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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>SHAMELESS WAYNE</title> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Halliwell Sutcliffe" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1899" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Shameless Wayne" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2014-12-15" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Shameless Wayne A Romance of the last Feud of Wayne and Ratcliffe" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="47674" /> - -<link rel="schema.DCTERMS" href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" /> -<link rel="schema.MARCREL" href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="Shameless Wayne A Romance of the last Feud of Wayne and Ratcliffe" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/wayne/wayne.rst" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.language" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2014-12-16T04:34:47.159982+00:00" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47674" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="Halliwell Sutcliffe" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2014-12-15" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="shameless-wayne"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">SHAMELESS WAYNE</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Shameless Wayne -<br /> A Romance of the last Feud of Wayne and Ratcliffe -<br /> -<br />Author: Halliwell Sutcliffe -<br /> -<br />Release Date: December 15, 2014 [EBook #47674] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>SHAMELESS WAYNE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 76%" id="figure-21"> -<img class="align-center block center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover art" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption center centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover art</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-22"> -<img class="align-center block center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Title page" src="images/img-title.jpg" /> -<div class="caption center centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Title page</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">SHAMELESS -<br />WAYNE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics x-large">A Romance</em><span class="x-large"> of the last Feud of -<br />WAYNE and RATCLIFFE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">By</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">Author of</em><span class="small"> "Ricroft of Withens," "A Man -<br />of the Moors," </span><em class="italics small">etc.</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">NEW YORK -<br />DODD, MEAD & COMPANY -<br />1899</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright 1899 -<br />by -<br />DODD, MEAD & COMPANY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Contents</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#once-for-a-death">Once for a Death</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#and-twice-for-the-slayer-s-shrift">And Twice for the Slayer's Shrift</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lean-man-of-wildwater">The Lean Man of Wildwater</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#on-bog-hole-brink">On Bog-Hole Brink</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-love-tryst">A Love-tryst</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-brown-dog-s-step">The Brown Dog's Step</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lean-man-s-token">The Lean Man's Token</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-stormy-burial">A Stormy Burial</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-moorside-courtship">A Moorside Courtship</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#what-crossed-the-garden-path">What Crossed the Garden-Path</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-the-ratcliffes-rode-out-by-stealth">How the Ratcliffes Rode Out by Stealth</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-they-fared-back-to-wildwater">How They Fared Back to Wildwater</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#april-snow">April Snow</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-wayne-and-ratcliffe-met-at-hazel-brigg">How Wayne and Ratcliffe Met at Hazel Brigg</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mother-wit">Mother-wit</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-wayne-of-marsh-rode-up-to-bents">How Wayne of Marsh Rode up to Bents</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-dog-dread">The Dog-dread</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-feud-wind-freshens">The Feud-wind Freshens</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-wayne-kept-the-pinfold">How Wayne Kept the Pinfold</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-they-waited-at-the-boundary-stone">How They Waited at the Boundary-Stone</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#what-chanced-at-wildwater">What Chanced at Wildwater</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#and-what-chanced-at-marsh">And What Chanced at Marsh</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-wayne-kept-faith">How Wayne Kept Faith</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-the-lean-man-fought-with-shameless-wayne">How the Lean Man Fought With Shameless Wayne</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#and-how-he-drank-with-him">And How He Drank With Him</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mistress-wayne-fares-up-to-wildwater">Mistress Wayne Fares up to Wildwater</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-the-lean-man-forgot-the-feud">How the Lean Man Forgot the Feud</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="once-for-a-death"><span class="bold x-large">Shameless Wayne</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ONCE FOR A DEATH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The little old woman sat up in the belfry tower, knitting a -woollen stocking and tolling the death bell with her foot. She -took two and seventy stitches between each stroke of the bell, -and not the church-clock itself could reckon a minute more -truly. Sharp of face she was, the Sexton's wife, and her lips -were forever moving in time to the click of her knitting-needles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By th' Heart, 'tis little care his wife hed for him," she -muttered presently. "Nobbut a poor half-hour o' th' bell, -an' him wi' a long, cold journey afore him. Does she think -a man's soul can racket up to Heaven at that speed? Mebbe -'tis her pocket she cares for—two-an'-sixpence, an' him a -Wayne! One o' th' proud Waynes o' Marsh, an' all, th' -best-born folk i' th' moorside. Well, there's men an' there's -men, mostly wastrils, but we mud weel hev spared another -better nor Anthony Wayne, that we could."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice died down again, though her lips still moved and -her needles chattered restlessly. The wind raced over the -moor and in at the rusty grating, and twice the Sexton's wife -ceased knitting to brush away a cobweb, wind-driven against -her cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' him to hev no more nor a half-hour's tolling, poor -mortal!" she said, breaking a long pause. "What 'ull he do -when he gets to th' Gate, an' th' bell hes stopped tolling, an' -there's no Christian music to waft him in? But theer! What -did I say o' th' wife when Anthony Wayne went an' wedded -again—a lass no older nor his own daughter, an' not -Marshcotes bred nawther. Nay, there's no mak o' gooid in -'t—two-an'-sixpence to buy a man's soul God-speed, there niver -war ony gooid i' bringing furriners to Marshcotes. Little, -milkblooded wench as she is, not fit to stand up agen a puff o' -wind. Well, I've a'most done wi' th' ringing—save I war to -gi'e him another half-hour for naught, sin' he war a thowt -likelier nor th' rest o' th' men-folk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old woman smiled mirthlessly. For folk -accounted her sharp of tongue and hard of heart, and she would -never have done as much for any but a Wayne of Marsh -House. Silence fell once again on the belfry tower, broken -only by the click-click of the needles, the creak of the rope, -the subdued thunder of the bell, the wailing frenzy of the -wind as it drove the hailstones against the black old walls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eerie as the night was in the belfry, it was wilder yet in -the bleak kirkyard without, free to the moor as it was, and -full of corners where the wind hid itself to pipe a shriller note -than it could compass in the open. The wind, a moon -three-quarters full, a sky close packed with rain and sleet, fought -hard together; and now the moon gained a moment's victory, -shimmering ghostly grey across the wet tombstones; and now -the scudding wrack prevailed, hiding the moon outright. The -sodden winter leaves were lifted from the mould, and danced -to the tune of the raindrops pattering upward from the -tombstones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A figure crossed the moor and halted awhile at the church-yard -gate—a slim figure, of a lissom strength and upright -carriage which marked her as a Wayne of Marsh House. Like -a sapling ash the girl had swayed and bent to the hurricane as -she fought her way through the storm; but all that the wind -could do it had done, and had left her unbroken—breathless -only, and glad of the gate's support for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moon drove through the cloud-wrack as she stood -there, lighting each shadowed hollow of her face. There was -tenderness in her eyes, but tears were drawn like a veil across -them; there was softness in the mouth, but pride and resolve -hid all save the sterner lines. She turned her head quickly -toward the belfry as the clang of the death-bell struck through -the storm-din of the larger strife; and then she hid her face in -her two strong hands, and sobbed as wildly as ever the wind -could do. And after that she went forward, through the gate, -up the narrow path, past the great stone, with the iron rings -on either side, which hid the burial vault of the Waynes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not there, father! They will never leave you out there -for ever," she whispered—"you who were so strong yesterday, -so full of the warmth of life. God, God, if You were made -after our fashion, as men say, You would raise him from the -dead. How the blood dripped, dripped from the little hole in -his side. Oh, God, be merciful! Say that the wind has blown -my wits away—say that all this is——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She checked herself. Her passion died out, leaving her -bitterly calm as the graves she lingered by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, there is no mercy, nor shall be," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No mercy—no mercy," yelled the wind, as it howled -across the moor and in through the kirkyard hedge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was comforted in some sort, it seemed, by the -tempest's devilry. She turned from the vault and moved with -a firm step to the foot of the church-tower; one hand had -stolen to her girdle, and as the bell's note shuddered down the -wind-beats once again, her fingers tightened round the -knife-hilt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A drear neet for th' owd Maister," the Sexton's wife was -crooning to herself, as she knitted her stocking in the belfry -tower above. "'Tis a cold journey an' a long he's bound for, -an' he'll feel th' lack o' flesh-warmth; ay, poor body! I -could hev wished his soul fairer weather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up the crooked stair, worn by a half-score generations, -passed Nell Wayne, with her brave carriage and her pitiless -face. The Sexton's wife dropped a stitch of her knitting as -she heard the door open; and her heart went pit-a-pat, for -it was a fit night for ghosts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, 'tis ye, Mistress, is't?" she grumbled, soon as she -saw it was no ghost at all, but just Nell Wayne of Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked at her awhile in silence, as if the crabbed -figure, working busily with hand and foot by the light of a -rush candle, were dear to her at such a time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, what hes brought ye through th' storm?" -said the little woman. "I warrant 'tis easier to lig between -sheets nor to cross th' moor to-neet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no ease, Nanny, save in fighting the storm," cried -the girl. "Could I rest quiet at Marsh House, think'st thou, -knowing what lies there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for th' wind rapped hard at th' windows an' called -ye out; ye war iver th' storm's bairn," said Nanny, chuckling -grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came to ask thee to give father a longer passing than his -wife is like to have seen to. Here is my purse, Nanny—take -what thou wilt so long as his soul is cared for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ay, there was heart in the Sexton's wife, for all her rough -pilgrimage through life. She knew, now for the first time, -how deep her love went for this daughter of the Waynes; and -even as she pushed away the money, with impatient protest, -her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dearie," she whispered, coming close to the girl's side and -putting a lean arm about her. "Dearie, ye must not look like -that. Ye're ower young to let all Hell creep into your -face—ower young, I tell ye—an' I should know, seeing I nursed ye -fro' being a two-year babby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Over young! Nay, a woman can never be over young to -learn God's lesson, Nanny. 'Tis fight at our birth—poor -woman's sort of struggle, with tears—and fight through the -summer days when the very skies strive against the seed-crops -that should keep our bodies quick—and fight again, when -winter rails at the house walls, trying to batter them in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hev a kindlier thowt o' God," cried the other eagerly—more -eagerly, it may be, than her own faith warranted. "Put -th' father out o' mind sooin as th' sorrow grows a bit more -dumb-like, an' think on a likely man's love an' th' bairns to -come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What art doing, Nanny? The bell has been silent these -five minutes past," cried the girl. It was strange to see how -grief had altered her—to mark how peremptory and harsh of -voice she had grown, how little she seemed to care for aught -save for such matters as concerned her father, whose body was -lying cold and stiff in the oak-lined hall at Marsh, whose soul -was journeying wearily toward an unsubstantial Heaven. Yet -the superstition of her folk held her, and the bell's silence was -a horror near akin to crime, since it robbed the dead man of -whatever cheer the next world held.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife said nothing at all, but took up her -knitting and slid her foot into the loop of the bell-rope. Nell -Wayne leaned against the rotting woodwork of the door, and -fingered the dagger that lay beneath her cloak, and fancied -that every jar of the bell was a blow well driven home. The -Sexton's wife glanced shrewdly at her, as if in fear of this -still, strenuous mood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better talk to a body, my dear; 'twill drive th' devils out," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As one awakening from a trance, Nell moved forward and -laid a hand on the other's shoulder. Her calm was gone; she -quivered from head to foot. "Wast talking of love, and -bairns to come?" she said. "Love? Ay, to see your lover -killed before your eyes. And bairns? Must the mothers rear -up the wee things, that never did them harm, to suffer and to -curse the God that made them?—Nanny, I know who struck -the blow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife lifted her face sharply. "Ay, so? -'Twill be gooid news for somebody to hear—your uncle, belike, -or one o' th' Long Waynes o' Cranshaw."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kinship is well enough, Nanny—but 'twill not carry this -last feud. Has Wayne of Marsh no children, that his -quarrel needs go abroad to be righted?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, he hes childer," said Nanny slowly—"a lass not -grown to ripeness, an' four lads ower young to fight, an' -another lad who's man enough to drink belly-deep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, Nanny! What if Ned be wild as a bog-sprite—he -must always be next to father in my heart. He has been -from home this se'n-night past, nurse, or he would strike for -me. I know he would strike for me. But he may be long -a-coming, and this sort of quarrel breeds foulness if 'tis not -righted quickly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind was whimpering now, and scarce had strength to -win through the grating of the belfry tower. From without, -on the side where the Bull tavern backed the kirkyard, there -came the sound of noisy revel—a hunting song, half drowned -in drunken clamour and applause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yond's your father's eldest-born, I'll warrant," said -Nanny, jerking her thumb over her shoulder; "'tis like he's -home again, Mistress, for there's no voice like Shameless -Wayne's to sing strong liquor down 's throit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl winced. "Let him be Shameless Wayne to the -gossips, Nanny; is't thy place to judge him?" she flashed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nawther mine nor yourn, dearie—'tis only that my heart -cries out for ye, being left so lonely-like; an' pity allus crisps -my tongue. Shall I slip me dahn to th' Bull, an' whisper i' -th' lad's ear? Happen he knaws nowt o' what's chanced at -Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor will know, even if 'tis he, till the morning clears his -wits. Hark ye, Nanny, women have done such things -aforetime, and my arm is strong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old woman went on with her knitting, and still -the bell rope creaked at its wonted intervals; but there was a -change in the ringer's face—a brightness of the eye, a quiver -of the shrunken body. She read the girl's purpose aright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will it not serve?" went on Nell, slipping her hand from -under her cloak and conning the ringer's face eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny took the dagger, and ran her fingers along its edge, -muttering to herself in a curious key. "Who is't?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick Ratcliffe. Oh, 'twas a gallant fight! We have -killed the Ratcliffes more than once or twice, in the old days -before the feud was healed—but we struck fair. Nanny, he -struck from behind! It was gathering dusk, and I had just -put fresh peats on the fire and turned to the window to look -out for father's coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' hed fetched his snuff-box for him, an' laid it dahn by -th' settle-corner, as ye used to do i' th' owd days," murmured -Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, nurse! Oh, hush! I must not think of—of the -old days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but ye mun!" cried the old woman with sudden -vehemence. "There's marrow i' th' owd days an' th' owd -tales, if ye tak 'em right. See ye, Mistress, ye war a slip of -a lassie when th' feud war staunched 'twixt Wayne an' Ratcliffe; -but I hed seen th' way on 't, an' I knew, plain as if a -body hed comed an' telled me, that 'twould break out again -one day. Rest me! There were hate as bitter as th' bog -atween 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And shall be again, nurse," said Nell, in a voice as low as -the wind that rustled through the belfry-chamber. The -shadow of tradition stole dark across her, and her fingers -tightened on the dagger-hilt as if she hid a man's heart under -her rounded breasts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God willing," croaked the ringer, finishing a row of her -knitting and jerking a muffled note of remonstrance from the -bell overhead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis as father always said, when I used to sit at his knee -o' nights and listen to his tales," went on the girl. "There -was never honesty or good faith in a Ratcliffe, and when the -Waynes held off at last and swore a truce, out of pity for the -few Ratcliffes left to kill, father warned his folk what the end -would be. And it has begun, Nanny! Their boys are grown -men now, and they outnumber us; and they will never rest -till they, or we, are blotted out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twill be them as goes under sod, Mistress; there war -niver a foxy breed yet but it war run to earth by honest folk. -Hark ye! That's Shameless Wayne's voice again! Lad, -lad, can ye think o' no sterner wark nor yond, while your -father ligs ready for his shroud?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He does not know, Nanny. How should he know? He -has been from home, I tell thee. Nurse, stop knitting and give -me thy hands awhile! I thought the weakness in me was -killed, and now I could cry like any bairn. I would not tell -any but thee, Nanny, but I must ease my heart, and thou'rt -staunch as a mother to me. Know'st thou that father's -wife—the little shivering thing he brought from the Low -Country—has played false to him these months past?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard summat o' th' sort; ay, there's been part talk -'bout it up an' dahn th' moor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick Ratcliffe it was who dishonoured her. He——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped and left holding Nanny's hands, and began to pace -up and down the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny took up her needles, and fixed her eyes on the -woollen stocking and waited. "A lass is tricksy handling at -such times; best bide an' let her wend her own way; 'twill -ease th' poor bairn, I warrant, to talk her fever out," she -muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the girl's fever was of a sort that no speech could cool, -and it was gaining on her fast. Already she had forgotten her -need of sympathy, and she could think of naught save the -picture that had been stamped clear and deep on her brain by -the day's wild work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas at dusk this afternoon, Nanny," she began afresh. -"Father came riding up to the gate on the bay mare, and I -was going to meet him, with a kiss for the rider and a -coaxing word for the mare, when Dick Ratcliffe came galloping -along the cross-road. He checked when he saw father, and -swerved into the Marsh bridle-track and then—then, before I -could cry out, before I could know him for a Ratcliffe in the -gathering dusk, he had drawn his sword, and lifted it, and -struck. I ran to help, and father reeled in the saddle. Nurse, -I cannot shut out the picture; I cannot——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor seek to; hold fast to it, Mistress—there's no luck i' -forgetting pictures sich as yond. Dick Ratcliffe war off an' -away, I warrant, sooin as his blow war struck?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for what could even he fear from one poor girl who -had never a weapon to her hand? He watched with a smile -on his face while I took father's head in my lap and bent to -hear his last hard-won words. 'Nell, tell our kinsmen 'twas -a foul blow. Wipe it out, lass; give no quarter.' That was -what he said to me, Nanny; and all the while Dick Ratcliffe -mocked us, till I got to my feet and cursed him; and then he -rode away laughing. And I swore by the Brown Dog that -father should not wait long for vengeance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old woman forgot no stroke of the bell; but the -knitting fell on her lap, and she lifted a face as stern as Nell's -own. "Your father's lass," she cried. "Put tears behind -ye, an' keep your hate as hot as hell-fire, an' let th' sun set -on 't ivery neet, an' rise on 't ivery morn, till th' Ratcliffes -hev paid their reckoning, three for one. Eh, dearie, if I hed -your arms, if I hed a tithe o' your strength, 'tis out I'd go wi' -ye this minute to begin the reaping—to begin the reaping."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind was fluting eerily about the belfry-chamber. -The rushlight made strange shadows up and down the walls, -and the cobwebs floated like grey ghosts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark!" whispered Nell Wayne, bending her ear toward -the grating. "Didst hear that voice in the wind, nurse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay; 'twas the Brown Dog's howl; he's noan minded to -let ye forget, 'twould seem, an' them as once swears by him -can niver rest, day or neet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis not the first time to-day, Nanny. Thou know'st -Barguest Lane that runs behind Marsh House? He bayed -there for a long hour this afternoon, and I was sick for father's -coming lest ill should have chanced to him. Once for a -death, and twice for the slayer's shrift—hast heard the saying, -nurse?" There was a grewsome sort of joy in the girl's -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard th' saying, Mistress, an' I've heard Barguest, -what some calls th' Guytrash—but niver hev I known th' -deathsome beast howl for nowt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell moved quickly to the door; it seemed she had gained -resolution from the baying of the spectre hound. "Why am -I loitering here, Nanny?" she cried. "The Brown Dog -calls, and I must go. Father will lie lighter if——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are ye wending? There's naught to be done till -morning dawns," said the Sexton's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there not? Straight to Dick Ratcliffe's I'm going, -nurse—he will open the door to me—and I shall look him in -the face, Nanny, and strike while he is mocking at my -helplessness—and there will be father's dead strength behind the -blow, because he trusted me to right the quarrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew her cloak close about her, stayed to bid Lucy ring -the bell till midnight, then went swiftly down the stair, -heedless of the smooth worn steps that threatened to spoil her -errand before she had well started. The wind, whistling keen -through the graveyard trees, drove new life into her; she -quickened her steps as the moor showed white through the -hedge at the top, for she was thinking of Dick Ratcliffe, and -of the short three miles that lay between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moon was out again, scudding fast as the wind itself -behind a tattered trail of clouds. At the turn of the path she -all but ran against a brawny, straight-shouldered fellow, who -was crossing the graveyard from the Cranshaw side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Rolf, is't thou?" cried Nell, standing off from -him a little and lifting a white face to the moonlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, Nell. What in God's name art doing here on a wild -night like this?" Wayne of Cranshaw spoke harshly, but -his eyes, as they roved about his cousin's face, were full of -tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came to see that—that father was cared for.—Rolf, hast -not heard what chanced at Marsh this afternoon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard of it, a half hour since, and was coming to -see if I could aid thee in aught. Nell, lass, 'tis a rough blow -for thee, this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was minded to set his arms about her, but she put him -away. "Not to-night, I cannot bear it, dear," she pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Loverlike, his face grew clouded. "I had thought to -comfort thee a little, Nell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Rolf, I would not have thee take it hardly," she -whispered, laying a quick hand on his sleeve. "Thou know'st -I loved thee—yesterday. To-morrow I shall love thee; but -to-night is father's. When Dick Ratcliffe of Wildwater has -paid his price, come to me, for I shall need thee, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick Ratcliffe? What is this talk of paying a price, -child? Was't Ratcliffe that did it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, and from behind. And they will say 'twas done for -the feud's sake; and 'twill be the blackest lie that ever a -Ratcliffe told. 'Twas done for fear, Rolf. The woman that -father brought home a year agone, the woman I tried to call -mother, could not keep true for one poor twelve-month; she -met Dick Ratcliffe by stealth in the orchard, and father -chanced on them there, and Ratcliffe fled like a hare across -the pasture-field, leaving the woman to brave it out. Father -swore to kill him, the first fair chance of fight that offered; -and he knew it; and he saved himself by a treacherous -sword-cut."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis my right, Nell," said Wayne of Cranshaw, gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head. It was as bitter to rob a man of honour -as of his precedence in fight; yet she could not grant him -this. "Thine, if any man's," she said. "But father left the -right to me, and before the dawn comes up cold above -Wildwater I shall have eased thee of the task."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stood there in silence. Rolf Wayne was eager to -forbid the enterprise, yet fearful of crossing the girl's wild -mood at such a time; and no words came to him. And she, -for her part, was listening to the gaining shouts of revelry that -came from the tavern just below; her brother's voice, thick -with wine and reckless jollity, was loudest of all, and she -could no longer doubt that Shameless Wayne was there, -bettering the reputation that was given him by all the -countryside. Wayne of Cranshaw heard it, and looked at the girl, -and "Nell," said he, "could not Ned keep sober just for this -one night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer, but drew her cloak about her, shivering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How the bell shudders, Rolf," she said, as the deep note -rang out again and lost itself among the wind-beats.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it thy thought, or his wife's, to bid the bell be rung?" -asked Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl laughed harshly. "Hers, Rolf—because she was -afraid of meeting father beyond the grave. She hopes for -Heaven, this little, lying wisp of windle-straw; and so she -paid for a half-hour of the bell, knowing that 'twas all too -short a passing for a man's soul and thinking to keep father on -this side of the Gates. 'Twas a trim device, my faith!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And like her, Nell; 'tis just a trick of Mistress Wayne's -to rob him at the last, as she robbed him through that year of -marriage. If such as she win into Heaven, pray God that -thou, and I, and all honest folk, burn everlastingly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl began to move up to the moor—slowly, for even -now the man's will bore hardly on her, and she sought, in a -queer, half-hearted way, his leave to go and do what must be -done at Wildwater. "Rolf—let me go—I am armed, and—and -'twill not take me long," she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gripped her arm roughly. "Thou shalt not; I forbid -thee," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The plain compulsion angered her. "Forbid? When -wedlock has shackled me, Wayne of Cranshaw, 'twill be time -for thee to play the bully.—Rolf," she went on, pleading -again, "I swore by the Brown Dog, and even now I heard -him in the wind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish! Leave Barguests to the farm-hinds that come -home too full of liquor and think every good dog's note a -boggart's cry. I say, the feud is mine, and mine it shall be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost grudge it even to me? When summer was tender -with the moorside, Rolf, how oft a day didst tell me that -naught was too much to give? But winter chills a man's -love-vows, and thou grudgest it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I grudge the danger—for that is doubled, lass, when a -maid fights with a man, as thou would'st fight with Ratcliffe -of Wildwater. Hark ye, Nell! Thy journey might be the -worst sort of disaster. At the best it would be fruitless, for -he is like to have taken Mistress Wayne and fled to the Low -Country, where dalliance, they say, goes free of punishment -and fair feud is reckoned lawless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rolf, I never dreamed that could be!" she cried, dismayed. -"Would he not wait one night, think'st thou? Not one -little night, to give me time——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is gone by this, if I know his spirit. There, lass! -Let me take thee safe home to Marsh, and rest sure that -Ratcliffe is beyond thy reach or mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw, scarce believing his own tale, meant -to cross to Wildwater soon as he had turned Nell from her -purpose; but while he spoke, there came a sudden clattering -of horse-hoofs, and after that a jingling of reins and a gruff -call for liquor, as the two horses pulled up sharp in front of -the tavern doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The one thought leaped into the girl's mind and into -Wayne's of Cranshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rolf," she cried, "what if he be coming to us? What if -Ratcliffe and my stepmother have put off flight an hour too -long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be so—ay, it may be so," muttered Wayne, as -they moved over the wet gravestones toward the tavern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moonlight showed them a cumbrous post-chaise, and -harnessed to it a pair of bays, smoking from the rough, up-hill -scramble. A postillion stood at the leader's head, holding a -horn of old October in one hand and cursing the untoward -weather as he blew the froth from off the top.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We knew the Ratcliffe spirit, and we knew thy father's -wife," said Wayne bitterly, pointing to the chaise. "I -warrant we shall not need hunt our fox to-night, Nell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there no doubt, think ye? Rolf, I feared we had lost -the chance," muttered Nell, clutching at her dagger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he caught her wrist. "Lass," he said, so tenderly that -the tears came unbidden to her eyes, "what is thine is mine -hereafter, and I will take the blows for my share of the -burden. A bargain, Nell, between us; if he come to-night, the -fight is mine; if he fail, then I will let thee go and seek him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned for a backward look at the Wayne vault, hidden -by its flat, iron-ringed stone; and she wondered if her father -would like Rolf to strike the blow, in place of the daughter -who had loved him through the years of trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They will lift that stone in three days' time," she -muttered aimlessly; "and we shall see the last of father, and -know that the worms are making merry with his flesh. It -seems hard, for he was a better man than any in the -moorside—save thou."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the "save thou" brought back her womanishness -for a space; and she fell to sobbing in his arms; and the -churchyard gate, up above them, began to grumble on its -hinges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw put her from him and his hand -went to his belt. "Have they taken the foot-road across the -moor?" he whispered. "Ned Ratcliffe was never the man -to do aught but slink, and slink, until needs must that he move -into sight of honest men.—Nell, for shame's sake, give me -the right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, take it—but make no mistake, dear—clean through -his heart—can I trust thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gate clashed to. The wind roved in and out among -the graves. The passing bell boomed out its challenge, and -was dumb for a long minute. Wayne of Cranshaw laughed -soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife, meanwhile, went on with her knitting, -click-clack, up in the belfry-tower. The bell swayed back -and forth, bent on its work of mercy. A great white owl was -driven through the window-grating, putting out the rushlight -as it blundered across the chamber.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-hap to this devil's weather. Good-hap to the -lassie's arm," croaked the ringer, and picked up a stick she -had dropped.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="and-twice-for-the-slayer-s-shrift"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER'S SHRIFT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dick Ratcliffe passed through the kirkyard-gate, with -Wayne's wife of Marsh clinging close to his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Need we have crossed the graveyard?" said the woman, -stopping with one hand on the gate. Dainty of figure she -was, with a face all milk and roses; and her tongue lisped -baby-fashion, refusing the round speech of the uplands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, need we!" cried Ratcliffe, half surlily. "How know -we that the feud-call has not gone round, to carry the Waynes -on the old trail of vengeance? As 'tis, we have driven it -over late, thanks to thy doublings, Margaret. Come, yond -passing-bell should warn thee how the time slips by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she kept a tight hold on the gate, and looked down the -wet path toward where the Wayne vault-stone stared blue and -cold at the cold moon. "'Tis uncanny," she whispered, -shivering. "Know'st thou 'tis his bell, Dick, that rings for -our journey? I dare not pass the vault down yonder—-it -stares at me, as if I had killed him—Dick, 'twas not I that -killed him—why should the stone look up and curse me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish! Art unstrung, Meg. The vault-stone is as dead—as -Wayne of Marsh. Come away, I tell thee; I can hear -the rattle of harness-gear, and the chaise will be waiting tor -us at the tavern doorway. I sent a horseman to Saxilton for -it two hours agone, and it must be here by now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne left clinging to the gate; but still she -could not move forward. "I dread it so! The storm, and -the wildness, and—and the graves. Dick, 'tis too good to be -true that we should win free of this cruel moor! Ever since -I came here, I have feared and hated it—and now its arms are -closing round me—I can feel them, Dick, as if they had bone -and muscle——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe of Wildwater laughed noisily, for his own spirits -were yielding to the touch of time and circumstance, and he -strove to lighten them. "Shalt never see the moor again, -sweetheart, nor I either. 'Tis Saxilton first, and after that a -swift ride to some nook of the valleys where they have never -heard of Waynes and feud."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will they be long in driving us to Saxilton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for the road is good and the cattle good. What a -baby 'tis to tremble so, just when we are free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few steps forward she made, then stopped and seemed -like to fall. "I </span><em class="italics">dare</em><span> not pass the vault," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his arm about her roughly and forced her lagging -feet down the path. "The vault cannot kill," he growled, -"but there are those waiting across the moor who carry more -than women's fancies in their hands. Will thy fears be less, -thou fool, if I am set on by a half score of the Waynes and -killed before thy eyes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Weak as a bog-reed to catch the infection of each new -wind, she bent to his own fear, and hurried on, and all but -forgot the vault that stared at her from the corner of the path -where the broken yew-trees shivered in the wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would we were safe in Saxilton," she wailed. "Hurry! -Oh, let us hurry—they will take thee, Dick——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped on the sudden, for a brawny figure stood at the -bend of the path, blocking the way. Mistress Wayne shrank -back behind her lover, and her step-daughter crept further -under the yew shadows, watching Dick Ratcliffe's face go drawn -and grey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-even, Ratcliffe of Wildwater. Whither away?" -said Rolf Wayne, with bitter gaiety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To a place that is free of Waynes, God curse them," -answered Ratcliffe, striving to put a bold face on the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a true word, I warrant, for Hell holds none of -our breed.—See you, Ratcliffe the thief, I could have killed -you like an adder, as you slew a better man awhile since; but, -being a Wayne, I have a trick of asking for fair fight. Ye -may win to Saxilton, ye two, but 'twill be at the sword's -point."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick Ratcliffe eyed his enemy this way and that, seeking -occasion for a foul blow; but none showed itself, for Wayne's -sword was bare to the wind, and his eye never wandered from -the other's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I fear you, you shall know of it," said Ratcliffe, -drawing his own blade, grudgingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come to yond vault-stone, then, for 'tis a right merry -spot for such a fight as ours. You know whose body it will -cover before the moon is old? What, faltering, Ratcliffe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I; but the time fits ill, and 'tis cold for Mistress -Wayne here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your thoughts were ever kind toward women, but Mistress -Wayne must wait one little moment longer. Not faltering? -Well, then, I wronged you; 'twas your backward -glance that put me in mind of a driven hare."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne ran forward and threw her arms about her -lover. "Don't fight, Dick; he will kill thee, kill thee," she -pleaded. "I want to get away from this ghostly place—it -frightens me, I tell thee, and Saxilton is a far journey, and the -night wears late. Dick, I will not let thee fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, Mistress, he will fight, since there is no chance of -escape left him. You will fight, Ratcliffe of Wildwater, will -you not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell Wayne, standing in the shadows, grew furious with -impatience; nor could she understand why Rolf kept his temper -in such grim check, unless it were that Ratcliffe needed to -be whipped into the duel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will fight?" repeated Wayne, anger fretting at his -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the death, curse you," muttered Ratcliffe, and moved -slowly up toward the stone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is well. You are a better man than you showed -yourself once in the Marsh orchard—and Mistress Wayne -here has cause to be proud of a lover who does not run away -a second time, leaving her to meet the danger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne glanced desperately from side to side in -search of aid, and her eyes fell on Nell's figure, standing half -out of the yew shadows now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God pity us! 'Tis Nell," she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl came out from the shadows and stood at her -stepmother's side. "Could you not wait for one whole day?" -said she. "You are very quick to make your pleasures sure. -Father scarce cold, and your lover's blade scarce -wiped—truly, you loved my father well!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas not my fault—I—child, your hands hurt me—how -dare you treat me so?" stammered Mistress Wayne. For -the girl, passion-driven for the moment, had gripped the -dainty light-of-love by the shoulders and nigh riven the -breath out of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How dare I?" she flashed. "Keep quiet, Mistress, lest -I dwell over-much on the wrong you did to father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Helen, I am your mother. Let me go, child; let -me go, I say. They shall not fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother, say you? Mother sleeps under the stone yonder. -The world has been hard to me, Mistress, but it never -made you kith of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne began to whimper, and Nell, losing her -hold with a sort of hard disdain, fixed her eyes on the -swordsmen, standing on the vault-stone and eyeing each other -steadfastly, their sword-blades catching blue-grey glances from the -moon. For Wayne of Cranshaw had been moving backward -all the while, not daring to turn his face from Dick Ratcliffe -lest a foul thrust in the back should end the matter. Yet -Ratcliffe still held off, nor would he plant his forefoot squarely -in position; and Nell, fearful lest he should refuse combat at -the eleventh hour, and knowing that Rolf would never strike -down a man except in fight, so taunted and stung and whipped -the laggard with her tongue that his heart grew bold with fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old slyness of his race was with Ratcliffe still; he -made a feint of withdrawing altogether from the stone, then -leaped at Wayne with a mighty cry. But Wayne was ready -for the stroke, and he warded off the down-sweeping blade -which bade fair to split his skull in two; his adversary reeled -backward, driven by the return force of his own wild blow, -and Rolf had but to strike where it pleased him to settle the -issue once and for all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne of Cranshaw misliked cold butchery, and Ratcliffe's -debt was over-heavy to allow of such prompt settlement. -He waited, point to ground, until the other had gained -his balance; and then he made at him; and the fight waxed -grim and hot. The wind sank low to a murmur; the vaultstone, -shining wet, reflected their every movement, of body -and of bared right arm. There was none of the nicety of -fence; parry and cut it was, cut and parry, till the light -danced off like water from their blades, till the women's ears -were tingling with the music of live steel. And all the while -the minute bell kept thundering its message across the -kirkyard and over the rolling moor above; it rang for Wayne of -Marsh, and it hovered between the sword-cuts that were to -settle whether Wayne of Cranshaw gave his kinsman a -peaceful shroud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne's wife was all a-tremble, like a foolish aspen tree; -now this she murmured, and now that, until she was like to -kill her lover, woman's fashion, by sheer interference of her -tongue. But Wayne's daughter stood with a face of scorn, -saying no word, making no motion—watching, always watching, -with certainty that Rolf would end the struggle soon. -At another time she would have feared for Rolf; but to-night -was the dead man's, and she was deaf to love or fear or pity. -Nay, the very justice of the cause seemed to have determined -the issue before the fight began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, 'tis sweet, 'tis sweet!" whispered the girl, and caught -her breath as Wayne's sword-edge sliced a crimson pathway -down the other's cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, had finished his spell of -drinking at the tavern just below. His step was unsteady -and his eyes red-ripe with liquor as he moved down the -passage with intent to cross the moor to Marsh. Jonas Feather, -the host, came out of his kitchen on hearing the lad's step, -and put a firm hand on his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mun I saddle your mare, Maister Wayne?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, I'd clean forgotten the mare!" laughed Shameless Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I ride hither, Jonas the fool? Well, then I'll not -ride home again; rot me if I don't cross the moor afoot, to -steady me. There's no horse like a man's own legs, when -the world spins round and round him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Best bide here, an' wend home to-morn—ay, ye'd best -bide here," said Jonas, with a line of perplexity across his big -red forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, to swell thy bill? Go to, thou crafty rogue—they'll -be naming thee kin to the Ratcliffes of Wildwater -soon, if thou goest playing fox-tricks with thy neighbours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your bill wi' me is lang enow as 'tis, Maister, an' a full -belly craves no meat," the host retorted drily. "Willun't -ye hearken to what I tried to tell ye when first ye came here -to-neet? Willun't ye be telled 'at your father ligs as cold as -Wildwater Pool, wi' a Ratcliffe sword-cut i' his back? 'Tis -noan decent 'at one i' your upside down frame o' body should -go to a house o' death, bawling a thieves' song, likely, by way -o' burying dirge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne thrust both hands deep into his pockets, -and leaned against the wall, and laughed till the tears ran -down his comely face. "Wilt never let the jest be, Jonas?" -he stammered. "Because I've not been home these days -past, and am returning thither full to the brim, thou think'st to -scare me with a tale like yond?—And all the folk in the -parlour are leagued with thee, thou ruffian," he went on, with a -drunkard's cunning in his eyes. "When I first came in, they -set their faces grim as Death's fiddle-head, and nudged each -the other, and muttered, 'Ay, ay,' like mourners at a -lyke-wake, when thou said'st that the old man was dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Willun't ye be telled?" cried Jonas, groaning at his own -impotence to drive the truth home. "Willun't ye fettle up -your wits this once, an' hearken to one 'at hes a care for th' -Waynes o' Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught will strengthen me till I have slept off thy liquor, -Jonas—unless 'twere the chill look of the kirkyard as I pass -through," said Shameless Wayne, blundering merrily down -the passage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For th' love o' God, lad, bide where ye are this neet!" -cried Jonas. But his guest was already out on the -cobblestones that fronted the inn doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne came to a sudden halt as he gained the -lower gate of the graveyard. For the minute bell, driving its -deep note through the fumes that hugged his brain, carried a -plainer message to the lad than any words of Jonas Feather -had done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's somebody dead," he muttered, staring vaguely at -the belfry-tower. "Is't—is't father? Did yond old fool talk -plain truth, when all the while I thought he jested?" he went -on after a moment's pause. And then he tried to laugh, and -swaggered up the path, and vowed that the bell was leagued -with Jonas in this daft effort to make a laughing stock of him -throughout the moorside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But another sound greeted him from the far side of the -yew-trees—the clash of steel, and the hungry, breathless cries -of men who were fighting to the topmost of their strength. -His step grew soberer; he turned the bend in the path noiselessly, -and saw what was doing on the vault-stone. He stood -stock-still, and his face was smooth and empty while the wine -fumes cleared enough to let him understand the meaning of -all this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the meaning took him full, and the anguish in -his eyes was strange and terrible to see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe of Wildwater, meanwhile, maddened by the swordcut -that had slit his cheek, made a sudden onslaught on his -foe; and Rolf escaped the blade by a bare half-inch; and -Ratcliffe stumbled once again, pressed by his own idle blow. -Mistress Wayne sprang forward, eager to save the craven who -had snared her fancy; but Nell gripped her by the arms, and -forced her back, and whispered, "Strike!" But neither of -the women had leisure to mark that a loose-limbed lad, with a -face as old as sorrow, and a hand that played never-restingly -with his sword hilt, had swelled the number of those who -watched the fight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twice Shameless Wayne made as if to join the fray, and -twice he held back, while Ratcliffe recovered in the nick of -time and warded desperately—while Rolf's blade pried in and -out, seeking a place to strike.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh God, that I could claim the right!" muttered the lad, -half drawing his sword again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nell, save him! Your lover will listen to you—the -night wears late and dreary—we want to reach Saxilton," -pleaded Mistress Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not a word spoke the girl. Not a word spoke the wind, -shuddering into the corners of the graveyard for dread. But -the laboured breathing of the men sounded loud as a cry -almost in the quiet place. Ratcliffe, for all his coward's heart, -was a cunning swordsman enough when need compelled, and -now, his first panic lost, he was settling to a steadier effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember!" cried the girl, as she saw her cousin give -back a pace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw regained his lost ground, and swung -his blade up to the blue-black sky; there was a rough jag of -steel, the clatter of a sword on the hollow vault-stone, a groan -from Ratcliffe of Wildwater?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Save him, Nell!" wailed Mistress Wayne, like a child -repeating a lesson learned by rote.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Save him? See—see—he strikes—drive home, Rolf!—A -brave stroke!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Marsh was righted now, and his kinsman wiped -his blade at leisure on his coat-sleeve. Nell came to him and -drew down his rough head and kissed him on the mouth; the -little wisp of a woman knelt by her lover's side, and tried to -stop the blood with a dainty cambric kerchief, and talked to -Ratcliffe of Wildwater as if her word were greater than God's -own, to bring a dead man back to life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A deep voice broke in upon them. "Remember was the -word thou said'st, Nell," cried Shameless Wayne. "Christ -knows there will be no forgetfulness for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell Wayne looked at her brother for awhile, not knowing -what her thoughts were toward him. And then she shrank -from him with plain disgust. Up in the belfry yonder she had -pleaded excuses for Shameless Wayne when another talked his -good name away; but she had no pity for him now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou com'st in a late hour, Ned," she said coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I come in a late hour, lass," he answered, still in the same -deep voice that was older than his years; "and they will noise -it up and down that Wayne's son of Marsh sat drinking with -clowns in a wayside tavern while another robbed him of the -feud. Well, the long years lie behind, and neither thou nor I -can better them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shaft of pity touched the girl. "I loved thee once, Ned—why -could'st not—nay, 'tis behind thee, as thou say'st, and—and -thou'lt never be aught but Shameless Wayne henceforth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The frail woman looked up from handling her lover's body, -and there was witless curiosity in her face. "Who is't stands -there, and who has robbed him?" she asked. Then with a -little laugh, "Why, 'tis Ned—to think I should not know my -own step-son.—Ned, come hither! Your sister is cruel, and -she has well-nigh killed me with those slender hands of -hers—but you will be kinder, Ned, and I want you to staunch the -bleeding—see how the vault-stone reddens—hurry, dear, for if -the blood once drips into the vault, the stain can never be -washed out—never, never be washed out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right, Mistress," said Shameless Wayne, smiling -queerly at her from across the stone. "Though one kills -every other Ratcliffe that fouls the air, the stain will never be -washed clean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw put a kindly hand on him. "Take -heart, lad," he muttered. "The next blow shall be thine, and -the next after that—and there's no man in Marshcotes or Ling -Crag that dares call thee coward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But all may name me fool," finished the lad quietly;—"Take -Nell home, Rolf. She'll suffer thy company better -than mine just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nell was strung to the storm's pitch still. "'Tis not -done yet!" she cried. "I thought that one life would -pay—and what is Dick Ratcliffe now? Is that thankless lump of -clay to square the reckoning, dross for gold? Nay, there is -more to be done. Listen, Rolf! We will send round the -feud-call, and rouse our kinsfolk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, will we—but not to-night, dear lass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-night! Rolf! It must be to-night. No quarter said -father with his last breath, and God forgive me if I rest before -the whole tale is told."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! 'Tis home and a quiet pillow for thee. Come, -Nell! Thou know'st thy strength will scarce carry thee to -Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still she refused, though she was shivering as with ague. -"No quarter. Wilt not swear it, Rolf?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I swear it here, Nell, by any vow that binds a man—and -by the same token I swear to carry thee to-night by force to -Marsh, if so thou wilt not come of thy own free will. Are -the Ratcliffes salt-and-snow, that they should melt away before -the dawn?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt not help me, Ned?" broke in Mistress Wayne. Her -baby-voice was soft and pleading as she turned to her step-son. -"The stain is spreading—I dare not let it run to the -edge—there is a little crack down one side of the stone, and the -blood will never be wiped off if once it drips on to the -vault-floor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad did not answer Mistress Wayne's wanderings this -time; and his sister, glancing round at him with the old -impulse of resentment, saw that Shameless Wayne was sobbing -as men sob once only in their learning of life's lesson. -Over-strained Nell was already, and the fierceness died clean out of -her. She crept to her brother's side, and pulled his hands -down from before his face, and "Ned," said she, "would God -I could forgive thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pointed up the path with a gesture that Wayne of -Cranshaw understood. "I'll follow you in a while—leave me to -it," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor lad! He'll take it hardly, I fear," said Rolf, as he -and Nell went through the graveyard wicket and out into the -moor, where the hail nestled white beneath the heather and the -far hills touched the cloud-banks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne stood looking down at his step-mother, -who still sat fondling her lover's body. There was no hatred -of her in his face, though yesterday he would have railed -upon her for a wanton; nay, there was a sort of pity in his -glance, when at last he drew near to her and touched her -arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Life has been over-strong for you, eh, little bairn?" he -said. "Well, we're both dishonoured, so there's none need -grumble if I take you with me; shalt never lack shelter while -Marsh House has a roof."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I cannot come," said Mistress Wayne; "I have to -get to Saxilton before dawn—I am waiting till the wound is -healed and the blood stops dripping, dripping—oh, no, I shall -not come with you—what would Dick say if he woke and -found me gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Entreaty the lad tried, and rough command; but naught -would move her, and when at last he tried to carry her from -the spot by force, she cried so that for pity's sake he had to -let her be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's enough to be seen to as 'tis; may be she -will come home of herself if I leave her to it," he muttered, -and went quickly down to the tavern-door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jonas Feather was standing on the threshold, his head bent -toward the graveyard. "What, Maister, is't you— What, -lad, ye're sobered!" he cried, as Shameless Wayne pushed -past him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I found somewhat up yonder that was like to sober -me. I'm going to saddle the mare, Jonas—she will be needed -soon, I fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit ye dahn, Maister, sit ye dahn. I'll see to th' -mare.—There's been a fight, I'm thinking? I could hev liked to -see't, that I could, but they'll tell ye what once chanced to a -man 'at crossed a Wayne an' Ratcliffe at sich a time—an' -I'm fain of a whole skin myseln."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Shameless Wayne was down the passage and out into -the stable-yard behind. Jonas looked after him, and shook his -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I nobbut once see'd drink so leave a chap all i' a minute," -he said, "an' it takes a bigger shock nor sich a young 'un as -yond hes shoulder-width to stand. There's ill days i' store -for th' lad, I sadly fear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the stroke of twelve, the Sexton's wife came down the -belfry steps. Her right foot was numb with tolling the bell, -and her fingers ached with the knitting; yet she had no -thought of such matters as she stepped out into the moonlit -burial place, for she was wondering how Nell Wayne had -fared at Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her father's lass—ay, ivery bone of her," she muttered. -"Hes she killed him by now—hes she struck——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound of a cradle-song, chanted in a sweet, low voice, -came from above. The little old woman stopped her mumbling, -and shuffled up the path, and came to where Mistress -Wayne sat, with her lover's head on her lap and one baby -hand pressed close against his breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny touched her on the shoulder. "A death for a -death," said she; "yet, not with all your tears to help, will -Dick Ratcliffe be a fit exchange for th' Maister. 'Twill need -a score sich as him, or ye, to pay th' price."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is sleeping. Hush! You will waken him, and 'tis -early yet to start for Saxilton," said Mistress Wayne, lifting -her childish face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old woman quailed, and crossed herself, as she -saw the light in the other's eyes. "She's fairy-kist! God -save us," she muttered, as she hobbled down the path.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lean-man-of-wildwater"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Sexton's wife was afraid of no man that stepped; but -ghosts, and fairies, and the mad folk who shared communion -with the spirits, touched a bare nerve of dread. And so she -stopped midway down the graveyard path, and turned, and -went back to where Mistress Wayne was cowering above her -lover's body. It was not that the Sexton's wife had any wish -to help this woman, who had smirched the honour of the -Waynes, but that she feared the disaster which refusal of such -help might bring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's fairy-kist," she muttered for the twentieth time, -looking down at the frail figure. "God or the devil looks to -such, they say an' I mun do th' best for her, I reckon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, 'tis cold, 'tis bitter cold, and Dick will surely never -come," said Mistress Wayne, getting to her feet and glancing -fearfully across the kirkyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to-night, Mistress. Ye'd best wend home wi' me, -an' search for him to-morn," put in the Sexton's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne did not answer for awhile; she was watching -the moonlight glance freakish, cold and wan, from out the -purple-yellow of the clouds—was listening to the curlew-wail -that thrilled across the stark, dim moor. And, slowly, as she -stood there, the closed door of her mind seemed to swing back -a little, letting the sense of outward things creep in. It was a -dream, then, that Dick was coming to take her safe into shelter -of the valleys; this was the moor that closed her in—the -moor, whose face had frightened her, whose storms had chilled -her to the bone, through all the brief months of her wedlock -with Wayne of Marsh. She gazed and gazed into the moon-dusk, -with still face and rounded, panic-stricken eyes; and -from the dusk strange shapes stole out and mouthed at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This for a long moment—and then she ran like a scared child -to the little old woman's arms, and hid her face, and entreated -protection from that wilderness which had grown a live, -malignant presence to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me house-walls about me—give me light, and -warmth—Mary Mother, hark how the night-birds wail, and scream, -and mock me," she cried, with sobs between each panting -plea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife, not understanding how any one should -fear the moor to which she had lived bedfellow these five-and-sixty -years, was yet quick to snatch the opportunity. It would -never do to leave this witless body to the night-rain and the -cold, and who knew how soon she might fall again upon her -lover's body and again refuse to quit the spot?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come wi' me," she muttered, putting an arm about -Mistress Wayne and hurrying her across the gravestones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where wilt take me?" cried the other, half halting on -the sudden. "Not—not to Marsh House, where Wayne lies -and haunts me with that still look of reproach?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to Marsh, Mistress—nay, not to Marsh. See ye, -'tis but a step, and there'll be a handful o' fire for ye—an' -walls to keep th' cold out——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, we'll hurry, will we not? Quick, quick! The -shadows are laughing at us—and the owl on the church steeple -yonder hoots loud in mockery. Oh, let us hurry, hurry!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, we're here. Whisht, Mistress, for there's -naught ye need to fear," cried Nanny, halting at the door of -the cottage which stood just across the road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton, Luke Witherlee, was smoking his pipe in the -ingle-nook and hugging the last embers of the peat-fire. A -thin, small-bodied man, with parchment cheeks, crow's-footed, -and a weakish mouth, and eyes that were oddly compact of -fire and dreaminess. He glanced up as the goodwife entered, -and let his pipe fall on the hearthstone when he saw what -manner of guest she had brought back with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Luke, muffle thy tongue, an' axe no questions," said -Nanny, in a tone that showed who was master of the Sexton's -household. "This poor body wants a lodging, an' so we mun -lie hard, me an' thee, for this one neet. What, ye're -minded to make friends, are ye, Mistress?" she broke off, -surprised to see her guest, after a doubtful glance at Witherlee, -go up to him and lay her slim hand in his own earth-crusted -palm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' welcome to ye, Mistress," said the Sexton quietly. -"We've nowt so mich to gi'e—but sich as 'tis, 'tis yourn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne forgot her terror now that the stout walls -of the cottage shut out the whimpering goblins of the moor. -She sat her down by the Sexton's side, and looked into his -face, and saw a something there—something friendly, quiet -and tender—which soothed her mood. And he, for his part, -seemed full at home with her, though he fought shy at most -times of the gently-born.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-hap," muttered Nanny, "to think there should be -fellowship 'twixt Witherlee and her! Well, I allus did say -Witherlee war ower full o' dreams to be a proper man, an' -happen they understand one t' other, being both on th' edge o' -t' other world, i' a way o' speaking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny stood open-mouthed awhile, regarding the strange -pair; then hobbled to the three-cornered cupboard that stood -in the far corner of the kitchen, and reached down cheese and -butter and a loaf of oaten bread. To and fro she went, -restless and alert as when she sat in the belfry-tower and sent -Wayne's death-dirge shuddering out across the moor. Mistress -Wayne was talking with the Sexton now—childish talk, -that simmed the old man's eyes a little—and Nanny as she -went from cupboard to table and back again, laying the rude -supper, kept glancing at them with a wonderment that was -half disdain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will ye be pleased to sup, Mistress," she said, when all -was ready. "Th' fare is like yond moor that frights ye so, -rough and wholesome; but I doubt ye're sadly faint for lack -o' belly-timber, and poor meat is better nor none at all, they -say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne shook her head, with a bairn's impatience, -and tightened her hold of the Sexton's hand. "I'm not -hungry, I thank thee—not hungry at all," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nanny would take no denial, and at length she coaxed -her visitor to break her fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's likelier," growled the little old woman, as she -threw fresh peats on the fire. "Victuals is a rare stay-by -when sorrow's to be met. Now, Mistress, warm yourseln a -bit, an' then I'll see ye safe between sheets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The peat-warmth, following her long exposure to the wind, -set Mistress Wayne a-nodding; and the Sexton, seeing how -closely sleep had bound her in his web, took her in his arms -with a strength of gentleness that was all his own, and carried -her to the bed-chamber above, and left her safe in Nanny's -care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She slumbers like a year-old babby," said Nanny, coming -down again, by and by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay? Well, she looked fair worn out ai' weariness. -What ails her?" answered Witherlee, filling his pipe afresh -and watching Nanny's shadow go creeping up the wall as she -stepped in front of the rushlight burning on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha's heard nowt, I'm thinking, o' what chanced i' th' -kirkyard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I've heard nowt. I've been dozing, like, by -th' ingle, an' niver a sound I heard save th' death-bell tha -wen ringing for Wayne o' Marsh. Ay, it seemed i' tune -wi' my thowts, did th' bell, for I war thinking o' th' owd -feud 'twixt Wayne an' Ratcliffe. 'Tis mony a year sin' that -war staunched, lass, but I can see 'em fight fair as if 'twere -yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust thee to doze! I wonder whiles what thou hast to -show for thyseln, Luke Witherlee, that I do, while th' wife is -ringing her arm off," snapped Nanny, her temper sharpened -by the long day's work and sorrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Show for myseln?" said he, with a sort of weary -patience. "Nowt—save that I can plank a grave better nor -ony Sexton fro' this to Lancashire. An' that's summat i' -these times, for we shall see what we shall see now Wayne o' -Marsh is killed. Ay, for sure; there'll be need of a good -grave-digger i' Marshcotes parish.—What's been agate, like, -i' th' kirkyard? I knew there war summat bahn to happen -for I heard th' death-watch as plain as noonday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Dick Ratcliffe war for carrying off yond little Mistress -Wayne—her as sleeps so shameless-peaceful aboon stairs—an' -Rolf Wayne o' Cranshaw met them fair i' th' kirkyard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton roused himself, and his eyes lost their dreaminess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did they fight, lass?