark to see."
"Yes, it's I. I'm off for a tramp."
"Where to?" asked the preacher, trying to fall in with his step.
"The devil."
"Griff, Griff, what's this? To speak so to the man who's loved and looked up to you—ay, looked up to you, for all your wild ways. Lad, do you want to—to make an end of our friendship?"
Gabriel had grown very sensitive of late to changes in those he loved.
Griff put out a hand into the darkness and gripped his friend's.