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark to him! Give him a hint o' blood-letting, an' he's -as wick as ony scoprel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's i' th' blood, lass, and 'twill out at th' first taste o' -blows," said Witherlee, with a shamefaced glance at his wife. -"I'm not mich of a man myseln, but I aye loved a fight, an' -that's plain truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, tha'd hev seen one, I reckon, if tha'd been where -Wayne o' Cranshaw war to-neet," retorted Nanny grimly. -"I missed it myseln, for I war ringing th' bell; but when I -came out into th' graveyard, there war Dick Ratcliffe -stretched on th' vault-stone, an' Mistress Wayne greeting -aboon his body. An' a rare job I had, my sakes, to get her -safe within doors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They fought at th' vault-stone, did they?" murmured -Witherlee. "Where did they stand, Nanny? An' who -strake first? An' how did t'other counter?" His voice, -smooth and gentle, was ill in keeping with the brightness of -his eyes, the restless movement of his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I tell thee? I see'd nowt o' th' fight, being -thrang wi' other wark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a pity, now. I allus like to hev th' ins an' outs -of a fight fixed fair i' my head, so I can go ower it all again -when sitting by th' hearthstone o' nights. Well, well, we -shall see summat, lass, afore so varry long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old woman twisted her mouth askew. "Luke," -said she, "tha'rt at thy owd tricks again. Tha breeds visions -an' such-like stuff as fast as a cat breeds kitlings, an' they run -all on th' days when Waynes killed Ratcliffes at ivery -crossroad, when ivery fair day war like a pig-killing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's sorrow goes wi' fighting, an' there's mony a -gooid life spilt," said the Sexton, "but 'tis sweet for a man's -stomach, for all that, an' th' lads grow up likelier for 't. -Look at yond Shameless Wayne, now—wod he be th' racketty -ride-th'-moo'in he is if he hed to carry his life i' his hand -fro' morn to neet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'd hev no life to carry, most like," retorted Nanny. -"He'd do wi' mending, would th' lad; but there's a mony -other men-folk i' like case, an' I could do wi' all on ye better -if ye war made all ower again. An' I'll thank ye, Witherlee, -to say nowt agen Shameless Wayne i' my hearing, for -I'll listen to nowt but gooid of him. There's more i' him, let -me tell thee, nor thee or onybody hes found out yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton set flint to steel and lit his pipe afresh; and a -smile lurked fugitive about his mouth. "Well, if there's owt -behind his shamelessness, he'll hev his chance o' showing it," -he said. "Th' feud 'ull be up, Nanny, by and by. Last -neet Dick Ratcliffe war killed—that's to mak even deaths on -one side an' on t' other. To-morn likely or th' next day -after, another Wayne 'ull be fund stretched stark by some -roadside; an' that 'ull be Nicholas Ratcliffe's way o' saying, -'Come on, lad's, an' fight it out.' Ay, I've seen th' feud get -agate afore this, an' I know th' way on 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then tha should think shame to let thy een brighten so. -If tha'd seen th' face o' yond lass o' Waynes, when she -came up to me while I war ringing i' th' belfry-tower a while -back—if tha'd seen th' poor bairn's eyes wild for lack o' th' -tears that wouldn't come—tha'd sing to a different tune, Luke -Witherlee, that tha wod, about this sword-fighting an' pistoling. -Nay, I've no patience wi' thee. Lig thee down on th' settle, -Luke, an' get to sleep. I've a long day afore me to-morn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old woman settled herself as comfortably as -might be in her rocking-chair, turning her back on Witherlee, -and shutting her eyes in token that she had said her last word -for the night. But the Sexton still sat on, his pipe-bowl in -the hollow of one hand, his eyes upon the grey-red ashes of -the peats. Old and gnarled his body was, and shrunken his -face; but he was thinking of the fights to come and the heart -of him was lusty as a boy's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only once did Nanny break the silence. "I cannot -thoyle to thin' o' th' way yond little body aboon stairs is -sleeping," she said, half rousing herself. "She's no light sins -to carry, an' wakefulness wod hev shown a likelier sperrit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Live an' let live, lass," said Witherlee gently; "an' -when Mistress Wayne hes fund her wits again, 'twill be time -to cry out on her for her sins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'rt ower tender for this rough world. I allus telled -thee so," murmured the little old woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon she was breathing in the sharp, stifled fashion that -told the Sexton she was hard asleep. And he, too, began to -nod, with softer thoughts than fight to give him company—thoughts -of the frail woman who had claimed his hospitality, -the little fairy-kist wanton who seemed so full in sympathy -with his dreamings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good or bad, God keep the little body," he whispered in -his sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence crept shadowy from the corners of the room—the -silence, compact of rustling undersounds, that seems full of -tragedies half lost yet unforgotten. The little sounds grew -big, the big ones thunderous. The eight-day clock on the right -hand of the chimney-piece ticked weightily, with grave -disregard of everything save Time's slow passing. Nanny's harsh -breathing crossed her goodman's softer snore. And now a rat -floundered in the rafters overhead; and now the spiders in the -walls began their clear and eerie ticking—</span><em class="italics">tick-tick</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">tick-tick</em><span>, -like the swinging of an elfin pendulum. Once in a while an -owl hooted, or the long-drawn wailing of a peewit sounded -from the moor without. The night, in this cottage-kitchen, -was endless, ghoulish and unrestful; and the slumbering folk -on chair and settle served but to heighten the unrestfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Witherlee turned in his sleep, and lifted his eyelids for a -moment, and heard the spiders ticking in the wall. "Yond -is th' death-tick," he muttered drowsily. "Lord save us, -there'll be blows afore th' moon wears old."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the fret of little sounds fell over the cottage—over the -living-room, and over the bed-chamber above where Mistress -Wayne was tricking a brief spell of sleep from fate. But her -sleep was neither so lasting nor so light as Nanny Witherlee -had named it, and dawn was scarce greying over the moor-reaches -when she waked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Full of a sense of disaster, confused and rudderless, she rose -and went to the window and looked out across the graves. -And the dawn was a pitiful thing, that came to touch her -sorrows into life. Where was she? And why should the -grave stones, set toward the brightening East, show red as -blood? She could not tell—only, that some one was waiting to -carry her far from these dreadful places of the moor. -Someone was waiting for her—that was the one surety she had. -But where?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled on the sudden, and clapped her slender, -blue-veined hands together. "Why, yes," she lisped, "'tis Dick -Ratcliffe who waits for me—strange that I cannot see him in -the graveyard. We should have met there, he and I." She -stopped and knit her little brows. "Dick lives at -Wildwater," she went on slowly. "How if I seek him out, and -reproach him that he did not wait? Yes, yes, I'll go to -Wildwater—we have far to go to-day, and I must hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She picked up her wearing-gear and eyed it questioningly; -then donned it quickly, stole down the stair, and stood, finger -on lip, regarding the Sexton and his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If they should waken, they would never let me go," she -murmured. "I must tread softly—very softly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis th' death-tick, an' there'll be fight afore th' new -moon's in her cradle," muttered the Sexton in his sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne, startled by his voice, ran fast across the -floor, and lifted the latch, and went out into the gathering -dawn. A moment only she halted in the lane, then turned to -her right hand and went up toward the moor with hurried -steps. She must reach Wildwater—and Wildwater, she knew -lay somewhere up among the moors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up and up she went, past naked pasture-land and lank, -rough-furrowed fields. She passed a shepherd tending the -ewes which had lambed in the inclement weather—one of the -Marsh shepherds, who wondered sorely to see his late master's -wife come up the moors in such guise and at such an hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to get to Wildwater; some one is waiting for me -there, and we have far to go, and I cannot find the way," she -said, drawing near to the shepherd, yet keeping a watchful eye -on him, and ready, like some wild thing of the moor, to take -flight at the first hint of danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shepherd eyed her queerly. "Ye want Wildwater, -Mistress? Well, 'tis a fairish step fro' here to there—though -yond bridle-track will land ye straight to th' door-stun, if ye -follow it far enough. Are ye forced to wend thither, if I mud -axe a plain question?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I have a friend there who waits my coming. -He'll be angry if I fail him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis no good house to visit," said the shepherd, scratching -his head in dire perplexity. "Have a thowt, Mistress, o' -them that live theer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My lover dwells there. Is not that enough?" she -answered gravely, and went her way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up and up, till she gained the wildest of the moor, where -eagles nested and the goshawk soared. Up and up, until she -stood beside Wildwater Pool, and looked across its stagnant -waters, and saw the long house of the Ratcliffes frown -beetle-browed upon her from amid the waste of ling. And half she -feared; and half she gladdened, thinking what welcome her -lover held in store for her; but when she neared the gate and -felt the swart defiance of the house, she halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Between Ling Crag and Bouldsworth Hill it stood, this -house of the Wildwater Ratcliffes. Above it were the -wind-swept wastes of heath; below, the lean acres which bygone -Ratcliffes had wrested from the clutches of the moor. Yet -the dip of the hills sheltered it a little and the garden was -trim-kept adding, if need were, the last touch of desolation to -the homestead. A rambling house, shouldering roughly at the -one end a group of laithes and mistals; above the narrow -latticed windows the eaves hung sullenly, and the stone porch -without the door offered at the best a cold welcome, and at the -worst defiance. Over the porch was a motto, deep chiselled -in the blackened stone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We hate, we strike," said the house to the outside world, -and the motto, though it matched well the temper of each -generation of the Waynes, suited none of the stock so well as -old Nicholas Ratcliffe, known through the moorside as the -Lean Man of Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Below the wan strip of intake, an upland tarn showed its -sullen, unreflecting face to the sky. Nor curlew nor -moor-fowl was ever known to haunt the rushes that fringed -Wildwater Pool, no fish ever rose from its waters; and men said -that God had cursed the pool, since a winter's night, nigh on -a hundred years agone, when a Ratcliffe had tempted a Wayne -to sup with him in amity and had thereafter thrown his body -to the waters. But Nicholas Ratcliffe loved the tarn, as he -loved the storms that broke over the naked hills and the wild -deeds that had made his fathers a terror and a scourge; and -the sons and grandsons who grew up about him he trained to -the rough logic of tradition. Brave the Lean Man was, and -crafty as a stoat; wiry of body, lank-jawed of face; and the -hair stood up from his crown a rusty grey, like stubble when -the first frost has nipped it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Nicholas sat in the hall this morning, in the carved oaken -chair that stood over against the lang-settle. Robert, his -eldest-born, sat opposite, and three other of the grandsons were -at table still, finishing a breakfast of mutton-pasty and ham -and oaten-bread, washed down with nut-brown ale. For the -hall, running a quarter the length of the house and all its -width, was the chief living chamber, where the indoors -business of the day was gone through; a cool and pleasant -chamber in summer heat, but in winter the winds piped -through and through it, driving the women-folk for warmth to -the more cosy parlour. The Lean Man had been cradled in -cold winds, and it pleased him to see as little as might be of -the women; for women were rather a cumbrous necessity than -a joy to Nicholas Ratcliffe. "Thy son should be safe off with -Mistress Wayne by now," said Nicholas to his eldest-born.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Likely. 'Tis all the lad is good for, curse him! Dick -was ever the weakling of the breed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, but there's a use for weaklings, when all is said," -chuckled the old man. "They fear dishonour worse than -aught that can chance to them, these Waynes, and when first -I learned that Dick was playing kiss-i'-the-dark with yon -milk-faced wife of Wayne's, I gave him rope enough to -strangle the Marsh pride."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He starts well!" laughed one of the youngsters from the -breakfast board.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He starts well," said the Lean Man. "First to make a -cuckold of the husband, and then to run him through—he's -half a Ratcliffe, this shiftless Dick-o'-lanthorn, after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you let him go with the wench, father?" put in -Robert. "Dick can wield a sword if he's forced to it, and -scabbards will need to be empty in a while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish! We can spare one arm, I warrant, and 'twas sweet -to cry Wayne's wife up and down the country-side for what -she is. The lad will wed her soon as they get free of -Marshcotes, she thinks—but I know different; and 'twill eat the -heart out of the Waynes to know—what, Janet! Thou -look'st scared as a moor-tit," he broke off, as a trim lassie -came in through the parlour door and stood at the elbow of -his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet Ratcliffe, the youngest of all the Wildwater clan, was -the only one among them who could touch the old man's -heart; some said it was because she was the comeliest of the -women, and others vowed it was that her raven hair had caught -her grandfather's fancy by contrast with the ruddy colouring -and freckled cheeks that nearly every other Ratcliffe in the -moorside boasted. But sure it was that whenever the Lean -Man's brittle temper had to be tried, Janet was sent as -tale-bearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's one would speak with you, grandfather," said the -girl, coming to the elbow of his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then bid him enter. Any man can come into Wildwater—'tis -for us to say whether we let them out again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but 'tis a—a woman, sir. I found her wandering -up and down the garden, plucking the daisies and singing to -herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Lord, we do not have so queer a guest every day! -Let her come in, Janet, and we'll give her the bottoms of the -ale-flagons if her song be a good one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir—she bears a name that is not welcome here—and -she talks so wildly that I fear her wits are gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What name?" snarled the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is wife to Wayne of Marsh—and her clothes are -dripping—and she speaks all in riddles——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas laughed grimly. "Bring her to me," he said—"though, -'tis no new thing, my faith, to talk to a Wayne who -is scant of wit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something untoward in this," muttered Robert. -"What should she want at Wildwater, if Dick's plans had not -miscarried?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, he grew weary of her, belike, 'twixt here and -Saxilton, and set her down by the wayside. Thou know'st the -lad's fancies—they go as fast as they come in that addle-pate -of his. By the Heart, what have we here?" Old Nicholas -stopped, and pointed to the doorway; and the lads who were -at breakfast let fall their knives with a clatter on the board.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in truth Mistress Wayne was a wild and sorry -spectacle enough, and one to hold a man in doubt whether he -should shrink from her or laugh outright. "Where is the -Lean Man of Wildwater? I want a word with him," she -said, and looked blankly round the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas Ratcliffe smiled cruelly upon her, and, "Mistress," -said he, "I fear the last night's storm has used you ill. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am -the Lean Man you ask for. What would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She carried a half-dozen daisies in her hand, plucked from -the Wildwater garden, and these she held out to Nicholas -with a pretty air of confidence. "I was weaving daisy-chains—red -daisies, that grew out of a great vault-stone—and while -I wove them my lover fell asleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas a poor lover to sleep at such a time. I'd none of -him were I as fair as you," said Nicholas, with the same air -of mock-courtesy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rain came down—red, like the daisies—and spread -and spread over the stone—and dripped and dripped on to -Wayne's cold forehead as he lay below——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They've not buried him yet, Mistress," laughed one of -the youngsters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but they have, sir!" she answered, turning her great -blue eyes on him. "They put him on to one of those little -shelves that Sexton Witherlee showed me once—and then -they covered him with a flat stone, with rings on it, because -they knew that was the only way to hold him back from -haunting me. But he doesn't heed the stone, and I want Dick—I -want my lover, who is so big and strong, to wake and stand -between Wayne's ghost and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas Ratcliffe watched every pitiful turn of speech and -gesture, and laughed to himself as he drew her on. "So your -lover sleeps, Mistress?" he said, softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, amongst the red daisies. And I could not wake -him, though I tried my hardest. And, oh, sir, will you tell -him that we shall never be in time, never be in time, unless -he does not soon bestir himself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell him, never fear. Robert, what dost make of it? -Is't not as I told thee, a night's wandering among the bogs -has turned her wits?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's more in it; what is this tale of blood?" muttered -Robert. "God, yes, and her bosom is stained with something -of a deeper dye than rain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The wind moaned so in the heather, all the long night," -wailed the woman, "and I was cold, and hungry, and sadly -frightened. Why will he not wake? Two little corpse-candles -are fluttering over the marsh—how they shine, like the -dead man's eyes! There was Wayne lying there at Marsh, -and they said they had closed his eyes—but I knew, I knew! -His eyes burned—and wherever I moved they followed -me—sir, will you not bid my lover wake?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned from the old man suddenly, her wandering fancy -caught by the beat of horse-hoofs up the road. "That is the -post-chaise, come to carry us to Saxilton," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure," cried Nicholas. "The chaise is to carry you -and Dick to Saxilton. When will you be wedded, Mistress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, soon, very soon. And then, I think, I shall not fear -Wayne of Marsh at all—his ghost cannot come between man -and wife, can it? See, see!" she cried, running to the window. -"A horse! But there's no post-chaise with it—how is that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rider dismounted at the door and entered; and his -likeness to Nicholas of the weasel face was plainer now than it -had been when he talked with the Sexton in Marshcotes graveyard. -Mistress Wayne ran up to him and put both hands on -his shoulders, and laughed a little, roguishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did not my lover bid you bring a chaise?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe stared at her. "Your lover?—Ah, now I -know you, Mistress. Well, no, he gave me no commands, -for the best of reasons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," she said carelessly, moving to the window -again. "He sleeps, and 'tis unkind of him when there is so -great need for haste. Well-away, but I must keep watch at the -window, or the chaise will pass us by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick was slain yesternight, grandfather," said the horseman, -with a keen glance at Nicholas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Slain, was he?" snarled the Lean Man, "whose hand -went to the slaying?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the Long Waynes of Cranshaw met him in the -kirkyard and ran a sword through him. I had it just now -from a farm-hand as I rode across the moor, and I turned back -to tell you of it. Shameless Wayne was drinking at the time, -they tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we can spare fool Dick, my grandson, though I say -it, and 'twill give us the chance of feud we've hungered for -these years past. And Shameless Wayne was drinking, was -he? He lost his chance of fighting his father's quarrel? -That's bonnie news, lad, and news to be spread far and wide -about the moor. 'Twill damp their pride, I warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the feud will be up again," growled Red Ratcliffe, -with a glance at Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, they all but cut us off once, these Waynes, but -kindness bade them let us breed; and now our turn has come; and -Marsh House, that used to grow so thick with them, holds -only four tender lads and a half-man who sinks his wits deeper -every day in the wine-barrel. By the Heart, we shall live -healthier at Wildwater when yonder sword is fleshed again -and the moor is cleared of Waynes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pointed to a great two-handled sword that hung above -the mantel—a weapon, too heavy for these lighter-armed -days, which had hung idle since the quarrel between Wayne -and Ratcliffe was last healed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, who had been listening pale and woe-begone from the -door, went still of face when Shameless Wayne was spoken of. -"Poor Ned! He will take it hard," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Red Ratcliffe glanced at her. "Till the moor is -cleaned of Waynes," he echoed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cleaned?" echoed the mad woman, turning from the -window suddenly and facing the Lean Man. "Nay, 'twill -never be cleaned, for it dripped down, right down to the -vault-floor underneath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas, weary of mocking her, pointed a forefinger at the -door. "Get ye gone, Mistress; there is neither room nor -welcome for you here," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir," began Janet, "she is beside her wits; it were -shame——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace, child! If ever I hear one of my house pleading -for a Wayne, by God, they shall feel the rough side of my -hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne stood halting in childish perplexity. "What -would you, sir? I cannot go till Dick wakes up. What if -he woke and found that I had gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'd send him after you," snapped Nicholas, "for ye -were the fittest couple ever I set eyes on. Go, baby, and -wander up and down the moor, and tell all the folk you meet how -you robbed Wayne of Marsh of honour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne of Marsh?" she whispered, glancing over her -shoulder and into every corner of the room. "Is he here, -then? Here, too, when I thought I had got away from those -great, staring eyes of his!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's close behind you, Mistress. Run, lest he hold you -by the throat!" laughed one of the youngsters, throwing wide -the door for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A panic seized her, and without word or backward glance -she ran out into the courtyard. Janet made as if to follow, -for pity's sake, but the Lean Man called her back peremptorily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he not know," murmured the girl, "that 'tis madness -to deal harshly with the fairy-kist? And she so pitiful, -too, poor weakling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I go a-hunting, lads, soon as dinner is off the board," said -Nicholas, stretching his legs before the peats.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet forgot her care of Mistress Wayne; for she knew -that tone of the Lean Man's, and mistrusted it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do we ride with you, father?" asked Robert from across -the hearth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not one of you. By the Dog, do ye think I would let -any younger man rob me of the first blow? Ride in when -that is struck, and welcome—but pest take whichever of you -tries to tap Wayne blood before to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what of the dead man, sir?" put in Red Ratcliffe. -"Dick's body lies in the Bull tavern at Marshcotes, so they -told me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go thou to Marshcotes, lad, and see that he's brought up -to Wildwater. Ay, ride off at once; 'tis unmeet that even -the weakling of our folk should lie stark within a wayside -tavern."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there'll be the grave to see to," said Red Ratcliffe, -getting to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More than one, haply," laughed the Lean Man. "They -say that Sextons love to see a Ratcliffe go a-hunting, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped, remembering Janet, and stole a glance at her. -"There, lass," he said, with rough tenderness, "'tis men's -talk, this, and it whitens thy bonnie cheek. Go to thy -spinning-wheel till dinner-time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are short of flax, grandfather. I—I—I cannot spin," -she faltered, not moving from the elbow of his chair. For -his threats touched Shameless Wayne, and she was loth to go -out of ear-shot while he was in mood to tell them what his -purpose was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, child," he said curtly, pointing to the parlour door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went reluctantly, and Red Ratcliffe followed her a -moment later, on pretext of fetching some matter that was -needful to his ride to Marshcotes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, Janet, thou didst want to hear the Lean Man's purpose?" -he said, closing the door behind him and leaning -carelessly against its panels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever I wished or did not wish, cousin, I lacked no -speech of thine," she answered, turning her head away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither dost thou lack flax, though thou wast ready to -swear as much awhile since," said Red Ratcliffe drily, -pointing to where her spinning-wheel stood in the window-niche, -the flax hanging loose on the distaff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She crossed impatiently to the door, and would have left -him, but he checked her with a rough laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wast over eager, cousin, to hear the Lean Man's purpose -toward Wayne of Marsh," he said. "Say, is it true—what -they whisper up and down the country-side—that thou wert -friendly to this Wayne the Shameless?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I were, sir, what is't to thee?" she flashed, -turning round to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't to me? Shall I tell thee again, girl, that I've -sworn to wed thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And shall I answer again that I will wed thee when -apple-trees grow——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lean Man has bidden me prosper with my suit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall persuade him otherwise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt thou?" he snarled. "Even if I tell him what -gossip has to say of thee and Shameless Wayne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face took that firmness that mention of Wayne's name -never failed to bring there. "Thou </span><em class="italics">darest</em><span> not tell him," she -said; "for then thou would'st be sure I would never look thy -way again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shaft aimed true, for Red Ratcliffe's passion for his -cousin had grown to fever-heat during these latter days. -Finding no answer, he watched her go out by the door that -led to the garden; and then he turned on his heel and passed -through the hall, meaning to saddle his horse forthwith and -ride down to Marshcotes on his errand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lean Man is right," he muttered, as he went out. -"'Tis time that this Wayne of Marsh was out of harm's way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hand was already on the door-latch when old Nicholas -himself, still seated by the hearth, detained him, though a -while since he had bidden him make all speed to Marshcotes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've a word for thy ear, lad," said the Lean Man. -"Come sit beside me and tell me whether 'tis well planned -or no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a half hour they sat there, the young rogue and the old, -their lean faces and red heads pressed close together. And -now the Lean Man let a chuckle escape, and again Red -Ratcliffe would fetch a crack of laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Mass, sir, your wits keep sharp!" cried the -younger, raising his voice on the sudden. "The plan goes -bonnily as wedding bells. First, to go hunting——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, fool, there's Janet in the room behind," snapped -the Lean Man; "and she has less liking for sword-music than -her bravery warrants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet is out of hearing. I saw her go down the -garden-path just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'tis time thou wast off and about this business. -Bring back Dick's body, and forget not to ply old Witherlee -with questions when thou'rt seeing him about the grave. He's -a poor fool, is Sexton Witherlee, and he'll tell thee all we -want to know as soft as butter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, soon as her cousin was gone, slipped out into the -garden—budding with spring leafage, yet cold for all that with -memory of the storm just over-past—and sought the lane that -led up to the pasture-fields. This wooing of Red Ratcliffe's -was growing irksome to her, backed as it was by the Lean -Man's favour; nor had she guessed till now that any shared -the secret of her love for Shameless Wayne. Yet for all her -own troubles, she found leisure to think kindly of the mad -woman, who had come in such piteous plight to Wildwater -and had been turned away by so rude a storm of jests and -harshness. Where was Mistress Wayne now, she wondered?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shading her eyes against the sunlight, which was fitful, -chill and dazzling, she looked for the frail woman. At first -she could see nothing save the bare green of scanty herbage, -the swart lines of wall, the dark, straight hollows running up -the fields to mark where the plough had once on a time -furrowed the hard face of the land. Then she made out a little -figure, moving up toward where the topmost field curved -nakedly across the steel-blue sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great compassion held the girl as she watched Mistress -Wayne clamber up the hill and turn at the summit and move -along the sky-edge, her frailty showing pitilessly clear against -the empty space behind her. The wrath of God held no -place in the calculations of the Ratcliffes; but Janet had -learned awe of the self-same storm-winds that had taught -cruelty to her folk, and she trembled now to think that they -had turned a want-wit—one of God's own people, according -to the moorside superstition—into the heart of the pathless -and bog-riddled heath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back!" she cried, running up the fields. "Come -back! You cannot cross the marshes out beyond there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne looked down after the cry had been twice -repeated, and stopped a moment; then hurried forward faster -than before. Janet quickened pace, fear gaining on her lest -the other should be lost to view. The flying figure above -moved with a lagging step now, and Janet overtook her at the -wall-side which divided moor and field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will not take me back, not take me back?" pleaded -Mistress Wayne, shrinking close against the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would see you safe to the lower ground, Mistress. -Where would you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The kindliness in Janet's voice wrought a sudden change in -Mistress Wayne. She forgot her dread of the eyes which had -haunted her throughout the night, and awoke to a keen sense -of her present misery. "I will go home," she said—"home -to Marsh House. I am faint, and very hungry. They -gave me milk and a piece of oaten bread at a farmstead on the -moor, but that is a long, long while ago—longer than I could -tell you—is the way far to Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not far," said Janet, and then, not knowing how else to -find her a place of shelter, she took the little woman by the -hand and led her down the moor until they reached the rough -brack, cut from the solid peat and flanked on either hand by -clumps of bilberry, which led to Marshcotes; and further -toward Marsh House she would have gone with her, had not -a glance at the sun told her that she could scarce get back to -Wildwater before the dinner-hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The road lies straight to Marshcotes," she said, stopping -and pointing down the highway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you not come all the way with me?" pleaded -Mistress Wayne, nestling closer to the girl's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot, Mistress. Grandfather may have lacked me as -'tis, and I dare not overstay the dinner-hour, lest he should -guess what errand has brought me out of doors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the other, simply, "he would not like thee to -go gathering red-eyed daisies from the stone— Why, now, I -know my way," she broke off, a light of recognition stealing -into her empty face. "Yonder is Withens on the hill, and -over there is Marshcotes; and there's a field-path, is there -not, that takes me out of the high-road down to Marsh—an -odd little path, all full of rounded pebbles, that creeps down -the hill so craftily because it fears the steepness? Oh, yes, I -know the way to Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fare ye well," said Janet, softly, with the tears close -behind her voice. "Go home to Marsh, Mistress, and God -give you friends there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched the little figure move down the road, stopping -here and there to pluck a spray of rusted heather or a -half-opened wild flower from the banks on either hand, until the -shoulder of the peat-rise hid her. Fierce in hatred or in love -was Janet, like all her folk, and her pity for Mistress Wayne -had grown already to a sort of hard defiance of those who -could wrong so frail a creature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis such as Red Ratcliffe who think it sport to mock the -weaklings," she said, turning sharp about for Wildwater. -"He would be very brave, I doubt, were he to meet yond -little body on the moor—had she no men folk with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Red Ratcliffe came too late to cross Mistress Wayne's -path, though he was riding out of the Wildwater gates at the -moment, bent on seeing to the disposal of the body which lay -in the Marshcotes tavern. As Janet was half toward home, -he passed her at the gallop, but an ugly smile was all his -greeting and he went by without once slackening pace. The girl -misliked his silence; it was his way to bluster with her at -each new opportunity, and a score of shapeless fears went with -her as she hurried back to bear her grandfather company at -dinner. What was old Nicholas planning when he had sent -her out of hall this morning? Bloodshed and unrest were in -the air; the whole wide moor seemed throbbing with an -undernote of tumult, and Shameless Wayne had but the one life -to lose. </span><em class="italics">But the one life to lose</em><span>—the thought maddened her. -Real danger, danger that stood before her in the road and -spoke its purpose plainly, she could meet unflinchingly; but -the perils that waited on Wayne's steps were formless and -unnumbered. She would not think of them, and to ease her -mind she turned again to thoughts of Red Ratcliffe, his mad -passion, his cruelty and unruliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christ, how I hate him—how I hate him!" she cried -between set teeth, as she passed through the Wildwater gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe, meanwhile, was riding hot and fast. His -cousin's scorn, of which he had had full measure earlier in the -day, flicked him on the raw all down the road to Marshcotes; -and his thoughts dwelt less on the brother for whom he was -going to order a grave than on the fierce, quick-witted lass -whom he had sworn to wed. He was in no good mood, accordingly, -when he reached Marshcotes and drew rein at the -Sexton's door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife, hearing the sound of horse-hoofs on the -road without, hobbled to the window and thrust her face -between the plants that lined the sill. Her eyes went hard and -her mouth turned downward as she saw who was her visitor. -She was in no better mood, indeed, than Red Ratcliffe himself; -for she had been up betimes after her long ringing of the -death-bell, and the hundred-and-one bits of housework she -had got through had not been lightened by the discovery of -Mistress Wayne's flight. It was no welcome hospitality that -she had given to Wayne's faithless wife; but it was hospitality -for all that, and it troubled the old woman no little that her -guest should have wandered, none knew whither. So tart her -mood was, indeed, that the Sexton had long since been driven -forth of doors by the goodwife's tongue, and had taken refuge -in the graveyard which was working-ground and home in one -to the gentle man of dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Witherlee in the house?" cried Ratcliffe, catching sight -of Nanny's face between the window-plants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little old woman came to the door and stood there, -arms akimbo. "He isn't," she answered, looking steadfastly -at the horse's ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then where is he? I must have a word with him before -I go back to Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he? Where ony honest man is like to be—following -his trade." Nanny misliked all Ratcliffes, and she -never troubled to hide her feelings from gentle or simple.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Mass, thou'rt shorter of tongue than any woman -I've set eyes on yet. Drop thy fooling, woman, for there has -news come to Wildwater which sets a keen edge on my temper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, marry? Then try th' edge on me—for I'm reckoned -hard, and hev blunted more men's tempers nor ye can count -years. Witherlee's i' th' kirkyard, if that's what ye're axing. -Mebbe ye've met th' Brown Dog on your way across th' -moor, an' he's warned ye to be beforehand, like, wi' ordering -your grave?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe scowled as he turned his horse's head. "Recall -now that the Sexton's wife is friendly to the Waynes, and -makes a boast of it," he said, glancing sharply at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A quick retort came to Nanny's tongue, and she hungered -to out with it; but, being a prudent body even where the most -unruly of her members was in case, answered quietly, "When -gentlefolks come to blows," she said, "sich as me an' -Witherlee are quiet, an' tak our pickings, an' if we choose -sides at all, we lean toward them as gi'es us th' most butter to -our bread."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stick to that creed, Nanny," said the other, with a rough -laugh over his shoulder. "For 'tis apt to go hard at times -with friends of the Waynes, and if we caught thee crossing the -scent after the hunt was well up—well, thou hast heard of our -kind ways with enemies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe had no sooner disappeared among the -graves that stood at the far side of the road, after hitching -his horse's bridle to the wicket, than Nanny's neighbour ran -in from next door—a big-faced, big-boned woman, who -went through life with a keen regard for everybody's business -but her own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, there's summat agate, an' proper!" cried the -big-faced woman, filling the doorway with her breadth. "He war -that sharp wi' thee, Nanny, I niver could hev believed. What -ailed him to gi'e the yond bit o' warning—an' thee nobbut a -bit o' dirt under his feet at most times?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny eyed her visitor askance, distrusting her for a -slattern, yet not sorry for a chance of gossip. "He hes -heard tell, I fancy, how mony an' mony a year back I helped -th' Waynes o' Marsh to slip fro' th' Ratcliffes' sword-points. -An', an' there's more nor one of th' better sort that hes learned -to fear Nanny's tongue, an' th' sharp een she has for seeing -fox-tricks. Yond Ratcliffe is like as two peas to what th' -Lean Man used to be i' his young days—red hair an' all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's red hair an' there's red hair," put in the other, -weightily. "Same as there's cheese an' cheese; but there's -one sort o' red thatch that niver yet spelt owt but foxiness an' -double-dealing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true, for I've noticed it myseln. Black hair for -honest, says I, an' red for a man that'll do owt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leet hair, thin blood—that's what I war telled. Ay, sure, -ye can niver trust yond sort o' thatch; an' all th' Ratcliffes -hev it, saving Mistress Janet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Janet's is black as sloes, an' she hes a staunch heart -of her own to match," broke in Nanny, who rarely stopped to -praise. "But then she might be a Wayne, an' I've allus -wondered how she came to be born of a Ratcliffe stock. Eh, -but I wonder aht yond chap is saying to Witherlee! My -man hes getten a closish tongue, Lord be thanked, or he mud -easy say summat that wod stick i' Ratcliffe's gizzard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton had been pottering up and down the graveyard -all this while. And now he had sat him down on the edge of -a grave, and filled his pipe and fallen into one of the musing -fits which were the chief joy of his life. He was out of place -in the world of living men and women, was Witherlee, and he -knew it; but here he was at home, and the folk underground -were full in sympathy with the dour, clear-sighted philosophy -which pick and spade had taught him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's comfort i' a bit o' bacca—though, Lord knows, -'twill be all one, bacca or no bacca, by and by," he muttered, -pulling out his tinder-box. "We brought nowt into th' -world, an' we tak nowt out, as Parson says at buryings—no, -not so mich as an old clay pipe to keep us warm under sod."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His pipe well going, he let his eyes rove through the thin -trail of smoke until they rested on the vault of the Waynes of -Marsh. A shadowy smile wrinkled his mouth; he was -thinking of what had chanced here not twelve hours agone, -and piecing the fight together, stroke by stroke, as he would -have it be if it were to be fought out again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So thou'rt here, Witherlee! Peste, man, thou sittest so -grey and still that I mistook thee for one of thy own -gravestones," said Ratcliffe's voice at his elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton came slowly out of his dreams. "Good-day to -ye, Maister. Th' wind blows warm at after last neet's -bluster," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will blow cold again—after what was done here last -night," answered Ratcliffe sourly. "Thou hast heard, I take -it, that my brother was done to death here? I am come to bid -thee dig a grave for him, the burying will be on Monday, likely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis an ill-starred day for a burial, but dead men cannot -be choosers. Oh, ay, I'll get th' grave digged reet enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be more work for thee before long," went on -Ratcliffe, angered by the air of quiet aloofness which -Witherlee assumed when he had scant liking for a man. "There's -a saying that a Ratcliffe does not love to sleep alone, and we -must find him a bedfellow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's room for a two or three—'specially i' th' -Ratcliffe slice o' ground," said the Sexton, waving his hand -toward the half-dilled space that underlay the Parsonage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy jests are dry, old Witherlee," snapped the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I war none jesting. Cannot ye see that there's room -and to spare? Oh, ay, I'll be fain to fill up my bit of a -garden yonder—and thankee for th' custom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe shifted from foot to foot, as if in doubt whether it -were worth his while to pick a quarrel with the want-wit -fellow; then, thinking better of it, he turned as if to leave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One spot is as good as another, I take it?" he said. -"And haply thy work will lie nearer the yew-trees here, where -the Wayne vault hugs tha causeway. By-the-bye, Sexton, -when do they bury Wayne of Marsh?" he asked, with a sly -carelessness that was not lost on Witherlee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About noon, will it be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About nooin," answered the Sexton. "Ye'll let th' burying -go forrard peaceable-like?" he added, after a pause. His -face looked dreamy as ever, nor could an onlooker have guessed -that he was eyeing the other narrowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe started at the plain question, then laughed. "Of -course. Are we wild beasts, thou fool, to stand between any -man and decent burial? Look ye, Witherlee, thou hast a -dreamer's privilege to ask odd questions, or I would have -cracked thee on the mouth for that. What is't to thee -whether we do this or that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a deal to me," said Witherlee, an odd dignity -stiffening his shrivelled body. "There's a place for everything, -Maister Ratcliffe, an' all goes i' this world, not by what's done, -but by th' place where it's done. If I meet ye on th' oppen -high-road, I'll mebbe touch my hat to ye, an' axe no better; -if I'm i' th' house, I'll tak a lot o' talk fro' th' wife an' say -nowt, for a house is th' woman's, not th' man's; but here i' -th' kirkyard I'm my own midden, i' a way o' speaking, and -I'll stand interference fro' no man—no, not fro' Parson hisseln, -for he's getten th' kirk, an' that's his place. So now ye -know, Maister, why I axe if ye'll let th' burying get safely -owered wi' afore ye fight—I couldn't thoyle to see outrageous -doings amang my quiet folk here; they've addled their rest, -poor soul and 'twould be no way seemly to disturb them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt a thought witless, Sexton, as I've often heard -folk say," laughed Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I keep different company fro' most folk, and so am -like to be a bit queer i' my ways. Have your joke, Maister, -an' welcome, so long as ye'll let my work at th' vault here go -peaceable to-morn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas only thy daft fancy bade thee fear aught else. -Put this coin in thy pocket, Witherlee, and let it remind thee -there's a grave to be digged come Monday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thankee, an' good-day. I'll none forget th' grave," said -Witherlee, holding the coin gingerly between a thumb and -forefinger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have they a spare horse at the Bull, think'st thou? I'm -going to the tavern now to take the body up to Wildwater, -and dead men weigh over-heavy to be carried like maids across -one's saddle-crupper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'll borrow a horse off Jonas Feather; he bought a fresh -one nobbut last week end, I called to mind," said Witherlee. -"Lord save us," he added to himself, "to hear him talk so of -a corpse that's kin to him! To laugh because his own brother -weighs heavier for being dead—nay, they're a mucky breed, -these Ratcliffes, an' that's as plain as the kirk-steeply."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton followed Red Ratcliffe with his eyes as he went -down the pathway leading to the tavern; and then he glanced -again at the coin in his palm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dursn't say him noy, for fear he'd know how sour he -turns me wi' yond weasel-face o' hisn," he went on; "but I -don't like th' colour of his brass, for all that, and I'd liefer be -without it. What mun I do wi' 't, for it'll fair burn a hole i' my -pocket?" His face brightened, and he crossed the graveyard -briskly. "I'll tak it to th' wife, that I will," he said; -"mebbe she'll tell me what's best to do wi' it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, did Red Ratcliffe find thee?" asked Nanny, soon -as the Sexton showed his face indoors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So he's been here, and all, has he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, he came seeking thee—and he threatened what he'd -do if he catched me meddling wi' what no way concerned me. -Well, happen there's more concerns me nor Red Ratcliffe has -any notion of. Was it just about th' grave he wanted thee, -or was there more behind it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There war," said Witherlee, rubbing his hands together. -"He came to see about th' grave right enough—but he came -most of all to axe me when Wayne o' Marsh war to be buried. -He puts his question careless-like, as if he didn't fash hisseln -to know one way or t' other; so </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> put a question to him i' my -turn—daft-like, so he shouldn't guess th' why of—and I could -tell by his way o' answering that they mean to swoop down -on th' Waynes to-morn while they're agate wi' th' burying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's so, is't?" said Nanny, with a quick glance at her -husband. "I war minded to slip down to Marsh before, but -now I shall let nowt stand i' th' gate. They're ower gentle, -i' a proud way o' their own, is th' Waynes, and they'll niver -think sich a thing could be as blows at burying-time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," assented Witherlee, "these well-bred folk is like -childer when they've getten foul tricks to deal wi', and they -need one o' th' commoner sort to look after 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think they do!—Well, sit thee dahn, Witherlee, -or tha'll get no dinner to-day, that tha willun't. Sakes! But -I'm bothered still about yond little Mistress Wayne; hast -heard owt of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nowt. I talked to Hiram Hey as he went up to th' land -this morn, but they'd seen nowt of her at Marsh. Porr bairn! -I doubt she's come to harm." He wandered restlessly about -the kitchen awhile; then, remembering the coin in his palm, -he put it down on the extreme edge of the dresser. "I've -getten a crown-piece, lass. What mun I do wi' 't?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do? Gi'e it to me, for sure, if tha's no use for't. Sakes, -he talks as if a crown-piece was addled ivery day o' th' week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but it war Red Ratcliffe gav it me, an' tha knaws -what ill money breeds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny made straight for the dresser, putting her goodman -to one side with a firm hand. "I know what lack o' money -breeds, Luke Witherlee," she said, as she dropped the coin in -her apron pocket. "'Tis nawther right nor kindly to load a -harmless bit o' silver ai' th' sins o' him that owned it, an' I've -known good childer come fro' ill parents."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not oft," said Witherlee, and fell to on the oven-cake -which Nanny had just set down before him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="on-bog-hole-brink"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ON BOG-HOLE BRINK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sun was wearing noonward as Shameless Wayne and -his sister came out of the Marsh House gates and turned up -the pasture-fields that led them to the moor. It was the same -morning that had seen the mad woman steal out from Nanny's -cottage in search of the rude welcome awaiting her at -Wildwater; but to Nell Wayne it seemed that yesterday was -pushed far back into the past. Her visit to the belfry, her lust -for vengeance, the quick answer to her prayers that had been -given, amid rain-murk and the crash of swords, upon the very -stone that was to cover Wayne of Marsh—these seemed all -far off to the girl this morning, as if another than she had lived -through the tempest of last night's passion. Behind them, in -the Marsh hall, lay her father, still as when she had left him -before the fight; and something of the stillness of the end -was in the girl's face, too, as she kept pace with her brother's -slow-moving steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no rest for me, Nell, indoors yonder," said the -lad, turning troubled eyes to the old house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor for me, nor for any of us, so long as father lies there. -Ned, 'tis cruel that we cannot bury our dead clean out of sight -soon as the breath has left them. All afternoon our kinsfolk -will come, and whisper and pray above the body, and go -away—I can see the whole sad ceremony—and we must be there, -Ned—and 'twill be bitter hard to remember that the Wayne -pride bids neither man nor woman of us show a tearful front -to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed, bitterly a little and very sadly. "The Wayne -pride, Nell! Did not that die with father, think'st thou? -Or hast forgotten what thou said'st to me last night at the -vault-side?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The late stress of grief and fight, had left the girl soft of -heart; and Ned had ever held a sure place in her love. "Let -that go by, dear," she said. "I was distraught, and my tongue -went wandering in my own despite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet thy tongue spoke truth, lass. I shall never be aught -but Shameless Wayne henceforth, thou said'st."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'twas but a half truth," she said, eagerly. "There's -life before thee, Ned, and swift deeds——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put a firm hand on her shoulder and forced her to look -him in the face. "Nell, I was drinking in the Bull tavern -while the bell tolled for father from the kirk-tower. Say, -didst think I </span><em class="italics">knew</em><span> what had chanced at Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the old note of reproof sounded in Nell's voice. "I -told Nanny Witherlee that thou didst not know, and I tried -hard to think it, Ned—but how could it be? The gossips at -the Bull must have told thee for whom the bell was ringing, -for the news had long since spread through Marsh cotes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They did tell me," began Shameless Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, God!" murmured Nell, confessing how she had clung -to the last shred of doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I thought they lied. I thought, Nell—'twas the fool -drink in me—that Jonas and his cronies were minded to have -the laugh of me by this lame tale of how Wayne of Marsh had -come by his end. Think, lass! When there was no feud, -and naught to give colour to a Ratcliffe sword-stroke—how -could a head three-parts gone in liquor believe it true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She, too, stopped and sought his eyes. "Ned, thou hast -lived wild, but one thing I have never known thee do—thou -dost not lie to save thy good repute. Wilt swear to me that -thou knew'st naught of what had happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Dog, or by any oath that holds a man," he said, and -she knew that he spoke plain truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then, 'twas thy ill fortune, dear, and we'll look clear -ahead, thou and I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet the shame of it will cling, Nell. Wherever my name -is spoken, there will some one throw mud at it. Whenever -I see one man talking with his fellow, and mark how sudden -a silence falls on them at my approach, I shall know that they -were sneering at Shameless Wayne, who sat heels on table -while his father's soul wailed up and down the moorside -crying for vengeance. The Ratcliffes will taunt me with it by -and by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the taunt will stiffen thy arm, and blows will wipe -out word," she cried, her voice clear and strong again.—"Dear, -we have no smooth path to follow, but I give God thanks that -'twas drink, not thou, that played the renegade last night. It -would have darkened all my love for thee, Ned, to know thee -what I feared—ay, though I had fought it down with all my -strength."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again he laughed mirthlessly. "Art so sure that I shall -live sober henceforth?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, am I! Dost think I've seen but the one side of thee -through all these years? Thou wast alway better than thyself, -Ned, and needed only a rough blow to bring thee to thy -senses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He interrupted her, impatiently. "We're growing womanish, -and I had harder matters to talk of with thee. I'm -four-and-twenty, Nell, and I have thee and four half-grown -lads to fend for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, then? Are the Marsh lands so poor that we need -cry for every penny spent, like cottage-folk?" said Nell, her -old pride peeping out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had a wakeful night, lass, and things came home to me. -A good farmer drives the work forward, and says little about -it, and onlookers are apt to forget what fathering the land needs -if 'tis to butter any bread."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there's Hiram Hey. He has worked at Marsh ever -since I remember aught, and surely he will look to everything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, if he has a shrewd hand ever on his shoulder; but if -the master plays at work, Hiram will play, too, with the best, -soon as the old habit wears——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell could not keep back a smile. "As well set beggars -on horseback, Ned, as put thee to farming. Hadst never -patience for it, nor liking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Liking? Good faith, I loathe the sight of tillage tools, -and the greasy stench of sheep, and the slow rearing of crops -for every storm to play the wanton with. But must is must, -Nell, lass, and naught will alter it.—Look at Marshcotes kirk -yonder?" he broke off, pointing over the moor as they gained -the hill-crest. "It is broad day now, and 'tis hard to -understand how lately there was fight beneath yond grey old -tower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell shuddered. "Was it a dream, think'st thou, after -all? Just a dream, Ned, born of the moon-rays and the -wildness of the night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas no dream, lass, for I carry the marks of it.—God's -pity, what can have chanced to Mistress Wayne, I wonder? -I left her on the vault last night, after pleading with her vainly -to return with me to Marsh; and half toward home I turned -again, shamed at the thought of leaving her in such a -plight—and she was gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou didst plead with her to come back to Marsh?" said -Nell, her face hardening. "What place has she at Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The place that any homeless bairn might claim there; -and, by the Heart, I'll find her if I can and give her shelter. -Fool that I was to leave her there last night! She may have -wandered to her death among the moors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I for one would gladden to hear of it," cried the -girl. "She brought father to where he is; she made our -honour light through all the country-side; 'tis treachery to the -dead to pity her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll not fall out, Nell, thou and I; there are quarrels -enough to fight through as it is," said Wayne steadily. "Wilt -come to Bog-hole brink with me? The last words ever I -heard from father was about yond field; next after thee, I -think he doted most on the lean fields he had rescued from the -heather, and 'twould please him if we could whisper in his ear -at home-going that the work was speeding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His sister glanced curiously at him, scarce crediting the -change that one night's agony had wrought in this careless lad, -nor knowing whether his tenderness or his purposeful, quiet -talk of ways and means were more to be wondered at. "Is't -safe, Ned?" she asked. "The road to Wildwater crosses -over beyond Bog-hole brink, and Nicholas Ratcliffe has a pair -of hawk's eyes in his weasel face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twill be as safe now as ever it will; and who knows but a -chance may come to square last night's account?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned and walked beside him up the fields; and, after -they had crossed the stile that opened on the moor, she broke -silence for the first time. "Ned, what of Janet Ratcliffe?" -she said suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne flushed, and paled again; but his voice was quiet -when he spoke. "I have thought that over, too—and—love -sickens when it crosses kinship, Nell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Overjoyed and sorry in a breath, she gave him one of those -brief, half-ashamed caresses that rarely passed between them. -"Art right, dear," she said—"but God knows what it has -meant to thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I know, lass—and that is all we'll say about it. -After all, 'twas hot and sweet enough—but father would have -cursed me had he lived to know; and old Nicholas would -liefer have drowned Janet in Wildwater Pool than see her -wedded to a Wayne. Even thou, lass, didst rail on me when I -told thee how it was between us; and thou'rt a woman.—See -Bog-hole brink up yonder; that should be Hiram's figure -stooping to the spade."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey, indeed, had been busy since early morning at -the brink, as befitted the oldest farm-hand of the Waynes. -Death might have put an end to the old man's activity, but it -was no part of the Marshcotes creed that farming matters -should be set aside for even a day because the owner of the -land awaited burial. There was always a fresh master to take -the old one's place, but the right season for a tillage-job, if -once it was let slip by, did not return again. It was high -time that this bit of field, intaken from the heather during the -open days of winter, should be prepared for its seed-crop of -black oats; and Hiram was working, with his wonted easiful -swing of arm and downright leisurely tread, at the square heap -of peat and lime that stood at the upper corner of the field. -His spade, at each downward stroke showed the naked side of -the heap, where the alternate layers of black bog-peat and white -lime, each a twelve-inch deep or so, climbed one above the -other to half a tall man's height; and peat and lime mingled -in a grey-black dust as he swung spadeful after spadeful in the -waiting cart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll noan be pleased, willun't th' Maister, 'at he's been -called to a better world afore he's seen this field rear its first -crop o' oats," muttered Hiram. "Nay, it do seem fair outrageous, -like, to wark as he's done to break up a plaguey slice -o' land, an' then to dee fair as all's getten ship-shape. A -better world he's goan to? I'm hoping as mich—for it 'ud -tak him all his time to find a war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What art laking at, Hiram?" came a voice from behind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram put a few more spades-full into his cart before troubling -to turn round; then he planted his spade in the ground, -firmly and with deliberation, and leaned on it; and last of all -he lifted his eyes to the newcomer's face. "Oh, it's thee, is't, -Jose? Well?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" answered Jose, the same shepherd who earlier -in the morning had directed Mistress Wayne to Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neither broke the silence for awhile, for they were fast -friends. "Been shepherding like?" ventured Hiram Hey at -length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay. 'Twar a lamb-storm last neet, an' proper, an' I've -lossen a two-three ewes through 't already, not to mention -lambs. I doubt this lambkin 'ull niver thrive," answered -Jose, leaning over the fence and holding a four-days' lamb -toward Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doubt it willun't," responded the other, with a critical -glance at the thin body and drooping hind-quarters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Its mother war carred by th' side on 't, dead as Job, when -I gat up to th' Heights this morn, and th' little chap war -bleating fair like ony babby. Well, I mun tak it to th' -home-farm, an' they'll mebbe rear 't by th' hearthstun.—What's -agate wi' thee, Hiram, lad? Tha looks as if tha'd dropped a -crown-piece and picked up a ha' penny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I war thinking o' th' owd Maister, who ligs below yonder -at Marsh. He war a grand un, an' proper. I warrant th' -young un 'ull noan be a patch on him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's as th' Lord sends," said the shepherd, shifting the -lamb a little to ease his arms; "though why th' new should -allus be war nor th' owd, beats me. Tha niver will see th' -hopeful side of ony matter, Hiram—no, not if they paid thee -for 't. I mind, an' all, that ye hed hard words to say o' him -that's goan while he war wick an' aboon-ground."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's nobbut right. If ye cannot speak gooid of a -man when he's dead, an' noan liable to be puffed up wi' pride -at hearing on 't, when can ye let a soft word out, says I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a way o' looking at iverything, I allus did say; -an' I've knawn a kindly word i' season do more for th' living -nor all th' praise i' th' world can iver advantage th' dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," said Hiram, taking up his spade and resting both -hands on the top, "nay, I war reared on hard words an' -haver-bread, an' they both of 'em stiffen a chap, to my thinking. I -doan't knaw that owt iver comed o' buttering your tongue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha doesn't knaw? Then that's why I'm telling ye. -There's th' young Maister, now—him 'at they call Shameless, -though I reckon he's cured o' that sin' last neet. He's a chap -ye can no way drive, is't Shameless Wayne, but I've knawn -him, even i' his owd wild days, go soft i' a minute if ye tried -to lead i' stead o' driving him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doubt th' chap. Whin-bushes carry no cherries, Jose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, tha wert allus hard on th' lad; but there's marrow -i' him, ye mark my words. An' we shall see what he's made -on, choose what, now he's getten th' farm on his hands.—Sakes, -what is't, Hiram?" he broke off, as a slim figure of a -woman, wild-eyed and mud-bedraggled, came down the moor -and stood on the far side of the fence watching them in -questioning fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, by th' Heart,'tis Mistress Wayne!" cried Hiram. -"Begow, I thowt it war a boggart! What mud she be after, -think'st 'a, Jose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I know not—save that she passed me many an hour -agone, as I war looking after th' sheep, an' axed th' road to -Wildwater. I thowt that she war fairy-kist, and now I'm -sure on 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, she's fairy-kist, for sure; ye need only see her een to -be sure o' that. Tak that lamb o' thine to her, Jose; I've -known mony a sickness dumb and human, cured by a touch o' -such poor bodies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They glanced at Mistress Wayne, expecting speech from -her; but she said naught—only stood idly watching them, as -if she had some question in her mind and feared to ask it. -Surprised he was, and awe-struck, by this second advent of a -figure at once so eerie and so pitiful, the shepherd was not -minded to lose so plain a chance of profit. The lamb was -sick, and he knew as well as Hiram did what healing these -mad folk carried in their touch. Eager to thrust his burden -against the little woman's hand, he moved up toward the -fence; but she took fright at his abruptness, and turned, and -raced fleet-footed up the slope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shepherd watched her disappear among the furrows of -the heath, then looked at Hiram. "What dost mak on 't', -lad?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, how should I tell?" said Hiram sourly. "'Twould -seem yond skinful o' kiss-me-quick ways—who war niver fit, -as I've said mony a time, to be wife to Wayne o' Marsh—has -paid a bonnie price for her frolic wi' Dick Ratcliffe o' -Wildwater— Lord save us, though," he added, "I mun say no ill -o' th' wench, now that she is as she is, for 'tis crixy work to -cross sich, so they say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's talked o' seeking her lover up at Wildwater," put in -the other, in an awed voice. "Did she find him, I wonder? -'Tis fearful strange, lad Hiram, whichiver way a body looks -at it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha's heard nowt, I'm thinking, of how this same Dick -Ratcliffe, that she calls her lover, war killed last neet i' -Marshcotes graveyard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, killed? Think o' that now! An' th' little body -trapesing all up and down th' moor, seeking him and -reckoning he war up yonder at Wildwater House. Where didst -learn it, Hiram?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram took his spade in hand again and thrust it into the -lime—with no immediate intention of resuming work, but as -a signal that by and by he would have given his tongue as -much work as was good for it. "Where should I learn it, -save at Nanny Witherlee's? I war dahn at Marshcotes this -morn, an' says I to myseln, 'Jose, lad,' says I, 'if there's -owt fresh about this bad business o' th' Maister's, Nanny 'll -know on 't.' An' I war right, for sure; there's niver a -mousehole i' ony house but Nanny hes a peep through 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, she knows whether ye've getten feathers or flocks i' -your bedding, does Nanny," Hiram agreed, as he patted the -heap with the flat of his spade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She hed been ringing th' death-bell, seemingly, and when -she came out into th' kirkyard— Now, look yonder, Hiram! -We're seeing a sect o' company up here this blessed day, for -here's th' young Maister hisseln, an' Mistress Nell wi' him. -Eh, but they've getten owd faces on young shoulders, hes th' -pair on 'em. I'll be wending up to th' farm, lad, wi' this -lambkin, for I war aye softish about meeting troubled -faces—they do may my een watter so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shepherd made off hurriedly along the crest of the -field, his eyes turned steadfastly from the path which -Shameless Wayne and his sister were climbing; and Hiram watched -him sourily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'rt right, Jose, when tha names thyseln softish," he -growled. "Sakes, if we're bahn to fret ourselns about -iverybody's aches an' pains, where mun we stop? Lord be thanked -'at He's gi'en me a heart like a lump o' bog-oak—hard, an' -knobby, an' well-soaked i' brine. So th' young Maister's -coming i' gooid time, is he, to lord it ower his farm folk? -Well, let him come, says I; he'll noan skift me by an inch, -willun't th' lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Under other circumstances Hiram would have been at work -again by now, nor would he have ceased the unhurried swing -of leg and arm-muscle, that does so much in a Marshcotes -working-day, until dinner or the advent of another gossip gave him -fit excuse for resting. But with the young master close -behind—come here, doubtless, to spy on him—the case was -altered; and there was stubbornness writ plain in every -outstanding knob of the old man's body as he fell into the most -easiful attitude that long experience could suggest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Hiram, how goes the work?" said Shameless -Wayne, stopping at the fence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram glanced carelessly at the young master, then fell to -lengthy contemplation of the sky. "Better nor like," he -said at last, "seeing I've nobbut my own wits to guide me, -now th' owd Maister is goan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The new master knows a sight less than the old one did, -Hiram."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye're right, I reckon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he's willing to learn, and means to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay? I've heard that ye can train a sapling, but not -at after it's grown to a tree."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The same old Hiram Hey! Bitter as a dried sloe," -growled Shameless Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sloes is wholesome, choose what; an' I addle too little brass -to keep me owt but dry—let alone that I'm no drinker by habit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The master winced at this last home-thrust, then squared -his jaw obstinately. "Hard words plough no fields, Hiram—no, -nor lime them either, as is plain to be seen. Thou'rt a -week behind with this field."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram glanced edgeways at him, not understanding that two -could use his own rough weapons. "A week behind, am I, -Maister? An' how should ye come to know whether I'm -forrard or behind wi' farm wark?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne's face softened for a moment. "Because the last -word I heard from father was touching this same field—and -by that token, Hiram, I'll see that thou gett'st it limed, and -sown, and bearing its crop, all in good season, if I have to -whip thee up and down the furrows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His sister laid a hand on his sleeve. "Hush, Ned!" she -whispered. "Thou'lt win scant labour from such as Hiram, -unless thou bearest a kindlier tongue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet Shameless Wayne, who was counted light of head and -judgment, saw more sides to the matter than prudent Mistress -Nell; the temper of the moor folk was an open book to him, -and he knew that if he were to be master henceforth he must -begin as such, or any after-kindness he might show would -count for folly with Hiram and his kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey was looking steadily at the master now, a hard -wonder tempering his obstinacy a little. And so they eyed -each other, until the older man's glance faltered, and recovered -and fell again to the white spots of lime that littered the -peat-mould at his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," said Wayne, "thou hast got thy cart full, Hiram. -Give yond chestnut of thine a taste of thy hand, and we'll -see if thou hast learned yet to spread a field."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hev I learned to spread a field? Me that hes sarved at -Marsh, man an' boy, these forty years!" cried Hiram, -open-mouthed now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast done good service, too, for father gave his -word to that; but whether thou canst spread limed peat—why, -that is to be seen yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not a word spoke Hiram, but gave the chestnut one resounding -smack with the flat of his hand and fell to work as -soberly, as leisurely, as if he had not just been given the -hardest nut to crack that ever had come his way. All across the -field, as he followed the cart and swung wide spades-full right -and left, he was puzzling to find some explanation of this -new humour of Shameless Wayne's; but he returned to the -heap as wise as he left it, and began stolidly to refill the cart -without once looking at the master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I'm beat wi' him," he muttered. "What it means -is noan for me to say—but I warrant ony change i' Shameless -Wayne is for th' war——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put that sort of work into it, Hiram, and we shall see a -good crop yet," called the master drily, and linked his arm -through Nell's to help her down the slope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had not gone a score yards, and Hiram Hey was still -wondering at his powerlessness to give Shameless Wayne "a -piece of his mind," when a horseman passed at a foot-pace along -the bridle-track above. Beside him walked another horse—a -rough-coated bay, that carried a man's body swung across its -back. Carelessly fastened the body was, and every now and -then, as the nag slipped and stumbled up the rocky slope, the -dead man's arms, his head and high-booted legs, made quick -nods of protest, as if the journey liked him little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christ guide us, what is this?" cried Nell, aghast at the -drear spectacle. And then she looked closer at the on-coming -rider, and lost her mawkishness upon the sudden. "'Tis one -of the Ratcliffes of Wildwater," she said, with the same -passionate tremour in her voice that Nanny Witherlee had -heard last night up in the belfry-tower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, by his red thatch," muttered Shameless Wayne—"and -now he turns his face this way, 'tis he they call Red -Ratcliffe—the meanest hound of them all, save him who lies -across the saddle-crupper yonder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, canst see who 'tis?" Nell whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay—thou say'st him last with a sword-blade through his -heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The horseman had reined in at a stone's-throw from them. -"I carried news to Wildwater this morning," he said, -glancing from Nell Wayne to her brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good news or bad, Red Ratcliffe?" answered Wayne in -an even voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, good. They clapped hands up yonder when I told -them what Shameless Wayne was doing while his cousin -fought for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad reddened, but he would show no other sign of hurt. -"There are two chances come to every man in his lifetime," -he said slowly, "and I have lost but one. Get off your horse, -and we'll talk with a weapon that comes handier than the -tongue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe looked down the rough slope of the moor, thinking -to ride in at his enemy and strike at vantage; but the -ground was full of bog-holes and no horse could cross with -safety. "Nay," he answered; "when I fight with you, -Wayne of Marsh, there shall be no girl to come between the -fight—nor a farm-hind to help thee with his spade."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not fear them, sir," laughed Wayne—"though, -now I think of it, old Hiram yonder would be a better match -for such bravery as yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other winced, but would not be goaded into fight; -and there he showed himself a Ratcliffe—for his race was -wont to measure pride by opportunity, and when they fought -they did it with cool reckoning of the odds in favour of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt try the issue with my sister, then, if Hiram seems -too good for thee?" mocked Wayne. "She can grip a -sword-hilt on occasion, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She may have need to by and by," snapped Red Ratcliffe, -pointing to the dead man with the hand which held the bridle -of the second horse. "This morning I carried news to the -Lean Man, and now I am bearing proof of it—and weighty -proof, 'od rot me, as I found when lifting him to saddle. An -eye for an eye, Wayne of Marsh—fare ye well, and remember -that an old tree we know of will bear red blossoms by and by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne made a few steps up the slope, but the horseman -was already rising to the trot and pursuit was useless. -"Come, Nell," he said; "blows would come easiest, but it -seems I've to learn patience all in one hard lesson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey whetted his hands, soon as he was alone again, -and began to fill his cart. And many a slow thought -ripened as he worked, though he gave voice to none until Jose -the shepherd returned from carrying his lamb to the home -farm, and rested his arms as before on the fence, and gave -Hiram the "Well?" which prefaced every interval of gossip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, but I've learned summat, Jose, sin' tha wert -here," said Hiram slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a lot for thee to say, lad. I've thowt, time an' -time, 'at ye'd getten nowt left to learn," responded the other, -with lazy irony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'tis a rum world, an' thick wi' surprises, for me as -for ony other man. Who'd hev thowt, Jose, 'at th' young -Maister 'ud up an' gi'e me a talking-to, fair as if he war his -father, an' me set to liming a field for th' first time?—I tell -thee, I war so capped I hedn't a blessed word to answer him -wi'—though I've thowt of a dozen sin' he left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't I tell thee?" cried the shepherd, cackling softly -and stroking his shaven upper lip. "Didn't I tell thee, -Hiram? Eh, lad, I haven't lived to three-score an' three -without knowing a sour cherry fro' a sweet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt ower fond o' th' young Maister; tha allus wert, -Jose. What's he getten to show for hisseln?" grumbled -Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Measure him by his doings, an' he's nowt; but peep at -th' innards o' th' lad, an' tha'll find summat different-like. -He war a wick un fro' being a babby, war Shameless -Wayne, an' wick tha'll find him, Hiram, if fancy leads him to -meddle wi' th' farming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Theer, I niver reckoned mich o' thy head-piece, Jose; -'twar nobbut th' suddenness of it that capped me so, an' next -time I warrant he'll sing to a different tune. He war right, -though, about this field, an' 'tis owing to thee, Jose, 'at I'm -late wi' 't, coming ivery half-hour as tha dost to break me off -th' wark. 'Tis weel to be a shepherd, I allus did say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, I'll swop jobs; I'll tak thine, lad, if tha'll tak -mine. Begow, but to say 'at I'm idle i' lambing-time— Theer -I'll be wending; 'twill noan do mich gooid to listen to such -fly-by-sky talk of yond."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram let him move a little away; then, "Didst see Red -Ratcliffe go riding by to Wildwater a while back?" he called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I war off th' road. Hes he passed, like, while th' -Maister war here?" said the shepherd, answering tamely to -the lure and resuming his old easiful attitude against the fence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think he did. An' he stops, does Ratcliffe, an' -mocks th' Maister; an' he up an' says, 'Come thee dahn and -fight, lad,' says he, meaning th' Maister. But Ratcliffe war -flayed—ay, he war flayed—I'm noan saying th' lad didn't -show hisseln summat like a man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shepherd was silent for awhile. "I tell thee what it -is, Hiram," he said presently; "them Ratcliffes hes been -thrang this mony a week wi' their plots an' their mucky plans. -There's niver a neet goes by now, when we meet at th' -tavern, Wildwater hands an' Marsh, but they mak a joke o' -Shameless Wayne—an' no rough honest jokes, mind ye, but -sour uns——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to hear 'em!" snapped Hiram. "I'm noan -gi'en to liquor, Jose, as tha knaws; but I've a mind to look in -at th' tavern this varry neet, th' first I hear oppen his mouth -agen th' young Maister—" he stopped and looked once -down the path that Shameless Wayne had taken. "We shall -fratch, me an' ye, lad," he said, as he settled to his work -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," chuckled Jose, turning away. "An' he'll best thee -ivery time. So I'll say good-afternoon, Hiram, an' we'll -pray there'll be no more lamb-storms this side o' th' summer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall fratch," repeated Hiram Hey, and shouted a -"gee-yup," to the chestnut.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Master was thinking of weightier matters even than -his fratching with Hiram Hey. Nell and he had stopped at -the parting of the ways this side of Marsh House, and he had -glanced queerly at her as he said farewell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where art going, Ned?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused awhile before replying; then, "I have a tryst to -keep with Janet Ratcliffe," he said, in a tone that challenged -opposition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A tryst to keep?" echoed Nell, lifting her brows. "How -long is't, Ned, since thou told'st me that was over and done -with once for all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told thee truth. The tryst was made when we were -free to be lovers,—if we would—but now—dost think I'm -minded to forget the blow that sent father where he is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Break tryst, Ned?" she pleaded eagerly. "'Tis unsafe, -I tell thee, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And thou fearest a pair of hazel eyes will cloud all else -for me?" he finished. "Get home to Marsh, lass—and -think something better of my manhood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She'll conquer him again," Nell muttered after he had -left her. "He is mad to keep troth with any Ratcliffe. -Well-away, why must Ned always run so close a race with -dishonour?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-love-tryst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A LOVE-TRYST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After seeing Mistress Wayne safe into her road and after -meeting Red Ratcliffe by the way, Janet made all speed -back to Wildwater, lest her grandfather should miss her from -the dinner-table. She turned once again as she reached the -wicket-gate; and again she looked along the path by which -Red Ratcliffe was crossing the moor to Marshcotes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christ, how I hate him!" she repeated, and put a hand -upon the latch, and went quickly up the garden-path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A haunch of mutton, just taken from the turn-spit, was -hissing on the kitchen table as she passed through, and -she had scarce time to doff her cloak and smooth her hair a -little where the wind had played the ruffler with it, before -Nicholas Ratcliffe's voice came from the dining-hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Janet? Od's life, these wenches are always late -for trencher-service," he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for I'm here with the meat, grandfather," said Janet -slipping into the place at the old man's side which was hers -more by favour than by right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where hast been, girl?" he asked sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wearied of spinning and went out into the fields in search -of appetite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, have a care. The times are going to change soon, -and 'twill be well for all Ratcliffe women-folk to keep close to -home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For fear of Waynes?" cried a lad from the table-foot, -mockingly. "I thought, sir, we knew that they were -courteous to foolery with all women. Have you not told us as -much a score times?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Besides, I could not hug the threshold from morn till -night; I should die for lack of wind and weather," put in the -girl, with a touch of wilfulness that never came amiss to old -Nicholas from his favourite one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's truth in that; and I should ill like to see thee go -white of cheek, Janet, like yond fool-woman who came to -talk with me just now. Have a care, is all I say—and if a -Wayne say aight to thee at any time——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not fear any Wayne that steps," said she, her eyes -on her plate, and her thoughts on a certain spot of the moors -where she had promised to keep tryst with Shameless Wayne -that very afternoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man fell into moodiness presently. From time -to time he glanced at Robert, his eldest-born, and nodded; -and from time to time he gave a laugh that was half a snarl; -and Janet, watching his humour narrowly, lost even the -pretence of high spirits which she had brought to meat. Her -grandfather was planning mischief, as surely as a hawk meant -death when it hung motionless above a cowering wild fowl; -and the mischief would aim at Shameless Wayne; and she -would have more than a love-errand to take her to the moors -this afternoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dinner over, old Nicholas called for his horse and buckled -his sword-belt on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, wish me God-speed," he laughed, threading his -arm through Janet's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet shrank from him a little, but he was too intent on -the matter in hand to notice aight amiss with her. "Wish -him God-speed," she thought. "On such an errand? Nay -but I'll give God thanks that I made a tryst with Shameless -Wayne—the Lean Man will scarce know where to look for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Janet, hast no word? See the black mare, how -eager she is to be off. She winds the scent of chase, I doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was silent until her grandfather had gathered the -reins into his hand. "Where—where do you ride, sir?" -she stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The big bay horse—lean as its master, and every whit as -tough—was pawing the courtyard stones impatiently. Old -Nicholas swung to saddle, and looked down grimly, at his -granddaughter. "A-hunting, as I told thee," he said. "What -meat shall I bring back to the Wildwater larder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you please, sir, so long as it be well come by," she -answered, looking him hardily between the eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It shall be well come by, lass," said the Lean Man, and -cantered over the hill-crest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not staying to fetch cloak and hood, Janet struck slant-wise -across the moor soon as her grandfather was out of -sight. Troubles were crowding thick on her. This morning -there had been Red Ratcliffe's threats, now there were the -Lean Man's. Both aimed against Shameless Wayne, she -guessed, for of old their hate had been deeper against the -Waynes of Marsh than against any other of their kin. -Above the moor-edge a little cloud, no bigger than a man's -hand, seemed to have come up—the cloud of feud, which one -day, the girl knew, would grow to a red thunder-track that -covered the whole sky. Yet her step grew freer, her eyes -brightened, as she went out and out across the moor, over the -gaunt, waste land of peat and bog and green marsh grasses; -for the friendship of heath went with her, and each step -further into the heart of the solitude was a step toward him. -This morning she had been downcast, and even the moor -had failed to give her its wonted cheer; but now that -dangers thickened she braced herself to meet them, with a -courage that was almost gaiety. What if the Lean Man had -gone hunting Shameless Wayne? He would not find him, -for he was coming to meet her on the moor here—he was at -the tryst this moment, may be—and the road he would take -from Marsh was contrary altogether from that followed by -her grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bog stretched wide before her now, and she had to -skirt the nearer edge of it, stepping with cautious foot from -tuft to tuft of ling. There was many a dead man lay among -the stagnant ooze to left of her; but the cruelty of the heath -had no terror for the girl—it was but one quality among the -many which had endeared the heath to her. Men's cruelty -was mean, with squalor in it, but the larger pitilessness of -Nature was understandable to this child of the stormwinds and -the rain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Little by little, as she walked, her mind went over all that -had passed between herself and Shameless Wayne since first -he set a lover's eyes on her and blurted out his headstrong -passion. That was a twelvemonth back, and ever since she -had been half betrothed to him—not pledging herself outright, -but gleaning a swift joy from meetings that would have brought -the Lean Man's vengeance on her had he once surprised a -tryst. Sometimes she had been tender with the lad, but -oftener she had taunted him with his wild doings up and down -the moorside; and all the while she had not guessed how close -a hold he was taking of her, nor that his very wildness matched -what the moor-storms taught her to look for in a man. It -had needed a touch of peril, a sense that life for once was -buffeting Careless Wayne, to rouse the woman in her; and -now the peril was at hand, and the boy-and-girl love of -yesterday showed vague and empty on the sudden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment she halted at the bog-verge and looked across -the heath. The solitude was splendid from edge to edge of -the blue-bellied sky—such solitude as dwarfed her pride and -made her heart like a little child's for simpleness. -Moor-birds were clamorous up above her head, and not a -half-league off the black pile of Wynyates Kirk upreared itself, a -temple in the wilderness. From marsh to kirk, from -wind-ruffled heath to peewits wheeling white-and-black across the -sun-rays, the girl's eyes wandered. Proud, she had been, shy -with the fierceness of all untamed creatures, and liberty had -seemed, till yesterday, a dearer thing than any fool-man's -tenderness. But danger had come to Shameless Wayne, danger -would sit at meat and walk abroad and sleep with him till he -or the Lean Man went under sod; and, knowing this, she knew, -too, that liberty had ceased to be a gift worth asking for.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Scarce understanding yet, she turned from the bog-side with -a sigh that was half-impatient, and crossed to the kirk which -was land-mark and trysting-place in one. They counted the -square-towered church at Marshcotes old; yet it was young -compared with this rounded pile of stones which was sacred to -the oldest-born of all religions. Hither the hill-lassies came -on Mickaelmas Eve to ask if they would be wedded before the -year was out, and to glean from the silent stone an answer -prompted of desire; here, too, sweethearts half confessed found -wit to tell each other what many a summer's field-walk after -milking had failed to render clear, and grown men, who had -come in jest, had stayed to wonder at the power the old place -had to stir a laggard tongue. This Wynyates Kirk, at which -Pagan mothers had once worshipped lustily, seemed still to -have its message for the moor folk; and the way of a man -with a maid, which it had watched for generations out of -mind, showed constantly the same.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The compulsion of the past was strong on Janet, as she -stood under shadow of the rounded stone and strained her -eyes toward the track which should be leading Shameless -Wayne to her. She had lived with the wind for comrade -and the voices of the heath for bed-fellows; there had been -none to keep her mind from Nature's lesson to its children, -and here, with the ghosts of long-dead love vows plaining -from the heather that hugged the kirk-stone foot, her heart -went out once and for all to Shameless Wayne. The spirit -of the place quickened in her, telling her that neither kinship -nor any reek of feud could come between herself and Wayne; -for love was real up here, while pride of family went fluttering -like a thistle-seed down the rude pathway of the wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a laggard—a laggard!" she cried. "Ah, if he knew -what I am keeping from him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped, and the wind grew colder, so it seemed. How -if the Lean Man had changed his path? How if he had met -Wayne by the way and given him that which would render -him a laggard till the Trump of Doom? Again she strained -her eyes across the peat, and far down the moor she saw a -sturdy, loose-limbed figure stride up toward her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nearer and nearer the figure came, and the girl laughed low -to herself. Standing with one arm on the stone, she looked -down at Shameless Wayne and waited. And many a dark -matter came clear to her in that moment, as she marked the -lines of trouble in his face; nor could she tell which was the -stronger—the shyness that knowledge of her self-surrender -brought, or the fierce, protective impulse that bade her fight -his troubles for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you've kept tryst, Janet? I scarce looked for it," he -said gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it my wont, Ned, to break tryst?" she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but last night has changed all—for you and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His coldness jarred on her, after her late eagerness toward him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art chill as this rainy sky, Ned," she said. "Is't because -I have looked askance at thee of late that thou giv'st me you -for the old </span><em class="italics">thou</em><span> of friendship?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but because the friendship is frost-nipped, Janet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent for a while, fighting the maidish battle of -pride with tenderness. "That need not be," she said at last. -"Was I not like to hold off, Ned, when thou wast so sure of -me that thou could'st play the wilding up and down the -country-side? So sure of me that, thrice out of four times, a -wine-flagon showed more tempting company than I? But thou'rt -altered, Ned—I saw it in thy face as thou camest up the -moor—and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold, lass!" he cried, gripping her arm. "I'll trick no -secrets from thee now. Know'st thou I let another fight for -me in Marshcotes kirkyard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard as much a while back. And what said I to my -heart about it, think'st thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That it matched well with Shameless Wayne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That it matched ill with what I would have the man I -love to be—Ned, Ned, 'tis I am shameless, for I cannot see -thy trouble and keep confession back. It was well enough to -flout thee in old days, when thou hadst little need of me—but -now—hast never a use for me, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The world had rolled back from Janet. Her folk were -straw in the balance, the brewing quarrel was naught. They -were alone, Shameless Wayne and she, with only the quiet, -far-reaching moor to watch them; and love was a greater -thing by far to her woman's eyes, than any hate of feud could -be. Wayne reeled for a moment under a like impulse: he -had come here to say farewell to Janet, expecting a little -sorrow from her and no more, and she had met him with every -tender wildness, of voice and eyes and roundly-moving bosom, -that ever set a lad's hot pulses beating. Life was to be an -uphill fight henceforth for Shameless Wayne; but here by the -kirk-stone, with the peewits shrilling overhead and the low -wind whistling in the heather, he was facing the hardest fight -of all. Slowly the colour deepened in the girl's face as the -moments passed, and still he made no answer and a touch of -anger was in her shame, as she sought vainly for the meaning -of his mood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lass, why could'st not hold it back? Why could'st not?" -he cried hoarsely. "Listen, Janet, there has that chanced at -Marsh since yestermorn which has set the Pit of Hell 'twixt -thee and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What chanced at Marsh was none of thy doing, nor of -mine," she broke in, and would have said more, but the look -of Wayne's face, with the tragic lines set deep about his brow -and under his eyes, daunted her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of thy folk killed my father in cold blood," he went -on, after a silence, "and in hot blood I swore never to ease -my fingers of the sword-hilt until the reckoning was paid. -Can we lie soft in wedlock, girl, when every dawn will rouse -me to the feud? Can we lock arms and kiss, when slain men -come from their graves to curse the treachery?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art thou, Ned, and I am I. Can kinship alter that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, can it," he cried bitterly, for her stubbornness angered -him when he looked for help from her at this hottest of the -fight. "The one part of me is sick for thee, Mistress Janet, -while the other loathes thee—ay, loathes thee—because thou -art a Ratcliffe.—There, child, forgive me! 'Tis no fault of -thine, God knows, and my tongue slips into unmeant -cruelties——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her back on him and leaned her forehead against -the stone that had brought many a maid to her undoing or her -happiness. Back and forth went her thought; she would not -acknowledge how real his struggle was, but told herself that -he had flouted her for sake of an idle fancy, that she could -never win back what she had given him just now. She looked -up at last, and glanced at Shameless Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast not left me yet?" she said. "'Tis scarce seemly, -is't, to pry upon my shame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anger he could have met, but not this tearless sorrow. If -Janet could cast kinship to the winds, was he to show himself -a laggard? He sprang toward her; and she, seeing his sternness -gone, waited and held her breath, not knowing what she feared -or what she hoped. And then he stopped, suddenly, as if a -hand had clutched at him to hold him back; and without a -word he turned and left her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him go, her arms clasped tight about the stone; -and for awhile her heart went empty of all feeling. So quiet -the moor was that she could hear the rustle of an eagle, -sweeping far overhead toward Conie Crag Ravine, with a lamb -in its talons plucked from some outlying upland field. A -moor-fowl splashed through the reeds that fringed the marsh -to left of her. The peewits wheeled everlastingly in dropping -circles, showing white breasts to the sunlight at every -backward turn. There was a vague, wandering sound that threaded -through all the others—the gnome-like cries and gurgles of -water running underground through straitened channels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought of the frail figure which she had lately seen go -up the brink-fields, and she asked herself, was she less lonely -than mad-witted Mistress Wayne? A storm of passionate -self-pity swept over her at the thought; and after that the -calm of hopelessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly as her passion waned, the girl understood that there -was more than an idle lad's caprice underlying all that -Shameless Wayne had said. It was no lover's quarrel, this, to be -righted at the next tryst. Her folk were the aggressors in -this new-born feud; but they were still her folk, and feelings -that she scarce realised as yet could cloud her love, she knew, -as already they had clouded Wayne's. She glanced at the -kirk-stone again and shivered; it had spoken her false when -it bade her count all things less than love, and the folk -who had whispered soft secrets here—man to maid, and maid -to man—were they not dead and buried long since, and their -love along with them?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her pride weakened, too, and she remembered that she had -come here to warn Ned of the danger with which the Lean -Man's malice threatened him. Full of pity for herself she had -been; but now the pity was all his, as she looked down the -winding sheep-track, and told herself that though he humbled -her afresh, she would seek speech of him once more and tell -him of the Lean Man's purpose. But Wayne was already -out of sight and hearing, and she knew that to follow him was -useless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Scarce knowing where she went, she set off wearily across -the heath. The moor's harshness was friendly to her mood, -and she wandered on and on until, by the time she reached -the Wildwater gates again, the sun was sinking into gloaming -mist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her grandfather was standing by the well-spring in the -courtyard as she entered. His back was toward her, and he -failed to mark her light step on the flagstones. A vague -foreboding seized the girl; creeping closer, she saw the Lean Man -stoop to rinse his hands in the clear stream, and a low cry -escaped her as she saw that the water reddened as it ran between -his fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas swung round with a frown, and clapped a hand to -the breast of his tightly-buttoned coat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What art doing here, lass?" he said roughly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I have been walking——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, so soon after I bade thee keep so close to home?" -said Nicholas, wiping his hands furtively on the lappel of his -coat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She answered nothing for awhile. Then, "How went -the hunting?" she asked, with a sudden glance at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bonnily. I've brought home better flesh, Janet, than -Wildwater has seen this score years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her forboding took clear shape. Had he met Shameless -Wayne on his way home from the kirk-stone? What was it -that the Lean Man guarded so carefully at his breast? At all -costs she must learn if Ned were safe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you kill the quarry?" she whispered, and -longed to take back the question for fear of the answer she -might get.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where? Why, on Cranshaw Rigg—'tis on the Long -Wayne's land, thou'lt call to mind," chuckled the Lean Man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—then 'twas not Wayne of Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her curiously; but it was plain that he shared -none of Red Ratcliffe's suspicion touching her tenderness for -Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, it was not Wayne of Marsh—for the reason that, -seek as I would, I could not find the lad," he answered, as he -turned to go indoors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis not Ned after all," murmured Janet. "Thank God -he kept the tryst with me."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-brown-dog-s-step"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE BROWN DOG'S STEP</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Marsh House lay lower than Wildwater, and it had a -softer look with it, though built much after the same pattern -so far as roominess and stout building went. The trees grew -big about it and a pleasant orchard ran from the garden to the -chattering stream; yet was it ghostly, in a quiet fashion of its -own, and not all its trees and sheltered garden-nooks could rob -it of a certain eeriness, scarce felt but not to be gainsaid. On -either hand the gateway two balls of stone had lately topped -the uprights; but one of these had fallen and lay unheeded -in the courtyard—a quiet and moss-grown mourner, so it -seemed, for the lost pride of the Waynes of Marsh. Behind -the house, leading up to the sloping shoulder of the moor, ran -a narrow, grass-grown way, scarce wide enough to let a -horseman through and lined on either hand by grassy banks and -lichened walls of sandstone; they called it Barguest lane, and -the Spectre Hound who was at once the terror of the moorside -and the guardian spirit of the Waynes, was said to roam -up and down between the moor and Marsh House whenever -trouble was blowing in the wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And true it was that at certain times—oftenest when the air -was still, and dusk of late evening or dark of night brooded -quiet over house and garden—a wild music would sweep down -the lane, not crisp and sharp-defined, but softened like the -echo of a hound's baying far away. The hardier folk were -wont to laugh at Barguest, with a backward turn of the head -to make sure he was not close behind them, and these vowed -that the Brown Dog of Marsh was no more than the voice of -the stream which ran in a straitened channel underneath the -road; water had strange tricks of mimicry, they said, when -it swept through hollow places, and the deep elfin note that -haunted Barguest lane was own brother to many a bubbling -cry and groan that they had hearkened to amongst the -stream-ways of the moor. And this son of talk was well enough -when treacle posset was simmering on some tap-room hearth; -but abroad, and especially if gloaming-tide surprised them -within hail of old Marsh House, they found no logic apt -enough to meet their terror of the Spectre Hound. As for the -Waynes, there were some among them who pretended to -disclaim their guardian Dog; yet there was not one who would -oust tradition from his veins—not one who failed to loosen -his sword-blade in the scabbard if any told him that Barguest -had lately given tongue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The spirit of the homestead was strong on Shameless Wayne -to-night, as he sat alone in the hall, watching the dead and -thinking his own remorseful thoughts. All that was left of -his father rested, gaunt and still, on the bier in the centre of -the hall, where it was laid out in state with candles burning -low at head and feet. Mistress Nell and the serving-wenches -were all in the back part of the house; the lads had not -returned from hawking in the lowland pastures; the last of the -day's visitors had bidden the corpse farewell and had gone -home again, leaving the new master of Marsh House to watch -the closed eyes of his forerunner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A ray of fading sunlight crept across the hall and rested on -the dead man's face, which showed white as the cere-cloth -that bound his jaws.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father, father!" he cried, laying one hand on the waxen -cheek. "Do you know what chanced yesternight? Do -you know that I, who should have carried the quarrel, sat -drinking your honour and my own away?—God, I could see -each Wayne of them all look askance at me to-day, as they -came and stood beside you here. And each man was saying -to himself, 'There is none of the old breed left at -Marsh.' They were right, father—and sometimes, when the -candle-shadows play about your face, I seem to see you laughing at -thought of Shameless Wayne—laughing to know him for -your son."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sunlight moved from the bier, and up the oak-panelled -walls and backward along the ceiling-beams until it vanished -outright. Dusk came filtering through the lattices. A low -stir of bees sounded from the garden, where corydalis and -white arabis had newly opened to the spring. And still -Wayne sat on, listening to the thousand voiceless rumours -that creep up and down an empty house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot wipe out the stain, father," he went on, in a -quieter voice; "but I will do all that is left to me—I'll pluck -Janet out of my heart—and there shall none say, for all my -shamelessness, that I let the land go backward, though in old -days you'll remember there was no love spilt 'twixt me and -farming matters. But the Wayne lands were always better-tilled -than any in the moorside, and 'twould hurt you, father, -if I let them grow foul and poor of crop.—Yet, for all that, -'tis easier to swear to hunt out every Ratcliffe from this to -Lancashire," he added, with a whimsical straightforwardness which -showed that a sense of fellowship with the dead had come to -him through long watching by the bier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he let his thoughts drift idly and was near to -falling into a doze when he was called to his feet by a tapping at -the window. He crossed the floor and the light scarce sufficed -to show him his step-mother's face pressed close against -the glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Open to me, Ned, open to me," she was crying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went to the narrow door that led into the garden and -opened it; and Mistress Wayne clung tight to him while he -took her to the hearth—keeping her fast in talk the while, lest -she should see what lay in the middle of the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are cold, little bairn," he said, using the same half-tender, -half-scornful name he had given her at the vault-stone -yesternight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, cold and weary, Ned—so weary! All night I -wandered up and down the moor, seeking somebody—but I never -found him—and the wind came, and the rain—and all about -the moor were prying eyes—and strange birds called out of -the darkness, and strange beasts answered them——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, never heed them. Haply 'twas Shameless Wayne -you sought, and he will see that none does you hurt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her face close to his and looked at him fixedly in -the deepening gloom. A shaft of flame struck out at her -from the hearth and showed a would-be alertness in the -babyish eyes. "Yes, yes," she whispered. "I thought it was a -lover I was seeking, a lover who had strong arms and tender -words—but I was wrong—'twas thee I sought, Ned, all -through the weary night—and I want nothing now that I -have found thee—and—Ned, wilt keep the ghosties off?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Every one, little bairn.—Now, see how stained your -gown is with—with rain. I shall not love you at all if you -do not run and change it before you come with me to supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not love me!" she repeated, with a look of doubt.—"Why, -then, I'll change my gown thrice every day, because -you are kind to me. No one else is kind to me, Ned. The -wind buffets me, and rude men turn me forth of doors -whenever I cross a threshold—save Sexton Witherlee, who was -wondrous kind to me last night. All afternoon, Ned, I -wandered about Marsh before I dared come in—I feared you -would scowl at me, like the redmen of Wildwater." She -turned, and in a moment she was clapping her hands for glee. -"Look, look, Ned! Pretty candles—see'st thou how the -shadows go playing hide-and-find-me up the walls?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're bad shadows; have naught to do with them," -said Shameless Wayne, turning her face to the hearth again -and wondering to find what care he had for this frail woman's -malady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she slipped from his hands, and ran forward to the bier, -and was reaching out for one of the candles when its light -showed her the pale face of Wayne of Marsh. The sight did -not frighten her at all; but she stood mute and still, as if she -were trying to understand in dim fashion that once this man -had been her husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would he answer if I spoke to him? No, I think he -would not; he looks too stern," Wayne heard her murmur. -"I've seen that face—in dreams, long, long ago, it must have -been. Perhaps he was my lover—strange that I should seek -him all about the moor, when he was lying so quietly here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come away, little bairn. He has no word for you," said -her step-son, wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne halted a moment, then stooped and kissed -the dead man's lips. And then she laughed daintily and -rubbed her mouth with one forefinger. "Why does he not -care!" she lisped. "His lips are cold as a beggar's welcome, -Ned—we'll none of him, will we, thou and I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door behind them opened and Nell Wayne came -slowly across the floor until she stood within arm's reach of -her step-mother. Scorn was in the girl's face, and a hatred -not to be appeased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What brings this woman here?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne crept close to her protector. "All are -cruel except thou, Ned. Keep her from me—she will turn -me out into the cold again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, Mistress—to starve of cold and want, if I had my -way," said Nell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne put one arm about the pleading woman -and turned upon his sister hotly. "Canst not see how it is -with her?" he cried. "They say that men are hard, but -God knows ye women make us seem soft-hearted by the -contrast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The dead cannot speak, or father yonder would up and -cry shame on her," the girl answered, covering the pair of -them with a disdainful glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, thou'rt wronging him. Had she been whole of -mind, he might have done—but 'twas never father's way to -double any blow that fell upon a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She shall not stay here! 'Tis pollution," cried Nell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I say the poor bairn shall bide here so long as she -lacks a home; and </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am master here, not thou."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His sister stared open-eyed at him. Since last night he had -been contrite to the verge of womanishness; but now he -showed a sterner glimpse of the Wayne temper than she had -looked for in him. She felt wronged and baffled, and for her -life could not keep back the stinging answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, thou art master," she said slowly, "and thou beginnest -well—first to let another fight for thee, and then to -welcome the betrayer with open arms. Small wonder that they -call thee Shameless Wayne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a breathing-space she thought he would have struck -her. But this lad, who until yesterday had never seen need -to check his lightest whim, was learning a hard lesson well. -He struggled with his pride awhile, and crushed it; and when -he spoke his voice was quiet and sad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nell," he said, "'tis no fit place for brawling, and thou -art right in what thou say'st of me. But Mistress Wayne -shall bide, and not if all our kin cry out on me, will I go back -on what I promised."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am cold again, and very hungry. Send yond girl away," -wailed the little woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does naught soften thee, lass?" said Wayne, glancing -from his sister to the shrinking figure that held so closely fast -to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught," Nell answered, hard and cold. "The years will -pass, and sorrows age, may be—but I shall never lose my hate -of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet think," he went on patiently. "She cleaves to me, -Nell, and thou know'st how the fairy-kist bring luck to those -they favour. 'Tis a good omen for the long fight that's -coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If pity does not move me, will a country proverb, think'st -thou? Have thy way, Ned, since there's none to stay thee—but -at the least take thy new friend from the death-room. -Thou'lt see father turn and writhe if she stay longer by him, -and 'tis my turn to watch the bier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's begone, little bairn. Haply thou'lt know here to -find thy wearing-stuff if I take thee to the old room above," -said Shameless Wayne, leading his step-mother to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nell was fevered, and would not brook such prompt -obedience to her wish. "Where are the lads?" she asked. -"Frolicking, belike, when sober sitting within-doors would -better have fitted the occasion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne turned on the threshold. "I sent them -hawking," he answered, the new firmness gaining in his voice. -"There's one claim of the dead, lass, and another of the -living; and 'tis better they should brace their muscle for the -days to come than sit moping over what is past."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He grows masterful already. The shame has slipped -clean off from him," murmured Nell, as she took a pair of -snuffers from the mantel and trimmed the death-candles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet Ned had not killed his shame. He was but battling -with it, and the effort to show something like a man, in his -own eyes at least, rendered his mood at once strangely tender -and strangely savage. But he could find naught save -tenderness for Mistress Wayne, as they climbed the wide stairway -hand-in-hand and went in at the door of what had been his -father's bed-chamber—his father's and that of the little woman -by his side. She was no longer an unfaithful wife; she was a -child, bewildered in the midst of enemies, and she had no friend -but him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne stood in the middle of the room, fearful a -little and asking a mute question of her step-son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This shall be thy room. Nay, there's naught to fear!" he -said. "Peep into the drawers yonder by and by, and thou'lt -find pretty clothes to wear; but thou'rt tired now, and must -lie down on the bed. So! Now I'll cover thee snugly up, -and bring thee meat. I doubt thou need'st it, bairn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was passive in his hands, and fell to crooning happily -while he drew a great rug of badgerskin across her. "'Tis -pleasant to have friends, and to be warm," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless I hasten, thou'lt be asleep before I bring thee -supper!" he cried. "Rest quiet, and be sure I'll keep the -boggarts from the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went quietly down again, feeling his own troubles lighter -for this fresh claim upon his sympathies; nor did he doubt the -dead man's view of it, since there was scarce man or woman -on the moor who did not hold that madness cancelled all -back-reckonings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will see what is to be found in the kitchen; haply the -half of a moor-cock would tempt her appetite," he thought, -as he turned down the passage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was met by his four brothers, just returned from hawking. -Their faces were flushed and their sturdy bodies panting -with the hard run home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've had rare sport, Ned! Rare sport!" cried the eldest, -a lad of sixteen. And then, remembering who lay not far -away, cold forever to sport of hawk or hound, he dropped his -head shamefacedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has taken you far, I warrant; for the sun has been down -this half-hour past."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, for at the end of all we fell to flying at magpies down -the hedgerows toward Heathley, and yond unbacked eyes of -mine at which thou jestest trussed seven. Peep in the kitchen, -Ned, and see what game we took. We carried the goshawk, -too, and she struck a hare up by Wildwater——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What! Ye have been near Wildwater?" cried Shameless -Wayne, his face darkening on the sudden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, 'twas in one of the Lean Man's fields we struck the -hare—and, Ned, we saw such a queer sight up yonder. Just -as I was going to cast at a snipe, Ralph here whispered that -the Lean Man himself was coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So we hid in the heather," put in Ralph eagerly, "and he -passed as close to us, Ned, as thou stand'st to me. He had a -great cut across his cheek, and his hands were red, and we could -hear him laughing to himself in a way that made us feared."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When the Lean Man's hands are red, and his throat holds -laughter, it means but the one thing," muttered Shameless -Wayne. "He has killed his man—God pity one of our kin!—and -the feud is out before we looked for it. They'll let the -burying get done with—even a Ratcliffe never did less than -that; and then 'twill be fast and merry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush! We were not feared," cried Griff, the eldest. -"We could have caught him, Ned, the four of us, if we had -had swords to our hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne laughed quietly. "Ye will learn soon to -buckle your sword-belts on whenever ye move abroad," he -said. "Listen to me, lads. A house with a dead man in it -is no healthy place, and so I bade you go out hawking this -morning, and kept what I had to tell you until night. Ye've -heard of the old feud of Wayne and Ratcliffe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, have we!" said Griff. "Such tales old Nanny Witherlee -used to tell us of——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'twill be out again, belike, soon as your father is -buried. The Ratcliffes will kill us whenever they get a -chance, and we shall kill a Ratcliffe whenever he shows himself -within sword-hail. And ye must take your share of it if ye -wish to keep whole skins. Griff, thou canst play a shrewdish -blade even now; and what ye lack, the four of you, I'll teach -you by and by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hawking will show tame after this," cried Griff, his eyes -brightening. "Shall I meet the Lean Man one day, think'st -thou, Ned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If God spares thee, lad. But no more frolics yet awhile -on the Lean Man's land. Ye must keep close to home, and -I will teach you cut and thrust until your arms are stiffened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it a Ratcliffe who killed father?" asked Ralph -suddenly. They had no understanding of death, as yet, these -youngsters; its sorrow glanced off from them, too vague and -dark to oust their lads' relish of a fight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay—and a Wayne who slew the murderer yesternight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then, 'twas thou!" cried Griff. "Old Nanny told -us that the eldest-born must always fight the father's enemy. -Where didst thrust him, Ned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne grew hot, and the blood flushed red to -brow and cheeks. "Go seek your suppers, lads," he said, -turning on his heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Going to the kitchen, still bent on finding some dainty that -would tempt his step-mother, he found Nanny Witherlee, the -Sexton's wife, talking hard and fast to one of the maids.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Th' young Maister 'ull noan deny it me, I tell thee," Nanny -was saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then ask him, Nanny, and he'll tell thee quickly whether -or not he will deny thee," said Shameless Wayne from the -doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sakes, Maister! I war that thrang wi' spache—though -'tis noan a habit o' mine—that I niver heard your step. I've -comed up fro' Marshcotes to axe a bit of a kindness, like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt win it, likely, for I'm in a softish mood," said -Wayne, half sneering at himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis that ye'll let me watch th' owd Maister th' neet-time -through. I knawed him when he war a young un, an' I -knawed him when he wedded th' first wife, an' I nursed ye all -fro' babbies. 'Twould be kindly, like, to let me sit by him -this last neet of all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was to be my care, Nanny. Dost want me to let a -second chance slip by of honouring father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, doan't tak things so mich to heart—doan't, lad, -there's a dearie—an' I axe your pardon for so miscalling ye, -I'm sure, seeing ye've grown out o' nursing-clothes. Ye've -getten a tidy handful o' wark afore ye, an' Witherlee says to -me this varry afternooin, 'Nanny,' says he, 'them Ratcliffes is -up an' astir like a hornet's nest; I'm hoping th' Waynes 'ull -bring swords an' sharp e'en to th' burying, for we can noan on -us tell what 'ull chance,' he says. That war what Witherlee -said, just i' so many words; an' though he's like a three-legged -stool about a house, allus tripping ye up wheniver ye stir, he -can do part thinking time an' time, can Witherlee. I war -coming to axe ye afore he spoke, for I war fain to see th' last -o' th' owd Maister; but I war up i' a brace o' shakes at -after he'd gi'en me that notion, for I could see 'at a man -wodn't frame to fight varry weel on th' top of a long neet's -wakefulness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny paused for breath, and the young Master took -advantage of a break that might not come soon again. "The -Ratcliffes will wait till after the burying. There's scant need -for aught save wet eyes to-morrow, Nanny," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's as it mun be; an' what mun be nowt 'ull -alter, so we willun't fash ourselns. But for owd love's sake, -Maister, ye'll let me bide by thy father? 'Tis long since I -axed owt, big or little, of ye Waynes, an' ye'll noan deny it -me, now, will ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne, as he had said, was in a soft mood, and -Nanny's sharp face was so full of entreaty that he saw it -would be a bitter blow to her if he denied the boon. "Have -it as thou wilt," he said. "Father was always kindly in -his thoughts of thee, Nanny, and it may please him better than -any watching of mine could do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw, meanwhile, had ridden over to -Marsh to see if there were aught that he could do; and Nell, -meeting him as he came in at the hall door, gave him a warm -welcome, for the late quarrel with her brother had left her sad, -and the silence of the death-chamber fostered such sort of -misery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rolf, my step-mother has come back, and Ned has welcomed -her," she said, after they had talked awhile of this and -that in hushed voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What! Mistress Wayne come back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, mad as a marshland hare, with all her old pleading -ways so deepened that she has won Ned clean over to her -side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fairy-kist, is she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye—though, to my thinking, she was always near to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, lass, there's no room for anger. Let her be; 'tis -ill-luck crossing such, and we have need——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An old tale, Rolf!" she broke in stormily. "Ned said as -much awhile since—as though, God's pity, there could good -luck come of harbouring such as her. There! I am distraught. -Wilt watch the bier, Rolf, while I run out and cool -my wits a little?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The night is over cold. Bide by a warm fireside, and -talk thy troubles out to one who cares for thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I must be alone. Let me go, dear! I tell thee, my -head throbs and throbs, and I shall go the way of Mistress -Wayne unless thou'lt humour me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She slipped a cloak about her, checking Rolf's efforts to -detain her, and went quietly out into the courtyard. There was -a touch of winter in the air, and a touch of spring, and -overhead the stars shone dewy. The girl shivered a little, but not -for cold, as she crossed into Barguest lane and saw a red moon -climbing up above Worm's Hill. Up and down she paced, -up and down, thinking of Shameless Wayne, of her -step-mother, of everything that vexed and harassed her. Nor did -her brain grow cooler for the night's companionship; rather, -the silence let stranger fancies in than she would have -harboured at any other time or place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned has such need to be strong, and he has ever been -weak as running water," she muttered, and stopped, and -wondered that the breeze which blew from the moor-edge down -Barguest lane had grown so chill upon the sudden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aware of some vague terror, yet acknowledging none, she -held her breath and bent her ear toward the lane-top. A -sound of pattering footsteps drifted down—they were close -beside her now, as the wind brushed her cloak—and now again -the footsteps were dying at the far end of the lane. And a -whine that was half a growl crept downward in the wake of -pattering feet and icy wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis Barguest!" muttered Nell, and raced down the road, -and across the courtyard, and into the hall where Wayne of -Cranshaw sat watching by the dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her pride was gone now, and the last impulse of defiance. -She waited no asking, but put her arms about Rolf's neck and -bade him hold her close.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard the Hound's voice in the lane just now," she -whispered. "There's trouble coming on us, Rolf—more -trouble—I never heard his step go pattering down the road so -plain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didst never hear the water try its new trick, thou mean'st. -I was a fool to let thee go and nurse thy fancies in such a -spot," said her lover roughly. But his eyes had another tale to -tell, and across his brow a deep line of foreboding showed itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancies go as soon as thought of, and naught comes of -them—but when did I hear Barguest in an idle hour?" she -said. "Dear, I am ashamed—but—thou canst not hold me -close enough—hark. There's something at the door—a -whining, Rolf, and the scrape of paws against the oak——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, 'tis Barguest," said Nanny Witherlee, stepping soft -across the polished boards and resting one hand on the bier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's naught, save a wet wind sobbing through the -firs," growled Wayne of Cranshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there not? What say ye to that, Mistress? Ye an' -me know Barguest when we hear him, an' 'tis as I said to th' -young Maister awhile back. There's sorrow brewing thick, -an' th' Brown Dog hes come to bid ye look to pistol-primings -an' th' like. He knaws, poor beast, an' he's scratting at th' -door this minute to ease his mind by telling ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get to bed, Nell," said Wayne of Cranshaw quietly; -"when Nanny falls to boggart-talk, and the maid who listens -is half mad with sorrow——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tales is tales, Maister Wayne," broke in Nanny, "an' I -wod scare no poor less wi' lies at sich a time—but Barguest is -more nor a tale, an' I should know, seeing th' years I've bided -here at Marsh. I mind th' neet when Mistress Nell's mother -war ta'en, ten year agone, it war just th' same—th' Brown -Dog came pattering right up to th' door-stun, an'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God rest thee for the daftest fool in Marshcotes," cried -Wayne of Cranshaw, as he saw Nell go ashen-grey and all but -fall. And then he led the girl out, and helped her to the -stair-top.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be one to watch the bier till dawn?" she asked -wearily, as he bade her good-night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust me to see to that. Never heed old wives' tales, -Nell, and keep up heart as best thou canst," he answered, and -went down again into the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny was fingering the shroud softly, and scarce glanced -up as Wayne approached. "Gooid linen, ivery yard on 't," -she muttered, "though I says it as shouldn't. Ay, an' bonnily -hemmed a' all. Wayne o' Marsh may lig proud, that he may, -an' I war allus sartin sure 'at a man gets a likelier welcome up -aboon if he's buried i' gooid linen.—Begow, but his face is -none so quiet as I should hev liked to see it; there's summat -wick i' th' set on 't, as if he wod right weel like to be up an' -cracking Ratcliffe skulls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is the Master, Nanny?" asked Wayne of Cranshaw, -cutting short her musings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He war dahnstairs a while back, for I met him as I war -coming in here. But mad Mistress Wayne began to call out -his name, an' he thinks nowt too mich to do for her nowadays. -He'll be gi'eing her another bite an' sup, belike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then who will watch? I was for riding back to Cranshaw, -but if there's need of me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who'll wake? Why, who should wake save Nanny -Witherlee? Th' Maister promised I should, for I axed him -a while back; so ye needn't fash yourseln about that, -Maister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then good-night to thee, Nanny—and—have a care of -Mistress Nell, for she is in strange mood to-night. Barguest -is well enough for a fireside gossip, nurse, but such talk -comes ill when a maid's spirits are low."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny laughed softly, and pointed a lean finger at him as he -stood halting near the door. "Ye do weel to mock at -Guytrash, Maister, an' ye do weel to give advice to one that's -known more sorrow nor ye—but why doan't ye cross th' -threshold?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw was ashamed to feel the sweat-drops -trickling down his face; but he could not kill the fear that -brought them there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say a Cranshaw Wayne fears nowt, man nor devil," -went on the Sexton's wife—"but there's one thing 'at maks -his heart beat like th' clapper of a bell—an' ye dursn't cross -what ligs on th' door-stun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hand on the door and flung it wide; and the -incoming wind drove the flames of the death-candles slant-wise -toward the further wall. The moonlight lay quiet and -empty on the threshold, and overhead the firs were plaining -fitfully. "There's naught lies there," said he with a chill -laugh, and went to fetch his horse from stable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nanny's eyes were fixed on the door long after Wayne -of Cranshaw had pulled it to behind him—long after she had -heard his horse trot up the road—and she seemed to see there -more than the candle-light sufficed to show.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there aught I can get thee, Nanny, before I wend to -bed?" said Shameless Wayne, entering a half-hour later.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nowt, an' thank ye. I've getten company, an' they'll -keep me wake, I warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">They</em><span>, say'st thou? God's truth, Nanny, but thy eyes are -fain of the doorway yonder!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I've getten th' owd Maister, an' I've getten Barguest. -Get ye to bed, Maister, for I tell ye there'll be need o' ye -to-morn. Ye're ower late as 'tis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Wayne would have me go and sit by her; she -could no way sleep, poor bairn, and it seemed to comfort her -to have me at the bedside and to hold my hand. She's -sleeping now." He bent over the dead, and whispered something; -and when he lifted his face it showed deep lines of purpose -clean-chiselled in the youthful features. "Good-night, nurse. -God rest thee, and all of us," he said, with unwonted piety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The candles were guttering in their sockets, and Nanny -replaced them soon as the lad's foot had ceased to creak on the -stair. All were abed now, save Nanny Witherlee—save -Nanny, and the rats behind the wainscoting, and something -that scraped restlessly at the stout door of oak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why are they feared o' Barguest?" muttered the Sexton's -wife. "He niver yet did hurt to a Wayne or ony friends o' -th' Waynes; nay, he's that jealous for their safety 'at he can -no way bide still when mischief's brewing. Whisht, lad, -whisht! Owd Nanny hearkens, an' she'll mind 'at th' -Waynes go armed to th' burial to-morn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It might be twelve o'clock of that night, while Nanny sat -still as the body she watched by, that Shameless Wayne, -trying to win sleep from a hard pillow, heard a horseman ride up -to the hall door. There were three strokes, as of a hammer -on a nail, and then, before he had well leaped from bed, a -voice came from the moonlight under his window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ride hard to Cranshaw Rigg. There's somebody waits -thee there, Wayne the Shameless." It was Nicholas -Ratcliffe's voice, hard and thin and high-pitched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne snatched a pistol from the bed-head, and -flung the casement wide, and saw the Lean Man riding hard -up Barguest lane. He took a quick aim and pulled the -trigger; but old Nicholas rode on, and the moonlight showed -him stark on the hilltop as he turned once for a backward look -at Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So the hunt is up already," said Shameless Wayne, -banging to the casement and getting to bed again. "What has -the lean rogue left on the door down yonder?—well, we shall -see to-morrow," he muttered presently, turning over on his -side. "There's naught gained by losing sleep—if only -sleep would come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But sleep did not come yet awhile, and his thoughts wandered -to Janet Ratcliffe—Janet, whom he had met to-day upon the -moor—Janet, the daughter of that same Lean Man on whom -he had just now turned a pistol-muzzle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny Witherlee, too, had heard the three taps on the door, -and the Lean Man's high-pitched voice. "I know weel -enough what he's put on th' door," she said, not stirring from -her stool at the bier-foot. "Th' owd feud began i' th' same -way, an' I mind to this day how th' Maister, who cars so -quiet yonder, looked when he came down i' th' morning an' -fund th' token that war left nailed to th' oak." Her eyes lit -up on the sudden, and a sombre mirth lengthened the thin line -of her mouth. "But one thing Nicholas Ratcliffe didn't -know, I warrant—that Barguest war ligged on th' door-stun! -He crossed th' Brown Dog as he set nail to door, an' a babby -could tell what that spells. Sleep ye quiet, Shameless Wayne, -for ye'll turn th' spindle that's to weave th' Lean Man's -winding-sheet."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lean-man-s-token"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE LEAN MAN'S TOKEN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At dawn of the next day Shameless Wayne awoke from a -troubled sleep, with Nicholas Ratcliffe's visit fresh in his mind -and a drear foreboding at his heart. He could rest no longer, -but hurried into his clothes and went down to the shadowy hall, -where the candles still burned and the Sexton's wife still -watched the dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didst hear Nicholas Ratcliffe's voice yesternight?" he -said, coming close to Nanny's elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For sure I did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the tapping on the door? What was he at, think'st -thou, Nanny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oppen th' door, Maister, an' ye'll see. But doan't look -to find owt bonnie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him as he pulled down the latch and stepped -into the rainy April dawn. The sun was red above Worm's -Hill and its light fell straight upon a man's hand fixed to the -upper cross-bar of the door. A broken stone, lying beside the -lintel, showed how the Lean Man had driven his nail into the -wood. Shameless Wayne fell back a pace or two, his eyes on -the grisly token, while Nanny hobbled to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I guessed as mich," she said, looking once at the -hand and thence to the young Master's face. "Twenty year -gone by it war th' same, an' I've heard tell that, long afore I -war born or thowt on, th' Lean Man's grandfather rade down -to Marsh one neet an' fixed a Wayne's hand to th' door. Do -ye mind th' tale, Maister? I telled it when ye war no higher -nor my knee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had forgotten it, nurse. Yond is the badge of feud, -then? So be it. There'll be sword-play, Nanny, soon as -father is well laid to rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afore, I warrant," said Nanny sharply. "Willun't ye -hearken to me, lad, when I tell ye that a devil sits snug behind -ivery Ratcliffe muzzle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Save Mistress Janet's," muttered the other, absently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, th' wind blows that road, does it? I've thowt as -mich, time an' time. Maister, I war aye fond o' ye, an' that -ye knaw—gi'e no heed to th' lass, for all her bonnie ways. -Ye cannot grow taties i' mucky soil, anor father a right sort -o' love on a Ratcliffe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold thy peace, Nanny! who said I cared for Mistress -Ratcliffe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your face, lad, said it. Theer! I've angered ye, an' -ye've enough as 'tis to put up wi'.—I war saying, Maister, -that ye'll niver bottom th' meanness of a Ratcliffe, as I can -do; an' when ye think 'at they'll respect a dead man ony more -nor a wick un, ye're sore mista'en."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, they're an ill lot—but even the Lean Man would -scruple to set on mourners at a grave-side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust an owd head, Maister. Witherlee put a plain -question to Red Ratcliffe yestermorn; he axed him fair an' -square if they meant to let th' burying go by i' peace; an' -he telled by th' look o' th' chap 'at they meant to do no sich -thing.—Lad, I'll not axe ye to believe, for ye've getten your -father's trick o' thinking th' best of ony mon save yourseln; -but I will axe ye to humour an owd body's fancy, and to send -as quick as may be to your kin at Hillus, an' Cranshaw to bid -'em buckle their sword on afore they come to Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When did Marshcotes ever see armed mourners at a graveside?" -he said, eyeing her doubtfully. "'Twill wear a queer -look, Nanny, if no attack is made."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 'ull wear a queerer, my sakes, if they come an' cut ye -all i' little pieces. For owd sake's sake, Maister, promise me -ye'll do it. Yond's Simeon stirring at th' back o' th' house; -I should know his step by now, for he walks as if one foot -war flaired-like to follow t' other. Bid Simeon get hisseln to -horseback——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doubt it still, nurse. What if the Lean Man has nailed -his token to the door? There's time and to spare, by the -Heart, for what will follow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fiddle o' that tale!" cried the Sexton's wife briskly. "If -ye choose to lig cold i'stead o' warm, I've ta'en trouble -enough wi' ye i' times past, that I hev, to warrant my stepping -betwixt ye an' ony sich-like foolishness. An' if ye doan't -send Simeon, I'll walk myseln both to Hillus an' to -Cranshaw—ay, that I will—Maister, do ye knaw 'at th' Lean Man -crossed Barguest last neet as iver war?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne shook his head, smiling a little at the old -woman's fancy. "How should that be, nurse?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barguest war carred on th' door-stun, fair as if he'd been -ony mortal dog; an' while th' Lean Man war agate wi' -hammering his nail in, I heard th' hound whimper fit to mak ye -cry for pity of him. But Nicholas Ratcliffe niver heard th' -poor beast, not he; an' I hugged myseln to think 'at ivery -stroke on th' nail-head war a stroke to his own coffin. Ye've -getten your chance, Maister, an' I willun't let ye loss it for a -lack of a bit o' forethowt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Insensibly Wayne yielded to the old beliefs; reason might -chide him, but he knew in his heart, from that time forward, -that he would be even with the Lean Man before the end. -What tales had Nanny not told him in childhood, of Barguest -and his ways? What musty traditions were not grafted on -his growing manhood, of the certain disaster that waited any -foeman of the Waynes who crossed the Spectre Hound? -Ay, he believed, and his eyes shone clear with the first light -of hope that had touched them since he returned two nights -ago to the Bull tavern, a sobered and heart-stricken man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's Nell!" cried Wayne on the sudden, pushing -Nanny roughly into the house. "For God's sake keep her -within-doors, nurse, till I have plucked down yonder trophy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorrow's a rare un to get folk up betimes; how oft is -Mistress Nell astir wi' th' dawn, I wonder?" muttered -Nanny, as she returned to the hall, closing the door behind -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-morrow, nurse," said the girl, crossing the hall and -laying her two cold hands in Nanny's. "Art weary, belike, -with the long watch?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife looked at Nell's white face and red-rimmed -eyes, and she could find no heart to answer; she just -took the lass in her arms, and kissed her, and comforted her -with such little wordless tendernesses as she had used when -Nell had been frightened as a bairn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While they stood thus, still with no speech between them, -a horse pulled up at the door, and they could hear the rider's -voice strike, deadened a little but clear, through the stout -oaken planks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The feud is up, lad! When I rode home last night they -had slain one of my folk on Cranshaw Rigg."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, and the body lacked"—came the voice of Shameless -Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's pity! Wrench it down. 'Tis my brother's hand, -Ned," broke in the first speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't?" cried Nell, freeing herself from Nanny's -arms and turning sharply. "That was Rolf's voice—and Ned -is with him—what are they doing, nurse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver heed 'em, bairn—they're nobbut——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but thou canst not blind me, Nanny! I know! I -dreamed of it the night through—'tis the old token father told -me of so oft—'tis a Wayne's hand, nurse! Did I not tell -thee Barguest went pad-footed down the lane beside me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, whisht ye, mistress! Your sweetheart's safe, as ye -can hear, an' he'll be in by an' by—he's coming now, an' ye'll -noan want me, dearie, when he's by to comfort ye. I'll -waken th' wenches, an' then I mun lig me down awhile, for -there's a lot needs seeing to this day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell stood there idly until the old woman's steps were lost -among the restless echoes of the house. On a sudden the -main door was thrown open, and Shameless Wayne came in -alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did not Rolf stay?" asked Nell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I gave him a message for his folk at Cranshaw. -Nay, I cannot tell thee what it was; 'twould only scare thee. -—Come, Nell! I, too, have to get to saddle, and I fear to -leave thee with such misery in thy face. Where are the lads?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Abed yet—wearied with their hunting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They must not come to the kirkyard. Bid them keep -close to home till we return."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Ned, why should they keep away?" the girl began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped her, with the quiet, forceful air that she was -learning to obey. "Because I bid them," he said, and kissed -her lightly on the cheek, and went out to the stables.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell crossed to the bier, where her father lay heedless of -the storm and fret that his death had brought to old Marsh -House. She sat her down, and put her face between her -hands, and let her thoughts go drifting down the pathway of -the years. From time to time the maids came in and busied -themselves with setting out the table for the feast that would -follow the old master's burial in a few hours' time; but the -master's daughter seemed to heed them as little as himself. -She thought of her brother, wondering at the change in him, -yet doubting that the old wildness would return soon as the -first keen smart of shame was softened; she thought of -Mistress Wayne, who was a guest here in the house which she -had dishonoured in all men's eyes; and then again she -remembered what had chanced in Marshcotes kirkyard, and told -herself that surely a twelvemonth had hurried by since she -went up to the belfry-tower with a knife close hidden under -her cloak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not two days ago she had watched the life ebb fast and red -from the wound in her father's back, while his murderer -looked on and laughed; and now he was ready for the grave; -and in between there had seemed no rest from the hurry of -events. Dick Ratcliffe had paid his price; one of the -Cranshaw Waynes had fallen at the Lean Man's hand; the old -feud-token had been nailed over the Marsh doorway; and -under all the present misery—the grief and fret and long-drawn-out -restlessness that wait on burial—was the overshadowing -sense of tragedy to come. To-day they would lay their dead -to rest; and then the smouldering embers of the feud would -leap to flame; and after that no man nor woman of them all -could count a day safe won through till it was done, and men's -lives and women's honour would be no more than straws upon -the fast-racing stream of chance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this went back and forth in the girl's mind, and the -feud took on a hundred different shapes each time she -thought of it. It was the feud she had heard of since -earliest childhood, the feud whose memory was grafted in by -many a far-back legend and nearer tale of fight. Often and -often in the happier years she had wondered, as a girl will, -how the way of it would be if the quarrel broke out afresh: -there had been deeds of high courage and glamour of -sword-thrust to make her almost love the feud and count it -noble; but now that it was on them, now that it hugged the -very threshold, naked, terrible and brutish, she understood the -reality and lost her dream-visions of the splendour and the -majesty of fight. Fight meant gaping wounds, and blood upon -the floor, and men going into the shadowy places when they -were at the topmost of their strength. God knew that, if -the choice were hers, she would cry peace once and for all -and let the dead past rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet her mood changed like the gusty wind that whistled -now and then across the chimney-stacks. No sooner had she -let that eager prayer for peace escape her, than her hands -clenched themselves, and her eyes brightened, and the old -vengeance-cry of her people rose hot to her lips. Let -bloodshed come, and slaughter—and she would take new heart as -one by one the Ratcliffes fell. Never in all the years that -they had been together had the likeness between the dead man -and his daughter shown more plain than now, as she laid her -hand on his and counted his wrongs afresh. The pride of -her race, its pitiless sternness when wronged, seemed gathered -from the long-dead generations who had fought the Wayne -and Ratcliffe fight aforetime; and the hate of the fathers -woke again to splendour and to savagery in the slender-supple -body of this last daughter of the line.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She could sit still no longer, but got to her feet and crossed -to the garden-door. The house-air stifled her; men fought -under the open sky, and for that cause there was friendship -in wind and sun and drifting clouds. Something like a -prayer—a masterful prayer, and a bitter—rose to the girl's lips -as she stood and felt the keen wind in her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep warm my hate, Lord God!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A light footstep sounded from the hall behind her. She -turned and saw little Mistress Wayne bending over her father's -body, with the same questioning, roguish air that she had -worn last night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wake, wake!" Mistress Wayne was lisping in the dead -man's ear. "'Tis my wedding-morn, I tell thee, and all at -Marsh must come to see it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not touched at all was Nell by the piteousness of the -scene. She remembered only what this woman had done, and -forgot how hard a penance she was undergoing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get ye gone," she said, clutching her step-mother fiercely -by the arm. "Is't not enough that you have killed him, but -you must mock him after death?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne shrank backward from her touch. "I did -but try to wake him, Nell. He would be angered if he missed -my bridal-morn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell made no answer, but turned her back on the little -woman; and Mistress Wayne crept, softly as she had come, -out of the chamber whose guest perplexed her so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her bridal-morn!" cried Nell, as though her father could -hear that she was speaking to him. "Is it for malice that -she gowns herself in white on such a day, and prates of -weddings? Father, why didst go to the Low Country for a wife? -She has brought disaster on disaster since the first day she set -foot in Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A new thought came to her, adding its own load to the -burden that was already over-heavy for her. Would Ned win -free of his passion for Janet Ratcliffe, or would his marriage, -too, be ill-fated as his father's? To wed from the Low -Country was folly, but marriage between a Ratcliffe and a -Wayne would be a crime on which the country-side would up -and cry out shame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, in a moment, all the girl's fierceness, her -resolution and tearless pride, were lost. God had made her a -woman, and like a woman she fell prone across the bier, and -wept, and thought neither of vengeance nor of hatred, but of -the love that had grown through twenty years of comradeship -between the dead man and herself. It was not her father's -strength, his sweeping recklessness in fight, that she -remembered now; but she recalled his gentleness toward her, his -clean and upright courtesy, his generosity to rich and poor -among his neighbours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marsh House was full of the unrest that goes before a -burial, the fruitless wandering to-and-fro which seems to ease -the sorrow of the living. The menservants were idling in the -courtyard with a subdued sort of noisiness; the maids were -still passing and re-passing from the kitchen; and Nanny -Witherlee, unable to snatch more than the briefest spell of -sleep, came hobbling by and by into the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old woman stopped on seeing Nell stretched across -the bier, and half advanced toward her; then shook her head. -"I'll let her be; happen 'twill be best for her to cry her een -out," she muttered, and turned down the passage to the -kitchen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny showed different altogether this morning from the -quivering, ghost-ridden watcher who had kept so long a vigil -with only the dead and strange voices in the wind for -company. Then there had been no work to be done, no -household cares to rouse the old instincts in her; but now that -preparations for the burial feast were going busily forward she -slipped naturally into the place which had been hers at Marsh -aforetime. Brisk as though she had had a full night's sleep, -she fell to doing this and that, rating the maids the while with -a keenness that robbed the day of half its sadness for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now then, ye idle wenches!" she cried, soon as she had -crossed the kitchen threshold. "Do ye think gaping at a -mutton-pasty 'ull mak it walk to th' dining board? Martha, -tha'rt allus mooning ower thy work like a goose wi' a nicked -head. An' look at Mary yonder! Standing arms under apron -when th' house 'ull soon be full o' hungry folk. An' th' -Waynes allus had good appetites, sorrow or no sorrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny was setting parsley-sprigs round a dish of neat's -tongue all this time; and when this was done she climbed -onto the settle and reached down piece after piece of -haver-bread that was drying on the creel. The same instinct that -had bidden her test the quality of Wayne's winding sheet, -while yet she was deep in sorrow for him, was with her now, -and her mind was set on leaving no unremembered detail, of -wine or meat or ripe October ale, to mar the burial-feast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's weel to do nowt, same as some folk!" she cried, -stopping to glance sourly at the progress of the maids. "I -don't know what wenches are made on nowadays, that I -don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do nowt, my sakes! When my knees is dibble-double-ways -wi' weariness," cried Martha.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hoity-toity! I've done as mich before breakfast ivery -day o' th' week when I war a lass.—Mary, wilt gi'e me a -hand wi' this cheese, or mun I let it fall to th' floor-stuns?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The maids, run off their feet already, without any help -from outside, grew wild with the natter-natter of the -Sexton's wife; but awe of her kept any but the briefest snaps of -anger from their tongues, and it was a relief to both when the -door opened slowly and they saw Hiram Hey standing on the -threshold. Clean-shaven and spruce of body was Hiram, and -a certain melancholy drooping of the mouth-corners could not -quench his sober gaiety of mien.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a sad day, this, for us at Marsh," he said, thrusting -his head forward and sniffing the air with unctuous wonder -that the women could think of victuals at all at such a time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny turned quickly. "It willun't be ony brighter for -thy coming, Hiram Hey. We want no men-folk here," she -cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The maids looked from Nanny to the farm-man, and then -at each other. There was a stiff breeze always when these -two met, and Nanny was apt to find her match at such times.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now, are ye winning forrard-like?" said Hiram, -leaning against the doorway in his idlest attitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, an' no thanks to thee," snapped the Sexton's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It beats me to know how folk can eat an' drink, an' -drink an' eat, when there's a burying. It seems a mockery -o' th' dead, that it does—as mich as to say, 'See what it is to -be wick, lad; tha'll niver put victuals down thy throat again, -same as I'm doing now.' Ay, I've oft thowt it's enough to -mak a corpse turn round an' scowl at ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've seen thee at a burying, Hiram," said the Sexton's -wife, quietly, "an' tha can do thy share, I've noticed. It's -all talk, an' nowt but, wi' sich as ye. Tha cannot see we're -thrang, mebbe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His only answer was to shift his shoulder to a more easiful -position against the doorway, and Nanny left him to it. At -another time she would have had a sharper tongue for Hiram -Hey, nor would his own responses have lacked their sting; -but the old Master's influence had never been so strong as it -was now, and a sense of seemliness—a fear, perhaps, of -waking the last sleep of him who lay so near to them—held even -the rough tongues of these upland folk in check.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram glanced at Martha, soon as the little old woman had -hobbled out to lay fresh dishes in the hall; and Martha -answered his glance in a way that showed there was an -understanding between them—as indeed there was like to be, seeing -that Hiram Hey had been wooing her off and on these two -years past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast been to th' fields this morn?" asked Martha.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, iver sin' th' sun war up, lass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'll be dry, then, Hiram, at after thy morning's work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dry, now? Well, I wodn't say just dry—but that way -on a bit. I niver war a drinker myseln, as I telled shepherd -Jose nobbut yesterday; but there's a time for iverything, an' -if I war to see a quart, say, of October frothing ower th' lip -o' th' mug——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'd find a mouth to fit it? Well, an' shall, says I," -cried Martha.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram stretched his limbs more lengthily before the peats, -as a soothing gurgle from the pantry told him that Martha -was already filling him a measure. She was back again by -and by, with a brim-full pewter in her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drink, lad Hiram; what wi' work an' sadness, there's -need for strong liquor here at Marsh," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The firelight struck with a ruddy, softened sheen on the -pewter as Hiram lifted it. He drank slowly, and his face -was full of unwonted cheerfulness until he had set down the -empty mug beside him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Theer! It war gooid, Martha," he murmured sorrowfully, -"but I doubt there's nowt mich in it when all's said. -Drink is all varry weel, but there's one ower i' th' hall -yonder who'll niver warm to liquor again this side o' Judgment. -Nay, I'm fair shamed o' myseln to be supping ale while th' -owd Maister ligs so cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and eyed the empty pewter; and Martha, reaching -across the settle-back, picked up the mug again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha's getten too soft a heart, Hiram," she said. "Sup -while ye can, an' mak th' most on't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, nay, I'm no drinker. Plain watter is nigh th' -same to me as ale, an' there's no call for thee to fill -afresh—leastways, I wodn't say a full quart, tha knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Martha was back again before he had well finished with -his protests. "Get done wi' 't, Hiram, afore Nanny comes -back," she whispered. "She carries an ill tongue, does -Nanny, when she finds life going too easy wi' a body."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's queer things bahn to happen," said Hiram presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By th' Heart, I thowt there'd been queer happenings -enough of late!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The shepherds telled me this morn that th' Ratcliffes is -all a-buzz, an' folk are shaking their heads all up an' dahn th' -moorsides. Besides, th' owd house here fair rustles, like, as -I've known it do afore when trouble war i' store. I tell thee, -I can hear th' boggarts creeping wick as scropels fro' roof to -cellar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hod thy whisht—do, now, for goodness sake. Tha -flairs me," cried Martha, glancing behind her. And then -she clutched the farm-man by the arm with sudden terror. -"Look yonder, Hiram! Look yonder!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram looked and started to his feet. "Begow, I thowt -'twar a right boggart this time," he muttered. "What ails -th' little body to move so quiet about a house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne, dressed all in white, with celandines at -her breast and fair hair rippling to her waist, had come in -from the garden and stood at the open kitchen-door; and she -was smiling, carelessly and trustfully, on the frightened maids -and on old Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis my wedding-morn," she said, "and I've been to talk -with the fairies, Martha. They say 'tis well to get the wee -folks' blessing for the bairns to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram gave her a long glance, then looked away; and an -unwonted pity stirred him. "Nay, I've no sorrow to waste. -She's made herself a nettle-bed, an' she mun lig on't," he -muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in, Mistress, come in, an' warm yourseln a bit; -ye're looking cold and wan, like," cried Martha, recovering -from her fright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, that is not true. I peeped at myself in the well -out there just now, and I thought that I had never seen a -happier face. Hiram, thou must come to my wedding, too; -wilt thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, Mistress—ay, I'll come, choose what."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled again, and waved her hand, and slipped away -into the sunshine that shimmered over the wet flagstones of -the yard. And neither Martha nor the farm-men found aught -to say to one another for awhile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What dost mak of it?" said Hiram Hey at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I can mak nowt of it. But 'tis a drear start for a -burial. Hiram, lad, Marsh is no healthy place just now, an' I -for one could wish to be weel out on't. It isn't th' blood-shed -I fear, an' it isn't th' dead man yonder—but it's th' ghosts! -Tha'rt right when tha says they fair creep fro' floor to garret."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A thought crossed Hiram's mind—no new thought, either, -but one that showed livelier than its wont now Martha was in -such trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'd be fain to change dwellings, like?" he ventured, -putting a hand on her shoulder and half drawing her toward him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martha yielded to his touch, and a puzzled look came over -Hiram's face; he had pondered over this last step for -four-and-twenty months, and needed a twelvemonth longer in which -to make sure of its wisdom. His doubts were settled, -however, by the intrusion of the Sexton's wife, who stopped on -seeing what was afoot and glanced from Hiram to the empty mug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So that's what's browt thee here, Hiram Hey?" she -cried. "Tha'rt a bonnie un to come talking o' what's -seemly i' a house o' death! First, to drink thyseln dizzy-crazy, -an' then to go prettying wi' a wench that mud weel by -thy own grandchild. Nay, I've no patience wi' thee; tha'rt -owd enough to be thinking o' thy own latter end i'stead o' -fly-by-skying wi' lasses, an'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram for once could find no answer, but stood ruffling the -frill of hair under his clean-shaven chin and shifting his feet -from side to side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have talked with my cousin, Nanny," came the Master's -voice from the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny turned and saw Shameless Wayne standing there, -pale and quiet, with the straight downward rent between his -brows which seemed to have been fixed there two nights ago -for good and all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About th' burying, Maister?" she queried eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye. We are to go armed; the word has been sent round."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now God be praised! Ye're wise to list to what Barguest -hes to tell," said the Sexton's wife, and forgot to rate the -maids, forgot the fifty little household cares that claimed -attention.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-stormy-burial"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A STORMY BURIAL</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Wayne vault lay open to the April sky, and throstles -were singing in the stunted trees, as Sexton Witherlee, infirm -of step and dreamy of eye, moved softly over the graveyard -stones. He stopped when he reached the vault, set down the -ladder he was carrying and stood looking at the clean-swept -room below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a sweet place, a vault, to my thinking," he muttered. -"So trim and peaceable the folk lie, each on his appointed -shelf, with never a wrong word betwixt 'em th' twelvemonth -through. Ay, 'tis quiet ligging, an' th' storms pass overhead, -an' ivery now an' again there's what ye mud call a stir among -'em when a new shelf is filled an' a new neighbour earned. -Well, I've seen life a bittock, but I wod swop beds wi' ony o' -these, that I wod."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A robin came and perched on the top rung of the ladder, -and eyed Sexton Witherlee sideways with a friendliness which -long following after the spade had bred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, laddie, dost think I'm delving?" said the Sexton, -chuckling feebly. "Nay, there's to be a better burying this -morn nor raw earth gives a man. 'Tis bricks an' mortar, -robin, an' a leaded coffin for sich as Wayne o' Marsh.—Well, -then, bide a bit till I've straightened all up down here, an' then -I'll scrat thee up a worm or two for thy dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reached down one stiffened leg, twisted the ladder from -side to side to make sure that it was safe, and began his slow -descent into the vault. He passed his hand lightly over the -stone doors that hid the shelves—lightly, and as if he loved -each separate entry in this Book of Death. And all the -while he talked to himself, soft and slow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's old Tom Wayne put to bed there—he war a rum -'un an' proper, they say, though he war dead a hundred year -afore my time—an' yond's Ralph Wayne's spot—well, he lived -hot an' he lived fast, did Ralph Wayne, an' he died at two-score, -an' so saved a mort o' sweating an' unthankfulness. An' -now there's th' Maister come to join 'em; I mind burying his -wife ten years agone—ten years!—an' him to hev lived wi' all -his troubles until now. It 'ull by my turn next, I'm -thinking—th' young 'uns come an' they go, an' it doan't hold to -reason that Sexton Witherlee should be spared to bury 'em for -iver."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A broom stood in one corner of the vault, fashioned of -heather-fagots bound to a stout handle of ash. Witherlee -took the broom in his hands, and began to sweep up the -rubble that lay about the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moiling an' toiling, that's all a man addles by keeping th' -life quick i' him. I'm faired shamed o' living when I come -among so many decent, quiet bodies—ay, fair shamed," -murmured the Sexton, and rested on his broom, and looked up to -find a broad face and a sturdy pair of shoulders hanging over -the edge of the vault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's trade, Sexton?" said the newcomer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brisk, Jonas, brisk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what's one man's meat is another man's poison, i' -a manner o' speaking. 'Tis how ye look at things, I reckon, -an' there's heads an' tails on ivery good piece o' money. So -trade's middling, is't?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay. Other trades grow slack, but ye cannot do -without Sexton Witherlee i' Marshcotes parish. That's what I -says to Parson a week come yestermorn. 'Parson,' says I, -'me an' thee hev getten likely trades. Folk allus need -prayers, an' they allus need burying. Crops fail time an' -time,' I says, 'an' sickness follows at after famine; an' that's -money i' a Sexton's breeches pockets,' says I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mebbe tha'rt right, Sexton; but I'd liefer live by putting -sound liquor down folk's throats nor be shovelling earth a-top -of 'em when they've getten past meat an' drink. But we -munnot fratch, for we're near neighbours—me at th' Bull, an' -thee i' th' kirkyard hard by, an' each to his own trade, says I, -choose who hears me say 't.—'Tis a drear business, this o' -th' Maister o' Marsh. Th' burying is fixed for twelve o' th' -clock, they tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, sure; he'll be ligged i' bed here all ship-shape, will -th' owd Maister, come a half hour after nooin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's nobbut been laid out two days an' less, hes he? -How should that come about, like? 'Tis nobbut decent I -allus did say, to give a corpse its full time on th' -bier—'specially a gentle-born corpse, that looks for so mich more -attention or a common un."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I've a fancy that they thowt they mud as weel get -th' burying done wi' afore th' Ratcliffes war up to ony o' their -tricks. Leastways that war what Nanny telled me, an' she -war watching th' body all last neet at Marsh. I've been -fettling up a bit, an' pondering a bit, an' going ower th' owd -days. Eh, Jonas, but we shall see what we war meant to see -afore th' winter comes again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—fighting, dost think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, we shall that. I've getten a tidy-parcel o' Waynes -down here, an' I can reckon five o' th' Marsh lot, let alone t' -others, that fell by Ratcliffe swords an' Ratcliffe pistols, an' -there's few knows as I do what a power o' hate ligs 'twixt -Wildwater an' Marsh. I tell thee, lad, it maks my owd blood -warm to think o' th' brave times coming back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can niver stop wondering at thee, Sexton," said Jonas -Feather, settling his arms more easifully on his stick. "Tha'rt -a little, snipperty chap, as full o' dreaminess as a tummit is -full o' waiter; tha's getten th' rheumatiz i' legs an' shoulder-blades, -an' ivery winter brings thee browntitus, sure as Christmas. -Yet here tha stands, an' I can see thy een fair blaze -again when tha talks o' fighting. Hast iver seen owt o' th' -sort, or is't just fancy, like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton laughed, a dry and feeble laugh. "I've seen -part blood-letting, Jonas; an' ivery neet as I sit i' th' settle -after th' day's moil is owered wi', I go backard i' my thowts. -Small wonder that I'm gay, like, to think that soon there'll be -a fight to butter my bread at ivery meal-time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'tis best for plain chaps like thee an' me, Sexton, to -let 'em settle it among theirselns. Poor folk mun live, I -allus did say, an' if tha addles a bit by burying, I willun't -grudge it thee.—Will th' burying go forrard peaceable-like, -dost think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I couldn't tell thee. Like as not there'll be a fight -on th' way fro' Marsh to th' kirkyard here.—Now, Jonas, hod -th' stee-top while I clamber up," broke off the Sexton, throwing -up his broom and setting one foot on the bottom rung of -the ladder. "There's this an' there's that to be looked to, an' -it's gone eleven a'ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sakes, tha doesn't mean it! An' here I stand cracking -wi' thee i'stead o' smartening up th' sarving-wenches down at -th' Bull yonder.—I'm noan for saying it doan't breed custom, -mind ye, Witherlee, this senseless sort o' fratching 'twixt th' -gentlefolk. They'll be coming fro' far an' wide to see th' -last o' th' owd man, for all th' moorside war varry friendly to -him; an' 'tis nobbut fitting 'at them as comes to mourn -should be warmed a bit i' th' innards at after th' job is done wi'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's part folk hereabouts who care nowt whether -they've getten warm drink or cold or none at all; an' that, -mind ye, shows a sight more sense nor us poor shammocky -chaps above ground hev to show for ourselns," said Witherlee, -as he picked up his broom and cast a lingering glance of -affection on his "tidy bits o' graves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shameless Wayne is sobered by this time, I'm thinking," -dropped Jonas, walking pace for pace with the Sexton down -the path that led to the tool-house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's getten a gooidish heart, hes th' lad, an' this may -weel be th' making of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, he left me drunk t' other neet, an' he came back i' a -two-three minutes after sober; an' when a man gets skifted -out o' liquor so speedy like, he gets a sort o' hatred on 't. -Leastways, that's what I've noticed more nor once, an' I -reckon it hods gooid at most times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's robin, seeing the chance of dinner going by -in spite of all its shy attempts to claim attention, hopped boldly -on to Witherlee's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now look at that, Jonas!" he cried, "I thowt I niver -forgot a promise, an' here hev I been so thrang wi' talking o' -what's past an' what's to come that I war all but going off -without gi'eing robin redbreast his bit o' meat. Look at th' -little chap! He fair speaks wi' yond wick een o' hisn, an' his -feathers is all piked out to show 'at his belly is cold for -hunger. Well, it taks all sorts to mak a world, an' I niver -did see 'at redbreasts war ony way less to be thowt on nor us -bigger folk; both sorts go on two legs, an' both turn their -legs toes-uppermost one day, choose how th' wind blows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, there isn't much to choose when it comes to th' latter end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'll be bidding thee good-day, Jonas," said the -Sexton, turning down to the shed. "I mun put th' broom away, -for I doan't like to see more tools about a kirkyard nor need -be; an' then I'll turn up a two-three worms for th' robin. He -allus looks on at a burying, does redbreast, an' I like to think -he'll be well lined i' th' innards—it makes a burying more -pleasurable, like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jonas, after nodding a farewell to the Sexton, sauntered -down to his tavern, his hands in his pockets, as if there were -ample time for everything in this world; and, though he would -bestir the maids presently with a rough hand and a rougher -tongue, he saw no cause to hurry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast been to hev a look at th' vault, Jonas?" said a -farmer from over Wildwater way, who was just going in for a -mug of ale as the landlord entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay. All's ship-shape, an' as neat as a basket of eggs. We -shall see a big stir, I reckon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bigger stir nor ye think for, mebbe," said the other. -"What dost mean, lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I can't rightly say—only that when I war crossing -th' moor ower by Wildwater a while back, I see'd a band o' -Ryecollar Ratcliffes come riding up to th' Lean Man's door. -Their sword-belts were noan empty, awther, an' they war -laughing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Laughing, war they? There's a saying that when a Ratcliffe -laughs, there'll be wark for th' Sexton. How mony strong -wod they be, like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Six or seven, so far as I could reckon 'em up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, it looks bad—it looks bad, an' I'm noan for denying -it. Owd Witherlee war cracking o' summat o' th' sort, too, -not mony minutes sin'. Well, there's none i' th' moorside -but what wishes well to th' Waynes, if it come to a -tussle—though I wodn't hev th' Lean Man hear me say 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The folk were gathering meanwhile in the graveyard. Some -came in by the gate at the village end, others by the wicket -that opened on the moor. All wore the air of sober merriment -which a burying never fails to bring to the faces of the -moor-folk; all clustered about the vault, and chattered like so -many magpies, and turned to ask Sexton Witherlee, when he -came from feeding his robin, a hundred silly questions as to -the disposal of the coffins. These were holiday times for the -moorside, and their real sorrow for the sturdy, upright master -of Marsh House served only to add a more subtle edge to their -enjoyment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were festivals for Witherlee likewise; and, though -the Sexton held that pride became no man, seeing what he -must come to in the end, he always bore himself more youthfully -at a burial and looked his fellow-men more squarely in -the face. This was his workshop, and it pleased him that -his lustier fellows, who were proud of their skill at farming or -joinering or the like, should see that he, too, man of dreams as -he was, could show a deft hand at his trade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gossip grew rife as the knot of sight-seers increased. One -would tell a tale of the old days when Waynes and Ratcliffes -fought at every cross-road, and another would cap the -narrative with one more fearsome. The women talked of the good -deeds that Wayne of Marsh had done, of the tidy bit o' brass -his coffin had cost, of the mad pranks that Shameless Wayne -had played in times past. The children played hide-and-seek -among the graves, or crept to the vault-edge and peered down -in awed expectation, awaiting they knew not what of such -terrors as their mothers had taught them to associate with the -dead. The grown lasses came with lavender in their aprons, -and sprinkled the vault-floor with the lovesome herb, and sent -up a prayer to the unknown and dreadful God who dwelt -amid the peat-wastes and the bogs—a prayer that they might -escape this last close prison until wedlock had given them -bairns, lest the curse of the women who were buried with -empty breasts should light on them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Th' corpse is coming!" some one cried on the sudden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The chatter ceased, and all eyes sought the yew-shadowed -turning of the pathway. Shameless Wayne, his cousin Rolf -and two others carried the coffin at shoulder height. In front -walked the Parson, his white hair ruffled by the breeze; -behind them followed a score of kinsmen, the Long Waynes of -Cranshaw over-topping all the others by a head; and behind -these again walked a line of farm-men and of women-servants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good sakes, they've getten swords an' pistols!" muttered -one of the onlookers, as the crowd made a clear lane to the -kirk-porch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By th' Heart, who iver heard tell o' folk coming armed to -a burying!" cried another. "There mun be summat more -going forrard nor we've ony notion on. Look at Shameless -Wayne! God keep me an' mine fro' seeing sich mortal -anguish i' a lad's face again! He looks fair mad wi' grief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's getten cause. Hast noan heard that he war droughen -while Nanny Witherlee war ringing for his father? Nay, -he's a slow-to-blush un, an' proper, an' I wonder he's getten -grace enough to come sober to th' grave.—Stand back, childer! -Willun't ye be telled? Or mun ye bide i' th' gate till they -bury ye wi' th' coffin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The children shrank back, curiosity killed by fright, and the -bearers moved slowly up the path until the grey church hid -them. Tongues were loosened again, and Jonas Feather, -coming up with the information he had gleaned from the -farmer from Wildwater way, was beset by a clamorous knot -of folk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I war sure there war summat out o' th' ordinary—see'd -th Ryecollar Ratcliffes crossing th' moor, tha says, -Jonas?—Well, I mind th' owd days, but there war nowt so -outrageous as this shows like to be—theer, hod thy whisht! -They're coming fro' th' kirk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again a lane was formed, from the porch to the vault where -Sexton Witherlee was waiting with his ropes. The wind was -at peace, and its soft stir among the budding leaves mingled -with song of redbreast and love-pipe of the throstles. A -faint odour of lavender crept upward from the vault, suggesting -quiet and fragrant hopes for better days to come. Yet -the hush that settled over the watching crowd had little rest -in it, and it was plain by their laboured breathing, as the -coffin was lowered by the creaking ropes, that none looked for a -peaceful end to a burial that counted sword and pistol as -mourners.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amongst his kin, grouped thirty strong about the vault -with set faces and hands on sword-hilts, Shameless Wayne -stood noticeable; for his head was bent and the tears streamed -down his cheeks unheeded. Not until now had the lad reckoned -the full total of his past misdoings, nor known how -shame can eat the manhood out of bravery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes," said the Parson, in the -ringing voice that seemed a challenge to grim Death himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But another than Death took up the challenge. Swift out -of the moor a cry of "Ratcliffe, Ratcliffe!" answered him, -and the crowd gave back on the sudden, leaving the thirty-and-one -Waynes to turn face about, whipping their swords free of -the scabbards. Down through the wicket-gate trooped a score -of Ratcliffes, yelling their name-cry as they came. A moment -they halted, for they had looked to find the Waynes unarmed; -but the Lean Man cursed them forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne looked up at the first cry; his pale face -went ruddy, his eyes lit up. It was a welcome intrusion, this, -on the sour trend of his thoughts, and he, who had shown -most womanish among them, was now the leader of them all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A Wayne! In at them, lads! A Wayne, a Wayne!" -he called, and leaped at the Lean Man, and sliced his left ear -level with the cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Nicholas groaned with pain, then forced a laugh and -lifted his big two-handled sword above the head of Wayne of -Marsh. But the Waynes came pushing upward from behind, -and their leader was thrust against a gravestone on the left -hand of the path, while a kinsman took the Lean Man's blow -on his own uplifted blade. And after that Wayne mixed with -Ratcliffe, and Ratcliffe closed with Wayne, all up and down -between the graves, till there was no grass-green footway -'twixt the headstones but was rubbed black under the shifting -feet of swordsmen. The crowd fell back for fear, or moved -a few steps forward for awe according as the fight swept -toward them or away. One against one, or one against two, -it was, from the church porch to the field-wall, from the -moor-wicket to the Bull; there was no space for a massed fight, and -each man sought his special foe and followed him in and out -until church-wall, or upreared cross, or spiked hedge of thorn, -stopped pursuer and pursued and left no issue but the sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sexton Witherlee found his youth again as he stood just -under shelter of the porch, and watched, and rubbed his -shrivelled hands together. The old stuff worked in him, and he, -who had seen Wayne fight with Ratcliffe more than once, -thanked God that the sweetest moil of all had been kept to -lighten his last steps to the grave. His eyes went from group -to group, from thrust to nimble parry, until the kirkyard held -naught for him save the dancing shimmer of grey steel. The -cries redoubled, and "Ratcliffe" went in the teeth of "Wayne" -all down the pathway of the breeze; yet the Sexton knew, -from the snarl that underlay each Ratcliffe voice, from the -crisp fury of the Wayne-cry, that the Wildwater folk were -going down like windle-straws before their foes. The Ratcliffes -took to their pistols then, and hid behind gravestones, -and sent red streaks of flame across the mist of whirling steel; -but they had no time to reload, and hurry steered their bullets -for the most part amiss, and the Waynes, disdaining powder -at all times, hunted them from their cover like rats from out a -barley-mow. Above all shouts, of onset or of mortal anguish, -a lad's voice struck clear into the blue belly of the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No quarter, Waynes! In at them, and rip from heel to crown!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sexton Witherlee moved forward from his porch. "Yond -war Shameless Wayne's voice. God, but he's getten th' -fighting-fever as hot as iver I see'd a man tak it. Th' Lean -Man 'ull carry a sore head back to Wildwater, I'm thinking—if -he's spared.—There th' lad is! Sakes, but he's getten his -hands as full as they'll hod, an' no mistak!" he broke off, -straining his eyes toward the half-filled strip of graveyard -beneath the Parsonage which he was wont to call his "bit o' -garden." But Nicholas Ratcliffe was ever prudent in his hottest -fury, and he saw that the fight was all against his folk. The -long night of anguish was over for Wayne's son of Marsh, and -the rebound from it had filled his veins with something more -like the light fires that played across the boglands than with -slow-moving blood; his pace was the wind's pace, and the -fury of his onset put life into the sword-arms of each Wayne -that heard his lusty battle-cry. Back and further back the -Ratcliffes shrank, till the Lean Man's voice was heard, bidding -them retreat fighting to the moor-gate and then escape as best -they could.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No quarter!" came Shameless Wayne's trumpet-note, as -he chased them to the nearest wicket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But pursuit could go no further, for the pursuers were all on -foot and a moment saw the Ratcliffes mounted on the horses -which they had tethered to the graveyard hedge. Shameless -Wayne plucked out his pistol then, and laughed as a yell from -one of the retreating redheads followed his quick pulling of the -trigger. Then he turned back sharply, for the sound of -running feet came up the path; re-entering by the wicket, he was -met full by three Ratcliffes, left behind by their fellows in the -wild rush for safety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne never halted, but drove down on them, his sword -uplifted; and they, three to one, fell back in panic almost on -to the points of the upcoming Waynes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold off! They're mine," cried Shameless Wayne, waving -his folk aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up and down he chased them, and up and down they ran, -doubling behind gravestones or running hare-footed across -open ground; for this lad, whom they had laughed at as a -drunkard and a fool, seemed godlike in his fury. The Waynes -held every outlet, and all watched the grim chase silently. -And then Shameless Wayne's opportunity came; the three -were running altogether now, and one tripped up the other, -and Wayne was scarce a sword's length from them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have them—" he began, and lifted his right arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the open vault yawned under them before their brute -terror showed where this second danger lay. They reeled at -the edge and half recovered, then dropped to the paved floor -beneath, where the coffin lay where Witherlee had dropped it -at the first onset.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne, mad with the swift onset and the crash -of blows, stood laughing at the edge and beckoned to two of -his folk. "Roof them over, and let them rot there," he cried, -kicking the ringed vault-stone with his foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd shrank back, and even his own people were -affrighted by the wild command. None knew—none guessed, -save Sexton Witherlee, watching from the porch—what fury -of despair, and shame, and bitterness, had gone to the making -of this brute mood of the lad's. Nor was he in case to -wonder at himself; for the one moment he wished naught in -heaven or earth save to see the flat stone ring down on those -who would have done honest men to death by treachery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do ye draw back, ye fools?" he cried. "Is it a -time for maidishness, or do ye want——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay, lad! Thou'lt think better of it in a while," said -Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw, touching him on the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he halted, glowering from his folk to the stone, and -from the stone to the Ratcliffes who lay, maimed and dumb -with terror, over his father's coffin, a frail little body, robed -all in white, stepped quietly to his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis my wedding-day, Ned," she said piteously, "and all -the folk have come to mock at me, pretending 'tis a burial. -What art doing here? Surely thou'lt come to church and -help me find my lover there. Thou hast ever been kind to -me when others mocked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne was silent for a space; and then, he -knew not why, his mood swung round, and grief rushed thick -to eyes and throat. He took the shivering woman by the -hand, and turned, and led her down the path. "Come home, -little bairn; 'tis over late to see thee wed to-day, but by and -by we'll see to it," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went with him quietly, her face brightening as she -clung close to his arm. And all the folk crossed themselves, -and held their peace, and watched the strange pair go out at -the churchyard gate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's to be done with these?" said Wayne of Cranshaw, -after a long silence, pointing to the vault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They shall not foul a Wayne vault, at any rate," said a -kinsman. "Poor hounds! See how they tremble—they're -scarce worth the killing. Up with them, lads, and if they can -stand at all, we'll set them free to cross to Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I warrant ye will," murmured Sexton Witherlee, who -had moved to the grave-side. "But would the Ratcliffes have -done the like to ye in such a case?—Well—pity comes wi' -gooid breeding, I reckon, an' 'tis noan for us poorer sort to -teach ye better—but these three may live to plague ye yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All were gone at last—all save Parson and Sexton, who -stood and looked, one at the other first, and afterward across -the kirkyard. The sun was silver under grey rain-clouds -now; a wet drift of mist came with the westward wind; no -throstle sang, but the peewits came wheeling, wheeling, crying, -crying, from across the moor, and far up above a sentinel -vulture flapped wings and watched the unburied dead who lay -with their faces to the rain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton had been round the graveyard once again. His -battle-glee had left him, and a soft light was in his face as he -leaned against a headstone and watched the Parson, who stood -as he had left him, his head bent in prayer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a drear day's work, Witherlee," said the Parson, -lifting his eyes at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A drear day's wark, Parson—but sweet as honey while it -lasted. Praise God there's nobbut one Wayne killed—one o' -th' Hill House lot, he is, an' he ligs up by th' wicket yonder. -An' praise God, says I, 'at there'll three Ratcliffes niver -trouble Marshcotes wi' their tricks again; one of 'em is stretched -at th' wall-side there, an' another under th' Parsonage.—I -see'd th' stroke that cleft yond last—cleft him fair like a -hazel-nut."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Parson eyed his Sexton gravely, and would have -spoken; but Witherlee's soft-moving voice crossed his own -before the first word was well out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Parson, I can see by th' face on ye that ye wod -liefer I read a sarmon nor a frolic i' all this; an' so I do, -when I can frame to gi'e my mind to 't. 'Tis noan th' -bloodshed itseln 'at pleasures me—for I'm soft wi' pity when I -come to see 'em lying cold—but th' blows, Parson! Th' -swing o' well-fed thews, an' th' dancing flicker o' live steel, -an' a man standing up to death wi' belly-deep laughter i' his -throat! I may be wrang, mind ye—there's few as isn't time -an' time—but I wod gi'e five years o' life to watch this moil -all ower again, and to see Shameless Wayne show how the -old breed strikes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vanity, Witherlee—all is vanity, save prayer, and chastening -of man's pride. Hast pity for the dead, thou say'st? -Ay, but that should sober thy zest in what went before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet th' pity is war nor t' other, being foolish altogether," -said the Sexton reflectively, "for I allus did say 'at there's -greener grass, an' sweeter, grows ower a dead man's grave nor -under his living feet. But there's a winding-sheet for all, so -we munnot complain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Soften thy heart, for God's mercy's sake, before the end -overtakes thee. Art hard, Witherlee, hard, with never a hope -beyond the grave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll noan' fratch, Parson," said Witherlee slowly. -"Ye've learned all fro' Heaven and Hell; but I've learned -fro' gooid, strong soil—what me an' ye came fro', an' what -we mun go back to i' th' end. It sticks, does kneaded earth, -an' when ye've lived husband-to-wife wi' 't i' a manner o' -speaking, ye get to look no forrarder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Parson sighed. It was but an old argument with a -drear new setting. "Earth holds earth—but it cannot hold -the soul," he said, wearily a little, and as if foredoomed to -plead in vain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's as may be," said Witherlee, in the low, even voice -that had likewise been taught him by his trade. "I niver hed -no dealings, so to say, wi' th' soul; I've knawn buryings but -no risings—save when th' ghosties stir up an' down among -th' graves, as they will do time an' time. An' th' ghosts 'ud -seem to hev won no further off nor Marshcotes kirkyard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art full of vain superstition, Witherlee. The soul thou -doubtest; but ghosts, in which no God-fearing man need believe——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Theer!" said Witherlee patiently. "I allus said there -niver wod be any sort of argreement 'twixt me an' ye, though -we jog on together. Ye live nigh th' kirkyard, Parson, but -ye doan't live </span><em class="italics">in</em><span> it, as I've done—ye hevn't learned th' </span><em class="italics">feel</em><span> of -a graveyard, or ye'd niver say nay to th' soft-footed ghosties. -Why, only last back-end, I mind, I see'd——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Parson shivered. "I am sick, Witherlee, with all -that has chanced, and my knees are weak under me. I will -bid thee good-day, and wish thee a softer heart," he said, -moving up the pathway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day to ye, Parson. I fear I'm ower owd to mend—but -I trust ye'll be no war for this day's moil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton watched him go, a weak and bent old figure, -until the Parsonage gate closed behind him. Then he sat him -down, and filled a pipe, and forgot to feel for his tinder-box -as the memories of the day came back to him. The rain was -dropping, and the wind was gathering chill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, 'tis still an' lonesome, at after all th' racket," he -murmured. "Poor Parson! He wodn't gladden a pulse-beat, -I'll warrant, if all th' lads i' Marshcotes fell to fighting. -Well, there's men like that, just as there's men 'at cannot -stomach honest liquor—an' Lord help both sorts, say I.—Well, -I mun mak th' most o' th' quiet, for they'll come for -yond bodies by an' by.—By th' Heart, how Shameless Wayne -cut an' hacked! He'll be a long thorn an' a sharp i' Nicholas -Ratcliffe's side, will th' lad. Eh' how he clipped th' Lean -Man's ear! God rest him!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-moorside-courtship"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The last week of March had seen rain, snow and hail; had -felt the wind shift from brisk North to snarling Southeast, -and from warm, rain-weighted South to an Easterly gale such -as nipped the veins in a man's body and daunted the -over-hasty green of elderberry and lifted the wet from ploughed -fields as speedily as if a July sun had scorched them. From -day to day—nay from hour to hour—the farm men had not -known whether they would shiver at the hardest work or -sweat with the easiest; the moist, untimely heat of one day -would plant rheumatism snugly in their joints, and the bitter -coldness of the next would weld it in. Nature was dead at -heart, it seemed, and whether she showed a dry eye or a tearful, -her face wore the dull greyness of despair, as if her thews -were too stiffened and too lean with age to rouse themselves -for the old labour of bringing buds to leaf, and kine to calving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now on a sudden all was changed. The wind blew -honest from the West, and even in shadowed corners it kept -no knife in waiting for man and beast. The sun shone -splendid out of a white-flecked, pearly sky. In the lower -lands, blackbird and thrush, starling and wren and linnet, broke -into one mighty chorus; and on the moors the grouse called -less complainingly one to the other, the larks were boisterous, -the eagles showed braver plumage to the sun, the very moor-tits -added a twittering sort of gaiety to the day. A lusty, -upstanding, joyous day, which brought old folk to their doors, to -ask each other if there were not some churlish sport of March -hid under all this bravery—which set the youngsters thinking -of their sweethearts, and brought the sheep to lambing in many -an upland pasture scarce free'd of winter snow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Lean Man had no eye for the beauty of the day, as -he rode through Marshcotes street with Robert, his eldest-born, -on the bridle-hand of him. For old Nicholas was -thinking how Shameless Wayne, the lad whom he had laughed at -and despised, had lately driven the Ratcliffes to hopeless flight. -Both horsemen were fully armed, with swords on thigh and -pistols in their holsters; and, as they rode, they kept a sharp -regard to right and left, lest any of the Waynes should be -hidden in ambush. Time and time the Lean Man clapped a -hand to his left ear, as if by habit, and his face was no good -sight to see as he felt the rounded lump which marked where -Wayne's sword-cut—a fortnight old by now—was healing -tardily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could we but meet the lad alone in Marshcotes street -here," he muttered to his eldest-born.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but fortune is no friend to us just now," growled -Robert; "and there are those who say he'd match the two of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are those who say that hawks breed cuckoos. Art -thou weakening, Robert, too, because he has won the first poor -skirmish?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I. If I find him in the road, I'll have at him—but -meanwhile I am free to think my own thoughts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what are thy thoughts, sirrah?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That there's witchery in his sword-arm. I saw him fight -in the graveyard, and he was something 'twixt man and devil; -ay, he fought as if he had the cursed Dog of Marsh to back -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man gave a laugh—a laugh with little surety in -it. "Thou'rt a maid, Robert, to fall soft at such a baby-tale -as that," he sneered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you have heard of the Dog, sir, and now and then -you own to a half belief in him," said Robert, meeting the -other's glance fairly. "We have had proof of it aforetime, -and—see the woman yonder," he broke off, "moving at us -from the corner of the lane. What ails her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had passed the Bull tavern and were nearing the spot -where the lane that led to Witherlee's cottage ran into the -Ling Crag highway. The Lean Man turning his head -impatiently as Robert spoke and following the direction of his -finger, saw that the Sexton's wife was standing at the roadside. -Nanny was looking through and through him, and the smile on -her dry old lips was scarcely one of welcome. At another -time Nicholas would have paid no heed to her; but to-day a -small thing had power to touch his spleen, and he pulled up -sharp in the middle of the roadway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm called Nicholas Ratcliffe, woman, as perchance thou -hast forgotten," he said, leaning toward her and half lifting his -hairy fist; "and when I see folk mocking me, I am prone to -ask them why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I mock ye, Maister, ye're free to strike me, an' not -afore," answered Nanny. Her tone was quiet almost to -contemptuousness; and the smile that had lately rested on her -lips was hiding now behind her shrewd black eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas looked at her, a touch of approval in his glance; -accustomed as he was to browbeat all who met him, this -dried-up little body's unconcern in face of threats half tickled -and half angered him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark to her, Robert!" he cried. "Free to strike her, am -I? Gad, yes, and with no permission asked, I warrant!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' as for mocking ye," went on Nanny, disregarding his -interruption, "what need hev I to step 'twixt ye an' Barguest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man was accounted hardier than most; yet he -started at Nanny's mention of the Dog, following so abruptly -on Robert's talk of a moment ago. "Barguest. What has -he to do with me?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What hed he to do wi' your folk i' times past? Enough -an' to spare, I should reckon. Do ye forget, Nicholas -Ratcliffe, how one o' your breed crossed Barguest once on t' -threshold of Marsh House? Do ye mind what chanced to -him at after?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny's quiet assurance had in it a quality that daunted the -Lean Man. Had she grown fiery in denunciation of his sins -toward the Waynes—as in her hotter moments she was wont -to do—had she drawn wild pictures of the doom awaiting -those who crossed the Dog, Nicholas would have knocked her -to the roadway and passed on. But her faith was unwavering; -she had no doubt at all that the Lean Man had compassed -his own end, and voice and gesture both were such as -to convince a man against his will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her, a growing terror in his face. "'Tis an -old tale, woman, and one we scarce credit nowadays," he -stammered.—"Robert, tell her she's a fool—a rank, -stark-witted fool—and I a bigger fool to hearken to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Robert was in no case to bolster up his father's dreads. -He turned to Nanny sharply. "Where does all this carry -us?" he said. "Dost thou mean that one of us has lately -crossed the Dog?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, marry. What else should I mean?" said the little -old woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a child's tale—a child's tale, I say," broke in -Nicholas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, ye shall try the truth of it by an' by—for ye -crossed th' Dog, Nicholas Ratcliffe, when ye came down to -nail your token to th' Marsh doorway. I war watching by th' -dead man, an' I heard Barguest come whimper-whimper down -th' lane; an' then he scratted like a wild thing at th' panels; -an' after that he ligged him down on the door-stun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny paused a moment, watching how the Lean Man took it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, and then?" said Nicholas. He would fain have -sounded merry, but his voice came dry and harsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then a man came riding up o' horseback, an' leaped to -ground, an' reached ower th' Brown Dog to nail a man's hand -to th' door. An' </span><em class="italics">ye</em><span> war th' horseman, Nicholas Ratcliffe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once only the Lean Man glanced at her; then set spurs to -his great bay horse and clattered up the street, his son -following close behind. At the end of half-a-mile they slackened -pace, as if by joint consent; but neither sought the other's -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails thee, fool?" said Nicholas to his eldest-born.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught, sir—'twas not I who fled from a crook-backed -beldame," sneered the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man turned on him, glad of an excuse for -bluster. "Thou dar'st to say I fled?" he cried. "Thou, who -wast sucking at the breast while I grew old in fight?—There, -lad! 'Twas a madness in the blood that fell on us just now. -What's Barguest that he should spoil a bonnie plan? Are we -not sending Wayne to his last home to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have planned as much," said Robert slowly, "but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but—and 'but' again in thy teeth. We have him, I -tell thee—Red Ratcliffe should be somewhere hereabouts by -now, learning what I have sent him out to learn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can learn all that, and yet not use the knowledge -right," said Robert sullenly. Even yet he could see Nanny's -face, could hear her voice, and he was angered by the fear -they bred in him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's as may be," said Nicholas grimly—"but if he -brings the news I think he will the devil keep young Wayne -of Marsh, for he'll need some such sort of aid.—Who is yond -lubberly farm-hind, climbing up the wall this side the road? -His slouch is woundily familiar." Like his son, the Lean -Man had felt the sting of Nanny's words, though he was -minded to make light of it; and no better proof of his humour -was needed than the quick ill-tempered eye he had for trifles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It looks like Hiram Hey—one of Wayne's folk, and a -pesty fellow with his tongue. We've found him more than -once cutting peats from the Wildwater land, and more than -once we've fallen foul of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have ye?" said Nicholas quietly. "Well, he did us a -service there, may be; and the more peats they coane at -Marsh, the better 'twill be for us to-night.—Come, lad; 'tis -gallop now, and a truce to that old wife's foolery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey, meanwhile, was going his leisurely way, glancing -curiously at the Lean Man as he went by, but not guessing -that he was furnishing him with food for talk. He slouched -along the pasture-fields stopping at every other step to watch -the sport of heifers, to note a broken piece of walling, or to -berate some luckless farm-lad whom he found at play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wodn't call it a fair day, for we've not done wi' 't yet," -he murmured. "Nay, I wodn't call it a fair day, an' that's -Gospel, till I see how it behaves itseln. We mud varry weel -hev snow afore it wears to neet, or else thunner—or both, -likely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned over a three-barred gate and eyed the long furrows -climbing to the hill-crest—sleek furrows, with dust lying -grey on the sun-side of the upturned sods. And while he -lazied there, a milking-song came clear and crisp from over -the wall that hid the High meadow from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's Martha," he cried, brightening on the sudden. -"She sings like ony bird, does th' lass. What should she be -doing, I wonder, so far fro' Marsh on a working-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His step had an unwonted briskness in it, his carriage was -almost jaunty, as he moved along the wall-side to the stile at -the corner. A milk-pail was showing now above the top step -of the stile, with a cherry-ripe face and trim, short skirted -figure under it. Martha halted on seeing Hiram Hey, and -set two round, brown arms to the pail, and lifted it down to -the wall; then leaned with one hand on it while she dropped -a saucy curtsey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's warm," ventured Hiram, picking up a stone from the -grass and throwing it aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Warm? I should reckon it is. Tha'd say so if tha'd -carried this pail a-top o' thy head for a mile an' better.—But, -Lord, we munnot complain, for 'tis a day i' five-score, this, -an' warm as midsummer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thee bide a bittock, as I telled young Maister this morn. -'Spring's come again, Hiram,' says he to me. 'Mebbe,' says -I, 'but when a man's lived to my years he learns to believe -owt o' th' weather—save gooid sense.' That's what I said, -for sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'rt not so thrang as or'nary, seemingly?" said Martha, -after a pause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram glanced at her, as if suspecting mockery. "Nay, -I'm allus thrang," he answered, shaking his head in mournful -fashion. "I've heard folk say I do nowt just because they've -seen me hands-i'-pocket time an' time; but when ye're -maister-hand at a farm, there's head-work to be done as weel as -body-work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure—an' 'tis fearful hard, is head-work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I oft say to shepherd Jose that th' humbler your -station i' this life, th' fewer frets ye hev."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel fair pitiful for thee, Hiram," said Martha, glancing -softly at him across the pail, "when I see what worries tha -hes to put up wi'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram came a step nearer. "Tha mud weel pity me, lass. -'Tis grand to be sich chaps as Jose—all body, i' a way o' -speaking, an' no head-piece worth naming to come 'twixt -victuals an' their appetites.—Martha, lass, I've oft wondered -how tha came to be born a wench."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would'st hev hed me born a lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, begow! but tha's getten so mich sense; that's -what I mean. It fair caps me—as if I'd fund apples growing -on a thistle-top."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martha had a keen answer on her tongue-tip, but she held -it back; for the lads were beginning to pass her by, and it -was time she had a goodman. "It's a lot for thee to say, -Hiram, is that," she murmured, dropping her eyes. "I iver -thowt there war maid i' Marshcotes could come nigh to what -</span><em class="italics">tha</em><span> looks for i' a wench."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I nawther," said Hiram gravely. "I've said to myseln -time an' agen that if I war to keep good company till th' -end o' my days, I'd hev to live wi' myseln."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wod take a good un to be mate to thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram half lifted his foot to the bottom step of the stile, -then withdrew it. "Go slow, lad," he murmured. "If -tha taks it at this flairsome speed, where wilt be by to-morn?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wod tak a varry good un," repeated Martha.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Hiram had taken fright on the sudden. "I seed th' -Lean Man go through Marshcotes a while back," he said, -with would-be carelessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay? Th' Ratcliffes seem to be up an' about this -morn, for I passed Red Ratcliffe i' th' meadow not five minites -sin'. Sakes, but he's an ill-favoured un, is Red Ratcliffe! -He war for gi'eing me a kiss an' a hug just now, but I let -him feel th' wrong side o' my hand i'stead.—An' what did -th' Lean Man look like, Hiram, after his fighting o' t' other -day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I niver stopped to axe; but I noticed he looked -queerish where he took yond sword-cut a two-week come -yesterday. I'm none for praising th' young Maister, not I, -seeing he's shameless by name an' shameless by natur—but I -take it kindly of him that he sliced th' Lean Man's ear off -clean as a tummit-top. There's none i' th' moorside but -wishes his head had followed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now whisht, Hiram!" cried Martha. "It's a two-week -come yesterday sin' they fought i' th' kirkyard, but I'm sick -yet wheniver I call to mind how they came home to Marsh that -morn. Th' burial-board war all spread, an' I war agate wi' -drawing a jug of October when Nanny Witherlee comes running -into th' pantry, as white as a hailstone, an' 'Martha,' -say she, 'there'll be a sorry mess on th' hall-floor—an' us to -have spent so mich beeswax on't,' says she. 'Why, what's -agate?' I says. 'Th' Waynes is back for th' burying-feast,' -says Nanny, 'an' they've brought some gaping wounds, my -sakes, to sit at meat wi' 'em.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I warrant they did," assented Hiram, "for I see'd 'em -myseln."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I runs a-tip-toe then to th' hall door, an' I screamed -out to see th' Waynes standing there. A score or so there -mud be, all drinking as if they'd sweated like brocks at -grasscutting; an' there war a queer silence among 'em; an' some -war binding arms an' legs, an' th' floor, I tell thee, war more -slippy under a body's feet nor ony beeswax warranted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Th' Maister went through it without a scratch, for all -that, though they say he fought twice for ivery one o' t' -others. Ay, his father war like that when th' owd quarrel -war agate—allus i' th' front, yet niver taking so mich as a -skin-prick till th' time came for him to dee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long ago war that, Hiram? I've heard tell o' th' -owd feud, but it mun hev been a long while back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Longer nor ye can call to mind, lass. 'Twas a sight o' -years back, afore tha wert born or thought of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another soft glance from Martha. "I shouldn't hev -thought </span><em class="italics">tha'd</em><span> hev remembered it so weel, Hiram," she -murmured. "Tha talks as if tha wert owd enough to be a -girt-grandfather to sich a little un as me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram saw his error. "Nay, I'm youngish still, Martha," -he put in hastily, with a tell-tale pulling of his hat over the -widening patch of forehead that showed beneath the brim. -"'Tis hard thinking that thins a body's thatch, an' when I -call to mind what a power o' sense I've learned sin' being a -lad, I wonder I'm not as bald as a moor-tit's egg. Well, tha -mud find younger men nor me, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I set no store by youngness, Hiram. I allus did say a -wise head war th' best thing a man could hev."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, but tha'rt a shrewd un, Martha, as weel as a -bonnie un!" cried Hiram, and checked himself. "Yond's a -tidy slice o' land," he said, nodding at the dusty furrows in -front of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Martha knew her own mind. "I'd liefer talk about -thee, Hiram, that I wod," she said. "Land's theer ony day -we want to look at it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now, there's summat i' that," he answered, with a -shade of uneasiness in his voice. "Where hast been, like, for -th' milk, lass? 'Tisn't every day I find thee stirring so far -fro' Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been to th' High Farm, for sure. What wi' milk -for th' new-weaned calves, an' for churning, an' what not, -we shouldn't hev hed a sup i' th' house down at Marsh if I -hadn't come a-borrowing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's waste somewhere, I'm thinking," said Hiram -sadly. "Th' roan cow war niver fuller i' milk nor now, an' -yond little dappled beast I bought off Tom o' Dick's o' -Windytop is yielding grandly. Nay, nay, there's waste at Marsh! -I said how 'twould be when young Maister took hod o' th' -reins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Waste, is there? I'd like thee to hev a week or two at -managing, Hiram; tha'd see how far a score quarts o' milk -'ull go, wi' four growing lads an' th' Maister, an' all ye -lubbering farm-folk to feed. But theer! Men niver can thoyle -to see owt go i' housekeeping; an' I'll be bidding thee -good-day, Hiram, as tha's getten no likelier sort o' talk nor -that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made pretence to lift her pail from the top of the stile, -and Hiram so far forgot his caution as to put a hand on her -dimpled arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sakes, lass, I wodn't hev thee go!" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then don't thee talk about waste and sich-like foolishness; -I thowt tha'd more sense, Hiram, that I did. Nawther -is young Maister what tha thinks him, let me tell thee; he's -stiffening like a good un an' there's them as says he's getten -th' whip-hand o' Hiram Hey already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stiffening, is he?" cried Hiram, whom the jibe stung -more keenly because he could not but admit the truth of it. -"Well, there's room an' to spare, for he hes as slack a back -as iver I clapped een on. But if tha thinks he can best -Hiram Hey, Sunday or week-day——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and shaded his eyes with both hands as he -looked more keenly up the fields. Two figures had topped -the crest—one a girl's, the other a man's, loose-built and of a -swinging carriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> niver said I thowt as mich," said Martha demurely, -not heeding the direction of Hiram's glance. "'Twas -shepherd Jose said it yestereen when he stepped down to th' -house wi' th' week's lamb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Jose!" cried the other, with an angry cackle. -"He niver had a mind aboon sheep, hedn't Jose, an' sheep -is poor wastrels when all's said. So tha lets an owd chap -like yond come whispering i' thy ear, dost 'a, Martha?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' who's to say nay to me, I should like to know?" Her -voice was combative, but she leaned a little toward Hiram -as she spoke, and he all but took the last dire step of all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Very foolish showed Hiram, as he stood looking at the -maid, with caution in one eye and in the other a frank -admiration of the comeliness which showed so wholesome and so -fresh amid the greenery of field and hedgerow. And all the -while he was murmuring, "Go slow, lad, go slow, I tell -thee," and his lips were moving shiftlessly to the refrain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt tongue-tied, Hiram. Who's to say nay to me, -I axed thee?" laughed Martha.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram rocked the milk pail gently with one hand, and -stared up the new-ploughed furrows of the field ahead of him. -"Thy own good sense, lass, should say thee nay," he -answered guardedly. "Them as tends sheep, an' nowt but -sheep, gets witless as an owd bell-wether; an' if I war a lass -I'd as lief wed a turnip on a besom-stick as shepherd Jose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If tha wert a lass, Hiram, tha'd die i' spinsterhood, I'm -thinking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martha's attack was spirited, but she sighed a little as she -noted Hiram's far-away regard; his thoughts were with the -land, she fancied, when she fain would have brought them -nearer home. Yet, as it chanced Hiram Hey was not thinking -of farm-matters at the moment; Martha had her back to -the ploughed field, and she could not see that the two figures -which had lately topped the rise were coming down the field-side -toward the stile. And it was plain now to Hiram that -one was Janet Ratcliffe, the other Wayne of Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's queer, is th' way o' things," said Martha presently, -loth to go her ways, yet too impatient and too womanly to -stand there with no word spoken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay? Well, things war niver owt but queer," -answered Hiram, startled out of his abstraction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I war thinking o' th' bloody fight i' th' kirkyard. No -more nor a two-week back it war, Hiram, an' here we all -are, cooking an' weshing an' churning i' th' owd way, when -we'd looked for fearsome doings all up an' down th' -moorside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A wench would look for 'em; but I could hev telled -thee different if tha'd axed me," said Hiram complacently. -"Look at yond puffs o' dust that come ivery two-three -minutes over th' furrows—dost think even Shameless Wayne -could let a seed-time sich as this go by, while he war agate -wi' fighting? Nay, nor th' Ratcliffes nawther. We mun -all live by th' land, gentle an' simple, an' afore awther Wayne -or Ratcliffes can afford to marlake, they'll hev to addle -belly-timber."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll nowt o' more come on 't then? Th' Lean Man -has been fearful quiet of late, an' there's them as thinks th' -fight i' th' graveyard has daunted him for good an' all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daunted him, has it?" rejoined Hiram grimly. "Thee -bide till th' oats is sown, an' th' hay won in, an' then tha'll -see summat. Th' Lean Man is quiet like, tha says? Well, -I've known him quiet afore, an' I've known him busy—an' -of th' two I'd liefer see him thrang."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'r a good un to flair folk, Hiram! Why would'st -liefer see him thrang?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? Because when a Ratcliffe says nowt to nobody, -but wends abroad wi' a smug face an' watchful een, same -as I've seen 'em do lately, ye may be varry sure he's -fashioning slier devil's tricks nor iver.—Red Ratcliffe met thee -just now, did he, Martha?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I telled thee as mich—he warn't so slow as some folk, -Hiram, for he'd no sooner clapped een on me nor he had an -arm about my waist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Hiram wavered, and again whispered caution to -himself. "He showed some mak o' sense there, Martha—but -that's not what I war axing thee. What war he doing, -like, when tha first comed up wi' him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nowt, nobbut mooning up an' down, as if i' search o' -somebody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he war on Wayne land to start wi', an' that wears -a queerish look."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sakes, young Maister is nowhere near, I'm hoping!" -cried Martha. "Red Ratcliffe carried his pistols, an' a shot -from behind a wall wod suit him better nor a stand-up fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She still had her back to the ploughed field, and Hiram -smiled in sour fashion to think how very near the master was, -and what company he was keeping at the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt fearful jealous for th' young Maister," he said. -"I'm thinking there's truth i' what they say i' Marshcotes—that -Shameless Wayne allus gets th' soft side of a maid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' should do, seeing he's what he is!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I wodn't be a bit surprised if he </span><em class="italics">war</em><span> i' th' fields -this morn. He's farmed for a week, hes th' Maister, an' he -knows so mich about it now that he mun be here, theer an' -iverywhere, watching that us younger hands do matters right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha can mock as tha likes, Hiram Hey, but he'll teach -thee summat afore he's done wi' thee. Poor lad, though, I'm -fair pitiful for him! He niver rests save when he's abed, an' -not oft then, for I can hear him stirring mony a neet at after -he'd earned his sleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinking of his sins, I reckon," growled Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's some I know that hasn't mouse-pluck -enough for sinning. Besides, that's owered wi'. He's -stiffening right enough—yet mony's the time I wish him back to -th' owd careless days. He niver hes a gay word for us -wenches now, an' to see him wi' his brothers ye mud weel -think he war a score year older nor he's ony call to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram had waited for this moment, chuckling at the -overthrow in store for Martha's championship of the master. -"Stiffening, is he?" he said, pointing up the field and -drawing his lips into a thin curve. "He may be—but he's -framing badly for a start."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martha, turning sharp about, saw the two figures come -slowly down the wall-side toward the stile. Wayne's head -was bent low to Mistress Janet's, as if he were pleading some -urgent cause, and neither seemed to guess that they were -watched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" said Martha defiantly. "There's nowt wrong i' -that, is there? I've known he war soft on Mistress Ratcliffe -iver sin' last spring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram stared at her, aghast that she could look so lightly -on a grievous matter; and when he spoke there was honest -anger in his voice, distinct from his usual carping tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nowt wrong?" he said slowly. "What, when a Wayne -goes courting a Ratcliffe? I can't picture owt wronger, ony -way, seeing what has come between 'em lately an' aforetime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hoity-toity! That's been Mistress Nell's way o' looking -at it—but 'tisn't mine. Look at 'em, Hiram, an' say if -they don't mak a bonnie couple."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's bonniness to do wi' 't? They're a bad stock, -root an' branch, is th' Ratcliffes, an' it 'ull be a sore day for -Marsh when th' Maister brings sich as yond to th' owd house. -Besides, he has sworn to kill her folk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, ye cannot cut young hearts i' two wi' kinship, an' -that's what I'm telling thee. Mistress Ratcliffe hes nawther -father nor brother living, an' them she dwells wi' up at -Wildwater are nowt so near to her but what a good lad's love is -nearer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hod thy whisht, lass!" cried Hiram on the sudden. -"Th' Maister is looking this way at last. Begow, but he -mun hev had summat deep to say to her, or he'd have seen us -afore this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne reddened on seeing the occupants of the -stile, and whispered to Janet, and the two of them turned -quickly about, taking a cross-line back toward the moor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flaired to be spoken to by honest folk," said Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flaired o' thy sour face, more like," snapped Martha.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram was about to make one of his slow, exasperating -responses when he clutched Martha by the arm and again -pointed over the stile—not up the ploughed field this time, -but across the pasture-land abutting on it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall know by an' by what Red Ratcliffe has in -mind," he muttered; "dost see him yonder, Martha, crossing -th' pasture? Ay, an' now he's following 'em up th' wallside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So he is. There's no mistaking that red thatch o' hisn—'twill -set th' sun afire one bonnie day, I'm thinking. Does -he mean to do th' Maister a hurt, think ye, Hiram?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram stretched himself with the air of a man who has -work to do. "He's too far off yet for a pistol-shot; but he's -quickening pace a bit, an' Lord knows what he's bent on. I -reckon I'll just clamber ower th' wall here, Martha, an' wend -down t' other side, and get a word wi' him as if 'twar chance -like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tak care o' thyseln, Hiram. There are some of us wod -ill like to see harm come to thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Hiram was deaf to blandishments. He had gone far -enough for one morning, and, all else apart, he was no whit -sorry to slip out of temptation's way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no telling when a Ratcliffe is about," he said, -putting one leg over the low wall, "an' th' Maister is so -throttle-deep i' foolishness just now that he's ripe-ready to fall -into ony snare that's laid for him. Begow, Martha, but I -don't know what th' world wod come to if there war no -Hiram Hey to straighten it now and again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martha sighed for the interrupted wooing as she lifted her -pail from the stile. Hiram Hey moved surely, it might be, -but life seemed short for such masterly painstaking -slowness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's war nor driving pigs to market, is getting Hiram to -speak plain," she said to herself, setting off for -home.—"Tha'll be back to thy dinner, Hiram?" she added over her -shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For sure I will. There's more nor dinner to tempt me -down to Marsh," he cried, his rashness gaining on him now -that he stood on the far side of the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On no point save wedlock, however, did Hiram fail to -know his purpose. He might have much to say about the -young Master, but he had no mind to see harm come to him; -and so he moved with a steady swing across the field, then -turned sharp and crossed to the wall behind which Red -Ratcliffe was creeping at a point some ten-score yards from the -stile. He stopped then and leaned a pair of careless arms -over the wall and looked everywhere but at the object of his -manoeuvres, whose progress he had guessed to a nicety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, is't ye, Maister Ratcliffe?" he cried, letting his -eyes fall at last on the tall, lean figure that stood not two yards -away on the far side of the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe glanced at him, but could not guess whether -Hiram's stolid face hid any deeper thought than an idle wish -to chatter. "'Tis I, plain enough," he growled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, doan't fly at me—on a grand day like this, an' all. -I thowt mebbe ye'd stepped on to th' Marsh land just to pick -up a two-three wrinkles about farming. 'Tis not oft we're -favoured wi' a sight o' ye down here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost think I need come here to learn any point of tillage?" -laughed the other angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I thowt it showed good sense i' ye. We're a tidy -lot at Marsh, so folk say, an' I'm none blaming ye at Wildwater, -ye understand for knawing a bit less about farming nor -us. Your land's high, for one thing, an' lean as a scraped -flint—I warrant it does your een good to see sich lovesome -furrows as them, ye're walking ower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If speech can earn thee a cracked crown, thou'lt not -long go whole of head," snapped Ratcliffe, beginning to move -forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Theer, theer! Th' gentry's allus so hot when a plain -man strives to talk pleasant like to 'em. But it's live an' -let live, I allus did say, an' sich fair spring weather as this -hes a trick o' setting my tongue wagging." A sly glance at -the other's back told him that Red Ratcliffe must be fetched -up sharp if he were to be prevented from following Wayne -of Marsh and Janet. "It sets other folk's tongues agate, -too, seemingly," he added, glancing toward the hill-crest over -which his Master and the girl were disappearing; "they -mak a fine couple, doan't they, Maister, him an' Mistress -Ratcliffe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ratcliffe faced about. "Palsy take thee!" he cried. "Art -thou a fool, only, Hiram Hey, or dost think to jest with thy -betters?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I'm nobbut a fool, I reckon," said Hiram, shaking -his head mournfully. "I can't say owt to please ye, 'twould -seem, choose what, so I'd better hod my whisht. When I see -a bonnie lass, an' th' finest lad i' th' moorside beside -her—why, I thowt it could do no harm just to speak on 't, like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The finest lad in the moorside?" sneered Ratcliffe. -"Since when did Wayne the Shameless earn his new title?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, ye've not heard his praises then? I may hev my -own opinion—ivery man hes a right to that—but Marshcotes -an' Ling Crag can find nowt too good to say about him -nowadays. Oh, ay, they all grant 'at th' Wayne land is th' best -on th' moor, an' ots Maister th' handiest chap wi' sword or -farming-tools. 'Tis sad, for sure, that there's such bad blood -'twixt ye an' th' Waynes; but this courtship 'ull mebbe -cure it.—Nay, now, doan't be so hasty! I speak according -to my lights; they may be poor uns, as Blind Tom o' -Trawdon says, but they're all I've getten to go by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not a muscle of Hiram's face told how he was enjoying -this skirmish with his enemy; only an added watchfulness -of eye told that he half expected the other to strike him. -His Master was out of sight now, and there was so much -gained, whatever chanced to himself. But Ratcliffe lost his -anger on the sudden, and turned to Hiram with something -near to good-nature in his tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, thou'rt dry, Hiram, with a shrewd wit of thy own, -but I warn thee for thy own sake not to couple any Wayne -with Mistress Ratcliffe in thy gossip.—Ay, and that calls -another thing to mind; they say ye Wayne folk cut peats on -the Wildwater land last summer, and ever since I've been -seeking a chance to tell thee we'll have no more of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram, wondering what lay under this change of front, -answered slowly. "We're no thiefs, Maister; an' if our peat -beds lie foot-to-heel wi' yourn, is that to say we'd ower-step -th' boundary? Besides, we've no call to; our side o' th' bed -yields better peats——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I judge by what I'm told, and our farm-folk told us -further that ye had carted some of their own peats as they lay -up-ended for the drying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, that's a likely tale!" cried Hiram, roused at last. -"When we worked noon an' neet for a week, cutting an' -drying an' carting, to be telled we——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! Thou'rt honest, Hiram, and I'll take thy word -for it," laughed Ratcliffe. "So the peats have lasted, have -they? Ours are all but done after this cursed winter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, what's he at?" muttered Hiram. "When th' -Ratcliffe breed hatches a civil word, they allus want stiff -payment for 't.—Our peats are lasting fine, an' thankee," he -said. "'Tis all a matter o' forethought, an' some fowk hesn't -mich o' that. Oh, ay, we've getten a shed-full next to th' -mistals, let alone th' stack at th' far-side o' th' yard; an' it's -April now, so I reckon we shall see th' winter through. Ye -niver catch us tripping down at Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not oft," said Ratcliffe, with a crafty smile.—"Faith, -though, thy boasting would move better if it had less to carry, -Hiram. We're all at fault once in a while, and I warrant -that, if the peats will last, your bedding—bracken and the -like,—has fallen short."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then ye'll warrant to little purpose," put in Hiram, with -triumph, "they lig side by side, th' peats an' th' bedding—an' -if ye'll step down an' tak a look at Marsh ye'll find a fairish -heap o' both sorts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed at the humour of the invitation, and Red -Ratcliffe followed suit as he turned on his heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Another day, Hiram, and meanwhile I'll take word back -to Wildwater, that we've all to learn yet from the wise men -who dwell at Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scoff as ye will, ye're varry right there," muttered -Hiram, as he too, went his way. "But I'd like to know what -made ye frame to speak so civil all at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe was already moving across the field, with a -light step and a face that was full of cunning glee; nor did -he slacken pace until, half toward Wildwater, he saw -Shameless Wayne parting from Janet at the corner of the -crossroads. His face darkened for a moment, then cleared as he -watched Shameless Wayne pass down the road to Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've learned two things worth the knowing to-day," he -murmured, striding after his cousin, "and both should cut -solid ground from under Wayne's feet. God, though, they -did not part like lovers! Has Janet's needle-tongue proved -over-sharp for Shameless Wayne? Ay, it must be so—and -now she's full of sorrow for the quarrel, all in a maid's way, -and droops like any wayside flower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet turned as his step sounded close behind her; she -glanced at the road which Wayne had taken, and then at Red -Ratcliffe, but his manner was so open and free of its wonted -subtlety that she told herself, with a quick breath of relief, -that her secret was safe enough as yet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would'st have company on the road, cousin?" he said -lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had better company before thou cam'st," she answered -lifting her dainty brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her, thinking that she meant, at the bidding -of one of her wilder moods, to make frank avowal of her -meeting with Shameless Wayne. "Better company? Whose -was't?" he snapped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, sir, my own." There was trouble deep-seated in -her eyes, but her tone was light; for she had learned by hard -experience to know that only mockery could keep Red -Ratcliffe's surly heat of passion in any sort of check.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art something less than civil, Janet, to one who loves thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, why fret thyself with such a thankless Mistress? -I'm weary of hearing thee play the lover, and I tell -thee so again—for the third time, I think, since yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt be wearier still before I've done with wooing -thee. Hark, Janet; 'tis no light fancy, this——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Light or heavy, sir, 'tis all one to me. My thoughts lie -off from wedlock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and gripped her hands with sudden fury. "By -God, if thy love turns to any but me," he cried, "I'll cut -the heart out of the man who wins thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pulled her hands away and stepped back a pace or -two; and amid all his spleen he could not but admire the fine -aloofness of her carriage. Not like a maid at all was she; -heaving breast, and bright, watchful eye, and back-thrown -head, seemed rather those of some wild thing of the moors, -pursued and driven to bay among the wastes where hitherto -she had lived out of sight and touch of men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it comes to this, Red Ratcliffe?" she said slowly. -"The sorriest fool at Wildwater dares to use force when I -refuse him love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas the thought thou might'st love elsewhere that -stung me," he muttered, cowed by her fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again a passing doubt crossed her mind—a doubt lest he -had reached the cross-roads in time to see her bid farewell to -Shameless Wayne. "How should I love elsewhere?" she -faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe paused, wondering if he should loose his shaft -at once, but he thought better of it. Janet was safe under -hand at Wildwater for the nonce, and if he bided his time -until her mood has less gustiness in it, he might use his -knowledge to better purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I trust thy pride far enough, and thy fear of the -Lean Man, to know thou'lt not wed worse blood than ours," -he said softly; "but I'm not the only one at Wildwater that -hungers for thee, and there are the Ryecollar Ratcliffes -besides."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And fifty more belike. What then, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This—that I'll have thee, girl, if every Ratcliffe of them -all says nay," he muttered savagely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him, then turned her back and moved to the -far side of the road. "Art a man sometimes in thy words," -she said, over her shoulder. "If only thou could'st show -deeds to back them—why, I think I'd forgive thee the folly -of thy love for its passion's sake. There, cousin! I'm -weary o the talk, and my steps will not keep pace with thine -to Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou askest deeds? Well, thou shalt have them before -the week is out," he said, and struck across the moor. At -another time he would not have accepted such easiful -dismissal; but he knew the game was his now, and there was -nothing to be gained by matching his wit with hers through -two long miles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ailed me to walk so openly with Wayne of Marsh?" -mused Janet, following at her leisure. "I had as lief we were -seen by grandfather himself as by yonder spiteful rogue— And -all to what end? Wayne is against me, too, though his face -cannot hide"—she stopped, and her trouble melted into a low -laugh—"cannot hide what I would see there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe did not go straight into the hall as he reached -Wildwater. Some dark instinct, begotten of fight and plot -and brute passion barely held in check, drew him to the pool -that underlay the house. The look of the sullen water, the -old stories that were buried in its nether slime, touched a -kindred chord in him, and he gleaned a sombre joy from -standing at the edge and counting again the dead which tradition -gave the pool. He was roused by a touch on his shoulder, -and looking round he saw old Nicholas watching him with a -grim air of approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has a speech of its own, eh, lad? And wiser counsel -under its speech than most I hear," said Nicholas, pointing to -the water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, it has hid a Wayne or two aforetime, and it seems to -crave more such goodly food. Yet 'tis strange, sir, that Barguest -is said to lie here o' nights. 'Tis he, they say, that kills -the fish and keeps the moor-fowl from nesting on the banks. -What should the guardian of Marsh House do sleeping cheek -by jowl with us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man quailed for a moment, as he had quailed -when Nanny Witherlee told him how he had crossed -Barguest on the Marsh threshold. But the disquiet passed. -"Tush, lad!" he cried. "Leave Waynes to their own old -wives' tales, and come to a story with more marrow in 't. -Didst learn what I sent thee out to learn?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe lost his brief touch of superstition. "Ay—and -that without going nearer than half a league to Marsh. -As I was on my way there I chanced on Hiram Hey, and the -wry old fool told me all I asked with never a guess at my -meaning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's enough, is there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And to spare. I've seen to the hemlock, too, and one of -the lads is to go——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold thy peace!" cried Nicholas, chiding him roughly. -"Here's Janet, and she must guess naught of this; 'twould -only fright her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe moved away as his cousin came up, for he had -no wish to make further sport for her yet awhile. "Fright -her, poor lambling, would it?" he muttered. "The Lean -Man's care for her is wondrous—but what if he knew that I -had learned more to-day than ever he sent me out in search of?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here, Janet," said Nicholas, as the girl halted, -doubtful whether he wanted speech of her. "There has been -somewhat on my tongue this long while past, and every time -I see thee come in from these fond walks of thine, I read two -things more clearly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what are they, grandfather?" she said, slipping a -coaxing hand into his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That the wind gives thee beauty enough to tempt any man—and -that there's danger in it so long as we're at feud with -the Waynes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that is an old tale, sir," she pouted, "and—and no -harm has come to me as yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The more cause to fear it then, to-morrow, or the next -day after. See, lass, I would not deal hardly with thee, but -I'll not give way on this one point, plead as thou wilt. There -are Ratcliffes in plenty who want thee in wedlock, and 'tis -time thou hadst a strong arm about thee. Thou'lt wander -less abroad, I warrant, soon as thou hast a goodman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, grandfather, I do not want to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be quiet, child! And let an older head take better care -of thee than thou wilt ever take of thyself. Besides, they are -so hot for thee, one and another, that there's danger of a feud -among ourselves if the matter is not settled one way or the -other. Red Ratcliffe asked me for thee only yesternight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If the world held him and me, sir, I would go to the far -side of it and leave him the other half," she cried, with childish -vehemence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, there are others. I gave him free leave to win -thee if he could, and he must do his own pleading now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stood by the water-side awhile in silence, the girl in -sore fear of what this new mood of her grandfather's might -bring, and Nicholas returning to the foolish scrap of -goblin-lore with which Red Ratcliffe had just now disquieted him. -Do as he would, the Lean Man could not hide from himself -that a dread the more potent for its vagueness, had been -creeping in on him ever since he learned what had lain on the -Marsh doorway when he went to nail his token on the oak. -Broad noon as it was now, the light lay heavy on the water, -and Nicholas could not keep his eyes from it, nor his mind -from the legend that named it the Brown Dog's lair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet," he said, looking up at her with a light in his keen -eyes which she had never yet seen there, "there's a weak link, -they say, in every man's chain of life, and it has taken me -three-score years to find out mine. This Barguest that they -talk of? Dost credit him, lass?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced quickly at him, puzzled by the vague terror in -his voice. "I have lived with the voices of the moor," she -answered gravely, "till I can doubt plain flesh and blood more -easily than Barguest, and the Sorrowful Woman, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pest!" he broke in impatiently. "'Tis fitting a maid -should let her fancies stray. But a grown man, Janet? -There! The pool breeds more than the one sort of vapour, -and we'll stay no longer by it.—Think well, lass, on what I -said of wedlock, for thou'lt have to make early choice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey, meanwhile was sitting beside the kitchen hearth -at Marsh, watching Martha clear the board after dinner; for -he always dined at the house, thought he slept and took his -other meals at the Low Farm. The rest of the serving-folk -had gone to this or that occupation, and Hiram was minded to -take up his wooing again at the exact spot where he had left -it an hour or two earlier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been thinking o' things, Martha, sin' I saw thee -looking so bonnie-like this morn," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What sort o' things?" she asked, demurely sweeping the -table free of crumbs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram ruffled the frill of hair under his chin, and smiled -with wintry foolishness. "Well, what's wrang for a young -un like th' Maister is right enough for a seasoned chap like me. -I'm rather backard i' coming forrard, tha sees, but it cam -ower me t' other day that I mud varry weel look round an' -about me; an' if I could find a wench 'at war all I looked -for i' a wench——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, what then, Hiram?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, and shuffled his feet among the heap of -farmyard mud which had already fallen from his boots. "Why, -there's niver no telling—niver no telling at all," he said, with -an air of deep wisdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sakes, he's a slow un to move, is Hiram," muttered the -girl, losing patience at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I mun be seeing after things, I reckon, or there'll -be summat getting out o' gear," said Hiram, rising and -stretching himself in very leisurely fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, tha'rt famous thrang," flashed Martha. "Comes -moaning an' groaning, does Hiram, at after he'd done his day, -an' swears th' wark goes nigh to kill him. An' this is what -it comes to most days, I reckon—loitering by stiles, an' -talking foolishness to wenches 'at are ower busy to hearken——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, lass, nay! I wod liefer we didn't part fratching."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, hast getten owt to say?" she asked, facing him -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say? Well, now, I'm backard i' coming forrard, as I -telled thee—but tha'rt as snod-set-up a wench as iver——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks for nowt. Good-day, Hiram. Tha'rt backard -i' most things, I'm thinking," said Martha, flouncing out into -the yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram looked after her awhile, then shook his head. "I -war right to go slow," he murmured. "Women's allus so -hasty, as if they war bahn to dee to-morn, an' all to get done afore -their burial.—Well, I mun see to yond tummit seeds, I reckon; -but I wod like to know what Red Ratcliffe war up to; summat -he'd getten at th' back on his mind, but what it war beats -me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And something Red Ratcliffe had in mind; but what it -was, and how nearly it touched those at Marsh, Hiram was -not to learn this side the dawn.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="what-crossed-the-garden-path"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Shameless Wayne, returning late on the day which had -witnessed Hiram Hey's cautious efforts toward wedlock, found -his step-mother standing at the courtyard gate, a look of -trouble in her face and her eyes fixed on the rounded spur of moor -above. Wayne's heart was growing daily harder against the -strong, and softer where any sort of weakness was in case; -and the mad woman's plight, her frailty and friendlessness, -seemed to strike a fresh note of pity in him at each chance -meeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails thee, little bairn?" he said, slipping from the -saddle and coming close to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put one hand into his, with the trustfulness which only -he was sure of winning from her. "I have been frightened, -Ned. It was to have been my wedding-morn, and I dressed -all in white and went to church—and instead of the altar -there was a great grave opened, and men fighting all about -it—and I could not understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never try. 'Tis over and done with long since; the -grave is shut down tight,—and all your ghosties with it, little -one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it over and done with?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was passionless and clear, and Wayne was growing -more and more perplexed of late to know what lay beneath -these sudden, wandering questions of his step-mother's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, 'tis over," he said; "how should it be else? See -how the leaves are greening, and tell me who would think of -graves on such an April eve as this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The leaves are greening? Nay, thou'rt jesting with me, -they're reddening, like the sun up yonder—like the long wisp -of sky that trails across the brink-field there. And the graves, -too, are red—they keep opening, opening, and I dread to look -for fear of what may come from them. Hold both my hands -tight, Ned—it should have been my wedding-morn, and a -great trouble came, and now I can see no green fields, nor -trees, for the red mist that hugs them. Dear, thou'lt not -leave me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I'll not leave thee, little one," began Wayne, and -turned as a footstep sounded close behind them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey, crossing from the mistals, had caught sight of -the Master and had stopped to ask for his orders touching the -morrow's farm-work—orders which he received day by day -with the same grudging, half-scornful air, in token that the new -rule liked him little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Th' brink-field is sown, an' we're through wi' ploughing -them lower fields. What's to be done next, Maister?" he -asked with a side glance of curiosity at Mistress Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne was not minded to think of farming-matters to-night; -and Hiram, noting his mood, took a wry sort of pleasure -in holding him to the topic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thowt he'd get stalled afore so varry long," said the old -man to himself. "Ay, he can't bide to think o' crops to-neet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He began to rock with one foot the mossy ball that had -lain so long under the right-hand pillar of the gateway; and -the set of his body spoke of leisure and of obstinacy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he asked at last. "There's marrow i' what ye -said to me a while back, Maister. Sleep ower th' next day's -wark, an' ye go wi' a ready hand to it i' th' morn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne, following the motion of Hiram's foot with impatient -spleen, tried to bring his mind round to the matter, but -could not. His meeting with Janet had left him out of heart -and spent with the old struggle between love and kinship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pest take thee, come to me after supper for thy orders," -he began. Then, pointing to the stone, "As a start," he -added, "thou canst set that ball up on the gateway top. It -wears an untidy look, and every day I've meant to tell thee of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Th' gate-ball? Ye'll not know, happen, that it fell on -th' varry day your mother died? An' th' owd Maister said 'at -it should lig theer, being a sign i' a way o' speaking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram could always find excuse for evading a troublesome -bit of work; but his words brought a stranger light to the -Master's face than he had looked to see there. Superstitious -at all times, the strained order of these latter days had rendered -Wayne well-nigh as full of fancies as the Sexton's wife; the -stone here was a sign, and as such he would not tamper with -it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It shall lie there, Hiram," he said slowly, "until the old -Master is avenged on those who slew him. 'Tis a token, -haply.—Come, little bairn," he added, turning to his -stepmother. "Come with me while I put my horse in stable, -and then we'll sup together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram turned over the ball after Wayne had gone. "Lord -save us, there's a power o' fooil's talk wends abroad," he -growled. "What hes yond lump o' stone getten to do wi' -th' feud? A token, is't? Well, I'm saved a bit o' -sweating, so I'll noan fratch about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne followed Ned quietly, as some dumb -favourite might have done, and watched him stable his horse, -leaning against the doorway the while and prattling of a -hundred foolish matters. Then she fell silent for a space, and -Shameless Wayne, glancing up, saw that she was crying -bitterly. Angered at his own impotence to help her, he spoke -more gruffly than his wont.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one has frightened you. Who was 't?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His peremptoriness seemed to bring back her memory. -"'Twas—what call you him?—the man with the hard eyes -and the lean face, and one ear clipped level with his cheek. -He met me on the road this afternoon——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Nicholas Ratcliffe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ratcliffe—yes. He lives in a great drear house above -Wildwater Pool, and once—nay, I cannot recall, 'tis so long -ago; but I think he was cruel to me when I went to seek my -lover. And to-day he stopped me as I tried to pass him by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne finished rubbing down his horse, then turned -quietly. "What said he?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, don't look so stern! It frightens me. And thy -voice is hard, too, as it was when I heard thee bid them throw -the vault-stone down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are matters that make a man hard, little bairn. -Was Nicholas Ratcliffe cruel to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, so cruel," she said, shivering. "He looked through -and through me, Ned, and laughed as I never heard any one -laugh before, and asked me where I had found shelter. And -when I told him he laughed again, and said that soon there -would be none at Marsh to give me shelter. And then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye—and then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He—he told me all that he meant to do to thee, Ned; -and when I tried to run away he held me by the arm, and -hurt me—see! I carry the marks of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her sleeve and held out her arm to him; and he -nodded gravely as he saw the red finger-prints clear marked in -red upon the dainty flesh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He hates thee, Ned," she went on. "Why should he -hate thee? I seem to have heard something—nay, it has -gone!—what has he against thee, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne laughed grimly. "Less than I have -against him, bairn. God, could he make sport of such as -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall you kill him, Ned?" she asked, looking up suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started at the question, voiced in so quiet and babyish -a tone. "God willing, little bairn," he said, and was for -crossing to the house, but she led him through the wicket that -opened on the garden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come see my flowers first, Ned," she pleaded, forgetful -altogether of her fright. "There's a clump of daffy-down-dillies -opening under the wall, and I bade them keep their eyes -open till thou cam'st to say good-night to them.—'Tis -summer-time, I think; look at the lady's slipper yonder, and the -celandines—Is't not strange there should be so sweet a spot -among these dreadful moors? I feel safer here always—as if -none could do me hurt while I stayed with the flowers. Ned, -wilt not stay here, too? The man with the hard face would -never think to look for thee among the flowers, would he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May be not," he answered lightly.—"See, bairn, your -daffies have closed their eyes after all; they could not hold up -their heads for weariness, I warrant, when they found me so -late in coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I wake them, Ned?" she asked, looking gravely -from the flowers to his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, let them be till morning, and then I'll have a word -with them. 'Tis supper-time, bairn, and we must not keep -Nell waiting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nell does not shrink away from me as she did a little -while ago," said Mistress Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held his peace, wondering that this elf-like woman -should note so many trifling matters that might well have -escaped her; and he was glad to think that Nell's heart was -softening to the other's helplessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell was already at table, with the lads and Rolf Wayne of -Cranshaw, who had just ridden across to see that all was well -at Marsh. The lads were eyeing a saddle of mutton wistfully, -and their faces brightened soon as Shameless Wayne took his -place at the head of the board.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hungry, lads?" he said, with a kindly glance at them. -"Well, and should be, after the rare work we've done to-day -with sword and spear—Rolf, there'll be four more fighting -men at Marsh by and by; these youngsters take to cut and -parry like ducks to water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'll need more fighting men at Marsh," said Rolf, -gravely, and would have said more, but checked himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Likely," said Shameless Wayne, glancing at his brothers. -"How fares it with the wounded up at Cranshaw?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As well as might be. We took some deepish cuts a -fortnight since, and they'll take time to heal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne ceased playing with her food, and looked -steadfastly at Rolf. "Ratcliffe of Wildwater said 'twould -never heal, when he met me on the road; he saw me looking -at his ear, I fancy, for he said 'twould never heal till Ned -yonder had paid his price for the blow. Ay, but he's hard, -hard! I shall hide Ned among the flowers lest they trap him -some day on the moors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell, seated next to her, whispered some soothing speech; -scorn was in the girl's face yet, but it was plain that compassion -was ousting her fierce hatred of her step-mother. Wayne -of Cranshaw glanced across at Ned with gloomy wonder. -The boys nudged one another, and laughed a little. But -Mistress Wayne was already following a fresh fancy, and she -paid no heed to the deep pause that followed her speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See the moon peeping through the lattice!" she cried, -moving to the door. "It shames the candle-light in here; -thou'lt not be angered, Ned, if I slip away to the garden? -The fairy-folk come out of the daffy-bells, and they'll miss -me sadly if I do not go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, bairn, you've eaten naught."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, how fond thou art! The fairies will not talk to -me unless I seek them fasting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waved a light hand to him at the door and was gone. -Griff, the eldest of the lads, looked after her and then at -Shameless Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be more than fairies sporting in the -moonlight—something plump-bodied and more toothsome," he cried. -"The low pasture will be thick with hares; can we go down, -Ned, and take the dogs with us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne did not answer just at once; then, "Ay, -ye can go," he said, "if ye'll keep to the low lands. The -Wildwater hares are friskier, but ye must be content with -worse sport. Dost promise, Griff?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould be the best sport of all to catch the Lean Man -out of doors and set the dogs at him," said Griff, with a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doubtless—but if Wildwater is in your minds, I shall -keep you safe at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, we promise, Ned. Wilt let me have thy dog -Rover? There's none at Marsh as quick on a hare's track as -he."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, ought they to go," put in his sister. "'Tis late, -and you never know what cover hides a Ratcliffe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish! We must not coddle growing lads.—Off with you, -and if ye take Rover, see that ye bring him back again; I -doubt he will not answer to your whistle as he does to mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're likely lads, and stiff-set-up," said Wayne of -Cranshaw, as the four of them raced pell-mell out of the hall. -"But thou need'st more than these about thee, Ned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne squared his jaw, after a fashion that -brought back his father to Nell's mind. "I've said nay once -and for all to what thou hast in mind," he answered. "What, -leave Marsh and show the white rabbit-scut to Nicholas -Ratcliffe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Show that thou hast sense enough to know when the odds -are all against thee. I tell thee, ye Marsh Waynes would -never learn when to give ground. There's fresh trouble -brewing, Ned—and 'tis aimed all at thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How, at me? Has the Lean Man, then, vowed friendship -with Cranshaw and with Hill House?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but his hate is hottest against thee. He thought -thee a fool, and he found thee somewhat different; and he -blames thee altogether for their defeat in the kirkyard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How dost learn all this, Rolf?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lean Man makes a boast of it up and down, and -only to-night as I came through Marshcotes, they told me he -had sworn to pin thy right hand to thy own door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, that was what Mistress Wayne said just now," cried -Nell. Her eyes were fixed on her brother, and there was -grief and something near to terror in them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, her wandering talk hit straightish to the truth," said -Wayne of Cranshaw. "Whether 'twas guess-work on her -part, or whether she did meet Nicholas in the road, I cannot -say—but any village yokel will tell thee what the Lean Man's -purpose is. See, Ned, there are eight of us at Cranshaw; -come and bring all thy folk with thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne shook his head, and would have spoken, -but the door was burst open suddenly and his brothers stood -on the threshold, an unwonted gravity in their mien.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The dogs are poisoned, Ned," said Griff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poisoned? What, all of them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All. When we went into the courtyard we found Rover -stretched by the well, his muzzle half in the water, and his -body twisted all out of shape."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hemlock," muttered Ned. "'Twas grown on Wildwater -soil, I'll warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we went to the kennels, and found the doors open, -and all the dogs but one laid here and there. The white bitch -was missing, but she has gone to some quiet corner, likely, to -die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's curse on them!" cried Shameless Wayne, getting to -his feet. "Why should they fight with the poor brutes when -they dare not face their master?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis but one more argument," said Rolf quietly. "Come -to Cranshaw, Ned; it is witless to forego a plain chance of -safety."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take Nell and the women-folk, if they will go—but the -lads and I stay here while there's a roof to the four walls. -Dost think I have not smirched the Marsh pride enough in -times past?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's done with, Ned; none doubts thee now, and -thou'lt lose naught by seeking a safer dwelling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lean Man wants me. Well, he knows where to -find me. Did father play hide-and-seek, leaving the old place -to be burned to the ground, when the feud was up aforetime?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He stayed—as thou wilt do," said Nell, her pride -undaunted by any ebb and flow of danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Nell, 'tis stubbornness—'tis folly—" began Wayne -of Cranshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That may be," answered the girl, "but it is Wayne -stubbornness, and I was reared on that. I stay, and Ned -stays, and with God's help we'll worst the Lean Man yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne crossed to where his sister sat and laid a -hand on her shoulder. "We'll worst him yet, Nell," he said, -and turned to leave them to their confidences. "Why, where -are the lads gone?" he cried, staring at the open door, through -which a gentle breeze was blowing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They feared to miss their sport if they asked leave a -second time," said Rolf, "and so they slipped away while thy -back was turned to them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Young fools!" muttered Shameless Wayne, as he went -out. "Could they not keep to home when those who strew -hemlock privily are within pistol-shot?—I'll walk round the -yard and outbuildings, Rolf, and see if aught else has gone -amiss."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hadst better have company," said Wayne of Cranshaw, -moving to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay. The times are hard for love-making; take thy -chance while thou hast it, Rolf, or it may not come again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rolf looked after him, and wondered at his bitterness. But -Nell, remembering Janet Ratcliffe, knew well enough which -way her brother's thoughts were tending, and she sighed -impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis well to love by kinship," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rolf missed her meaning, being full of his own fears for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've loved thee well, dear, and I fear to lose thee," he -said, after a silence. "Wilt wed me out of hand and let me -take thee safe to Cranshaw?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Rolf. I cannot." Her voice was low; but he -gleaned scant hope even from its tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think," he urged. "It is hard to have waited for the -good day—waited through summer heat and winter frost, -Nell—and then to see such danger lying on the threshold as -may rob me of my right in thee. Thou know'st these Ratcliffe -swine; a woman's honour is cheap as a man's life to -them. Lass, give me the right to have thee in keeping day -and night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day, Rolf—but not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast scant love for me, or none at all," he flashed, -pacing moodily up and down the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not true, Rolf, and thou know'st it; but I have -love for the old home, too, and love for Ned. I'm young, -dear, as years go, but there's none save me to mother them at -Marsh. What would Ned do, what would the lads do, if I -left them to fight it out alone? And Ned"—she faltered a -little—"Ned is very new to repentance, and who knows how -the wind would shift if he had none to care for him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He would follow thee to Cranshaw—where I would have him be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but he would not! If he stood alone, without a -sword to his hand, he would wait here for what might come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still he pleaded with her, and still she held to her resolve. -And at last he gave up the struggle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None knows what the end will be, but we must win -through it somehow," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, her object gained, she crept close to his embrace, -and, "Rolf," she whispered, "how can Ned fight the Lean Man -and all his folk? Is it true that he is the first victim chosen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear it, lass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, dear, I cannot bear to lose him! I cannot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, all thy bravery gone? There, hide thy face -awhile—the tears will ease thee. There's hope for the lad -yet, Nell, for he means to live and he has a ready sword-arm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, had gone the round of the -farm-buildings, railing at the wantonness which had bidden -the Ratcliffes kill the best hounds in Marshcotes; but beyond -the dogs' stiffened bodies he had found no sign of mischief. -Restless, and ill-at-ease about the lads' safety, he wandered -into the garden in search of the frail little woman who had -gone thither to seek the fairies. He said nothing of his -troubles nowadays to Nell or to any of his kinsfolk; but -Mistress Wayne offered the trusty, unquestioning sympathy that -a horse or any other dumb animal might give, and day by day -he was growing more prone to drop into confidences when he -found himself alone with her, half-smiling at his folly, yet -gleaning a sort of consolation from the friendship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was standing by the sun-dial when he found her to-night. -The moonlight was soft in her neatly ordered hair and -flower-like face, and Shameless Wayne thought that surely -she was nearer kin to the other world of ghosts than to this -workaday earth which had already proved too hard for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, were the fairies kind to you?" he asked, leaning -against the dial and watching the moon-shadows play across -her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pointed to a green ring traced in the blue-white -dewdrops that gemmed the lawn. "Yes, they were kind," she -said, "I'm friends with them, thou know'st, and they came -and danced for me round yonder ring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what has come of them? Did I scare them all -away, little bairn?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," she answered gravely. "They guessed, I -think, that I was weary of them, and scampered off before -thou camest. Wilt mock me, Ned, if I tell thee something?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer—only shook his head and put his arm -more closely round her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is all so dark and strange. I seemed to fall asleep long, -long ago, and then I woke to a new world—a world of mists -and moonlight, Ned, where the human folk move like shadows -and only the fairies and the ghosts are real. The fairies -claimed me for their own, and I was content until I saw the -wee birds nesting and the spring come in. But now I'm -hungry, Ned, for something that the fairies cannot give." She -stopped; then, "Didst meet thy lady-love to-day?" she -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne's eyes went up toward the hills that cradled -Wildwater. "Hast a queer touch, bairn, on a man's hidden -wounds," he said, after a silence. "Did I meet my -lady-love? Nay, but I met one who is playing the -will-o'-the-wisp to my feet—one whom I love or loathe. Who told -thee, child, that I had seen her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it was Hiram Hey; he was telling Nanny when -I went into the kitchen how he had seen you cross the moors -with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust Hiram to pass on the tale!" muttered Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, 'tis a drear world, and thou'rt not right to make it -harder," said the little woman, turning suddenly to him. -"Somewhere, in a far-away land, I once met love and scomed -him; and I have lacked him ever since, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bent toward her eagerly; so grave and full of wit she -seemed, and haply she was a better riddle-reader than he -during these brief moments when she slipped into touch again -with the things of substance. But the light was already pale -in her childish eyes, and soon she was laughing carelessly as -she traced the moon's shadow on the dial with one slender -forefinger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See, Ned!" she cried. "It points to mid-day, when all -the while we know 'tis long past gloaming. I wouldn't keep -so false a time-piece if I were thou; the dandelions make -better clocks at seeding-time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night was warm, and the moon-shadows of the gable-ends -scarce flickered on the grass; but on the sudden a little -puff of icy wind came downward from the moors and -whimpered dolefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The night wears shrewd, bairn, and we've talked moon-nonsense -long enough," said Wayne sharply, turning to go indoors. -He was sore that she had lost the thread of reason -just when he most needed guidance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mistress Wayne was shivering under a keener wind -than ever was bred in the hollow of the sky, and her face was -piteous as she followed her companion with her eyes. "Ned, -canst not see it?" she stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See what? The shadows lengthening across your fairy-ring?" -he said, impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He crept behind thee—he's fawning to thy hand—shake -him off, Ned, shake him off! Such a great beast he is——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne glanced sharp behind him. "By the -Heart, 'tis Barguest she sees!" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou canst not help but see him—his coat is brown -against thy darker wear—he's pressed close against thee, now, -as if he fears for thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could see naught, but there were those who had the -second sight, he knew, and the old dreads crept cold about his -heart. "Would God the lads were safe indoors," he -muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How if it be thou he comes to warn?" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed harshly. "I've over many loads on my -shoulders, bairn, to slip them off so lightly; but the lads are -young to life yet, and full of heart—'twould be like one of -Fortune's twists to send them across the Lean Man's path."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark, Ned, didst hear?" she broke in, as a low whistle -sounded through the leafing garden-trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne could not find his manhood all at once; -but at last he shook himself free of dread a little. "Ay, I -heard some poor hound whimpering—it has crept away to -die, belike, after eating what those cursed Ratcliffes dropped. -Come, child! There's naught save ague to be gained by -staying among the night dews here."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-the-ratcliffes-rode-out-by-stealth"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW THE RATCLIFFES RODE OUT BY STEALTH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The moon was crisp and clear over the low pastures when -Griff and his brothers went down for the hunting. Wayne -of Cranshaw had hit the truth when he said that they feared -denial from Shameless Wayne, and so had slipped out quietly -while their elders were discussing the old vexed topic as to -whether Marsh should be left to its fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned will not leave the old place," said Griff, as they -crossed the first field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not while he has us to help him to fight," answered Bob, -the youngest, drawing himself to as full a height as his -fourteen years allowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's naught in it," grumbled a third. "Ned would -not let us go to the kirkyard that day, and there was a merry -fight—and now all's as tame as a chushat on the nest. I -thought the Lean Man would come down and let us have a -spear-thrust at him; but we never see a Ratcliffe now, and -'tis hard after learning so many tricks of fence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bide awhile," answered Griff sagely. "There'll be frolic -yet if we can but wait for it. Dost think they poisoned the -dogs for naught?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For spleen, likely, because Ned worsted them the other -day; but if they do no more than that—Griff, 'twould have -been rare sport to have gone up to Wildwater to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griff halted and glanced wistfully at the surly crest of moor -above. "Nay; we gave our promise," he said, with manifest -reluctance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are we to hunt without the dogs?" put in Rob. -"We left all our weapons in hall when we crept out so -hastily—Good hap, there goes a fine fat fellow! We're -missing the best of the moonlight with all this talk of a Lean -Man who never shows his face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all four stood and watched the hare swing up the field -and over the misty crest; knobby and big and brown the -beast showed, and his stride was like the uneasy gallop of a -horse whose knees are stiffening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll miss no more such chances," cried Griff. "There -are two dogs at the Low Farm; let's rouse old Hiram Hey -out of his bed and get the loan of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey was not abed, as it chanced, but a rushlight was -in his hands and his foot on the bottom stair when Griff's -masterful rat-tat sounded on the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's agate?" he growled, opening the door a couple of -inches. "Christian folk should be ligged i' bed by now, -i'stead o' coming an' scaring peaceable bodies out o' their -wits——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'st little wit to be scared out of, Hiram," laughed -Rob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened a foot-breadth wider. "Oh, it's ye, is -'t? Ay, there's shameless doings now up at Marsh. I' th' -owd Maister's days ye'd hev been abed at sunset, that ye -wod."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We carry arms now, and know how to use them; so keep -a civil tongue in thy tousled head," said Griff, with a great air -of dignity. "We want to borrow thy dogs, Hiram."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's it? Well, how if th' dogs are anot to be hed -at ony lad's beck an' call?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll take them without a by-your-leave in that case. -Come, Hiram, the hares are cropping moon-grass so 'twould -make thy old mouth water just to see them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let 'em crop for owt I care. What's comed to th' Marsh -kennels that ye mud needs go borrowing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hemlock has come to them, and there's not one left alive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey whistled softly, and set down his candle -and came out into the moonlight. "That's not a bad start -for a war finish," he said, turning his head to the low hill -which hid the house from him, as if expecting some sound of -tumult.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'tis done, and we're missing sport the while," said -Griff, with a lad's peremptoriness. "I can hear those dogs -of thine yelping in the yard yonder. Loose them, Hiram."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram did as he was bid, with many a grumble by the way; -then stood and watched the lads go racing over the pastures, -the dogs running fast in front of them. "There's bahn to be -trouble, choose who hears me say 't," he muttered. "Ay, I -knew how 'twould be when I see'd young Maister fly-by-skying -wi' yond Ratcliffe wench; 'tis a judgment on him, sure. -Ay, 'tis a judgment; an' hard it is that we should be killed i' -our beds for sake of a lad's unruliness.—What, th' dogs is -gi'eing tongue already? Well, I'd hev liked to see th' sport, -if my legs war a thowt less stalled wi' wark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram had been asleep a good two hours before the chase -was over. Pasture after pasture was drawn, the lads' zest -waxing keener with each fresh kill, until they had more hares -than they could carry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at the moon, lads! She's nearing Worm's Hill already, -and half a league from home," panted Griff, as he tried -to add the last hare to his load.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned will have somewhat to say to this," laughed Rob; -"but faith 'twas worth all the scolding he can cram into a -week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, was it, but we'll put the best foot forward now. Let's -leave half the hares under the sheep-hole in the wall yonder, -or we shall never get back to Marsh till midnight.—There. -They'll keep till morning safe enough, unless some shepherd's -dog should nose them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They set off at a steady trot, stopped at the Low Farm to -close the yard gate on their borrowed dogs, and then took a -straight course for Marsh. But breath failed them as they -neared the homestead; their pace dwindled to a walk, and not -even noisy Rob could muster speech of any sort. The moon -was out of sight now behind the house, leaving the field that -hugged the outbuildings in a grey half-light—a light so -puzzling to the eyes that Griff, when he thought he saw the dim -figure of a man crossing from the peat-shed to the yard, told -himself that fancy was playing tricks with him. But Rob had -seen the figure, too, and he clutched his brother's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that moving yonder?" he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A second figure, and a third, came shadowy-vague through -the low doorway of the shed, and Griff could see now that -each man carried an armful of peats, or ling, or bracken—he -could not tell which. Fetching a compass up the field-side, -the four of them turned and crept under shelter of the house, -and so on tip-toe across the courtyard till the hall-door showed -in front of them. The light was clearer here, though they -were hidden altogether in the shadows, and they could see a -tall fellow piling a last armful on the heap of ling and bracken -that already mounted to the doorway-top.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They mean to fire the house!" muttered Griff, and felt -for his brothers in the dark and drew them about him in a -narrow ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There were three of them—what has come to the other -two?" whispered Rob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griff drew in his breath and nipped the other's arm till -he all but cried out with pain. "There are three doors to the -house, likewise. Dost not see the plan? They have us -housed safe as rattens in a gin, they think, and they mean to -block up every door with flames. Hush! Yond lean-bodied -rogue is turning his head this way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man at the door had finished making his heap, and had -turned sideways as if listening for some signal. Griff thought -that he had heard them, but a second glance showed him that -the man's regard was away from their corner—showed him, too, -a lean face, cropped level where the right ear should have been. -"'Tis the Lean Man himself!" said Griff. "God, why -did we leave our swords indoors—we can do naught—saw ye -his pistols and his sword-hilt glinting when he turned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've got our wish, and by the Heart, we'll lilt at the -Lean Man, armed or not armed," answered Rob, his voice -threatening to rise above a whisper for very gaiety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A low call sounded from behind the house; a second -answered from the side toward the orchard. The Lean Man -whipped flint and steel from his pocket, and struck a quick -shower of sparks, and on the instant a roaring stream of fire -shot upward from the bracken to the ling, and from the ling to -the dark pile of peats.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis done. Fools that we were to raise no cry," groaned -Griff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Time had been hanging heavily meanwhile with Wayne of -Cranshaw and his cousin. Shameless Wayne, when he came -in from the garden with his step-mother, found Rolf fixed in -his resolve to spend the night at Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After what chanced to the dogs," he said, "they may -strike to-night as well as any other—and strike they mean to, -soon or late. There's no need for me at Cranshaw, and one -arm the more here is worth something to thee, Ned, as thy -numbers go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, stay," said Nell, her eyes dancing bright now that -danger showed close at hand—"and if they come, we'll give -them a brisker welcome than they look for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if ye will have it so; but I doubt there'll be no -attack to-night," muttered Shameless Wayne. "They move -slowly, the Ratcliffes, and strike when ye least expect -them.—A pest to those lads. Do they mean to scour the fields till -daybreak?—Nell, get to bed, and see that the little bairn is -cared for. She's in one of her eerie moods to-night; thou'lt -treat her kindly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As far as I can master kindness toward her. Wilt call -me, Ned, if—if ye need another arm to fight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, lass! There'll be no fight. Pay no heed to Rolf -when he tries to scare thee. There! Good-night. Give -the bairn somewhat to stay her fast, for she ate naught at -supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has Mistress Wayne ever done that Ned's first -thought should always be for her? Ah, but I hate her still, -though God knows I cannot altogether kill my pity," said -Nell to herself as she went up the stair in search of her -unwelcome charge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two men drew close about the fire after Nell had left -them. A flagon of wine stood between them, and an open -snuff-box; but the wine stayed untasted, and the box was -scarce passed from hand to hand as they stared into the fire, -each busy with his own thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear for those lads, curse them. How if I ride down to -the low pastures to make sure that naught has happened to -them and to bring them home?" said Shameless Wayne, -breaking a long silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, and leave the house? The lads are safe enough, -Ned; 'tis thou, not they, the Lean Man aims at, and if he -comes, 'twill be to Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art right—yet still I would liefer have them behind stout -walls at this late hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again they fell into silence. Both had had a long day, -the one on foot, the other in the saddle, and presently -Rolf was nodding drowsily. Shameless Wayne, glancing -at him, wished that he could follow suit; but each time -he dozed for a moment some memory came and stirred -him into restlessness. He thought of Barguest creeping close -beside him in the garden; he wondered what thread of subtle -wit ran through the tangled skein of the mad woman's talk; -he remembered what she had said to him of his love for Janet -Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take love while thou hast it; why make the world a -sourer place than 'tis already?—Was not that what she said -to me?" he murmured. "Well, she is fairy-kist, and they -say that when such give advice 'tis ever safe to follow it. -Christ, if I could but take love tight in both my hands, and -laugh at kinship.—Nay, though! Like a deep bog it stands -'twixt her and me; and who shall cross so foul a marsh as -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not rid himself of the feverish round of thought, -till at last Janet's face came and smiled at him from every -glooming corner of the hall. He got to his feet, and paced the -floor; and once he stopped at the wine-flagon and reached out -a hand for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not again," he said, his arm dropping lifeless to his side. -"There's no peace along that road when once—God curse -the girl! I have said nay, and will say it to the fiftieth time; -why should she haunt me like my own shadow?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at Rolf, slumbering deep by the hearth; and he -laughed sourly to think that one man could sleep while another -moved heavy-footed with his troubles across the creaking -boards. He sat down again, and watched his cousin listlessly; -and little by little his own head dropped forward, and his eyes -closed, and Janet and he were wandering, a dream boy and -dream girl, up by the grey old kirkstone that kept watch over -lovers' vows among the rolling wastes of heath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stirred uneasily, and Rolf's voice came vaguely to him -from across the hearth. "Get up, Ned! The hall is full of -smoke—the flames are whistling up the house-side——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's the little bairn? She must be looked to. Nell -has wit enough to save herself," said Shameless Wayne -sleepily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw shook him to his feet. "They've fired -the door! Get out thy sword, Ned, and step warily."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ned was full awake by now; and as he rushed to the main -door, his thoughts were neither of himself nor Nell, but of -the house that had weathered fire and flood and tempest through -a half-score generations of Waynes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The flames sing from without. There's no fire inside as -yet. We can save the old place still," he cried, swinging back -the heavy cross-beam that bolted the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, thou fool!" said the other, checking him. "Dost -think the trap is not set plain enough, that thou should'st go -smoke-blinded on to a Ratcliffe sword-point? We must try -the side door leading to the orchard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nell was downstairs by this time, with Mistress Wayne -close behind her. "Ned, the kitchen-door's a-blaze, and the -orchard door," she gasped—"and see—the oak is beginning to -crack yonder, for all its thickness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne threw off his cousin's grasp, and drew -the staples and turned the cumbrous key. The sweat stood -on his forehead, and iron and wood alike were blistering to the -touch. He jerked the door wide open, and over the threshold -a live, glowing bank of peats fell dumbly on to the floor-boards. -He strove to cross into the open, but could not; and athwart -the red-blue reek he saw the Lean Man's eyes fixed steadfastly -on his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's mercy, this is what Barguest came to tell thee of," -said Mistress Wayne, standing ghost-like and strangely -undismayed in the lurid light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, thou saw'st him!" cried Nell, her eyes widening -with a terror no power of will could stifle. "Ned, keep -back! Keep back, I say!— Ah!" as he tried to cross the -flames and fell back half-blinded—"thanks to Our Lady that -they lit so hot a fire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The four lads, meanwhile, hidden in their corner of the -courtyard, had watched the scene with sick dismay—had heard -Ned unbar the door—had seen the Lean Man draw nearer, -his bare blade reddened by the fire—had heard him laugh and -mutter like a ghoul as he waited till the heat dwindled enough -to let Shameless Wayne come through to him. This way and -that Griff looked about him, seeking a weapon and finding -none, his brain rocking with the thought of all that rested on -his shoulders; and then his eyes brightened, and he stepped -unheard amid the hissing of the flames, to where the smooth, -round stone lay that had lately capped the right pillar of the -gateway. A moment more and he was behind the Lean Man; -he lifted the stone as high as unformed arms would let him, -and hurled it full between Nicholas Ratcliffe's -shoulderblades, and dropped him face foremost on to the flaming -threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A Wayne! A Wayne!" he cried, and after him his -three brothers took up the ringing call.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man put his hand out as he fell, and twisted -with a speed incredible till he was free of the flames; and -then he scrambled to his feet somehow, and tottered forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On to him, lads," cried Griff, and would have closed with -him, but Nicholas rallied, and picked up his fallen sword, and -moved backward to the gateway, swinging the steel wide -before him. The lads gave back a pace or two, but he dared -not stop to pay them for their night's work; his eyes were -dimming, and his right hand loosening on the hilt, and he knew -that his course was run if Shameless Wayne should cross the -threshold before he found a hiding-place. Griff watched him -go, his fingers itching all anew for his unfleshed sword; and -just as Nicholas staggered through the gate, the two Ratcliffes -who had kept ward at the other doors came running round the -corner of the house, ready to close with those who had given -the cry. "A Wayne, a Wayne!" They found four lads -against them, standing unarmed, and straight, and fearless -altogether, in the crimson glow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what's this?" said Red Ratcliffe, half halting. -"Have these sickling babes driven old Nicholas off?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," answered Griff, not budging by one backward step; -"and would drive you off, too, ye Ratcliffe redheads, if we -had any weapon to our hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe rapped out an oath and made headlong at the -lad. And Shameless Wayne, seeing all this from across the -gathering flames, leaped wide across the threshold, and landed -on the outskirts of the fire, and cut Red Ratcliffe's blade -upward in the nick of time. The other Ratcliffe drove in at -him, then, and turned his blade in turn, and the fight waxed -swift and keen for one half-moment; then Wayne got shrewdly -home, and dropped his man close under the house-wall; and -Red Ratcliffe, waiting for no second stroke, had turned and -flashed through the gateway toward the moor before Wayne -had guessed his purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne made as if to pursue; but the crackling -of the flames behind warned him that there must be no delay -if Marsh were to be saved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the mistals, lads. Bring buckets and fill them at the -well-spring!" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griff and others needed no second bidding, but ran with -him across the courtyard and pushed open the mistal-doors. -The cows were lying quiet in their stalls; the place was -fragrant with their breath, and every now and then there sounded -a faint rattling through the gloom as one or other fidgetted -sleepily on her chain. Shameless Wayne, dark as it was, -knew where to lay hands on the feeding-buckets that were -stored here in readiness for the coming summer; and soon he -and Griff, and the three youngsters, were dashing water over -the blazing threshold of the main door as fast as they could -cross to the well and back again. Nell, meanwhile, once she -had seen her brother safe through the fire and safe through -the quick fight that followed, had found heart again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I not bid you call me if one more arm were needed?" -she cried, with a touch of her old spirit. "See, Rolf, the -floor is smouldering now, and the panels are starting from the -wall. We must get through the kitchen-door and fetch water -from the well behind.—What, has the fire roused thee at last, -Martha? Come with us—and thou, Mary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The maids, who had crept down in fearful expectation of -what might meet them below-stairs, followed cheerfully when -they found no worse enemy than fire to meet. The kitchen-door -fell inward as they reached it, but there was little danger -on this side, for floor and walls were of stone, and the peats -could find no fuel. Wayne of Cranshaw stamped out the -embers, and they all ran, a bucket in either hand to the well -that stood just outside the door, and thence back to the hall; -and while those in the courtyard rained water on the one side -of the flames, Wayne of Cranshaw and the women-folk on -the other side kept down the smouldering fire that threatened -every moment to set the hall ablaze from roof to rafters. For -a fierce half-hour they worked, Nell bearing her full share of -the toil, until the last angry eye of fire was quenched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, if last week's wind hed been fly-be-skying up an' -dahn, there'd hev been little left o' Marsh; 'tis a mercy th' -neet war so still," said Martha, standing in her wonted easiful -attitude and looking through the gaping doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A mercy, say'st 'a?" snapped Mary, whose eyes were on -the spears and swords that lined the walls. "A mercy, when -there'll be all yond steel to rub bright again to-morn? Sakes, -I wodn't hev thowt th' smoke could hev so streaked an' -fouled 'em—an' 'twas only yestreen I scoured 'em, too. -Well, let them thank th' Lord as thank can, but for me I'll -hod my whisht."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne was likewise looking at the blackened -walls, and Rolf saw that same light in his eyes that had been -there when he stood at the vault-edge, and bade them bury -alive the fallen Ratcliffes. Nell, too, was watching him, and -she, who had never before feared him, knew now that there -were deeps and under-deeps in her brother's nature which she -had yet to plumb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What art thinking, Ned?" she asked, laying a timid hand -on his sleeve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinking?" he said slowly. "I'm thinking that Marsh -was all but blotted out—and I am learning how I loved the -place. Keep guard awhile here, Rolf. I have an errand that -will take me to the moors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lad, thou'rt fay!" cried Wayne of Cranshaw, as his -cousin moved toward the door. "Dost mean to seek the -Lean Man out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne turned and smiled in curious fashion. -"Nay, only to leave a message for him on the road 'twixt -this and Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Ned, I know what 'tis!" cried his sister, with sudden -intuition. "For God's sake, dear, leave that to the Ratcliffes; -it is not—not seemly to tamper with the dead." She pointed -across the black remnants of the peats that strewed the -threshold, and shuddered knowing what lay so close against the -house-wall there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne flashed round on her, and the four lads, listening -awe-struck from the far-end of the hall, shrank further back -to hear the clear bitterness of voice he had.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All shall be seemly henceforth—all, I say! I'll hunt the -Lean Man as he hunts me—ay, and his tokens shall be mine. -Hark ye, Nell! We're over soft, we Waynes— Come -here, lads," he broke off, beckoning to his brothers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griff came and stood before him, the others following -slowly. "Yes, Ned?" he asked, breaking a hard silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye were fools to stand up to Red Ratcliffe as I saw you -do to-night. They would never do the like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was't not well done, then?" said the lad, the corners of -his mouth drooping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne laughed exceeding softly. "Ay, 'twas done as I -would have you do it. God rest you, youngsters, and when -your turn comes to hold the weapons—strike deep and swift."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was gone without another word, and Nell looked at -Wayne of Cranshaw in search of guidance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rolf shook his head. "As well dam Hazel Beck with -straws as stop Ned when the black mood is on him," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They heard him stop just outside the door, then clank across -the courtyard; and soon the sound of hoof-beats was dying -down the chill breeze that rustled from the moors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Too sick at heart to listen to her cousin's rough words of -comfort, Nell wandered up and down the house disconsolately, -till at the last her walk brought her to the side-passage leading -to the orchard. They had forgotten this third point of attack -in their eagerness to save the hall; but here, too, though the -door had fallen in, the bare walls and flagged passage had -given no hold to the flames, which were burning themselves -out harmlessly. Yet the girl went pale as her eyes fell on -what the flickering light showed her at the far end of the -passage, and she moved forward like one who strives to throw -off an evil dream. Crouched above the smouldering wreckage, -her hands spread white and slim to the glow, was Mistress -Wayne; and she was crooning happily some ballad -learned in childhood. She looked up as Nell approached, and -smiled, and rubbed her hands gently to and fro across each -other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barguest was cold, poor beastie, so he lit a fire to warm -himself. Is't not a pretty sight?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell bent to her ear. "What of Ned?" she asked. Her -voice was tremulous, beseeching, for she knew that such as -these had power to read the future. "What of Ned? Will -he come back safe to-night?" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Safe? Why, yes—he's kind to me; how should he come -to harm?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-they-fared-back-to-wildwater"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW THEY FARED BACK TO WILDWATER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Red Ratcliffe, soon as he had gained the moor, made for -the shallow dingle where they had left the horses on their way -to Marsh. He found his grandfather standing with one foot -in the stirrup, striving vainly to leap to saddle; and he saw -that the Lean Man's face was scarred with fire, and his hands -red-raw on the reins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has been a hard night for us," said the younger man. -The words came dully, with terror unconcealed in them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas let his foot trail idly from the stirrup, and -stumbled as he faced about; but his eye was hawk-like as ever, -and his tone as harsh. "A hard night—ay. There's a long -reckoning now 'gainst Shameless Wayne. How comes it that -thou rid'st alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne leaped through the fire and cut Robert down; and -I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fled, I warrant. What, could ye not meet him two to one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's witchcraft in it," muttered the other sullenly. -"Didst see him fight that day in the kirkyard? Well, last -night it was the same; he sweeps two blows in for every one -of ours, and his steel zags down like lightning before a man's -eye can teach his hand to parry. I tell you, some boggart -fights for the Waynes of Marsh, and always has done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man nodded quietly. "Ay, is there—for I've -seen the boggart.—There, fool, don't stand gaping at me like -a farm-hind at a fair! Help me to saddle, for I am—" he -paused, and forced a laugh—"I am weary a little with the -ride from Wildwater to Marsh. And lead the chestnut by the -bridle; we must find him a fresh master, 'twould seem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe helped him up, marvelling to find that -Nicholas, who was wont to be active as the best of them, had no -spring in his body, no knee-grip when at last his feet were in -the stirrups. He stole many a glance at the old man's face -as they rode up the moor, and marked a change in it—a -palpable change, which he could not understand, but which added -a new dread to the heaviness that was already weighing on -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robert is dead, I take it?" said Nicholas, as they passed -the square-topped stone that marked one boundary of the -Wildwater lands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead? Ay, for the lad cleft his skull in two clean halves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Robert was the Lean Man's eldest-born; but if he had any -touch of fatherly sorrow for the dead, he would not show it. -"'Tis a pity," was all he said; "he had the best hand of all -you younger breed.—The miles crawl past, lad, and the thirst -of Hell is on me; get thee down and fill thy hat in the stream -yonder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe brought the water, and the old man stooped -eagerly to it, then glanced behind him on the sudden and -stifled a low groan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't?" cried his grandson. "See, sir, the water's -trickling through; there'll be none left unless you drink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I thought—" stammered Nicholas, and pulled himself -together with an effort. "'Twas only a fresh dizziness. -There! Fill up again; the water will clear my wits, belike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drank greedily, and his knees were firmer on the saddle-flaps -when they rode on. "I'll fight the pair of them, God -rot them," he mumbled, slipping clumsily to ground as they -gained the door of Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, hearing them ride under her chamber window, woke -from a troubled sleep and ran to open the casement. All day -her grandfather had worn the air of grim gaiety which she had -learned to fear, and the lateness of his home-coming told her -which way his errand had lain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have made a night-attack," she murmured, fumbling -blindly with the window-fastening. "And what of Shameless -Wayne? If—if aught has chanced to him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wrenched the window open and peered down into the -courtyard. The moon, dropping toward the high land that -stretched from Wildwater to the four corners of the sky, -gave light enough to show her Nicholas and close behind him -Red Ratcliffe with the bridle of a riderless horse in his right -hand. These were her folk; but the girl's heart leaped at -sight of the empty saddle, at the slowness of the Lean Man's -movements, for these things told her that defeat had ridden -home across the moor with them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas, hearing the creak of the casement above, glanced -sharply up. "Is't thou, Janet?" he called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, grandfather. Have ye—have ye been a-hunting again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fetched a hollow laugh. "Ay, down by Marsh; but -the fox slipped cover before we were aware."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She found her courage then, and answered crisply, following -the old metaphor. At all hazards she must make them think -that her hatred against Wayne of Marsh was equal to their -own. "The trickiest fox breaks cover once too oft; ye'll -catch him yet," she laughed—"whose saddle goes empty of a -rider?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy Uncle Robert's. Get thee to bed, lass, and use thy -woman's trick of prayer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To what end shall I use it, sir?" she asked softly. It -was easy to play her part of Ratcliffe, now that she knew how -things had gone at Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, to the end of vengeance." The Lean Man's -voice rang thin and high with sudden passion. "Pray to the -Fiend, girl, or to Our Lady, or to the first that bends an ear -to thee—pray that the Waynes——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped, and Janet saw him shrink as if a shrewd wind -had nipped him unawares. And then, without a word, he led -his horse across the yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet still lingered at the casement, watching the -moonlight fade away among the grey hollows of the moor. "I -will pray," she murmured—"pray that the Waynes may -win a rightful quarrel—pray that love may one day conquer -kinship, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked down at Red Ratcliffe, standing close to the -wall with face upturned to her window. "What is't?" she -said coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou know'st as well as I. The times are perilous, and -when a man loves he cannot wait.—Listen, Janet! I'm sick -with longing for thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The wind blows cold. Canst find no time more fitting for -love-idleness?" she said, and shut the casement with a snap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe halted a moment, for the night's work, unmanning -him, had loosed his hotter impulses. Panic had held -him, and after that dull fear; and now the brute in him rose -up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back, thou wanton!" he cried, so loudly that -Nicholas heard him from across the yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost think I can wait all night while thou stand'st bleating -under a lass's chamber-window?" roared the Lean Man. -"Come, fool, and help me stable this nag of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe moved away, sullenly, with a bridle in either -hand, and found his grandfather leaning heavily against the -door-post of the stable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt have to groom the three of them," said Nicholas, -in a failing voice. "That cursed fire has—has tapped my -strength a little." He stood upright with a plain effort, and -frowned on his grandson, and, "Lad," he said, "what wast -saying to Janet just now? I gave thee free leave to win her -if thou could'st—but, by the Living Heart, there shall none -force her inclination."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, shall there," muttered the younger man, as he watched -Nicholas turn on his heel and falter toward the house. "Red -Ratcliffe shall force her inclination, when she hears how much -he knows of her meetings with Shameless Wayne; were the -Lean Man once to guess, he'd set finger and thumb to Janet's -throat, I think, and crush the life out of her, though she's -dear as his sword-hand to him.—Peste! How he staggers in -the doorway. What if he has got his death-blow down there -at Marsh? 'Twill be an ill hour for us when we go -leaderless.—The devil's in the wind to-night; it seems to whistle a -burial-song," he broke off, gloomily setting himself to rub -down the horses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Lean Man, as if bent on refuting his grandson's -fears, was down betimes on the morrow. His face and hands -were not good to see now that daylight showed each scar on -them; but he had regained the most part of his strength, and -he ate like one who sees long life before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Janet?" he asked, when breakfast was half -through. "Oh, there thou art, child. What ails thee to -come down so late, when thou know'st I need thee as a sauce -to every meal?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All through the night her pity had been for those at Marsh;</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>but now, as her eyes met and shrank from the Lean Man's -scars, as she heard the tenderness of voice which none but she -could win from him, the girl came and laid a compassionate -hand on his shoulder. "I slept all amiss, sir," she said, -"through—through troubling for what chanced last night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sit thee down, girl, and never trouble thy head -again about so small a matter.—Small? Nay!" he cried with -his old power of voice as he glanced round the board. "See -these scars, lads—don't fear to take a straight look at them. -We're loosening our hold on the Wayne-hate, and these -should stiffen you. A scar for a scar; and he that kills -Shameless Wayne, by trickery or open fight, shall——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, searching for some reward that should seem -great enough and Red Ratcliffe broke suddenly into the talk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall have Janet there in marriage," he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas looked hard at him, and then at Janet, and pondered -awhile. The girl's face was white, but she kept her -trouble bravely from the old man's glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis well for all maids to have an arm about them now," -said Nicholas slowly. "And thou hast played contrips long -enough, Janet, with these clumsy-wooing cousins of thine.—Well, -so be it. Shameless Wayne is more than the roystering -lad we thought him, and if any of you can show wit and -strength enough to trap him—why, Janet will have made the -best choice among you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that a bargain, sir?" said Red Ratcliffe, stretching his -hand across the board.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man took his hand and laughed grimly. "A -bargain—but I doubt old Nicholas will be the first among you, -now as aforetime. What then, Janet? What if I win my -own prize? Why, lass, I'll let none wed thee, but thou shalt -play the daughter to me to the end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All laughed at the grim banter, save Janet, sitting white and -cold at her grandfather's side. Once she glanced at Red -Ratcliffe, who strove hardily to meet her scorn; and then -something of the Lean Man's spirit came to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That shall be a bargain, sir," said she, with a low laugh. -"If any kills Shameless Wayne, he shall wed me—but by'r -Lady, I think the marriage will not be this year, nor next."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas half minded to rail at her, thought better of it. -"'Twill be within the month, or my word goes for naught; -but thou dost well, girl, to mock at them. See Red Ratcliffe -glowering at thee there; yet last night he dared not look the -Master of Marsh between the eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll look any man between the eyes,—but not when a -boggart sits upon his shoulder and strikes for him," growled -Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man shivered, as if the hall were draughtier than -its wont, and rose abruptly. "Come, there's a long day's work -to be got through," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All was bustle for awhile, until the men had set out on their -usual business of farming or of bringing game home for the -larder. The women, after they had gone, stayed to chatter of -this and that, and then they, too, went about their work—to the -spinning-wheel, the dairy or the kitchen. But Janet, who had -always lived apart from the common run of life at Wildwater, -stood idly at the wide northward window of the hall, and -looked out on the greening waste of moor. "Was not the -feud bad enough?" she murmured. "Was there too little -stood between Shameless Wayne and me, but this must be -added to the rest? God's pity, but they could not have -struck at me more cruelly, and Red Ratcliffe knew it when -he made the bargain. </span><em class="italics">To be wedded to him who kills Shameless -Wayne</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her head suddenly, and it was strange to mark -how once again the Lean Man's hardiness showed plainly in -her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but it needs two for any bargain," she cried, and -cold steel, even in a maid's hand, can always right a quarrel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet she was full of dread for Shameless Wayne. What -chance had he, with the Lean Man's craft and all the strength -of Wildwater against him? He would not budge from -Marsh, folk said, and he had but four weak lads to help him -there. And she could do nothing. Instinctively she looked -to the moor for help—the moor, that had been friend and -playmate to her through her score years of life. Flat to the -cloud-streaked sky it stretched, and the bending heather-tops -seemed moving toward her with kindly invitation. Reaching -down her cloak from behind the door, she hurried out and -turned her back on Wildwater, with its surly stretch of intake, -its blackened, frowning gables, its guardian pool. Little by -little her step grew firmer; the sky and the wind were close -about her, and the fret begotten of house walls slackened with -each mile that took her further away from men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At Marsh there were hills above and sloping fields below; -but here the dingle-furrowed flat of bog and peat and heather -ended only with the sky—the sky, whose grey and amber -cloudlets seemed but an added acreage to the great moor's -vastness. Far off the Craven Hills—Sharpas, and Rombald's -Moor, and the dark stretch of Rylstone Fell—showed flat as -the cloudland and the heath, and the valleys in between were -levelled by the mist that filled them up. Only the kirk-stone -near at hand, and further the round breast of Bouldsworth -Hill, stood naked out of the wilderness, and served, like -pigmies at a giant's knee, to show the majesty against which they -upreared their littleness. A lark soared mote-like in the -middle blue, but his song came frail and reedy through the silence; -the noise of many waters rose muffled from their jagged -streamways, aping a thousand voices of the Heath-Brown -Folk who lived beneath the marshes and the heather. The -toil of goblin hammers, working day-long at the gold hid -underground was to be heard, the tinkle of the Brown Folk's -laughter when they danced, the sobbing fury of their cries as -a human foot pressed over-heavily above their peat-roofed -dwellings. And sometimes, too, a drear baying came with -the wind across the moor, and told that Barguest was -speeding on his death-errand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this the girl understood, as she did not understand the -ways of men and their crabbed round of life. The world-old -loneliness, the tragic stillness that was half a sob, were full of -intimate speech for her; when the storm-winds whistled, they -piped a welcome measure; there was no hour of dark or day -out here on the heath that showed her aught but homelike -linkliness. The little people of the moor she knew, too, as she -knew her own face reflected in a wayside pool—the plump-bodied -spiders, the starveling moor-tits, the haunt of snipe and -curlew, eagle and hawk and moor-fowl. Scarce a day passed -but she read some well-thumbed page of this Book of Life, -till now she had learned by heart the two lessons which the wide -hill-spaces teach their children—superstition and a rare -singleness of passion. The Ratcliffe men-folk lusted after the feud, -and their hate was single-minded; Janet, with a man's vigour in -her blood and only a maid's way of outlet, had never learned of -sun or wind or tempest, that the plain force of passion was -created only to be checked. Shame, and halting by the way, -were her woman's birthright; but these had lacked a foster-mother, -and the resistless teaching of the solitude had made -her love for Wayne of Marsh a swift, and terrible, and -god-like thing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet her clear outlook upon life had been dulled of late. -The moor had still the same unalterable counsel for her, but -at Wildwater there had been such constant talk of feud, such -a quiet surety on the Lean Man's part that no Ratcliffe could -ever stoop to friendship with a Wayne, that insensibly the -girl had faltered a little in her purpose. Had Shameless -Wayne been of her mind, she would have cared naught for -what her folk said; but he, too, had been against her, and, -while he angered and perplexed her, he forced her to believe -that the blood spilt between the houses would leave its stain -forever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But that was changed now: the bargain made by the Lean -Man that morning had killed, once for all, the narrower love -of kin; the danger that was coming so near to Wayne of -Marsh made her free to be as she would with him—for with -it all she knew that, spite of Wayne's would-be coldness, his -heart was very surely hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved to the kirk-stone, and lifted her hands against its -weather-wrinkled face, and bared her heart to this living bulk -of stone which had learned, century in and century out, the -changeless fashion of men's impulses. She had no wild -passion now for Shameless Wayne; that was subdued by a fierce -and over-mastering mother-love—a love that saw his danger -and yearned to snatch him from it at any cost, a love that -knew neither pride nor shade of doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God, I have no father to Wildwater, nor brother," -she murmured, "for I would have taken against them, too, -for his sake.—They are so sure of me, grandfather, and Red -Ratcliffe, and all of them; I will trick them to tell me all -their plans; and each time they come back with empty -saddles I will be glad." Her voice deepened. "Ay, I will be -glad!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Little by little her heaviness slipped off from her. It had -been hard to wait idly, expecting each hour to bring her news -of Wayne's discomfiture; but now there was work for her to -do, and she would strive at every turn to cross her kinsfolk's -plans. With a lighter heart than she had known for many a -day, she took her farewell of the kirk-stone and swung out -across the moor until she reached the lane, soft now with -budding thorn-bushes, which led past Wynyates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And all the way her mind was busy with the long debt that -Marsh House owed to Wildwater. The Ratcliffes had been -first to strike; they had used treachery, when the Waynes -scomed guile of any sort; they were bringing all their heavy -weight of odds to bear against this solitary foe who would not -move a hair's-breadth from their path. Well, she must use -guile, since Wayne of Marsh would not, and she would save -him in his own despite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am no Ratcliffe," she cried, turning into the Wildwater -bridle track. "I am a Wayne, with less wilful pride than -they, and twice their wit to get them out of danger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stone which bounded the Ratcliffe lands on the side -toward Ling Crag stood on the right hand of her road. Her -eyes fell on it absently, and she would have passed it by, but -something lying on it caught her glance—something that -showed white against the rain-soaked blackness of the stone. -She drew near, and for a moment sickened, for the man's -hand that lay there was meant for hardier eyes than hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Awed she was, but curious too, as she drew near to the -stone, wondering what this token, which her grandfather had -often told her of, was doing here on the Wildwater land. -And then she saw that beside the hand five words were -scrawled untidily in chalk. "From Wayne to -Ratcliffe—greeting," ran the message.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, bewildered, read and re-read the words, and then -their meaning flashed across her mind. Last night they had -attacked Shameless Wayne, and he had routed them; and -afterward he had cut off the right hand of him whose horse had -come back riderless to Wildwater, and had answered the Lean -Man after his own fashion. A dauntlessness there was about -the message, a disregard of odds, that suited the girl's temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I need not fear for Wayne of Marsh," she said, her eyes -brightening. "If he means to hunt the hunters—why, Our -Lady fights for all such gallant fools—Yet, shall I leave it -there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She eyed the token doubtfully and seemed minded to -remove it, lest the Lean Man's hate should be fanned to a -hotter flame. But something checked her—a touch of Wayne's -own recklessness, perhaps, and her new-found faith that -victory would be with him in the long run. She turned about, -leaving the hand there under the naked sky, and made for -home. Almost eager she was to reach Wildwater; she was -returning now, not to kinsmen whose battles were her own, -but to foes—Waynes' foes and hers—who would tell her the -last detail of their plots.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A half-mile nearer Wildwater she chanced on Red Ratcliffe, -striding through the heather with a merlin hawk on his wrist, -and a brace of hares slung by a leathern thong about his -shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've sought thee all the morning," he said, standing across -her path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face was lowering, and she saw that there was mischief -in it. "Hadst better seek hares, and conies, and the like," she -answered, pointing to his spoil. "That swells the larder—but, -well-away, what use is there in seeking one who's tired -of mocking thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because there's a touchstone, cousin, that turns mockery -to something kindlier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To love, thou mean'st?" she laughed disdainfully. "Come -to me in a likelier hour, Red Ratcliffe. Shall I love thee -more because thou didst run away last night? Shall I be -sorry for thee, taking the poor excuse thou gavest for thy -cowardice. Thou said'st amiss this morning—the boggart sits, not -on Wayne's shoulder, but on thine; and his name is panic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art strangely free with Wayne's name," he sneered. "A -man, to look at thee, would think the past night's work had -pleased thee well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It pleases me at all times to hear of one man fighting -three, and daunting them. Wilt ever give me that sort of -pleasure, think'st thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe was silent for awhile; then, "What dost find -to say, Janet, when thou meet'st Shameless Wayne by -stealth?" he asked, with a sudden glance at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She coloured hotly, and paled again. If he knew what she -had thought to be a secret from all at Wildwater, her chance -of helping Wayne of Marsh was slight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wears an ugly look," he went on. "Come, I am kin -to thee, and have a right to guard thy honour. Wilt tell me -what has passed between this rake-the-moon and thee, or must -I whisper in the Lean Man's ear how his darling wantons up -and down the country-side?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would not stoop to plead with him, in whatever jeopardy -she might be. "Thou canst tell as much as pleases thee," -she flashed, "and I will amend thy story afterward; and if -ever thou darest to block my way again——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe had unhooded his hawk too soon, and he -made a clumsy effort to atone for the false cast. "Stay, girl! -I did not mean to say aught to anger thee. Promise to wed -me before the corn is ripe, and I'll keep a still tongue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Promise to wed thee?" said Janet, turning her back on -him. "I've promised it already, when thou canst prove -thyself a better man than Shameless Wayne. But before the -corn is ripe? Nay, I think 'twill be later in the year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her move a pace or two away. "I'll ask thee -once more, when we get back to Wildwater," he said surlily; -"and by that time, I fancy, thou'lt have given thought to what -the Lean Man's anger is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was falling into step beside her, but she would none of -him. "Go over the rise yonder," she said, "and it may be -thou wilt find something there to give </span><em class="italics">thee</em><span> food for thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had liefer walk beside thee, sweet, than follow any -All-Fool's chase."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is no fool's errand, I tell thee. Thou know'st the -boundary-stone this side Ling Crag? I passed it just now, -and saw a present waiting for thee on the top of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped, glancing first at Janet, then down the -bridle-track. "A present?" he cried. "What sort of gift should -any one leave for the first passer-by to steal?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a curious gift, and one not likely to be stolen," she -said. "What is it? Nay, but a gift grows less if one tells of -it beforehand and I'll spoil no pleasure for thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden fear, the echo of his late panic, touched Red -Ratcliffe. "Is—is it Wayne of Marsh who waits there with the -present?" he asked, and bit his lips soon as the tell-tale -thought was out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When Wayne of Marsh wants thee, he will not wait," -she said. "Go, sir, and have no fear at all of him whom -thou hast sworn to kill before the corn is ripe."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="april-snow"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">APRIL SNOW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After a fortnight's softness, with mist winds and child-like -trustfulness of breaking apple-blossom, the season had -swung back to winter. North to Northwest the wind blew, -and its touch was like a stab. The sun, shining day-long out -of blue skies, seemed rather a mocking comrade of the wind, -for his warmth in shaded corners served only to set a keener -edge to the blast that lay in waiting at the next turn. Fields -and roads were parched once more, and the dust lay thick as -June.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even Bet Earnshaw, the idle-bones and by-word of Marshcotes -village, had been moved to do a spell of work this morning, -by way of driving some sort of warmth into her veins; -but habit had proved too strong for her, and toward noon she -slipped into the Sexton's cottage next door to learn the current -gossip from Nanny Witherlee. The wind was at its coldest -up the narrow lane that ran between the graveyard and the -cottages, and Bet was fain to throw her brown cotton apron -over her head as she ran across the few yards that separated -door from door. She found Nanny standing at the table, her -sleeves rolled up to her elbow and a delf bowl in front of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Nanny, making dumplings?" she said, lifting a -corner of her apron and showing a true slattern's face, big, -red and empty of the least line of care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny looked up, still moving her hands briskly among the -contents of the bowl. "Ay, we're allus making summat, us -mortals—awther food for our bellies or food for th' daisies -ower yonder. Step in, Bet, an' for th' Lord's sake shut yond -door to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I'm noan for stopping. There's a lot to be done i' -a house, but I war that perished I thowt I'd run across, like, -an' see if I could find onybody else as cowd as myseln; there's -comfort i' that, I've found. Begow, Nanny, 'tis a wonder -we're all alive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I reckon it is. That's one o' God's miracles, I says, -seeing we're tossed fro' winter to summer an' back again, all -while th' clock is striking twelve. They tell me there war th' -keenest frost last neet we've hed for a twelvemonth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis cruel, cruel," said Bet, moving with her usual zigzag -shiftlessness toward the settle and spreading her hands out to -the fire. "I war fair capped to see thy man Witherlee -crossing to the kirkyard a while back. He's too bone-thin, is -Witherlee, to stand up agen a wind like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, he's getten a peffing cough that ye could hear fro' -this to Lancashire, but he willun't be telled. He like as he -cannot bide still onywhere out o' touch wi' his graves.—How's -yond bairn o' thine, Bet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's nobbut poorly. Th' wind hes nipped her fair as if -it hed set finger an' thumb to her innards. Eh, but I fear for -th' little un, that I do!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does th' leech say, like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does leeches say? She mud get weel again, an' she -mud dee. As if I couldn't hev telled him as mich myseln. I -allus did say there war no brass so easy addled as what them -leeches put i' their breeches pockets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny turned from her baking-bowl. "Leeches is nobbut -mortal, same as me an' thee. How should they be ony mak -o' use? But there's healing goes wi' them as is fairy-kist, -and axe Mistress Wayne to come an touch th' bairn—she'll -do more nor all th' leeches 'at iver swopped big words for -brass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I've thowt on 't mony a time sin' yesterday; but I -feared she'd tak it amiss, like, if I axed her. I war aye chary -a' th' gentlefolk whether they've getten full wits or none at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no call to speak a gooid word for Mistress Wayne, -seeing what she did to th' owd Maister; but I will say this, -Bet—she's getten no mucky pride about her now. She's that -friendly wi' Witherlee they mud hev shared th' same porridge-bowl -sin' being babbies, an' I warrant she'll heal that bairn o' -thine as sooin as axe her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tak thy word for 't, Nanny, that I will; an' th' first -chance I get, I'll slip me dahn to Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's like thee!" cried the other sharply. "Th' first -chance tha gets! Niver thinking th' little un may dee while -tha'rt standing havy-cavy 'twixt will an' willun't.—There's -somebody coming up th' loin. Now who mud it be, I -wonder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny's table stood just underneath the window, lest she -should miss any detail of the life that passed her door. She -craned her neck forward as the rumble of a cart came up the -lane, and Bet the slattern ran to peep behind her shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, if there isn't Hiram Hey!" cried the Sexton's wife, -as the cart pulled up at the door and Hiram's knobby face, -pinched now and tightened by the cold, peered in through the -dusty glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By th' Heart, his face looks foul enough to break th' -window-panes. Eh, eh, he's a rum un, is Hiram. They say -i' Marshcotes there's nobbut one can match thee, Nanny, an' -that's Hiram Hey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They'll say owt i' Marshcotes. What should he be stopping -here for, think'st 'a, Bet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram ceased peering in at the window and opened the door -as guardedly as if he feared an ambush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've brought thee some peats fro' Marsh," he said, letting -a stream of cold air in with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, an' tha's brought a mort o' cold air, an' all," cried -Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, th' peats 'ull cure that, willun't they?" retorted -Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny went to the cart and turned over the topmost sods; -for in Marshcotes they always looked a gift horse in the -mouth. "I allus did say th' young Maister war more -thowtful-like nor ony lad I've happened on afore. I war dahn at -Marsh yestreen, an' I chanced to say summat about being -short o' peats——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If nobbut shows his want o' sense," growled Hiram. -"We shall be short afore we've done wi' this mucky weather. -Just like th' Maister, just! Th' Ratcliffes came a two-week -sin', an' wasted th' fuel summat fearful by piling it agen th' -doors; an' so, thinks th' Maister, when th' shed is nigh empty -he cannot find a better time to go scattering peats all up an' -dahn th' moorside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say it war Hiram Hey hisseln that telled Red Ratcliffe -where to find th' peats," put in the Sexton's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, who telled thee, Nanny? I thowt I'd kept a -close mouth on 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, news goes wi' th' wind, as they say, an' it's all -ower th' parish by now how wise Hiram war fooled by a Ratcliffe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram moved to the door. "Dang it, I wish folk hed as -mich to do as me, an' then they'd hev no time for gossip," he -growled.—"Where mun I stack thy peats, Nanny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I' th' cellar-hole, for sure. Where else?—But tha'd -mebbe like a sup o' home-brewed, Hiram, afore tha unloads 'em?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan't care so mich if I do. I'm nowt at drinking myseln, -but there's a time for all things, an' 'tis a body's plain -duty to keep th' cowd out on a day like this. Gi'e us hod -o' them tatie-sacks, Nanny; it'll be th' death o' yond owd -hoss if he's left wi' niver a coat to his back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram was never gentle save with horses; but he covered -the thick thewed beast as carefully as if it were an ailing -good-wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha daft owd fooil!" he muttered with rough tenderness. -"'Twould niver do to let thee catch Browntitus, wod it, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis nowt whether we catch th' 'Titus, seemingly," cried -Nanny from within. "I'll get thee thy sup of ale this minute, -lad, if tha'll nobbut shut th' door to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram did as he was bidden, and came and leaned over the -lang-settle while he watched Nanny draw the ale from the -barrel standing against the dresser. "If this fine spring -weather 'ull nobbut skift afore, say th' back-end o' July," he -went on, "we may hev crops enough to keep us wick. But -I doubt it—ay, I doubt it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, having shot his bolt at the old enemy, he settled -himself placidly enough to his mug of home-brewed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, tha'll be well fund i' peats, Nanny," said Bet the -slattern presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's varry thowtful, like, o' th' Maister," repeated the -Sexton's wife, with another glance at the waiting cart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, he's thowtful," put in Hiram grimly. "What dost -think he did last week? I war so pinched wi' th' cowd, an' -th' rheumatiz hed getten hod o' me so, what wi' sweating i' -th' sun an' shivering at after i' th' wind, 'at I left a bit o' -ploughing i' one o' th' high-fields. But, hoity-toity, that -wodn't do for this keen young Maister, that didn't knaw oats -fro' wheat a six-month sin'. I war up an' about th' next -day; an' when I gets to th' field, thinking I'd look round a -bit afore fetching th' plough, what should I find but th' -Maister hisseln ploughing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sakes!" cried Nanny, lifting her floury hands. -"They mud weel say i' Marshcotes that summat hes come to -th' lad. Did he drive a straight furrow, like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he did," Hiram admitted grudgingly. "Eh, but I -war mad! He nobbut looked at me once, an' he said niver a -word, but went up an' dahn th' furrows, up an' dahn, till I -could hev clouted him i' th' lugs. That's his way lately; he -willun't rate me, or say 'at he wants this doing or wants that—he -just taks hod hisseln, an' shames me into doing twice th' -wark I did for his father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did he learn it all? He studied nowt save th' -inside of a pewter-pot afore th' trouble began," said Betsy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what worrits me. I mind that as a lad he war all -about th' fields, doing a bit here an' a bit there for sport when -th' fancy took him; but he mun be a wick un to frame as he -does at jobs nowadays. That's where 'tis; I think nowt on -him, I allus hev said, an' he's no business to go farming like -an owd hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's sticking at Marsh, seemingly, spite of all I've dinned -at him to go to Cranshaw, where his cousins wod be glad to -gi'e him shelter," said Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram chuckled. "Well, if he stood up agen thy nattering, -he mun be a staunch un. An' I will say this for th' lad—he's -showing th' right sperrit there. There's none at Marsh -but wod hev thowt less on him if he'd turned tail, choose -what's to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's none at Marsh wi' a feather-weight o' wit, then," -returned Nanny briskly. "Warn't it enough 'at they nigh -burned th' house dahn——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A miss is as gooid as a mile. Ye may tak my word for -'t, we'll see th' Waynes come a-top when th' moil is sattled. -Th' young uns, Maister Griff an' t' others, is stiffening fine, -an' all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard as mich," said Bet. "They like as they saved -th' owd place t' other neet, so I war telled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, it war worth a load o' clover to hear how yond lad -picked up one o' th' gate-stuns an' skifted th' Lean Man wi' 't. -I war i' th' courtyard next morn, an' Shameless Wayne taks -th' ball i' his hands an' turns it ower; an' I never see'd ony -chap look so pleased-like an' proud as he looks at me. -'Hiram,' says he, ''tis a tidy weight to lift, this. I -warrant yond lad couldn't do it again in a cool moment.' ''Tis -a pity he hedn't a bit more strength,' says I, 'an' then he'd hev -bruk th' Lean Man his backbone,' I says.—Well, tis a two-week -sin' an' better, an' we've heard nowt no more fro' Wildwater. -They got a bellyful that neet, I'm thinking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye can think too sooin, as th' saying is," put in Nanny. -"Th' Lean Man is like them crawly hundred-legs 'at ye find -i' th' walls—th' more bits ye cut him into, th' more bits there -is to wriggle—each wi' bits o' legs of its own, an' all, to carry -it into mischief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but they say he wears a daunted look," put in the -slattern, stirring the peats with her foot. "Jonas Feather at -th' Bull see'd him riding through Marshcotes awhile back, an' -he niver stayed for a wet-your-whistle—just rode wi' slouched -shoulders, an' a sort o' looseness i' his knees, an' ivery now -an' then a speedy backard look ower his shoulders, as if——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny turned suddenly, a queer smile pinching her thin old -face. "As if th' Dog war after him," she finished. "I -knew how 'twould be—ay, I knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I niver see'd Barguest myseln, an' I doan't fancy -I iver shall," said Hiram drily. "But there's a change come -to th' Lean Man, for sure, an' iverybody is beginning to tak -notice o' 't. Sometimes he's his old self, an' sometimes he fair -dithers—an' by that token he's i' Marshcotes this morn, for I -catched a sight of his back as I cam up th' hill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I may hev my own opinion o' th' Lean Man," broke in -Bet Earnshaw, "but my man Earnshaw hes part work fro' -Wildwater this winter, an' there'll mebbe be another spell i' -store for him, now 'at there's so mich walling to be done on -th' new intaken land."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Earnshaw get work? Why, whativer would he do wi' 't, -if he got it?" cried Hiram, with well-feigned amazement. -"He'd drop it, I'm thinking, same as if 'twere a ferret, for fear -it 'ud bite him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Hiram—" began Bet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Hiram looked at her with large and fatherly contempt -over the edge of his pewter, and his low deep voice -vanquished the other's thinner note. "Well, th' young Maister -is weel out o' what chanced to-neet at Marsh," he went on. -"Yond bother all came of his marlaking wi' a Ratcliffe wench, -an' I said to myseln afore iver th' Ratcliffes come. 'There'll -be a judgment follow on sich light ways,' I says."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bonnie un tha art to talk," said Nanny. "What's this -about thee an' Martha?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram fidgetted from one foot to the other. "What should -there be?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, that's for thee to say. It's all ower Marshcotes 'at -tha'rt looking after her; an' some says she willun't hev thee, -being keen set on shepherd Jose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Owd fooil! She's niver looked twice his way—no, nor -will do while Hiram Hey stands i' th' forefront of her een."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, so there's summat in 't, then?" said Nanny sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram, driven to bay, scratched his thinning crown and -muttered that he was "allus backard i' coming forrard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, there's little Mistress Wayne!" cried Nanny on -the sudden as her busy eyes caught sight of a cloaked figure -going past her window to the graveyard. "What a day for -th' likes o' her to be out o' doors. There's snow coming up -wi' th' wind, an' fond as she is to hev her bit of a crack wi' -Witherlee, she mud better hev stopped i' th' house to-day. -It'll save thee going to Marsh, howsiver, Bet; tha can axe her -what tha wants, an' nowt no more about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'rt right, Nanny. I'll watch for her coming back—she -willun't be long, I warrant, on sich a day as this. They -say she spends a lot o' time i' th' kirkyard, poor soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, Witherlee an' her is birds of a feather—fuller o' -dreams nor life, an' i' touch, so to say, wi' th' ghosties. He -tells her tales by th' hour together o' what he's seen i' th' -kirkyard; an' she listens like a bairn, saying a word now an' then, -but mostly sitting dumb-like wi' her een fixed on his face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram went to the door and watched Mistress Wayne go -through the graveyard wicket; then shook his head soberly. -"A man has little left to believe in when he gets to my years," -he said, "an' ghosts an' sich like is nowt i' my way; but 'tis -gooid for th' young Maister 'at yond poor soul cleaves like a -lapdog to him—they bring luck, there's no denying it, to them -as they tak a fancy to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They bring luck, an' they bring healing," said the -Sexton's wife with a glance at her neighbour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Nanny," cried the farm-man, setting down his mug. -"Dost think I've getten all th' morning to waste on thee an' -thy peats? There's nowt like wenches for hindering wark; -an' time's like milk—tha cannot pick it up again when 'tis -spilled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, tha canst win forrard," said the Sexton's wife. -"There's nobody hindering thee, is there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While Hiram settled to the work of unloading the peats and -storing them in the roomy cellar that underlay Nanny's -cottage, Mistress Wayne was wandering up and down the -churchyard in search of Sexton Witherlee. The Sexton came out -of his tool-house presently, and his eyes were exceedingly -friendly as they fell on the little figure moving through the -snowflakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Mistress!" he cried. "Ye're noan flaired o' wind -an' weather, seemingly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-morrow, Sexton. I've brought thee the first of the -primroses," said Mistress Wayne, drawing a tiny bunch of -half-opened buds from under her cloak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, that's varry kindly o' ye, Mistress, varry kindly," -murmured Witherlee, laying the flowers in his open palm. -"By th' Heart, but 'tis a queer world these little chaps hes -oppened on to; thowt it war spring, they did, wi' winds as -soft as butter—an' then, just as they've getten nicely -unwrapped, like, th' winter is dahn on 'em again wi' a snarl. Ay, -ay, th winter is allus carred behind some corner, like a cat wi' -a mouse, ready to pounce on sich frail things as these." He -glanced from the primroses to Mistress Wayne, as if she and -they came under the one head of frailty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They were better gathered, Sexton; I found them in a -sheltered nook of the Marsh garden—but oh, 'twas cold even -there—they were better gathered, were they not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure, to be sure. We're all better gathered nor -standing on our stems, as these quiet bodies under sod could -tell ye if they'd getten tongues.—Theer, Mistress! Ye're -shaking like a reed. Come ye wi' me under th' Parsonage -yonder, if ye mun bide a bit; 'tis out o' th' wind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, 'tis warmer here—much warmer," she said, seating -herself on a flat tombstone that stood against the wall and -making a pretty motion to the Sexton that he should sit beside -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The snow fell sparsely out of the blue, and the sun was -bright; but overhead the peewits wheeled in narrowing -circles, and prophecy of storm was in their cries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," began Mistress Wayne, after a long silence. -"The folk sleeping here—if they had tongues, thou said'st, -Sexton; have they not, then? I thought—" she stopped, and -lifted two puzzled eyes to his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's face grew wrapt, and his voice came dreamily. -"Ye thowt—nay, ye knew—that they could frame to talk as -weel as me an' ye? An' so they can, Mistress. Hark to th' -peewits up aboon us! There's a dead maid's sperrit wakes i' -each o' yon drear birds. White breasts they've getten, for -maidenhood, an' black cloaks i' sign o' sorrow niver-ending."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little woman shivered and put her hand more closely -into his. "The dead are rested, Sexton? Is't not so?" she -whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, men sleep sound, body an' sperrit, i' a general way, -an' so do wedded women: 'tis the lassies who died afore wedlock, -wanting it that cannot rest; ay, poor bairns, they like as -they hunger an' thirst for what they lacked, an' nowt 'ull do -for 'em. See ye, Mistress! How th' teewits wheel an' -wheel, niver resting. An' hark ye! There's Mary Mother's -own wild sorrow i' their screams."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne watched the birds glance white and black -across the sun-rays. A score of them there might be, but each -followed its own path, lonely, untiring, inconsolable. A -strange light came into the little woman's eyes, and after it a -cloud of tears; like the voice of fellow-captives, in life's -prison-house, the plover's cry struck home to her, disentangling -memory from phantasy. Still as the graveyard stones she -sat, and the Sexton, stealing a glance at her, knew that this -woman stood, like himself, on the thin edge of life, seeing -both worlds yet finding a resting-place in neither.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will they never find peace, those white-breasted ghosts up -yonder?" she whispered. "Is there no God to take pity on -them? Sexton, is there no God in Heaven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard tell on Him," said Witherlee slowly, "but I -niver hed speech nor sign fro' Him. Th' slim ghosts I knaw, -an' th' solid look o' grave-planking I knaw—but I'm dim, -Mistress, dim, when ye axe me of owt else. Nay, I've heard -th' teewits fret iver sin' I war out o' th' cradle, an' they're -fretting still; an' when there comes a fresh Sexton to -Marshcotes—I'll be th' first to mak him sweat at grave-digging, -likely—why, there'll be teewits wheeling still aboon his head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes were lifted piteously to his. "'Tis that keeps -them sleeping—to die before wedlock, and never to feel a bairn's -mouth soft against their own. I shall be one of them soon, -Sexton—very soon; it was to have been my wedding-day—" -she passed a hand across her forehead, striving to pick up the -thread that seemed for ever slipping from her grasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Happen—happen there's a God hid somewhere," said -Witherlee, in the tone of one who tells a fairy-story to a -child. "I reckon, if there be, He'll look thy way, Mistress, -afore so long. Tak heart, an'—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clue was coming nearer to her. "Nay, there's no God -up there, Sexton," she broke in. "I left Him—years ago, -surely—down in the sweet valley-lands. There were woods, -and streams, and kine knee-deep among the swaying grasses; -and the winds were warm, Sexton, and God was very kind. -I was happy then, I think—but some one came and took me -away—nay, it has gone again!" She paused and looked -wistfully across the hills.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard o' th' Low Country," murmured Witherlee. -"They say there's more warmth an' ease dahn there, but th' -fowk is nobbut frail-like wi' it all, I fancy. Ay, an' I war -telled, by one 'at hed been i' them furrin parts an' come back -to Marshcotes, that th' meadow-grass there, for all it grows so -thick, is rank an' noan so sweet as our hard-won crops up -here. Well, well, there's some mun live lower nor Marshcotes, -just as there's some mun carry weakly bodies their lives -through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne did not hear him. Her eyes were still on -the field climbing far-off to the sky, with their black walls and -the white lines of snow that lay on the windward side of them. -"It was like that, Sexton, when first I came here," she went -on presently, pointing with her finger. "Naught but black -walls, and white drifts of snow, and drear houses that seemed -to scowl at you each time you crossed the threshold. And the -people were all so rough and hard, and fierce—they frightened -me—Sexton, shall I never again get down to the meadows and -the nightingales and the sweetbriar hedges under which the -violets grow?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure ye will, sooin as th' weather 'ull let ye travel," -said Witherlee kindly.—"An' now ye've stayed still long -enough, Mistress, an' th' snaw is coming dahn i' earnest this -time. Mebbe ye'll step inside wi' me till it's owered wi', an' -Nanny shall mak ye a sup o' summat warm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey, meanwhile, had just finished stacking Nanny's -peats for her, and was beginning to back his horse down the -narrow lane, when there came such a fury of wind and snow -together that he was fain to shelter in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look out o' window, Nanny," he cried, "for ye'll noan -see th' like again for a week o' years. Sun an' wind—an' th' -dust so thick among th' snowflakes 'at it turns 'em grey. By -th' Heart, I nobbut once see'd dust an' snaw so thick together, -an' that war a score year back, on th' varry day when th' -Ratcliffes first set on th' Waynes as they war riding back fro' -Saxilton market. Ay, 'tis a sign as sure as I stand here wi' -th' wind cutting me to th' bone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"April snow," muttered Bet the slattern. "They say it -means drear happenings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a fearsome sight, whativer it bodes," said Nanny, -peeping from under Hiram's arm.—"Here's Witherlee been -driven home by it, an' it taks a lot to skift him, I tell ye. -What, an' he's bringing th' little fairy-kist un, an' all? Well, -she's paid a stiffish price, poor bairn, an' it's noan for me to -grudge her shelter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram, after a curt nod to Witherlee, went to his horse's -head. "There'll be enough to fill Nanny's kitchen without me, -I'm thinking," he muttered; "an' I niver could bide so many -women all dickering together—nay, begow, I'd liefer hev -snow an' dust an' all th' winds i' th' sky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A horseman came trotting round the bend of the street, and -shouted to Hiram to cease backing his horse and leave him -room to pass. But the farm-man could be as deaf as a stone -when it suited his purpose; he had seen the rust-grey head -and lean body of the horseman, and he kept on his way, backing -the cart more slowly than was needful until he gained the -open high-road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man was holding his big bay horse on the curb -and scarce could keep him in. "Art deaf, fellow?" he -snapped, swinging the butt of his riding whip toward the -other's head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram went quietly to the other side of his horse and looked -across at the Lean Man of Wildwater. "My hearing is noan -what it war, Maister. War it ye shouting to me up th' loin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, was it. Dost think I'm minded on such a day as -this, to stand shivering at the lane-end while thou block'st the -way?—So, 'tis thou, is it?" he broke off, with a sharper glance -at Hiram. "I thought that slouch of thine was woundily -familiar. Art minded to boast of the great store of peats ye -have at Marsh, as thou didst not long since to my grandson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram winced, for it was bitter to him still to think how -easily Red Ratcliffe had outwitted him, and Nanny's late -banter had rubbed an old wound raw. "We've fewer peats, -Maister," he said slowly—"but th' owd house stands, I've -noticed. Ay, 'tis proof agen fire an' sword, they say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Nicholas could make nothing of the farm-man's stolid -front. "Cherish that belief, and teach it to thy Master," he -said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, he needs no teaching. He knaws, weel as I can -tell him, that a Brown Dog ligs on th' threshold, an'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man loosed the curb on a sudden and rode into -the snowstorm that blew dusty up the lane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thowt he wodn't stay to hear no more," said Hiram to -his horse. "Get on, old lad, an' if we find Shameless Wayne -at Marsh, we'll tell him what we said to Nicholas -Weasel-toppin. He's flaired is th' Lean Man—flaired."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bet the slattern had moved to the cottage-door soon as she -saw Mistress Wayne come through the churchyard gate with -Witherlee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's summat I want to axe of ye, Mistress," she said, -twisting an apron-corner in her feckless hands. "I've getten -a little un as is like to dee o' th' Brown Titus, an' I thowt -mebbe ye'd step in next door here an' gi'e th' bairn a touch o' -your hand—they like as they pike up, so to say, when they -feel a softer hand on 'em nor us that wark for our bread hev -getten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The same half-troubled, half-eager look came into Mistress -Wayne's face as when she had lately talked with the Sexton -of children and the childless women. Cold as she was, and -anxious for the warmth of the peat fire which showed through -Nanny's open door, she turned on the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If 'twill comfort the child, I'll come with thee and -gladly," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, an' ye'll cure her, Mistress," put in Witherlee, with -quiet assurance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do all the folk come running to me, Sexton, when -their friends are sick?" asked Mistress Wayne. "I am so -weak and can do nothing for them, and yet—" She stopped -and clutched the old man. "Look who rides toward us!" she -cried, shrinking behind Bet's bulky figure. "His face is -scarred as if hot iron had played across it, and he lacks an -ear. I know him, Sexton; he was cruel to me once—but -where? 'Tis long ago, and I forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Th' Lean Man, begow!" muttered Nanny. "Hiram -said he war i' Marshcotes, but I niver thowt he'd foul my -door-stun wi' his face.—Ay, he looks daunted a bit; he's not -half th' man he war a two-week sin'," she added, eyeing the -horseman narrowly and not guessing that Hiram Hey himself -had added his straw to the sum of the Lean Man's burden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas, seeing the women grouped round the door, drew -rein and snapped his words out as he always did when talking -to the country-folk—a habit that had earned him a good half -of their ill-concealed dislike.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is thy man Earnshaw? I want him," he said, -frowning down on Bet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Earnshaw, Maister? I'm sure I cannot tell ye. He's -hed no wark these two weeks past, an' happen he gets into -loosish ways when——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, tell him from me that we're short of hands for the -walling beyond Wildwater, and the sooner he can come with -a stiff back to the work, the better I shall be suited. If he -knows of half-a-dozen other stout fellows, he can bring them -with him." He was turning away when his eyes fell on little -Mistress Wayne, shrinking close behind Bet Earnshaw. "Oh, -is it you, Mistress?" he cried. "What brings you out of -doors on such a day? Marry, the wind will mistake you for -a bit of thistle-down unless you have a care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I am going to heal a sick child," stammered Mistress -Wayne. Still she could not remember when she had last seen -this grim-faced man, nor in what way he had shown her -cruelty; but instinctively she feared that he would do her some -fresh hurt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas laughed mightily. "By the Mass, so there's -healing in your touch? Would I had known that the other -night, when your kin at Marsh planted these pretty love-tokens -on my face." He pointed to the scarce-healed scars. -"Come, now, that should bolster the Wayne pride—to have -a wise woman in the family to set against a foolish master."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife dared not look at him, lest he should see -how she itched to set her hands about his throat; but her -voice confessed as much. "'Tis easy to scoff, Maister, when -ye've no clouds across your sun, an' there's a mony doubts -nowadays. Ay, there's them as doubts Barguest even—afore -he's crossed their path." She shot a sideways glance at him, -and saw that she had aimed true.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has never crossed mine, woman, so I'll be on the -doubting side yet awhile," he answered, after a silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, ye'll know best; but ye've crossed Barguest, if he's -noan crossed ye, an' they say it's mich like wedlock, is -crossing th' Brown Dog—him an' ye till death do ye part. But -theer! I've telled ye as mich afore, an' happen I'm full o' -fancies, for ye say ye've niver seen him sin' that neet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas Ratcliffe wiped the sweat from his forehead with -the back of his sleeve, and gave one quick glance behind him. -Whichever way he turned, it seemed he could not rid him of -these folk who talked of Barguest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Devil take thee!" he cried. "There's no such thing—and -if there were I'd fight him with a dozen Waynes to back -him. Get to your healing, Mistress Wayne; you are fit -company for Nanny Witherlee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne eyed him doubtfully. "No such thing as -Barguest?" she said gravely. "Sir, I have seen him—just -before the fires were lit about the Marsh doorways, it was, -and I was in the garden with Ned, and the Brown Dog came -and fawned on him,—his coat was shaggy—brown against -Ned's clothes. And he whimpered so; and I think it was -because he was cold and in trouble that he lit a fire to warm -himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man's anger melted; something awesome there -was about this woman's quiet recountal that compelled belief. -"You—you saw him?" he whispered. Then his old spirit -quelled the rising terror, and he gripped the saddle afresh with -his knees. "Tell him from me then, since you're friendly to -him," he sneered, jerking the snaffle, "tell him that Nicholas -Ratcliffe fears neither ghost nor man, and if Barguest cares to -visit him at Wildwater—" The rest was drowned by the -clatter of his horse's feet as he galloped down the lane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither ghost nor man?" echoed Nanny. "Ye're th' -far side o' th' truth, there, Maister. I niver heard that ye -feared man born o' woman—but ony one can see that -Barguest hes getten his teeth in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sakes, 'tis fearsome talk; I wish tha'd hod thy whisht, -Nanny, that I do," twittered Bet Earnshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nanny was no bustling housewife now, with a ready -hand for whatever was to be done and a ready tongue to -answer any speech; she was the same dream-eyed woman who -had rung the bell for Wayne of Marsh, who had watched -Wayne's body the night through and listened to the speech of -other worlds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress, ye've getten th' second-sight," she said softly, -putting an arm about Mistress Wayne. "God rest ye, for -ye'll stand 'twixt Shameless Wayne and trouble one day. -Mistress Nell has done it, an' I've done it, an' so will ye, -sooin or late; an' yourn 'ull be th' greatest help of all, for -ye've seen th' Dog, while we've nobbut heard th' patter of his -feet."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-wayne-and-ratcliffe-met-at-hazel-brigg"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET AT HAZEL BRIGG</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The days had gone heavily for Janet since the Lean Man -made his bargain with the Ratcliffe men-folk. Fear for -Shameless Wayne mingled with the dread that she would be -forced into hasty wedlock with one of her cousins; and each day -that passed brought nearer home to her the grim irony which -had set Wayne's life as the price of her own hand. Then, -too, she had no trust in Red Ratcliffe, now that he knew her -secret, and scarce a day passed but he pressed his suit home -with threats of telling all to old Nicholas Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trouble, indeed, seemed closing in on Wildwater during -those bitter days of sun and snow and northeast winds, which, -if they had dealt hardly with the low-lying lands, had swept -over these upland wastes with swift and pitiless ferocity. The -Lean Man was failing, body and mind, in some strange way -which the girl could not understand: for a day or two he -would be hard and keen as ever, and then, suddenly as if he -had been stricken by some unseen blade, the life would go out -of him, and he would watch his own shadow fearfully, shunning -the eyes of his kin until the fit had passed. Janet was -fond of her grandfather, so far as she could reconcile such -fondness with her love for Shameless Wayne, and it added the -last touch of disquiet to see him under the spell of what she -could not but name witchcraft. Once he had come home -from Marshcotes—the same day it was which had brought -him across Mistress Wayne's path as she went to heal Bet -Earnshaw's child—and his eyes had met Janet's with a dumb -appeal for sympathy. He had all but made confession to her -then touching this spell which lay upon him; but the mood -had passed, as others had passed before it, and the days wore -on, from storm to calm, from calm to full break of spring, -without a word from him that could give her any clue to the -nature of his sickness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This morning, as they sat at breakfast, Nicholas was in gay -spirits and very full of what must be done here and done there -about the land. "Spring's here at last, and we must make the -most of it, lads," he cried. "Did Earnshaw bring any men -with him to do the walling?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, sir, he brought six as shiftless as himself," laughed -Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's a cure for shiftlessness, and I'll ride that way -this morning.—Janet, 'tis a twelve-month and a day since we -had plovers' eggs for breakfast, and they'll be breeding now. -Thou art fond of wandering abroad to no purpose; wilt take -as kindly to it if I bid thee carry a basket on thy arm?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just as kindly, grandfather," said Janet, well pleased to -see him in a mood so cheery; "and if my old cunning serves -me, I'll bring you home a well-filled basket."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll warrant thou wilt, though it takes a nimble wit to -match the tricksy mother-birds.—By the Heart, this springtime -gets even into old blood, methinks; let's be off, lads, for -we've wasted enough of a grand morning, and there's a deal -to be got through before nightfall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both here and on Wayne's farm. Ay, 'tis a busy time -for the moorside," said Red Ratcliffe, glancing at Nicholas as -they rose from table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man frowned him down, but Janet had caught -the glance, and she misliked her cousin's tone. She -welcomed Red Ratcliffe, accordingly, with less than her wonted -coldness when he followed her into the courtyard a short -while afterward, for she was bent on learning what lay behind -his talk of Wayne's farm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt quick to set off, cousin," he said. "Tell me, do -the plovers nest at Marsh House, that thou showest so eager -to seek their eggs?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know little of Marsh House, sir, and my way lies contrary -across the moor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then, thou wilt be glad of a companion. Say, shall -I come with thee, pretty Janet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it pleases thee," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sought for mockery in her face, but, finding a half -encouragement there, he fell into step beside her. Then, not -understanding the slant ways of women, he must needs think -that all was his for the asking, if only he put a bold front on -it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet," he said, "I knew thou'd'st weary of this -feather-headed rogue from Marsh. Put thy hand in mine and say -'yea' to a plain question, and I'll think no more of jealousy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Many thanks, cousin. Thou wooest, methinks, as a -ploughboy would. </span><em class="italics">Whoa</em><span>, he cries to his team, or </span><em class="italics">gee-up</em><span>, and -being used to have his horses obey him, he thinks women -have as little wit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He holds the whip, girl, as I do, and so is sure of them. -Hark ye, I'm tired of this, and I will have thy answer. Flout -me again, and I tell the Lean Man what I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her anger, never quiet when Red Ratcliffe was at her -elbow, broke into sudden flame. "Tell him, and have done -with it. I care not," she cried, forgetting that she had meant -to wheedle him into telling her what she wished to know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast never seen the Lean Man's anger, that thou talk'st -so glibly of it? Pish! Thou'rt a child. If I were so much -as to hint that Shameless Wayne met thee by stealth, -grandfather would—kill thee, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true, cousin, he would go near to kill me," she -said, standing straight and proud with her eyes on his. "And -why should I fear that at his hands which I would compass -myself rather than be wife to such as thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who fathered thee, I wonder?" he sneered. "No Ratcliffe, -I'll wager, or thou would'st have died of shame long -since to let one of the Wayne hounds foul thee with his -touch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne of Marsh, cousin, is a better fighter, and of a -more cleanly courtesy than thou," said she, with a hard laugh. -"No wonder the thought of him is bitter—the carrion crow -likes not the eagle, does it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned on her, his hand uplifted, but she eluded him. -And then he let slip, in the heat of jealousy what prudence -would have checked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The carrion-crow, for all that, will be bosom comrade to -him before long," he cried. "'Twas pleasant to see the Lean -Man so full of cheeriness? But what did it mean, girl? -Why, that he saw a way to snare thy fool of Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment she faltered; but her pride in Wayne of -Marsh, which was comrade always to her love for him, -steadied her fear of coming evil. "Ye have hatched plans -aforetime," she answered quietly—"at the burial in -Marshcotes kirkyard, and when ye got fire to help cold steel at -Marsh. And Red Ratcliffe, if I recall, fled each time that -Wayne showed a sword-point to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His freckled, wind-raw face was ill to look upon, and in -among his speech the wildest curses of the hillside slipped -and stumbled. "I fled from the Brown Boggart, not from -Wayne—but the Dog will sleep one day, and then 'twill be -my turn, man to man.—Ay, I'll tell thee just what is afoot, -and thou shall have that to give thee courage when the Lean -Man rails at thee. Suppose Wayne has a farm called Bents -close up to Wildwater? Suppose old Nicholas, passing yester-even, -saw that the storms had riven half the roof-slates off, and -twitted the farmer with Wayne's slovenliness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould not be like grandfather to pass without such -raillery. Ay, sir, go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet was watching him narrowly, letting his unclean oaths -drift past her, and hearkening only to what lay under them. -And he, eager to wound her at any cost, went blindly on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose the farmer, all in the way of those who have -dealings with the young Master just as Hiram Hey did when -I tried the same trick on him, and telling Nicholas that -Shameless Wayne himself was coming up this week to see to the -mending of the roof?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On what day does he come?" asked Janet softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell thee that after we've met him on the road—and, -as thou'rt kindly toward him, I'll bring thee back some pretty -love-token. What shall it be, Janet—a drabbled lock of -hair, or——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They name thee cruel, cousin—but I think thou hast -been very kind just now," she interposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's faith, art witless altogether?" he cried, -dumbfounded by her hardiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for I've learned what will serve one I love. Get -thee back to Wildwater, cousin, with thy tale-bearing. 'Tis -thou and I now, a man against a maid, and the thought of -fighting thee is physic to my blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw now into what folly he had been betrayed. She -would seek out Shameless Wayne, and one more attempt to -rid them of their enemy would be defeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt not—not dare to warn him," he stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I not? Those that they hang at the gibbets, I've -heard—down in the peaceful lands where gibbets are—had as -lief be hung for a herd of oxen as for one poor sheep. -Grandfather can do no more than kill me—well, I'll give him -greater cause."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood irresolute while the girl moved up the path. -Eager as he was to carry her back forthwith to Wildwater, he -knew that any show of force would serve only to deepen the -girl's hate of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's passing dear to the Lean Man, too," he muttered. -"He'll be loath to turn against her as it is—and 'twould only -discredit the tale I have to tell him if I used force. Well, let -her go. Haply she will not set eyes on Shameless Wayne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet twice he started in pursuit; and when at last she had -dipped over the nearest hill-crest, his bitterness would not be -held in check.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I offered her honest love, and she refused it," he cried, -kicking the peat up with his heel in senseless frenzy. "God -curse her, she shall not wed Wayne of Marsh till thistle-tops -grow wheat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Janet, swinging free across the moor, was strangely -light of heart. The deceit that had lain between herself and -Nicholas was to be lifted once for all, whatever might be the -upshot, and there was no longer any secret by force of which -Red Ratcliffe could press his suit. Not for a moment did she -doubt that her cousin would fulfil his threat; the Lean Man's -wrath she regarded as awaiting her already at Wildwater, and -she had learned not to underrate its fury. But by some -means she would fight them, for her own sake and for -Shameless Wayne's; and she came of a stock to whom battle had -ever been what the wind was to the storm-birds who hovered -the year about the chimney-stacks of Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would go straight down to Marsh, she told herself, and -ask for its Master. The servants would wonder, doubtless, -and the moorside gossip would be fed by the strange tale of -how a daughter of the Ratcliffes had come to seek her people's -enemy; but what did gossips matter now that she had declared -open warfare with her folk? There was a grim reckoning -for her at Wildwater, and she did not shrink from it for her -own sake; but Shameless Wayne must be kept out of danger's -way, and see him she must before returning if he had to be -sought from Marsh to Cranshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet laughed on the sudden, as she crossed the rough -stretch of moor that lay this side of Withens. She was to -see Shameless Wayne before the sun went down, and to do him -a last service; and the lark's song overhead found a blithe -answer in her heart. Then, too, the moor was in joyous -mood, and no upland tarn ever reflected the sky's face more -faithfully than Janet echoed the shifting humours of this -big-little world of hers. No year went by but she learned all -afresh how rare and bewildering a thing was springtime on the -moor; so warm it was, so full of a thousand clean-cut scents, -of wind and peat, of ling and standing waters. The bilberries, -with their green and crimson leaves, lay bushy to the -sunlight, which shone reflected in tints of amethyst or ruby, -pearl or daintiest saffron. The crowberries, which had shown -a surly green the winter through, put on new livery, and all -down their serried stems the brown-red blossoms peeped. A -stray bee loitered down the wind, and cloudlets lay like snow -above the blue edge of the heath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the time of year when Janet ceased looking across -the endless spaces of the moor, and turned her eyes to the -lesser miracles that showed at every step. Month after month -the waste had shown itself a giant of awful majesty, whose -breath was storm, whose heart was pitiless; and now—lo, this -moor was full of little housewife's cares, cleaning her floors -of last year's litter, suckling her young like any human mother, -neglecting no hidden corner where blade or flower was -thirsting for her milk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Past Robin Hood's Well the girl went, and across the beck, -and over the moor this side of Withens; and as she went -she thought that surely Wayne of Marsh must lose a -little of his sternness under such skies as these. Nay, she -smiled as she looked toward the far-off brink of moor under -which Marsh House lay hidden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If not for myself, he'll love me for my news, may be," -she said, and smiled again as she thought of what might chance -when she knocked at the door of the Marsh House and asked -for Shameless Wayne. How if his sister Nell should open to -her and ask her business? Once already they had met, she -and Nell, since the feud broke out; and Nell had taunted her -with outright bitterness; and they had not parted till deep -wounds had been given and received on either side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were she to open to me," murmured Janet, "she would -rive a spear down from the walls and thrust me out, for fear -another than she should help Ned into safety. Well, I must -risk that, too—but I had liefer meet the Lean Man than this -same Mistress Nell. Love is jealous, they say—but for -madness it is naught to this quiet, sisterly affection."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The peewits screamed about her, and the empty basket was -still swinging on her arm; and now and then from very habit, -she cast a glance about her in search of the eggs which she -had promised to bring back to Wildwater. But Marsh was in -her mind, and with each mile her stride grew longer, her -carriage firmer. She was to see Ned, and after that she would -let come what would. Soon she came in sight of Hill House -standing bluff on the further slope of Hazel Dene, and a song -rose unbidden to her lips; for Hill House held kinsmen of -her lover's, and it was scarce more than half a league from -Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet was nearer to the truth than perchance she guessed; -for Nell's love of her brother, the slow growth of years of -thwarted hopes and bitter self-denial, was firm as the rock on -which Marsh House was built. He had been a ruffler and a -drunkard, so wild that his name had grown a by-word among -folk who were not easily moved by any usual excesses of the -gentry; he had all but killed the last spark of love and trust -in her; and now, just when he had cast off old ways, and had -stood up, a man, before scorn and intimate, hourly danger and -the slow round of farm-work which he loathed—now, it -seemed that all was to go for naught because of his love for -one of the accursed folk who dwelt at Wildwater. Jealous -she would have been of any wife, but it was shame unspeakable -to think that Janet might ever take her place at Marsh; -and she was full of the matter this morning as she and -Shameless Wayne walked up the fields together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned," she cried, breaking an uneasy silence, "dost recall -how once I asked thee about Mistress Ratcliffe? Thou -said'st then it was a folly laid aside, yet now——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now?" he said, in a hard voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard that not long since thou wast with her on the -moor, stooping more closely to her ear than friendship alone -warranted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas Hiram Hey told thee as much? He's the wise -sort of fool who must hunt out the wrong side to every trivial -matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, it is common gossip by this time. I had it from -Nanny Witherlee, who has loved us well enough, Ned, thee -and me, to allow of freedom in her speech. She is of my -mind, too—that the last and worst disaster would fall on Marsh -if——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If the clouds dropped, or the sun shone bright at midnight?" -he broke in stormily. "I have told thee, Nell, that -there is naught between us now—can be naught. Dost want -to hear me swear it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet thou lov'st her," she said, with the keen glance of -jealousy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, as I love the good life in my veins," he answered, his -voice deepening. "But what of that? Even life must go, -soon or late; am I a woman, to think love the one thing that -must not be crushed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis the one thing that none can lay plans against. Hark -ye, Ned! Mistress Ratcliffe met thee by chance, I take it, -and ye talked awhile together and then passed on. Thou wilt -meet her again—to-morrow—and some trick of speech or eye -will sweep thee off thy feet—and thou'lt wonder, having -played with steel, that the sharp edge cuts thee to the bone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flushed, and would not meet her glance. "If chance -sends her across my path, I can help it as little as if a dozen -of her kinsmen met me by the way—and, faith, the latter -would prove more hazardous, I fancy. Shut thy mind to it -once for all, Nell; I love her, and she's naught to me, and -there we'll leave the riddle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Never until now had Nell complained, nor touched on her -old devotion to him; but his open confession, twice repeated, -jarred on her beyond endurance. "I've a right to speak, Ned," -she cried. "I loved thee before this wanton crossed thy path; -I have cared for thy comfort in fifty little ways thou know'st -naught of. When father was hard on thee for thy -wildness——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, lass, I know," he muttered, his anger chilled. -For remorse never slept so sound with Wayne of Marsh but -that the lightest touch could wake it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And later, when Rolf pleaded hard with me to wed him—he -quarrelled with me but yesterday about it—I would not go, -because thou hadst need of me at Marsh. See, Ned, I've -been sorry and glad with thee—I've given up more, to keep thee -out of wildness, than I shall ever tell. Is all to go for naught, -because a woman beckons lightly to thee from across the moor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have told thee," he said, and left her without another word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old habit claimed her now. "Ned!" she called. "If thou -must go to Hill House, promise thou'lt stray no further afield -after thou hast done thy business there. The Ratcliffes are -itching to be at thee, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go no further," he answered over his shoulder; "and -as for the Ratcliffes—they know how many Waynes are sheltered -by Hill House; 'tis no likely hunting-ground for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mood was bitter as he crossed the brigg below Smithbank -Farm and climbed the narrow stile that opened on to -Hazel Dene. Nell had said hard things of Mistress Ratcliffe, -and not all her care for him could wipe out the memory. Was -Janet to be named wanton, because she had been born at -Wildwater? It was unjust. Little by little her beauty took -shape before him, to back his pleading with weightier -arguments than his own poor wit could furnish; and all the while -that same resistless breath of spring was blowing on him -which up above was lightening Janet's feet across the heath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a throstle in every thorn-bush and a merle on -every alder, each singing hard against the other in harmony -with the note of the south wind through the rush and the -tinkle of water over smooth-worn stones. The corn-mill was -busy with the hum of toil as he passed, and along the little -strip of garden-path the miller's wife was teaching her -first-born child to walk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne halted a moment and let his eyes dwell on the tender -frolic of it all; then sighed impatiently and pushed up the -stream side till he reached the moor. To the right the bare -fields stretched to the sky, catching a shadowed softness from -the sunlight; to the left, Hill House glowered down upon the -dark cleft that nursed the waterfall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, this picture has more truth in 't than yonder idleness -of spring below," he muttered, watching a hawk glance -down on molten wing and lift a screaming moor-tit in its beak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the sudden a clear voice came over the swell of the -brinkfield up above, singing a moorland ballad of love and battle—a -voice that had something of the throstle's nesting-note in -it. Shameless Wayne, shading his eyes with both hands, -looked up the hill and saw a well-known figure standing clear -against the sky. He started forward eagerly; but his face -was dark again as he waited at the little brigg of stone until -Janet reached the further margin of the stream; and she, -seeing him, halted at the far side of the brigg, under the rowan -that waved its feathery shadows to and fro above the -sun-flecked waters. But still Wayne gave no greeting, though his -eyes were fain of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I give thee good-day," she faltered, chilled by his silence. -"Wilt not tell me, Ned, that 'tis well-met by Hazel Brigg?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne looked across at her, and his face showed harsher -than his thoughts. "Ay—wert thou a Wayne, or I a Ratcliffe, -girl," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet had learned to know this mood of his; at their last -meeting—the same which Red Ratcliffe and Hiram the -farm-man had surprised—he had met her with the same stubborn -front. Then she had given way to her impatience; but this -morning she was minded to be soft toward him, knowing the -danger he was in and eager at all costs to save him from it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails thee, Ned?" she asked, after they had looked -each at the other across the stream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, life, I think," he answered, with a hard laugh. "To -take the stoniest road, and all the while to know one's self a -fool for 't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had thought life somewhat sweeter than its wont to-day," -she broke in, obstinate as himself in her own fashion. "The -sun shines, and the larks sing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the feud-cries are louder still, and not if all the larks -in heaven tried to sing them down would it be otherwise." Cold -his voice was, with only a deeper note in it now and then -to show how sorely it was fretting him to stand his ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art minded, I see, to take up the tale just where we left -it on the moor when last we met," cried Janet, with a flash of -scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does the tale go lighter, Janet, for what has been added to -it since we met? Thy folk came down to Marsh, and one -of them did not go back again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou didst not bid him come—nor I wish him God-speed -on his errand," said Janet, with a last effort to persuade -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne made no answer—only stood there with a line -cut deep between his brows and his face moulded beyond hope -of change, it seemed, to an obstinacy that was almost surly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, he was heartless," said Janet to herself. How -often had she crossed the moor, full of the same eagerness -that had come with her to-day? And he had always offered -her less than she had brought him. Of old, some late -debauch had dulled his welcome; and nowadays he met her with -a sternness that was harder still to bear. Headstrong, with -her strength and her need of happiness at flood, the girl could -see but the one issue; it was Wayne and she, here on the -quiet moor, and she would brook no interference from without.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's heartless," she repeated, and set one foot on the -narrow bridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Marsh stood at the further end, not moving to -make way for her. And Janet, had she glanced at him, might -have read indecision plainly in his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me pass," she said, cold as himself. "The brigg, I -take it, was built for all the moorside, and even a Ratcliffe is -free to cross by it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer he stood more squarely across her path. "I'll -not let thee go!" he cried. Then, as if asking her help -against himself, "Janet," he said, laying a hand on her -shoulder, "I have killed three of thy folk, and the Ratcliffes in -times past have slain more of mine than the fingers of both -hands could count. Thou'rt free to pass, and—I was a fool -to block thy way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked him fairly in the face. "If thou hadst not -killed when it was thy right, should I have thought the better -of thee for it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Wayne did not answer. He wanted no wayward -riddles of the sort that women give a man; temptation -pressed more and more on him at each of these chance meetings, -and it was bitter hard to fight it down. Janet, misreading -his silence, moved down the path; but Wayne did not -follow, and soon she faltered in her walk. Angered and -ashamed she was, but she could not forget the errand that had -brought her here; if she left Ned now without the warning -she had come to give, his death would lie at her door. He -was harsh now, and would turn a deaf ear to any warning; -well, she must humour him until his mood showed likelier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Canst tell me, Ned, where best to search for plovers' -eggs?" she asked, turning about and touching the basket on -her arm to show its purpose. "They are so fond of the eggs -at Wildwater, thou know'st, and I have been seeking all across -Ling Crag Moor for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne smiled despite himself. So like a child she was on -the sudden, so earnest touching a light matter; and yet awhile -since she had tempted him with storm and subtlety and all her -woman's weapons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fond of them, are they, at Wildwater?" he cried. "My -faith, Janet, 'tis a pretty reason to give a Wayne of -Marsh.— Come, then, for as it chances I can help thee in thy search. -The Hill House folk showed me their nesting place but yesterday, -and it lies at a stone's-throw above us yonder." He did -not wait for her, but turned to climb the slope as if he guided -her unwillingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet followed him up the spur of moor that backed Hill -House; and still she would not remember the Lean Man, nor -what awaited her at Wildwater; her mind was set wholly -upon winning Ned from this black mood of his, that he might -hearken to her warning. The climb grew steeper, and Wayne, -with tardy courtesy, took the girl's hand to help her up the -slippery clumps of bilberry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What brings thee so near to a Wayne homestead?" he -asked, pointing to the grim front of the house above.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I fear? Our men folk fight, but none ever -heard of one of your name waging war upon a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a true word," muttered Wayne, and would have -said more, but checked himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the Ratcliffes have no such good repute? Nay! I -know what was on thy tongue, Ned." Her face grew clouded, -and a sudden, bitter cry escaped her. "Would God, dear lad, -that it were different!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne's grasp tightened on her hand as he drew her half -toward him. "There's a quaking bog, Janet, lies 'twixt what -a man would and what he will," he cried. "God's life, girl, -why must we always look askance at happiness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words were forced from him, and under them was such -a ring of passion as Janet had hungered for during many a long -day of misery and dread that she had lately spent at -Wildwater. This was a glimpse of the Ned she loved—hot, and -eager, and rebellious. She had given all to him—shame and -love of kin; and she was justified, whatever followed after. -She would force him to tell her the secret that showed plain -enough in eyes and voice; and then, if his sternness came -again, she would not heed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">We</em><span> have no feud, Ned, thou and I," she said, in the voice -that once before the quarrel ripened, he had been free to -hearken to.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment he wavered, looking down at her. Behind -her a sweep of blue leaned to the shoulders of the heath. -The throstle's note came low and mellow from below, and in -the sun's eye larks were singing wildly. Slim, warm and -sweet she stood, a Ratcliffe and a maid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne had fought this battle once before, and -thought to have killed desire; yet the struggle when he had -met her by the kirk-stone, weeks ago, was but the beginning of -an uphill road. It was as Nell had said, not an hour since, and -this thing called love had fifty ways of ambush for a man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark ye, Janet," he said at last. "There shall no feud -stand between us; 'twas of their making, and I love thy little -finger better——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He freed her on the sudden; his eyes went out far across -the moor, and into them there leaped a fierceness and a -dread.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, what is't?" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't? I saw dead Wayne of Marsh come up the -slope, with blood on his wearing-gear and sorrow on his face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, for Our Lady's sake! Hush——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 'twas a fancy, girl," he said, huskily. "We'll -think no more on 't.—Here is the nesting-ground; and, see, I -all but trode on the first pair of eggs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She answered nothing but stooped for the blue-white eggs -that lay on the bare ground at her feet. Each welcomed the -excuse for silence, and each went gravely forward with the -search. But neither the tragic thought of the dead master of -Marsh, nor yet Ned's chill withdrawal from her glance, could -make Janet less than glad that she had come to Hazel Brigg. -He loved her, and by and by she would carry back the -knowledge to lighten her footsteps home to Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Overhead the mother-birds were wheeling—crying piteously -each time that one or other of the searchers stopped to a fresh -nest, yet striving all the while to lure them from this strip of -heath that held a year's hopes for them. Birds and beasts -were always sure of friendliness from Janet, and something in -the plovers' screams touched a soft chord in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have a human sort of wit, Ned," she murmured, -stopping to watch them when the basket was three-quarters -filled. "See how they coax, and make feint, and do all to -persuade us that their nests lie otherwhere. 'Tis pity we -should rob them, when all is said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne was looking at her with his old bitter smile; for he -had been thinking, not of love, but of the father who called -him from the grave to gird his loins for the fights to come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt take this basket to the Lean Man, Janet, and say -that Shameless Wayne sends greeting with it?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould be a fairer token than thy last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what dost thou know of tokens? They did not -tell thee, surely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was the first to chance on it—the hand that lay on the -boundary-stone, with thy greeting scrawled beside it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came and put his hand on hers, half tenderly. "It was -no sight for thee. God knows I never thought a maid's eyes -would light on it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, bewildered by the ebb and flow of feeling, could not -withstand this touch of kindliness. She read his trouble with -new understanding, and for the first time she realised how at -each step she had made the struggle harder for him. Her -pride in him took clear shape on the sudden. Nay, in this -moment she loved the very stubbornness that held her from -him. He had fought her as he had fought her kinsfolk, and -he had won. One by one her doubts grew clearer; her folk -were Waynes, as they had not been until now; and some day -she would prove to him that she was as little a Ratcliffe as any -who dwelt at Cranshaw or at Marsh. All this passed through -her mind, in hurried, half-formed fashion; and then she needs -must tell him of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speech has been hindered, Ned, between us," she said, -"and we know not when another chance may come. I'll tell -thee now what I have wished to tell thee many a long day -past. Thou art one, and they are many; and it stirs my -blood, Ned, to see the gallant fight thou'rt making."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne tried to check her but she did not heed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Once in the kirkyard and once at Marsh—and even the -Ratcliffes say thou'rt something between man and devil when -a sword is in thy hand. Hold fast, Ned, and strike keen, and -thou'lt have the last word yet in this ill-matched quarrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, the pitcher goes once too oft to the well, Janet.—And -as for the attack on Marsh, 'twas none of my doing that -we beat them off. If the lads had not returned in good hour -from the hunting, it would have been the Lean Man's turn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent awhile, thinking of what Red Ratcliffe had -confessed to her this morning. </span><em class="italics">The pitcher goes once too oft to -the well</em><span>—ay, there was truth in the hard old proverb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned," she cried, looking up on the sudden, "do not go to -Bents Farm this week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not go to Bent's? How didst learn I meant to ride up -there at all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Red Ratcliffe told me this morning. Ned, I'll not let thee -go! They learned of thy coming from the farmer, and some -plot is laid—I know not what—to meet thee by the way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped, for Wayne's face was darker than she had ever -seen it, and there was anger in his voice—anger against her, -who had sought only to rescue him from treachery. Thwarted, -driven back upon herself, she forgot that Wayne's temper was -sharpened to a knife-edge by his long struggle with desire. He -stood defenceless between love and hate, and the knowledge -of his weakness maddened him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your folk's is yours, Janet," he cried, "and what -is my folk's is mine; and the Waynes must fall lower before -they hearken to what a Ratcliffe has to tell them of her -kinsmen's plans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes were wide with amazement, and anger, and a hard -sort of contempt. "That is the Wayne pride," she said—"what -they call honour, but what their neighbours call stark -folly. Nay! I know what is in thy mind. Women have no -hold on the niceties of honour, thou would'st say—but I tell -thee, Wayne of Marsh, if thou'rt to fight this through like -a man, not like a want-wit babe, thou'lt have to use the Lean -Man's weapons. What are scruples when life—life, Ned, the -one thing that we're sure of——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Wayne pride may be folly," he broke on stormily, -"but it has kept Marsh House standing for three hundred -years, and I seek no better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then thou'lt not be warned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall ride to Bents Farm on Thursday, as I had in mind to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And wilt thou take none with thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I meant to take none, and I'll not shift from my path by -a hair's-breadth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool, fool!" she cried, casting about for some fresh turn -of pleading that might weigh with him. "It is told now—I -cannot recall my warning, Ned; at least make such use thou -canst of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast lived so long with the storms, Janet," said he, -smiling gravely, "that thou hast learnt naught of Fate? What -will be, will be, girl, and if I'm to die by a Ratcliffe blade in -three days' time—why, 'tis settled; if not, thy warning still -goes for naught."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stung by his disdain, she ceased pleading, and allowed her -own right pride to have its say. "So be it; but I would have -thee know this before I leave thee. There's somewhat hangs -on the taking of thy life—somewhat that touches my welfare -nearly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould not advantage thee to know.—And so farewell, -Ned, and God give thee a better wit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne had no struggle now with his love for -this slim, passionate girl; with the first hint of battle his mind -had swung back to what had been all in all to him since he -swore above his father's body never to rest until the Ratcliffes -had paid their price. She was a Ratcliffe, and she had dared -to bid him slink out of touch of danger; and the good-bye -that had seemed agony not long ago, was easy now, as he -watched her go up the brink-field without a thought to call -her back for one last hopeless word—the word for lack of -which her step went heavy up the slope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can do naught for him," she murmured, not turning as -she topped the rise. "Is there one other as fond as he in the -whole world, to see a plain pitfall and ride hot-foot over it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She cared not a whit for what the Lean Man might have in -store for her. She would make a straight confession to him -and thereafter face him without dread—nay, with a sort of -gladness, since his first hot impulse might earn her a release -from that terrible bargain which had pledged her to the slayer -of Wayne of Marsh. Then she fell into a storm of anger -against Wayne, that his stubbornness had forbidden him to save -himself and her; and after that a sense of utter loneliness -came over her, and she lay down in the heather and sobbed -without restraint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But neither tears nor anger stayed with her for long, and -her courage came slowly back after she had picked up her -basket again and turned her face to Wildwater. Wayne of -Marsh showed helpless as a child, and the old instinct to -protect him gained on her. His strength of arm was nothing -unless he had some friend to match the guile against which -his uprightness was powerless. What could she do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her thoughts ran quickly now. She was full of feints as -the peewits that had lately tried to decoy her from their nests. -For her own sake she would have been glad to let the Lean -Man know all; but there was Ned to think of, and by some -means she must hide the truth. Her eyes brightened on the -sudden, and she moved with a brisker step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told Red Ratcliffe I would fight him," she cried eagerly, -"and may be I shall worst him yet.—But to lie?—Ned, Ned, -I'm glad thou dost not guess how deep my love for thee has -gone. </span><em class="italics">To lie</em><span>? Well, 'twill be nearly truth if told for his -sake. He goes on Thursday, does he, to Bents Farm? -Well, there's three days 'twixt now and then."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="mother-wit"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MOTHER-WIT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lean Man and Red Ratcliffe were standing in the -courtyard at Wildwater, and Nicholas was regarding his -grandson with cold displeasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy tale hangs ill together, lad," he said, "and I'll not -believe a word of it till Janet has told me her side of the -matter. What, one of our breed go meeting one of </span><em class="italics">them</em><span> by -stealth? By the Heart, if thou hast let jealousy——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir, I saw them; they were as close as I am to you, -and his words were honeyed if his low voice and earnest look -were aught to go by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's no more to be said. 'Tis beyond belief, -and I had rather saddle thee with a lie than Janet with such -wantonness.—Peste! Where is the girl? She should be -back by now, unless her search has taken her further afield -than a handful of plovers' eggs is worth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haply she is with Wayne of Marsh, sir," said the other -softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man pointed through the open gate. "Is she, -then?" he snarled. "The next time thou dost hazard a -guess of that sort, be sure the maid is not in sight already. -Now, lad, I'll front thee with her straight, and we'll plumb -the bottom of this matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet saw them while she was two-score yards away, and -her heart sank for the moment. Her plan seemed harder of -fulfilment now that she was all but face to face with the Lean -Man. But she carried herself bravely, and crossed the open -with a firm step, and held her basket out to Nicholas with a -curtsey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here are the eggs, sir. Have I not done well?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put them down, girl," said Nicholas, and paused, afraid -to ask the question which might kill his love for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet was quick to take advantage of his hesitation. "I've -done more than rob the peewits this morning, grandfather," -she went on, with a glance at Red Ratcliffe. "Whom did I -meet, think ye, above the Hill House waterfall?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A foreboding seized the younger man; for her glance said -plainly that she had no fear of what he might have told his -grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whom, lass? Come, tell me quick," said Nicholas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Shameless Wayne—and learned somewhat from -him which he little thought might prove of service to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shameless Wayne? What led thee to Shameless Wayne?" -cried Nicholas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, what led </span><em class="italics">him</em><span> to talk to me? 'Tis not the first time, -either. Not long ago, as I was crossing the fields this side of -Marshcotes, he stopped me by the way, and made much of -some little acquaintance which once there was between us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas shot a glance of triumph at Red Ratcliffe, and one -of doubt at Janet. "Thou should'st have passed him by," he -said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can a maid do, grandfather, when the man is headstrong -and she is out of call of help? He"—she lifted her -brows disdainfully,—"he dared to make hot love to me that -day; and again this morning as I was gathering eggs, he——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man fetched an oath. "So the lad is not content, -'twould seem," he muttered; "it is not enough to kill -three of us and to flaunt my son's hand in the public view, -but he must—see, child, he means thee no good by this, and I -was right when I bade thee keep to home awhile."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, a murrain on 't, the girl was willing!" cried Red -Ratcliffe, aghast to find the Lean Man's anger diverted so -swiftly from Janet to Wayne of Marsh. "What didst say -to me this morning, Janet, when I met thee on the moor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I say to thee now, cousin—that thou'rt the meanest -of all my kin, and the one least likely to catch any woman's -fancy—that thou may'st threaten, and bully, and play -the tale-bearer, and yet not win me in the end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis plain to see I bred thee, lass," laughed Nicholas, -putting a kindly hand on her shoulder.—"As for thee, Red -Ratcliffe, I gave thee free leave to say thy say to Janet, but -not to force her will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, sir, you would liefer see her wedded to Wayne of -Marsh than to me?" broke in the other hotly. "They call -</span><em class="italics">him</em><span> Shameless, but by the Mass this girl would hold the title -with better credit. See how she stands there, with an open -front and a clear eye, and all the while she knows——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, my cousin has gone through it all before," said Janet, -deftly taking up the talk as Red Ratcliffe paused for very -anger. "I said nay to him this morning; and he turned and -snarled on me, vowing he would tell you how I met Shameless -Wayne willingly by stealth. Has he done so, or was he still -finding wit enough to carry the tale through when I came up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said the tale went lame," muttered Nicholas; "ay, I -knew there could be naught in 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he tell you, sir," went on Janet merrily, "did he tell -you that Wayne of Marsh was whispering love-tales in my -ear, and that I was listening with greedy relish? He -threatened so to do; because, forsooth, he had asked me a plain -question, and my answer liked him little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe had made many a useless effort to claim a -hearing, but he could see by the Lean Man's face that the -tide was running all against him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He thought I should be feared of you, grandfather!" -cried Janet, laughing softly. "He thought I should not dare -to come with a straight tale to you as he came with a crooked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas, eager beforehand to keep his trust in the girl -unshaken, let his last doubts fall off from him. "Thou wast -right, child, to trust me," he said. "This fool here got his -word in first, and if thou hadst not told me of thy meeting -with Wayne before ever I twitted thee with it—why, I might -well have believed that which would have gone nigh to break -my heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment the girl's eyes clouded and she could not -look him in the face. He was so kind to her, so ready to -take her part at all times; and she was rewarding his trust in -sorry fashion. But that passed as she remembered the Lean -Man's cruelty, his guile, his resolve to do Shameless Wayne -to death by any sort of treachery. Was it a time to stand on -scruples, when she was fighting, not for her own life, but for -another's? Again her mother-love for Wayne swept over -her, touching her fancy with a sense of fine issues that were -to be compassed, here and now, by her own unaided wit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said, sir, that I was powerless to keep Wayne of Marsh -from walking with me," she went on, her voice gaining depth -and subtlety as she made forward with the tale that had been -shaping itself in her mind all through the long walk home from -Hill House; "but I could at the least make him pay for his -ill manners in curious coin. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> to dare offer marriage to a -Ratcliffe! My cheeks were red with shame, as if another -man had offered less than marriage; but I would not let him -see it. I lured him on, I played with him, I learned all that -he had done, or was doing, or was about to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God rest thee, lass!" cried the Lean Man, with a boisterous -laugh. "Who says thou'rt more or less than a very Ratcliffe? -Thou didst lead the poor fool on, then, with a trail of -honey? By the Dog, I never loved thee half as well as -now.—What, Ratcliffe the Red, thou lookest moody! The old -man was not fond enough to stomach any wild tale thou didst -bring to him?—Well, girl, what didst learn from Wayne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That he was going to Bents Farm, to see that some -repairs were rightly done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, it tallies," murmured Nicholas.—"Go on, Janet; -we knew as much as that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But did you know, sir, that Wayne had somehow learned -your purpose? He was to have gone on Thursday——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he tell thee that, or was it I?" broke in Red Ratcliffe. -"Hark ye, grandfather! I let slip to her this morning -the tale of what we meant to do, and she uses it now for -her own ends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace, sirrah! I have a long account to square with thee, -and a quiet tongue may keep thee from adding to the reckoning. -Didst let the tale slip? The more fool thou, when I -had bidden thee speak of it to no man. Haply 'twas from -thee that Wayne of Marsh learned what we have in mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It matters little, as it chances, whether Wayne knows or -not," said Janet. "He will go on Friday, sir, at noon, -instead of on Thursday; for he told me as much, laughing to -think how easily he could outwit you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haply the last laugh will be mine," said Nicholas grimly. -"Didst learn how many of his folk he meant to bring with -him? Being warned, he will not go alone, I warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, he professed to be a match for any four of you," -answered the girl, a spice of the Ratcliffe devilry leading her -to garnish her story with needless detail, "but for prudence -sake, he said, he would take some two or three with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A match for any four?" muttered the Lean Man. "I'll -keep that word in mind when Wayne fares up to Bents. Ay, -by the Rood I will let none but myself cross swords with -him. Three of my folk I'll take, to equal his, and none shall -say that Wayne of Marsh fought against odds when he was -slain on the road to Bents Farm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet shuddered to hear her grandfather talk of Wayne's -death, as of a fact already well accomplished; glancing at the -Lean Man's height and wiry frame, remembering the skill he -had in wielding that dread two-handled sword of his, she felt -that Wayne of Marsh, for all his lusty youth, would find a -match in Nicholas Ratcliffe. And then she laughed her fears -away; for was she not sending the slayers on the veriest -Jack-o'-lanthorn errand that ever led men into the bogs?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take the men with you, sir, for Wayne can be tricky as -yourself," she said gravely. "By Our Lady, I think he'll not -fare back again from Bents to Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast a shrewd head on thy pretty shoulders. Gad, yes, -thou'rt crafty! Who is't thou callest to mind, girl? Some -one out of the musty Book that Parson reads from on the -Sabbath. Delilah, was it not, who fooled the long-haired fighter -and clipped his locks for him as if he were a sheep at -shearing-time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he could not fight at all, sir, after the shearing was -done. 'Tis a good fable," laughed Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but how if she is clipping a Ratcliffe poll the while, -and fools us into thinking that Wayne's locks, not ours, are -underneath the shears?" snapped Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man, good-humoured almost now that his -quarry was well in view, turned and looked his grandson up -and down. "It would take a clever lass, methinks, to clip -that rusty head of thine; as well reap a stubble-field for corn," -he sneered.—"There! The work speeds merrily, and a little -jest suffices for a big laugh. Janet, come draw me a measure -of wine, and we'll pledge thy mother-wit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved across the courtyard, and Red Ratcliffe, stepping -to Janet's side, laid a hand on her cloak. "I asked this morn -who fathered thee," he whispered. "Well, now I know. -The devil got thee, and thou'lt not shame him. The game -is thine so far—but by the Lord I'll make thee smart when -fortune shifts her favours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, dost not believe my story?" she answered, with -demure wonder. "Well, go on Thursday, then, if thou -doubtest——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay. He will not go to Bents Farm on Thursday, for -thou hast warned him; nor will he go on Friday, since thou -tellest us so glibly the place and hour. But we'll wait each -day for him until he comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lean Man will not wait with you, save on the Friday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An ugly scrowl crossed the other's face. "The Lean Man -ages fast; we must learn to strike while he is hanging on -every lying word of thine," he said, and left her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet halted on the threshold before following Nicholas -indoors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, even such as he can call me liar," she muttered, -looking out across the heath as if for guidance. "Sorrow of -women, why must we always stoop to feints and trickeries? -Why cannot we fight as men fight——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The peewits were wheeling over the sky-rimmed moor, and -Janet, watching them, bethought her once again how they -had used the self-same trickery to save their unhatched young. -Instinctively she felt their world was hers, their teaching hers, -and what was right for the wild things of the heath was right -for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I have saved Wayne of Marsh. God be thanked -for it," she cried with sudden fervour, and went to bring the -Lean Man the cup which was to pledge her mother-wit.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-wayne-of-marsh-rode-up-to-bents"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sun was nearing the top of his climb, and his rays -were kindly with Mistress Wayne as she sat by the waterside -in Hazel Dene and filled her lap with flowers and green lush -grasses. Here a clump of primroses nestled close to the -water's edge, and there a hazel-bush waved its catkins finger-like -over the peat-brown water, dusting the wavelets with finest -saffron pollen. Above, in the sloping fields, lambs bleated -after the wethers, and kine chewed lazily the cud of sweet new -grass. All was tender frolic, as if a month ago no snow had -filled the hollows of the trees where now were nests, as if no -bitter wind had whistled downward from the moor, chilling -the bud within its sheath and the sap in well-turned limbs of -ash and oak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne ceased playing with her flowers, and fell -to dreaming. She was the one still thing among all the -quivering eagerness of leaves and water, birds and hovering flies -and glancing fish. For the storms that had chilled and -frightened her were over, and with the spring her mind seemed to -be loosing, one by one, its winter bonds. Old memories -stirred in her and clamoured for release; new desires -awakened, and with them a fresh load of doubts and fears; she sat, -helpless and inert, and strove with all her might to unravel -the threads which one night's tragedy had tangled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, it is sweet—sweet," she murmured. "I was a child -once—a child—and they gave me love—both hands they gave -me full of love—and it was always spring, I think, with -warmth like this and song of birds. But I'm old now; older -than anybody knows, and sad. I think it is because I did -some one a great wrong. What was it? Down in the -meadows, when he came and tried to kill me with his hard grey -eyes—the eyes that stared at me afterward from the bier. -Nay, he could not forgive me, even in death—I think he -knew that I had never loved him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment longer she struggled with memory; then her -face grew empty as of old, and she picked up her flowers and -fell to talking babe-talk to them. But her witless moods held -lighter sway nowadays; reason was coming slowly back, and -day by day her mind returned more often from childishness -into the piteous strife of sanity. She got to her feet soon, and -threw the flowers from her, and looked with troubled eyes -toward Marshcotes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I might go and find Sexton Witherlee," she said, halting -with one finger on her lip; "he is so wise, and he may tell -me what I want to learn. Yes, I must find the Sexton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A crackling of twigs came from up the Dene, and turning -affrightedly she saw Shameless Wayne striding along the -narrow path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, little bairn, what art doing here?" he cried, as she -ran to him with hands outstretched in welcome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinking, Ned—always thinking. I want to remember—oh, -I want to remember—but the thoughts will never stay -still enough for me to put my hand on them. I have been -trying to catch the little fish in the stream yonder, and it was -just the same; they stayed till I had all but caught them, and -then they glanced and flickered, flickered and glanced, until I -could not see them for the splashes which they made."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bide awhile, bairn," he said kindly; "thy thoughts will -come tame to hand one day, never fear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art going home, Ned?" she said, after a silence. "I -was crossing to Marshcotes kirkyard, but if thou'lt come into -the fields with me, and talk, I'll ask naught better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to Marsh, but only to get to saddle and be off -again. Better talk to the Sexton this morning, and I'll walk -with thee after dinner.—Nay! Never look so downcast. -'Tis only that there's work to be done up at Bents Farm, -and I shall scarce get there and back as 'tis by dinner-time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the puzzled look, which told that she was doubtful -lest this returning memory of hers were leading her astray. -"I thought, Ned—I thought thou hadst gone there yesterday? -Well-away, the days slip past, and sometimes I forget to -count them; was it not Thursday yesterday—and Friday -today—and what comes after?" Her eyes filled with tears. -"It is so hard, dear, to forget and to know that all the world -is pitying me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush, bairn! Thou canst remember nigh as well as any -of us now. And thou'rt right about Bents Farm; I should -have gone there yestermorn, but was prevented. There! -Find out yond friendly Sexton of thine, and show him how -this fair spring weather is warming thee back to memory."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt not forget to walk with me after dinner?" she -said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I.—The stream's over-wide for thee, is't? Well, -that is soon reckoned with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Laughing, he picked her up and leaped across the babbling -water; then set her down, and turned to wave farewell as he -swung round the corner of the path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Half her wits have come home from wandering. What -when they return altogether?" he muttered. "Nay, she had -better be as the bairns are. Our wits do naught for us save -teach us that life rings cracked and hollow as a broken -bell.—I could swear the sun moves at racing-speed," he broke off, -glancing toward the south. "'Twas well I told them to set -dinner back a full two hours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man, standing in the Wildwater courtyard, was -likewise looking toward the south, as he rated three of his -kinsfolk into the saddle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye lie-abed, hounds!" he roared. "Does Wayne of -Marsh come riding to meet us every day, that ye mean to let -noon go by? Up with the stirrup-cup, Janet, and I'll drain -it once again to an errand that is all of thy making."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis scarce past the time for wild geese, sir," put in Red -Ratcliffe drily, "and Janet knew it, methinks, when she sent -us on this chase."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marry, why should'st doubt Wayne's coming?" snapped -Nicholas. "But thou wast so from thy birth, lad, so I'll not -rate thee for thy clownishness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doubt for reasons that I'll tell you afterward," said the -other, nettled by his comrades' laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, when I return with Wayne's head at my saddle-flap?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If mares build nests, and lay gold eggs in them, we shall -bring back Wayne's head to-day," growled Red Ratcliffe, and -pricked his horse forward out of reach of further gibes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The young cockerels crow while the old birds fill their -crops," laughed Nicholas. "Forward, lads, and mind well -that none is to lay hand on Shameless Wayne till I have done -with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet watched them move up into the moor, their figures, -riding one behind the other, dark against the white, -wind-hurried clouds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fair journey, sirs!" she cried, soon as they were out of -eyeshot. "A fair journey, and fair tempers when ye come -back from slaying Wayne of Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dangers were waiting in plenty for Ned, she knew; but it -was enough that he was safe from the peril of the moment, -and her heart sang blithely as she told herself that, but for her -aid, the Lean Man would have gone to meet him yesterday—and -would have found him. What she should say when they -returned from their bootless errand, she knew not, nor whether -her grandfather would suspect the truth of all the tale she had -told him when he found one flaw in it. It did not matter; -some way she would coax him back to good humour, as she -had done four days ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Restless in her gaiety, which had a certain fierceness in it, -she wandered up and down the house, and out into the garden, -and thence to the stables in search of her favourite roan -mare. The roan had been ailing lately, and this morning she -turned a sadly lack-lustre eye on Janet in answer to the girl's -caresses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis time a leech looked to thee," said Janet, stroking the -beast's muzzle. "Yet it is thankless of thee, when all is said, -after the pains I've taken. I all but lost the fingers of one -hand awhile since in giving thee a ball, and thou'rt not a whit -the better for it. Well, we must see if Earnshaw, yond idle -rogue from Marshcotes, can do thee any good; he's cunning -at horse-physic, so they say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Glad of the excuse for a scamper, but finding none of the -farm-hands about the yard, she saddled the mare that stood in -the next stall, led her to the horsing-steps that stood this side -the gateway, and soon was galloping over the heather as if the -chestnut had no knees to be broken, nor she a neck to lose. -And half the way her thoughts were of the Ratcliffes, riding -to meet a foe who would not come; and half the way she -thought of Wayne's splendid doggedness, when she had met -him at Hazel Brigg, and he had turned a deaf ear to her warning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne, meanwhile, had found the Sexton at work -on a new grave and had enticed him to the flat stone which -had grown to be their seat on all occasions when they -foregathered for a chat. Thinner than ever was the Sexton, as if -the past winter had dried the little flesh that had once made -shift to clothe his bones; his eyes were dreamier, but the old -kindliness was in them as they rested on this frail comrade -who listened with such goodwill to all his thrice-told tales of -fight and fairies, of Barguest and the Brown Folk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, they live under th' kirkyard, do th' Brown Folk, as -weel as farther out across th' moor," Witherlee was saying. -"They're deepish down, but time an' time, when I'm nearing -th' bottom of a grave, I can hear 'em curse an' cry at me, for -they like as they cannot bide mortal men to come anigh 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art thou never afraid of them, Sexton?" asked Mistress -Wayne, her wide, questioning eyes on his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I niver get ony harm, as I knaw on, fro' th' little -chaps,—though I do shiver whiles, for their curses is summat -flairsome to hearken to. Howsiver, curses break no bones, as -th' saying is, so I just let 'em clicker, an' I win forrard wi' my -digging."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little woman shivered. "They are cruel, these Brown -Folk. They snatch children from the cradle, and carry them -down and down, deep under the peat, to work the gold for -them. I like the slim ghosties better. Sexton, talk to me of -them,—the ghosts of those who lie asleep here; thou hast seen -such often?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," said the Sexton softly. "I've learned th' feel an' -th' speech an' th' throb o' th' kirkyard, Mistress, till I'm -friends wi' ivery sleeper of 'em all. Lord Christ, how sweet -it is to sit here on a summer's eve, wi' th' moon new-risen -ower kirk an' graves—to feel this feckless body o' mine -crumple an' shrink, while th' inward fire grows fierce, and bright, -and steady. 'Tis then th' ghosties come and slip their thin -hands into mine; for th' naked souls o' men are friendly, and -'tis only our lumpish shroud of clay that frights th' sperrits -from us. Ay, there's scant room, I'm thinking, for us poor -mortals, what wi' Brown Folk below, an' White Folk up aboon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Once thou said'st 'twas only the unwed lassies walked. -Is it so, Sexton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, there's men-folk, too. I say to myseln, small wonder -that th' ghosties stir up and down, time an' time, when -them as lig under sod fall to thinking o' th' unquiet things that -hev happened just aboon their heads. Look ye, Mistress, -how black yond kirk-tower looks at us; 'twas there a Wayne -fought, in an older day, agen Anthony Ratcliffe wi' five other -Ratcliffes to back him—fought wi' his back to th' tower-wall, -and killed four out o' th' six that made agen him, an' sore -wounded Anthony an' another. Ay, an' ye mind how Shameless -Wayne took toll a while back i' this same spot? An' -how Dick Ratcliffe paid his reckoning on th' vault-stone yonder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne shrank from the Sexton as if he had struck -her. "Dick Ratcliffe—Dick—what should I know of him?" -she murmured. Again the still intensity of face, as she sought -the key to that dim past of hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Sexton was deep in his own reverie; he was thinking, -not of the woman to whom Dick Ratcliffe had given an -unclean love, but of the new feud that had come to gladden -these latter days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is not th' place like to be restless, wi' sich as these lying -bedfellows?" he went on, nodding his head in greeting at the -lettered stones. "Ay, restless as I am restless, heving -followed my trade, through sun an' gloaming an' mid-winter -midnight, amang th' wild folk that niver found peace till they -came on their last journey to Marshcotes kirkyard.—Theer, -theer, Mistress!" he broke off, as the little woman's cry broke -sharply into his musings and half awoke him. "I flair ye, -but ye need think nowt on 't; an owd chap mun hev his spell -o' dithering in an' out amang th' fierce owd tales that tangle -and trip up th' one t' other. Yet I praise God that, after all -these weak new days, young Wayne o' Marsh hes shown th' -owd stuff a-working."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sexton, Sexton!" The woman's eyes, fixed on the vault-stone -below, were sane now, and her voice not like at all to -the childish pipe which Witherlee had grown to love. "I -have tried so hard to understand—and now I know—and -would God I could forget again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Witherlee made as if to put an arm about her, so wishful -of comfort she seemed; but he withdrew, feeling that her -grief was over-terrible for such rough consolation as he had to -offer. Instead, he filled his pipe and lit it, and waited till she -found more to tell him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They rested so for a long while, with only the song of birds -and the moan of a rainy breeze to break the silence. Then,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see it all, Sexton," she said quietly—"the evening when -Wayne of Marsh, my husband, found me with my lover in -the orchard—Wayne's death—the flight with Dick Ratcliffe -of Wildwater. We gained the wicket up above there—we -could hear the harness rattling of the chaise that was to carry -us to safety—and then—" She stopped and hid her face awhile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis ower an' done wi' long sin'," murmured the Sexton; -"ower an' done wi,' Mistress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twill never be over and done with. Dick was killed—but -I—I was not given death, only a merciful little spell of -sleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I wish th' poor body wod cry her een out," thought -the Sexton, watching the bright eyes and tragic face. "I niver -held wi' a crying woman myseln, but I could thoyle tears -better nor this stark, dry grief o' hers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mistress Wayne was far from tears as yet. A great -load was on her heart, crushing the misery inward; it was -long before she could shake off the least part of it, but at -last—after the Sexton had waited with a patience that was all his -own—she crept nearer to him, and laid a hand on his, and -began to talk with a quiet and settled gravity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was not at all to blame, Sexton," she said. "I think, if -he knew all, even dead Wayne of Marsh might look with pity -on me. I was so young when he brought me out of the -sweet, warm South up into these dreary mountain-tops—so -young, and the folk here were so harsh, and I hated them when -they mocked me for my foreign ways. Wayne was kind, so -far as he knew how to be, but I feared him—feared his sternness, -and his hard dark face. The storms that only brought -him ruder health were killing me, and the wind at nights, as it -moaned about the chimney-stacks, was like a dirge. And -Nell could not forgive me for coming a second wife to Marsh. -I had no friend at all, save Shameless Wayne; they despised -him as a drunkard and a reveller, but I never had aught but -kindness and goodwill from him. Sexton, was it not -hard——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Witherlee did not answer. His glance, roving to the far -side of the graveyard, had fallen on his goodwife, who was -nearing him with a brisk, decided step; and he, who feared -no ghost that ever walked light-footed through the grasses, -shrank from the tongue which was wont to fall like a flail on -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I said how 'twould be!" cried Nanny, while still a -score yards off. "Frittering thy time away, while th' wife is -wearing herseln bone-thin for thee. Here th' dinner hes been -cooked this half-hour, an' th' dumplings as cold as Christmas, -an' I allus did say th' most worritsome trick a man could hev -war coming late to his victuals."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm coming, fast as legs 'ull tak me," said Witherlee, -scrambling to his feet. "An' as for th' dumplings—I'd as lief -hev 'em cold as warm; it's all one when they've gone down a -body's throat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hearken to him! All one, says he—he'll be telling me -next there's nowt to choose 'twixt to-day an' yesterday. Is't -all one whether </span><em class="italics">tha</em><span>'rt warm, or cold as one o' yond coffin-chaps -under sod?—Ay, an' now there's Earnshaw coming. -Well, well, if him an' thee once get together, there'll nowt -less than a thunderstorm skift ye, an' that I'll warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Earnshaw, coming up from the Bull tavern, met them as -they turned the corner of the pathway. His hands were -thrust deep into his pockets, and he wore his usual air of -shiftless cheeriness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blowing rain, I fancy," said Earnshaw, standing square -across the path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blowing fiddlesticks," snapped Nanny, who was in one of -her worst fratching moods. "Get out o' th' gate, Earnshaw, -an' let busier folk pass by. It's weel to be thee, or Witherlee -here—nowt to do save put hands i' pockets, an' tak 'em out -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, now, tha'rt allus so bustling, Nanny. Tak life at a -fair, easy pace, say I, an' ye'll noan need Witherlee's pick an' -shovel this side o' three-score years an' ten. Hast heard th' -news, like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton's wife could not resist that simple query. -"News? What's agate?" she said, half turning about.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, th' Wildwater farm-lads is getting past all. There's -no day goes by now, so Hiram Hey telled me, but what they -come to words or blows wi' th' Marsh lot. It means summat: -like master, like man, an' I warrant they've ta'en example fro' -th' Lean Man hisseln. What mak o' chance lies Shameless -Wayne, that's what I want to knaw?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha wert up at Wildwater thyseln awhile back?" said the -Sexton, still with one eye on his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, for sure. I war in an' amang 'em while I war doing -yond walling job for th' Lean Man; an' they war allus clevering -then about what th' Ratcliffes war bahn to do, an' allus -striving to pick a quarrel wi' ony o' th' Marsh lads 'at came -handy. I tak no sides myseln——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll warrant tha doesn't. He'd nearly as lief wark as -fight, wod slack-back Earnshaw," put in Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," cried Witherlee, "yond lad at Marsh is making as -grand a fight as ony Wayne that's gone afore him, an' we're -all fain, I reckon, to see him win i' th' end.—What say ye, -Mistress?" he broke off, turning to the little woman who sat -apart, hearkening to their gossip but taking no share in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will win, Sexton," she answered quietly. "Dost -doubt it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny softened for a moment, as she, too, glanced at -Mistress Wayne. "Not wi' ye beside him. By th' Heart, -Mistress, but I'd be flaired for Shameless Wayne if he'd no friend -sich as ye to keep him fro' ill hap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I can do naught—save sit with hands in lap sometimes, -and read the future, and see Ned moving safe through -bloodshed and through glint of swords."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do nowt?" echoed the Sexton's wife. "Ye said as mich -when Bet Earnshaw axed ye to go an' touch her bairn. Did -ye do nowt that day, Mistress, or is it thanks to ye that th' -little un mended fro' th' minute ye set hand on her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis something that goes out of me—I know not what," -murmured the little woman. "It is strange, is it not, that such -as I should have the gift of healing when wise men have -failed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Book-learning never cured a cough, as they say i' -Marshcotes," put in Nanny.—"Who's that at th' moor-gate? -Why, if it isn't Mistress Ratcliffe herseln! My sakes, it's a -full kirkyard this morn. What mud she be after, think ye? -She's hitching her horse to th' gate-post, mark ye—an' now -she's coming down wi' that long, lad-like stride o' hers, as if -she war varry full o' some business.—I'd rarely like to know -what brings her so far afield."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet stopped on seeing the chattering group of rustics, with -Mistress Wayne sitting quiet and motionless behind them; -then, finding that Earnshaw was among the gossips, the girl -went down to him. The Sexton's wife eyed her narrowly as -she approached, and nodded her head with a gesture which -said, more plainly than words could have done, that beauty -and a free carriage were dust in the balance when weighed -against the damning fact that she was born a Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Earnshaw, I want thee to come and doctor that roan mare -of mine," said Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doan't axe him to do owt he could call wark, Mistress," -cried Nanny, missing no opportunity to gibe. "Call it laking, -an' he'll come like a hare; but reckon it's wark, an' ye -may whistle a twelve-month for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thee hod thy whisht, Nanny," Earnshaw interposed. -"If there's a horse to be physicked, Mistress Ratcliffe hes come -to th' right man, choose who hears me say 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's them as says tha wert born i' a stable, Earnshaw, -an' I can weel believe it; bred an' born, I reckon, for tha'd -walk further to see a horse nor to sup a quart of ale—an' that's -saying a deal. Now, Witherlee, art coming, or shall I hev to -sweep thee indoors wi' a besom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny, her temper no wise improved on learning that Janet's -errand promised so little mystery, carried off Witherlee -without more ado. Earnshaw could find no good excuse to linger -after he had discussed the roan mare's ailments with Janet; -and he, too, passed up the graveyard and out at the top gate. -The girl was about to follow him and ride home again, when -Mistress Wayne called to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come hither, Mistress. I have somewhat to say to thee," -she cried, motioning the girl to the seat beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, who had last seen her, a wind-driven waif, come -wailing into the Wildwater hall, was startled by the change in -her—by the wild grief in her blue eyes, and the resolution in -her baby face. Without a word she took the proffered seat, -wondering what Mistress Wayne could find to say to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw you come in at the wicket, and I knew you," said -the other presently. "It is so strange, girl; all has come -back to me in a wave, and I remember faces—dead faces, -some of them; and some again are living, and beautiful like -yours. I want to talk with you of Ned—him they call -Shameless Wayne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet glanced at her in surprise. A faint colour crept over -her brow. "You—you know, then?" she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know. Often—in the days when I could only half -understand—Ned talked of you to me; and I recall now that, -before the troubles came, you used to meet him up by the -kirk-stone. Dear, I cannot let you both go into the pitiless -marshes, as I have done. He loves you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, a little less than he loves his pride," said Janet bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day he will love you more." She clutched the -girl's arm eagerly. "None knows but I how bitter the -struggle has been for him. He is mad, mad, to let good love -slip from him while he grasps at shadows. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> had a man's -love once, girl, and I threw it aside, and—God pity all who -let the gift go by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tears were crowding thick to the eyes of Mistress Wayne—warm, -heart-healing tears which had been denied her until -now. A sudden compassion seized Janet, and under the pity -a gladness that Wayne of Marsh had found the struggle bitter -as she could have wished it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He loves me, say you? Say it again, Mistress; 'tis the -pleasantest speech I've heard these long days past," cried the -girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is wearying for you—wearying for you. Hark ye, -dear! I cannot let you drift apart. Come with me back to -Marsh, and I'll make all smooth between you—ay, though -Ned strives with all his might against us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet smiled and shook her head. "That is a little more, -methinks, than the most love-sick maid would do. Bring him -to me, and I will welcome him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, life is so short, so very short. See, I'm but a child -yet, and impatient, and all my heart is set on giving Ned his -happiness, because he cared for me when there was none else -to befriend me. I'm sure 'twill all come right: Ned has gone -riding up the moor, but he'll be home by now, and we -can——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Up the moor, say ye?" cried Janet, with sudden misgiving. -"Which road took he, Mistress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Bents Farm, I think he said. He was to have gone -yesterday, but was hindered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet sprang to her feet and stood looking down on -Mistress Wayne. This, then, was the end of her wise scheme; -this was the fruit of all her care for him. And in her -recklessness she had bidden the Lean Man take three other -Ratcliffes to meet him by the way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't?" asked Mistress Wayne, wonderingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't?" cried Janet, with a hard laugh. "Naught, -Mistress—save that I've murdered one who was dearer to me -than my own body."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning, she ran up the path, and out at the wicket, and -tugged at her horse's bridle, which she had fastened to the -gate-post, so hard that it broke between her hands. And fast -as they galloped across the moor, toward Bents Farm, the -pace seemed sluggish when measured by her thoughts. Was -it too late? Was Wayne already lying face to sky, with lids -close-shut over the eyes that would see neither sky nor moor -again? Nay, it should not be, it must not be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Gallop</em><span>. She would ride into the thick of them, and -somehow pluck him from between their blades; they dared not -strike a woman, one of their own kin, and while she held -them off Wayne might compass his escape. Yet she knew it -was too late, and again the picture came before her, clear in -its every detail, of the quiet body and the upturned face that -would be lying somewhere on this same road to Bents. Each -turn of the way was a hell to her, because of what might lie -beyond, each turning safely past was heaven. </span><em class="italics">Gallop</em><span>. There -was yet time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She neared the dip of Hoylus Slack and heard the sound of -hoof-beats in the hollow. It was done, then; the strain was -over, and there was no room for hope. Was this Red Ratcliffe, -come to bear news to Marsh that its Master was dead? -If so, she would gallop her horse against his, and snatch for -his weapon as they fell together. The horseman was -half up the hill now, and a great cry broke from her as she -saw the blunt, rugged face with the kerchief tied across the -brow. Pulling her beast back almost on to his haunches, she -stood and waited till the horseman topped the rise and came -to a sudden halt at sight of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, Ned, art safe?" she cried, reining in close beside him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Marsh eyed her soberly. "Safe? Ay. Wilt -sorrow or be glad of it, Mistress Janet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cease mockery!" she pleaded. "See, I would think -shame to confess it at another time, but all the way from -Marshcotes I have sickened at thought of—God's pity, Ned, -what might have chanced!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, enough has chanced, I fancy, for one morning's -work. If a ripped forehead, that scarce will let me see for -bleeding through the kerchief——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stoop, Ned. Thou hast tied it ill, and my fingers are -better at the work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was glad of the least labour she could do for him; he -might be churlish, he might accept her service as if it were a -penance, but he was safe, and free to treat her as he would. -Shrinking a little when the bandage was loosened, she glanced -at the wound and noted its discoloured look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bide awhile," she said, slipping to the ground. "Thou'lt -have trouble with it, Ned, unless I lay fresh peat on it to -drive out the bad humours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twill heal of itself; I would not trouble thee," he -muttered. It was a nice, bewildering point of honour to Wayne -of Marsh, this acceptance of aid from Ratcliffe hands, and -he spoke with scant civility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Janet was back already with a handful of the warm red -mould, and she bade him get down from saddle that she might -the better fasten on the bandage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now tell me. How didst come through it, Ned?" she -asked, tying a second knot in the kerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I cannot tell thee. They met me, four of -them, where the road is narrow up by Dead Lad's Rigg."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, four of them. God give me shame," murmured Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard the Lean Man bid them stand aside and leave us -to it, and after that I knew no more till he and I were -lunging each at the other. He knocked my sword up at the last, -and lifted his own blade to strike——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, go on. What then, Ned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I told thee I could give no right answer. Just as I -had given all up—with a thought, it may be, of one who had -been forbidden—the Lean Man's arm dropped to his side, and -he sprang back in the saddle, all but unseating himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Ned, I cannot credit it. Didst thou make no -movement to drive him back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None, for 'twas all done in a flash, and he might have split -my skull in two if he had brought down that great blade of his."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was there naught, then, to occasion it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught that I could see, yet he backed as if the fiend -were at his throat. His own folk were no less puzzled than -I, but his terror ran out to them and held them; and when I -made at him afresh not one rode forward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didst—didst not kill him?" she said. Any but the Lean -Man he might slay, but her grandfather—nay, she could not -brook that when faced so suddenly with the chance of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not," answered Wayne grimly—"for the reason -that he fled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again she stared at him. "</span><em class="italics">Fled</em><span>? Grandfather fled, say'st -thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I not say that there was Ratcliffe pride in thee? Ay, -plain in thy voice, and in thy little faith that the Lean Man -could flee. Yet so it is, Janet; and I made after him almost -to the gates of Wildwater; and if his had not been the better -horse——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then whence came this ugly gash of thine? 'Tis all a -puzzle, Ned, and my late fear for thee has dulled my wits, I -think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, his folk came after me in half-hearted fashion, and -I had to ride through the three of them when I turned back -for Wildwater. I took this cut in passing, and he who gave -it me will go lame for the rest of a short life; and then -they, too, made off, daunted by the old man's panic, and I -was left to wonder what goblin had come between Nicholas -Ratcliffe's blade and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has been strange of late—ever since the night when -he came down to burn thee out of Marsh. Some illness has -taken him; it was the fire that did it, may be, when he fell -face foremost into it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stood awhile, neither breaking the strained silence. -Then Janet touched the bandage lightly, and smoothed it a -little over the close-cropped hair, and, "Ned," she whispered, -"thou said'st something just now. </span><em class="italics">With a thought of one who -had been forbidden</em><span>. Who was it, Ned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Very grave he was; not rough now, nor uncivil, but sad -with the sadness that old hatreds, formed before his birth, had -woven for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who should it be but thou, Janet? I told myself in that -one moment how well I loved thee—and I was glad. And -then some strange thing warded death from me—and, see, the -feud stands gaunt as ever between us two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The reaction from her late dread was stealing over Janet -fast, and with it there came the memory of how she had -brought him into this desperate hazard, from which a miracle -alone had saved him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned," she cried, "who bade the Lean Man take three of -his folk against thee, think'st thou? Who told them thou -would'st ride to Bents Farm to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Red Ratcliffe, at a venture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, it was I. Thinking to keep thee safe, I said thou -would'st go to Bents to-day instead of yestermorn. So thy -wound, Ned, was all of my giving, and—why dost not hate -me for it?" she finished, with a passion that ended in a storm -of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne set both arms about her then, and strove to comfort -her; angry he had seen her, and scornful, but this sudden -grief, so little like her, and so unexpected, loosed all the -harshness that he was wont to set between them as a barrier when -they met.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Janet, never cry because of what might have -chanced and did not," he whispered. "'Twas no fault of -thine, lass, that I went to Bents to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sour face showed over the wall that bounded the left -hand of the highway, and presently a pair of wide shoulders -followed as Hiram Hey began to climb over into the road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What in the Dog's name art doing here, Hiram?" cried -his Master, starting guiltily away from Mistress Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I like as I hed to look after some beasts i' th' High -Pasture. 'Tis fine weather, Maister—but a thowt past -mating-time, I should hev said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy ears are big, Hiram, but my hands will cover them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, look ye! It hes been a failing o' mine wi' th' -gentry iver sin' I war a lad; I may speak as civil as ye please, -an' I get looks as black as Marshcotes steeple. An' all th' -while I war nobbut thinking o' two fond stock-doves that I -fund nesting a three-week late up i' Little John's wood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet waited for no more, but beckoned Wayne to lift her -to the saddle and touched the roan mare with her whip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there danger for thee at Wildwater?" he whispered, -clutching her bridle. "If there be—I tell thee I'll not let -thee go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Danger? Nay, if thou hadst failed to go to Bents, there -might have been; but now they'll think I warned them in -good faith."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what of the bargain, Janet? The last time we met -thou told'st me of some bargain, made by the Lean Man, -which touched thy welfare."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, eager to toll him all; but a second glance -showed her that he was in no fit state just now to have more -troubles thrust on him. Even the effort of lifting her to -saddle had blanched his face; the cloth was reddening, too, about -his forehead, and he swayed a little as he held her rein. She -must find a better time to tell him; for if he learned what -that grim bargain was which pledged her to his murderer, he -would run headlong against her folk, weak as he was, and find -himself outmatched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The bargain was of little consequence," she said. -"There was a price named for my hand—but such a price as -none at Wildwater, I think, will ever claim. There, Ned! -Let go my bridle, for that hind of yours is watching all we do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still he was not satisfied; but his hand slackened for a -moment on the rein, and Janet started forward at the trot. Once -she turned, at the bend of the road, and waved to him; and -then the moor seemed emptied of its sunlight on the sudden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne stood looking up the highway long after she had -gone, and turned at last to find Hiram's quiet grey eyes upon -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Hiram? What art thinking of?" he said, with -something between wrath and grudging laughter in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nowt so mich, Maister. 'Twould be a poor farmer as -'ud frame to sow Hawkhill Bog wi' wheat; that war all I hed -i' mind. Soil's soil, choose how ye tak it, an' ye cannot alter -th' natur on 't. Theer! My thowts do run on farming till -I've getten no room seemingly for owt else; an' I niver axed -ye how ye came by this red coxcomb o' yourn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne glanced over Hiram's question as he put his foot in -the stirrup. He read the old fellow's meaning clear enough, -and it angered him that his love for Janet should be hinted at -under cover of this slow farming-talk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Soil's soil, Hiram," he said, "and I had as lief sow corn -on yond stone wall as look for any crop of kindliness from -that dried heart of thine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, he knows nowt about me an' Martha," chuckled -Hiram, as his Master rode down the highway. "My heart's -as soft as butter nowadays; but I wodn't let young Maister -guess it.—Martha, now. I believe i' going slow, an' that's -gospel, but I'm getting flaired she'll slip me. There's -shepherd Jose, th' owd fooil, dangling at her apron-strings, an' -I'd be main sorry to see a lass like Martha so senseless as to -wed him just for spite.—Well, Martha's noan a Ratcliffe, -thanks be, an' that's more nor th' Maister can say o' yond -leetsome wench fro' Wildwater. She'll bring him trouble yet, -as sure as I shall mow th' Low Meadow by and by."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-dog-dread"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE DOG-DREAD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A soft wind was fluttering from the edge of dark. The -moon lay like a silver sickle over Dead Lad's Rigg, watching -the fading banners of the sunset go down beneath the dark -red-purple of the heath. No bird piped, save the ever-moaning -curlew; the reeds whispered one to another, nodding their -sleepy heads together; the voice of waters distant and of -waters near at hand sobbed drearily. Over all was the masterful -silence of the sky, that dread and mighty stillness of the -star-spaces where the hill-gods stretched tired limbs and -slumbered. Full of infinite sweets was the breeze, and the scent -of heather mingled with the damp, heart-saddening odour of -marsh-weeds and of bog-mosses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man, prone in the heather with his eyes on the -dying sunset, felt every subtle influence of the hour. His life's -grand failure had been compassed, the first and last deep terror -had laid its grip on him; the wide moor, which had spoken -of freedom once, was narrowed now to a prison, whose walls -of sky were creeping close and closer in upon him. Man-like, -he clothed his own dead passions—his love of fight, his -pitiless lust for vengeance—with all the majesty of larger -nature; man-like, he thought the moor's face darkened for his -own tragedy, that even the curlews thrilled with something of -his own intimate and tearless sorrow. What was this ghoul -that had come, naught out of nothingness, and chilled the -life-blood in him? It was a phantom, yet a hard reality—a thing -of unclean vapours, yet stronger than if it had plied a giant's -sword with more than a giant's strength of arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Near must all men come, once in their lifetime, to that -deep horror of brain and heart when they stand, less and -greater than their manhood, at the gulf-edge which lies -between them and the space that fathered them. The Lean -Man was peering over the gulf to-night, and the soul of him -was naked to the moor-wind. No groan, no little muttered -protest escaped him; for throat and lips were powerless, and -the body that they served stood far off from Nicholas Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The night wears late, grandfather. Will you not come -home to Wildwater?" said a low voice at his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not hear till the words had been twice repeated; -then, starting as if a rude hand had wakened him from sleep, -he began to moisten dry lips with a tongue as dry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet, what brings thee here?" he said hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Care for you, sir. You have been out of health, and I -feared to leave you so late on the moor lest sickness——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed brokenly. "Sickness—ay. I have been—not -well. 'Twas rightly spoken, girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mood changed presently. The nearness of this girl, -who alone had touched his heart to deep and selfless love; the -drear sympathy of the gloaming heath; the swift and -over-powering need of fellowship; all made for the confession -which he had kept close locked these many days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit thee down beside me, Janet. Thou'lt take no hurt -from the warm night. There, lass. And let me put an arm -about thee—so. God's life, how real thou art, after the -boggart-company I've kept of late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her cheeks burned at thought of the poor requital she had -given his love; but she would not remember Wayne of -Marsh, and she waited, her grey eyes pitiful on his, until he -should find words to ease his trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll start far back, Janet," he said, slowly, "in the old -days before my father, or his father's father before him, had -seen the light. Ratcliffes were at feud then with Waynes, -and both were busy sowing the crop which generation after -generation was to reap. The tale is old to thee, but thou'lt -not grudge to hear it all again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not that tale to-night, grandfather—any tale save that," -pleaded the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nicholas did not hear her. "The tale," he went on, -"is of how one Anthony Ratcliffe, dwelling at Wildwater, -rode down to Marsh to slay Rupert Wayne. He found there -only Wayne's young wife, and asked where her goodman was. -She would not answer; so Anthony Ratcliffe bade his men -heat a sword-blade in the fire till it was white, and had the -lady of Marsh stripped mother-naked, and marked a broad red -scar all down her body between each question and each -refusal of an answer. But she would not tell where Wayne -had gone—not till she heard the steel hiss for the fifth time -on her tender flesh. And then she told that he was riding -home over Ludworth Slack; and they left her dying of her -wounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, grandfather! I cannot bear it. Hark to the -rushes yonder—and the curlews—they've heard your tale, -methinks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis grim, lass, but what I have to tell thee is grimmer -still, so bide in patience. They got to horse again, Anthony -Ratcliffe and his men, and they met Wayne of Marsh on the -road, riding home with his favourite hound for company. -They made at him, and the hound sprang straight and true at -Anthony's throat"—the Lean Man halted a moment and wiped -the sweat-drops from his forehead—"and nipped the life out -of him. One of his folk thrust a spear then through the dog's -heart, and the rest fell upon Wayne of Marsh and slew him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet thought of another Wayne of Marsh who had lately -been met in just such a fashion up by Dead Lad's Rigg. -"Go on, grandfather," she whispered, in an awe-stricken -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mark well the end of the old tale, girl. A company of -Wayne's kinsfolk, riding near to Ludworth Slack soon after -the Ratcliffes had set off again for home, heard a hound's -baying from across the moor; they followed and the baying went -on before them till they reached the spot where Wayne lay -dead—and beside him Anthony Ratcliffe, with teeth-marks -at his throat—and, a little way off, Wayne's hound, fast -stiffening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl had heard the tale not once nor twice before; but -it came with a new force to-night, for every mention of the -hound brought a spasm of mortal anguish to the Lean Man's -face, and in a flash she guessed his secret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The hound was dead, mark ye," went on Nicholas, as if -compelled to dwell on details that he loathed; "yet the -baying never ceased. No round and honest bay it was, but -ghostly, wild and long-drawn-out; and it would not let them -stay there, but took them on and on until they saw the -Ratcliffes far up ahead of them, climbing the hill toward -Wildwater. They galloped with a will then, and overtook them -at a score yards from the courtyard gate, and left but one -alive, who won into safety after desperate hazard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moon was silver-gold now and her rays fell coldly on -the Lean Man's head, on his twitching mouth and haunted -eyes. The curlews never rested from complaint, and the -note of many waters seemed, to the girl's strained fancy, the -voice of the hound who had bayed, long centuries ago, on -Ludworth Slack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The one left alive took on the Wildwater line," said -Nicholas, after a long pause; "but he had the Dog-dread till -he died, and his children had it after him, and his children's -children. For he, too, had heard the dead hound baying up -the moor, and its note was branded on his heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that is Barguest, grandfather," said Janet, creeping -closer to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That, lass, is Barguest. That is why the Marsh folk -take </span><em class="italics">Wayne and the Dog</em><span> for their cry. The hound that slew -old Anthony has dwelt with the Waynes ever since; no peril -comes nigh them, but he must warn them of it: and sometimes -he—" The Lean Man stopped, and put a hand to his -throat, and glanced at the fingers as if he looked for blood on -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gathered a little courage from his lack of it. "The -tale is old as yonder hills, and Barguest walks in legends only. -Is it not so?" she said, but with a tremour in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said as much, Janet, for nigh on three-score years. I -cast out the old dead fears, and laughed at the Waynes and -their guardian hound—and thou see'st to what I have come at -last. It began when I nailed the hand above the Marsh -doorway; when Nanny Witherlee—God curse her—told me I -had crossed Barguest on the threshold. Still I laughed, -though she has the second-sight, they say; but the fear even -then ran chill through me. Thou know'st the rest, girl—how -I have fought it, and cast it off, and been conquered in -the end. But none knows—not even thou, dear lass—what -sweat of terror has dripped from me by nights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have guessed," she answered softly, "and have grieved -for you more than ever I told you of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was quiet for a space; then rose and began to walk up -and down the heather; and after that he dropped sullenly -again to Janet's side. "Not long since I met Shameless -Wayne on Dead Lad's Rigg, and fought with him," he went -on. "I all but had him—my blade was lifted high to -strike—and then—out of the empty moor a great brown hound -leaped up at me. His jaws were running crimson froth, and -his teeth shone white as sun on snow, and he bayed—once—and -then he had me by the throat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, 'twas your fancy! I tell you, it was fancy," cried -Janet wildly. "Did Wayne see it, or Red Ratcliffe, or——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None saw it save I. Dost mind the tale of how my -father died, Janet? For dread of the Dog. 'Tis the eldest-born -that sees it always, and none beside.—Hark ye, he's baying -across the marshland yonder! Fly, girl—fly, I tell thee, -lest he set his seal on thee in passing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stifled her own dread and pleaded with him—quietly, -sanely, with the tender forcefulness that only her kind can -compass. He grew quieter by and by, and set himself with -something of his old force of will to tell the tale to its end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall never shake it off again, Janet," he said. "Each -day it has a new sort of dread in waiting for me. Sometimes -I am athirst and dare not drink—the sound of water is frenzy -to my wits——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have any of the Wildwater dogs turned on you of late?" -she asked, with a sudden glance at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, lass! There's no key to the trouble there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure, sir? You recall how one of the farm-dogs -ran mad a year ago, and a farm-hand, trying to kill him, was -bitten on the arm—and again on the hand as he tried to snatch -a hair as a cure against the mad-sickness? He, too feared -water——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, and died of a sickness of the body, plain to be felt -and known. But what of me, girl? 'Tis a mind-sickness, -this—a dumb, soft-stepping, noiseless thing that flees if one -stands up to it, only to come back, and snarl, and grin, the -moment the heart fails for weariness. Come, we'll get us -home, Janet. It has eased me a little to tell thee of it—haply -thou'lt help me make a last big fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God willing, sir," she murmured, as she turned to walk -beside him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once only he broke silence on the way to Wildwater. -Stopping, he bared his throat to the moonlight, and bade her -look well at it, and watched with anxious eyes as she obeyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Canst—canst see the teeth-marks there?" he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis smooth, sir, without a scratch on 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pass thy hand over—lightly. I can feel the deep wound -burn and sting—surely thy fingers can feel the pit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no wound, grandfather—no wound at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew his breath again, and laughed, and, "Tell me -again, dear lass," he said, "that it is fancy—naught but -fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is altogether fancy," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art tricking me?" he said with sudden suspicion. "Let -me see thy fingers, lass—the fingers that touched my throat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She held her hand out to him. "There's no stain on them, -sir. Have I not told you?" she cried, striving to keep the -terror from her voice as best she could.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, no," he whispered; "no stain at all. And yet——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And after that they spoke no word until Wildwater gates -showed dark in front of them.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-feud-wind-freshens"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was high summer now on Marshcotes Moor. Everywhere -the farm-folk were full of the busy idleness which -comes when ploughing and sowing are over and the crops are -not yet ready for the scythe or sickle. The lads found time -to go a-courting in shaded lanes or up by the grey old -kirk-stone; their elders did much leaning over three-barred gates, -with snuff between a thumb and forefinger, while they talked -of hay-harvest, of the swelling of corn-husks in the ear, of -the feud which had been so hot in the spring and which now -seemed like to die for want of fuel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a strange thing had chanced at Wildwater. The Lean -Man, once dauntless, had grown full of some unnamed terror; -and, though his arm seemed strong as ever and his body full -of vigour, his brain was sapless and inert. His folk came to -him with fresh plans for slaying Wayne of Marsh; and he -turned a haunted eye on them, and said that naught could kill -the lad. The cloud which had hung over Marsh House had -settled now on Wildwater, and even the hot youngsters were -chilled by a sense of doom. If the Lean Man had given up -hope, they said, what chance had they of snaring Shameless -Wayne?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so the days went on, and the feud slumbered, and Janet -was torn between sorrow for her grandfather and gladness that -his malady left Wayne free from ambush or attack. Each -day, indeed, seemed to bring fresh trouble in its train; for Red -Ratcliffe, dumbfounded as he had been when their errand to -Bents Farm had proved no wild-goose chase, was yet distrustful -of his cousin. She had spoken a true word that day, and -they had met Wayne; but there was some devilry hid under -it, and haply she knew enough of the Black Art which had -saved her lover to be sure no harm could come to him. Laugh -at superstition as he might, Red Ratcliffe had not been cradled -in the winds and reared among the grim wastes of heath for -naught; he and his fellows were slow to acknowledge witchcraft -and the boggarts that stepped in moorside tales, but the -seed, once planted, found a rich soil and a deep in which to -come to leaf. Little by little he was growing to believe that -Janet was the cause of each discomfiture at Wayne's hands; -and, while he let no chance pass of railing on her for a witch, -he uttered many a scarce-veiled threat that soon he would -throw all to the winds and hold her without leave of the Lean -Man or the Parson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for Shameless Wayne, he had ceased to wonder that no -fresh attack was made on him. He would die when Fate -ordained, and nothing could alter that; but the farm-work, -meanwhile, at which he laboured as distastefully and keenly as -of old, was going grandly forward, and not sour Hiram Hey -himself could say that the land had gone backward since he -took the charge of it. Janet had been right when she named -pride his strongest passion; and even his love for her, -self-thwarted, could not rob him of a certain sober joy in raising -crops in face of Ratcliffe sword-points and the keen-toothed -winds. It was all uphill nowadays for Wayne of Marsh; and -each new difficulty overcome gave him hard and sure content -such as no wild frolic of his earlier days had brought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet the summer bore hardly on him when he thought of -Janet. No farm-hind but was free to couple with his mate; -only the Master, it seemed, was doomed to go lonely through -these spendthrift days of sun and warm south winds and -ripening meadow-grass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art gloomy, Ned, of late. Is it because the Ratcliffes -scruple to come down and fight with thee?" said his sister, as -they sat in hall one evening and watched the stir of bees -among the roses that clambered up the window-panes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for I am always fighting one of them—and never -more than after a week's idleness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice grew cold. "'Tis time thou didst turn from -that—and time Marsh had a mistress. Are there no maids, -save one, about the moorside?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None for me, nor ever will be. Besides, Marsh has its -mistress; thou'rt not going to leave us, Nell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By and by I must. Rolf is getting out of hand, and -will take the old excuse no longer. Faith, I begin to think -he loves me very dearly, for every day he thwarts me more and -more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy place is with him, after all, and I'm a fool to think -to keep thee here forever.—Where are the lads, Nell? -Hunting still, I'll warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay. They are restless since they fought the Lean Man; -each morning they seem to start earlier for the chase, and -sundown rarely sees them home again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it is making men of them. They are learning a -shrewd turn of fence, too, and when their time comes they -will know how to parry Ratcliffe cuts.—We wash the sheep -to-morrow, Nell; wilt ride with me and watch the scene? If -a red sunset be aught to go by, we shall have a cloudless day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow I cannot. 'Tis churning-day, Ned, and the -butter is always streaked when I leave those want-wit maids -alone with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is better that thou should'st not go," said Wayne, after -a pause. "I was a fool to speak of it, Nell, for the washing-pools -lie over close to Wildwater, and 'twould be unsafe for -women-folk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unsafe?" she echoed, with a quick glance at him. -"Then 'tis unsafe for thee, Ned, and I'll not have thee go to -the washing at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is folly, lass. I have a sword, and I carry less -risks than a maid would.—A rare holiday the men would -have, my faith, if I left them to wash the sheep at their own -good pleasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take the lads with thee, then, if thou must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promised them they should go hawking until dinner-time, -and after that they must come up; but why spoil a -morning's pastime for them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The old tales fret at times," she answered gravely, "and -to-night I'm sad a little, Ned, like thee. The washing-pools -lie near to Wildwater, as thou say'st, and thou know'st how -Waynes and Ratcliffes first fell out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut! If I give heed to women's fancies, when shall I -find an hour to move abroad in? The Ratcliffes have got -their fill for a good while to come, and they'll keep well on -the far side of the pools, I warrant. What, Mistress? Thy -wanderings have brought thee supperless indoors," he broke -off, as his step-mother opened the door softly and set down a -basket of marsh-marigolds among the dishes and platters that -cumbered the great dining-table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell rose with no word of greeting and left them; and Mistress -Wayne, glancing in troubled fashion after her, crossed to -the window and leaned against it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had better have stayed as I was, Ned," she said, smiling -gravely. "Nell was growing kind—but that has passed now -I have found my wits again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He winced; for he knew that he, too, had felt less kindliness -toward her since her helplessness had gone. Looking at -her now, frail against the mullioned casement, he could not -but remember that it was she, in her right mind as she was -now, who had fouled the good fame of his house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, and </span><em class="italics">thou</em><span> hast a touch of her aloofness, too," she went -on. "I can read it in thy face, Ned.—Listen. I've had in -mind to tell thee something these days past, but have never -found the words for it. I wronged thy father—but not as -deeply as thou think'st. Ned! Canst not think what it meant -to me—the dreariness, the cold, the hardness of this moorland -life? And when Dick Ratcliffe came, and promised to take -me out of it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See, Mistress, there's naught to be gained by going over -the old ground," he interrupted harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Ned, there is much to be gained. Am I so rich in -friends that I can let one as staunch as thou go lightly? -Thou'rt midway between hate and love of me, I know, and -if—Ned, if I were to tell thee I was less to blame—" She -stopped and eyed him wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not in Shameless Wayne to resist this sort of -pleading from one who had shared with him the bitter months of -disfavour and remorse. They had been comrades in adversity, -he and she; and was he to turn on her now because she could -no longer claim pity for her witlessness?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou need'st tell me naught, little bairn," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but I need! I was dying, Ned—dying for lack of -warmth. And Dick Ratcliffe promised to take me into -shelter; and I clutched at the chance greedily, as a prisoner -would if one came and offered him liberty. But the wrong -that Wayne fancied of me, when he found us in the orchard, -I had never thought to do—never, dear. I was a child, and -loved Ratcliffe because he showed me a way out of trouble; -and I meant to go away with him because—how shall I tell -thee, so as to make thee credit it? I had not a thought of—Ned, -I was not wicked, only tired—tired, till I had no eyes to -see the straight road, nor heart to follow it. I was hungering -for warmth; the ghosts were so busy all about Marsh House, -and I wanted the happy valleys, out of reach of the -curlew-cries and the shuddering midnight winds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne put an arm about her. "It was worth telling, -bairn," he said quietly, "and father would lie quieter if he -knew that his honour had not gone so far astray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt still keep a friend to me?" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gloom settled more heavily upon his face. "Thou -talk'st as if I were thy judge," he said. "'Twas only in -seeming thou didst the worst wrong to father—but what of -me? Did I look so carefully to his honour? Or was it his -own eldest-born who darkened his last days, who made his -name a by-word up and down the country-side, who drank -while a kinsman fought the vengeance-fight for him? Not -if I work to my life's end to wipe off the stain, will it come -clean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis cleansed already, Ned, twice over cleansed—and -there's one waiting who will give thee thanks for it. I met her -not long since in the kirkyard, and I never saw love so plain -on a maid's face." Her voice was eager, and the words came -fast, as if she had given long thought to the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Ratcliffe, thou mean'st?" said Wayne, after a -silence. "What ails thee, bairn, to be so hot for this unlikely -wedding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because she is straight and strong, and full of care for -thee; because, when an ill chance led me once to Wildwater, -it was she who took pity on me and showed me a safe road to -Marsh. Ned, she is the one wife in the world for thee; why -wilt thou cling to the old troubles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head. "The troubles are new that stand -'twixt Janet and myself—and any day may bring forth more -of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy folk will be her folk, if thou'lt take her," she broke -in eagerly. "She lives among rough men—there's danger -every hour for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne had struck the right note at last. Half -willing as he was to be convinced, and imbued with the sense -that the fairy-kist could give no wrong advice, he would yet -have held obstinately to his old path. But he took fire at the -suggestion that there was danger to the girl at Wildwater. -Now and then a passing fear of it had crossed his own self-poised -outlook on the situation; but a hint of it from another -roused all his smouldering jealousy and passion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Danger? Of what?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mistress Wayne had no time to answer; for the door -opened on the sudden and the four lads came tumbling into -hall, piling the fruits of their long day's sport in a heap against -the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A rare day we've had, Ned!" cried Griff. "Ay, we're -late for supper, but thou'lt not grudge it when thou see'st how -many other suppers we've brought home to larder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne looked at the heap of grouse and snipe, conies and -hares and moor-cock. "Well, fall to, lads," he laughed, -"and I'll save my scolding till ye're primed against it.—Are -ye still bent on hawking to-morrow, after this full day's sport?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, are we!" cried Griff. "We're but the keener set to -have another day of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then go; but mind ye come straight up to the washing-pool -after dinner. 'Tis time ye learned the ways of farming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The youngsters made wry faces at this as they settled -themselves to the mutton-pasty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We met the Lean Man again to-day," said one presently, -in between two goodly mouthfuls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what said he to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught. He wore as broken a look as ever I saw, and -when we rode at him with a shout——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lads, lads, fight men less skilled at sword-play than the -Lean Man," put in Shameless Wayne, smiling the while at -their spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he fled from us, Ned—minding the night, I warrant, -when we took him in the back with yond stone ball. Yet -they say he's always like that now; Nanny Witherlee tells -me he sees the Dog at the side of every Wayne among us, and -flees from that, not from us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nanny is a fond old wife, with more tales on her tongue-tip -than hairs on her thinning thatch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet—dost mind what I saw, too, that night in the -garden?" said Mistress Wayne. "Brown, blunt-headed—I -can see him yet, Ned, as he fawned against thy side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne did not answer, though he paled a little, and soon -he made excuse to leave them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where art going, Ned? We've fifty tales to tell thee of -the day's sport," cried Griff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But have I idleness enough to listen, ye careless rascals?" -laughed Wayne from the door. "I must see Hiram Hey -and make all ready against to-morrow's work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt not find him, for he was going into the Friendly -Inn with shepherd Jose as we passed through Ling Crag."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was he?" growled the other. "Hiram is a poor -drinker by his own showing, and a man with no spare time on -his hands—but he has worn many a tavern threshold bare, I'll -warrant, since he first learned to set lips to pewter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, indeed, Hiram wore a leisurely air enough at the -moment. Stretched at his ease on the wide lang-settle of the -Friendly Inn, he was handling a mug of home-brewed and -watching the crumbling faces in the peat-fire, while shepherd -Jose talked idly to him from the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's somebody got four gooid legs under him," said -Jose, as the racket of horse-hoofs came up the road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, by th' sound. Who is't, Jose?" answered Hiram lazily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Mistress Janet fro' Wildwater. She's a tidy seat -i' th' saddle, hes th' lass," said the shepherd, pressing his face -closer to the glass to see the last of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A wench can hev a tidy seat i' th' saddle, an' yet be leet -as thistle-down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but she hes a snod way wi' her, an' all. I've thowt, -whiles, she hed more o' th' free, stand-up look o' th' Waynes -about her nor her breed warrants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's some say that, if wishes war doings, she'd -hev a Wayne name to her back," said Hiram, shifting to an -easier posture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nowt o' th' sort!" put in the shepherd warmly. "Th' -young Maister may hev been a wild-rake, an' he may be wilful -i' farming-matters an' sich—but he'd niver foul th' owd -name by gi'eing it to a Ratcliffe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's as may be. But young blood's young blood, an' -she's winsome to look at, as nawther thee nor me can deny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There war summat betwixt 'em, now I call to mind, afore -this last brew o' trouble war malted. I've heard tell o' their -meeting i' th' owd days up by th' kirk-stone when they thowt -nobody war looking. But that's owered wi'. Tha doesn't -fancy there could be owt o' th' sort now, Hiram?—Theer, -get thy mug filled up, lad, for tha needs a sup o' strong drink -to brace thee for th' long day's sheep-weshing to-morn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll hev my mug filled, Jose, lad—though I'm no drinker—an' -I'll keep my thowts about th' Maister an' th' Wildwater -lass to myseln. But I've seen what I've seen—ay, not -a three week sin'—an' if iver tha hears 'at two folk are courting -on th' sly, doan't thee say I didn't tell thee on 't, that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What didst see, like, a three week sin'?" asked Jose the -shepherd, his head tilted gossip-wise to one side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I war niver one to spread tales abroad, not I. But -it warn't a mile fro' where I'm sitting now, on th' varry road -'at runs past th' tavern here, that I happened on two folk -standing fair i' th' middle o' th' highway. An' one war -fearful like the Maister, an' t' other warn't so different fro' -Mistress Ratcliffe; an' they war hugging one another summat -fearful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, come, Hiram! Gossip's gossip, but I'll noan believe -that sort o' talk about th' Maister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's as it pleases thee, lad. I nobbut said 'at th' couple -I saw war like as two peas to him an' Mistress Janet. Ay, -an' they'd getten dahn fro' their hosses, an' she war crying -like a gooid un i' his arms. Well, 'tis as Nanny Witherlee is -allus saying, I fear me—if a blackberry's nobbut out o' reach, -ye'll find all th' lads i' th' parish itching for 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I mun tak thy word for owt to do wi' courting," -said the shepherd drily. "Tha'rt framing to learn nowadays -thyseln, so they tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' what about thee?" cried Hiram, roused from the tranquil -gaiety which his bit of gossip afforded him. "I'd think -shame, if my hair war as white as thine, Jose, to turn sheep's -eyes on a young wench like Martha."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jose chuckled, as if he could tell much but would not, and -Hiram Hey grew more and more disquieted as he wondered if, -after all, he had gone too slow with the first and last great -courtship of his life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While Hiram sat nursing his mug, and while the shepherd -kept a quizzing eye upon his moodiness, the inn door was -thrown open and three rough-headed fellows stamped noisily -into the bar. "It smells foul," said one, stopping at sight of -Hiram and the shepherd, and holding his nostrils between a -dirt-stained thumb and forefinger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," said another, "it's th' Wayne smell—ye can wind -'em like foxes wheriver ye leet on their trail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yond's Wildwater talk," said Hiram to the shepherd, not -shifting his position on the settle. "They're reared on wind -up yonder, an' it gets into their tongues, like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thee shut thy mouth, Hiram Hey; tha'rt ower owd to -gi'e lip-sauce to lusty folk," said the foremost of the Wildwater -trio, coming to the back of the settle and leaning threateningly -over the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram lifted himself slowly into a sitting-posture. "There's -</span><em class="italics">breed</em><span> i' us owd uns," he said; "th' race weakened by th' -time it got to sich as thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll see about that," said his assailant, and stooped -quickly, his hands toward Hiram's throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Hiram shot out his arms with unlooked-for vigour, and -gripped his man under the arm-pits, and pulled him like a -kitten over the high back of the lang-settle. Then he got to -his feet, still hugging the other close, and gave a steady swing, -and landed him clean over his left shoulder on to the sanded -floor-stones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If awther o' ye others hes owt to say, I'm noan stalled -yet," said Hiram, dropping to his seat again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fallen man did not move for a space; and then he -clapped a hand to one knee with an oath. "There's summat -broken," he groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Likely," put in Hiram Hey. "I've hed chaps mell on -me afore, an' it mostly ends th' same way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two who were still unhurt helped their comrade to the -door, and turned for a sour look at Hiram. "Turn an' turn -about," said one; "there's summat i' bottle for all ye Wayne -chaps, an' I'll look to thee myseln, Hiram Hey, when th' -chance comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Summat i' bottle, is there?" said the shepherd, after they -had gone. "Th' Lean Man hes been fearful quiet lately; I -feared he war hatching weasel-eggs. Ay, an' his men hev -been quiet, an' all; 'tis mony a week sin' we hed ony sort o' -moil wi' 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm stalled o' wondering what's to happen next," -said Hiram, yawning with great content. "I war all a-shiver -when th' feud first broke out, an' ivery day I looked to be -shotten at th' least, if not sliced up wi' a sword at after. But -th' days jog on somehow, an' there's nowt mich comes to -cross th' farm-wark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yond war a shrewd lift o' thine, Hiram," said the shepherd -presently, seating himself at the other side of the hearth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I learned to lift, lad, when I war a young un; an' ye -doan't loss that sort o' trick so easy. 'Tis weel enough for -these lads to be all for fighting wi' their fists—but let me get -to grips wi' a man when he means mischief, say I, an' he'll -noan do me mich harm.—Now, Jose, art bahn to get another -mug-full? I'm fain o' laziness to-neet, an' I could weel sup -another quart, though I'm nowt mich at drinking myseln."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, meanwhile, had ridden straight home to Wildwater -after passing the window of the Friendly Inn, and had -encountered Red Ratcliffe as she led her horse round to stable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost ride from Marsh?" he sneered, blocking the stable-door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From seeing a better man than thou? Nay. I have no -dealings with Wayne of Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt have no chance of such dealings by and by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" Lifting her brows a little, but disdaining to -ask his leave to pass the door. "Indeed, Ratcliffe the Red? -I thought—it might have been but fancy—that somehow thou -didst shirk talk with Wayne of Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lean Man does—but there's younger blood than his -to carry on the feud. We're sick of waiting for the call that -never comes, and soon we mean to show Nicholas that what -he has not wit to compass, we can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So eager to clinch the bargain?" she mocked. "Should -I make thee a good wife, think'st thou?—There, take him to -stall thyself," she added, putting the bridle into his hand. "I -</span><em class="italics">know</em><span> thou canst stable a horse, if thou hast scant knowledge -of how to woo a maid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a knowledge I may gather by and by—and thou shall -teach me," he answered, meeting her eye with more than his -accustomed boldness.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-wayne-kept-the-pinfold"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The marshland beyond Robin Hood's Well was noisy this -morning with the shouts of men, the sharp, impatient bark of -dogs, the shrill bleating of sheep. A warm, lush-hearted day -of June it was, with a yellow sun rising clear of the flaked -strips of cloud that hung about the middle blue of heaven, and -a low wind shaking the budding heather-tips and wrinkling the -surface of standing pools; just such a day as fitted a -sheep-washing, for wind and sun together would be quick to dry the -fleeces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The washing-pools stood a few yards away from the stream -that ran through Goblin Ghyll, and were no more than -deepish holes dug out of the peat, bottomed and walled with -sandstone blocks and rendered water-tight in a measure by lumps -of marl worked in between the fissures of the stones. A -narrow channel, fitted with a sluice-gate at the upper end, -connected the streamway with the pools. On the right hand of -each pool was a walled enclosure, into which the flocks were -driven from the moor; on the left, a similar pinfold received -the sheep as they were washed, and kept them penned there -until each batch was ready to be driven off by its own shepherd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Altogether, what with vigour of the sun-rays, and leisurely -haste of loose-limbed shepherd folk, and brisk to-and-froing of -excited dogs, the scene was a stirring one, contrasting strangely -with the eerie hush which was wont to hang over this land of -marsh and peat. Hiram Hey was there, his old heart warmed -by the abuse, commands and ridicule which he dispensed with -a free tongue to all comers. Jose the shepherd was there, -with a kindly eye and a word in season for each particular -member of his flock. There were other shepherds, too, from -outlying portions of the Wayne lands, and thick-thewed -farm-lads, and youngsters no more than elbow-high who, under -pretence of helping to collect the flocks from off the moor, tried -sorely the tempers of the blunt-headed, sagacious sheep-dogs, -whose manoeuvres were thrice out of four times defeated by -the interference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Hiram, hast getten owt to say agen th' weather?" -said Jose, splashing into the pool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram grasped the first of the ewes securely by its fleece, -and half pushed, half pulled it to the brink. "Owt to say -agen th' weather? I should think I hev!" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thowt as mich, lad. Trust thee to hev thy grumbles, -choose what," panted the other, as he took the sheep bodily -into his arms and plunged it under water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis varry weel for ye poor herding folk to thank th' Lord -for all this power of sun. But us as hes likelier wark—tilling, -tha knaws, an' sich like—it fair breaks a body's heart, that -it does. There's yond Low Meadow war bahn to yield th' -bonniest crop o' hay iver tha set een on, if we'd nobbut hed a -sup o' rain; an' now 'tis brown as a penny-piece—ay, fair -dried i' th' sap, it is. But ye poor, shammocky sheep-drivers -think there's nowt save ewes an' tups i' th' world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor, are we, say'st 'a?" snapped the shepherd who was -working alongside Jose in the pool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, poor as rattens," answered Hiram. "I allus did say -a sheep war th' gaumless-est thing 'at iver went on four legs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's folk more gaumless goes on two," put in Jose; -"an' tha's getten a lob-sided view o' sheep, Hiram Hey; tha's -all for beasts, an' hosses, an' pigs, an' tha willun't see 'at sheep -are that full o' sense——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shepherd got no further with his speech; for the ewe -which was being pushed toward the brink took a wild leap on -the sudden, and landed fair into his arms before he had got his -feet well planted on the bottom; and sheep and man went -under the grey greasiness that covered the surface of the pool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, they're sensible chaps, is sheep," said Hiram drily, -while he watched the shepherd rub the water out of eyes and -hair. "A beast now—nay, I'm thinking a calf wod hev hed -more wit nor that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, an' wodn't tha knock dahn ony chap that framed to -souse thee?" retorted Jose, undaunted still. "'Tis nobbut -one more proof o' their sperrit.—Theer, lass, theer! Jose -noan wants to wrangle wi' thee—theer, my bonnie—" His -voice dropped into inarticulate murmurs as he took a fresh hold -of the sheep and fell to rubbing her wool with a long arm and -a knotty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will th' young Maister be coming up, think ye?" asked -a farm-hand by and by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will that, if I knaw him," said Hiram grimly. "He -telled me last forenooin he war coming to see 'at ye all kept to -it.—Now, lads, will ye frame, or mun I come an' skift ye wi' -my foot? I niver see'd sich a shammocky, loose-set lot o' -folk i' all my days. Tom o' Thorntop, get them ewes penned, -dost hear? Seems tha'd like to keep me ut laking all th' day -while tha maks shift to stir thyseln."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The work went steadily forward, and soon the pinfolds on -the far side of each of the two pools were all but full of ewes, -shivering in their snowy fleeces. Neither did jest and banter -flag, nor the gruff oaths of the shepherds as they gathered -their flocks together under Hiram's wide-reaching eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We mun hev a bit o' dinner i' a while," said Jose at last; -"I'm as dry as a peck o' hay-seeds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll warrant," growled Hiram, and for sheer contrariness -went off to see that a new flock was penned ready for the -washing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a glance at the sun as he turned, and another -across the sweep of peatland. "Begow, but it's bahn to be a -warm un, is th' day, afore we've done wi' it," he muttered. -"Th' heat-waves fair dance again ower Wildwater way. An' -yond grass i' th' Low Meadow 'ull be drying as if ye'd clapped -it i' an oven.—What, there's more coming to wesh sheep, is -there? They'll hev to bide, I'm thinking, for a tidy while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's agate ower yonder, Hiram?" called one of the -shepherds. "Tha's getten thy een on summat, by th' look -on ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a big lot o' sheep coming, though they're ower far -off for me to tell who belongs 'em," said Hiram, shading his -eyes with both hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two or three left work and crowded about him. The flock -came nearer, followed by a press of men on foot and men on -horseback.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By th' Heart!" cried one. "They're Wildwater sheep, -yond; I can see th' red owning-mark on their backs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay. Lonks they are, if my een's gooid for owt," said Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No man looked at his neighbour, and none spoke of those -who rode behind the sheep, though the red-headed horsemen, -sword on thigh, were twice as plain to be seen as the breed of -sheep they brought to washing. Silently Hiram and his fellows -returned to work; silently the Ratcliffes rode forward to -the pinfold walls, while their farm-folk followed with the sheep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe peered over the wall-top of the nearer pin-fold, -and affected vast surprise at sight of the busy stir within. -"What is this, lads?" he cried, turning to his kinsfolk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould seem there's more than one has marked how fair -a washing day it is," answered another, showing a like -surprise. "They're not content with one pool, either, but must -use them both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whose sheep should they be, think ye? They're sadly -lean, once they are rubbed free of dirt," went on Red -Ratcliffe, who seemed to be the leader of the band.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, if there's aught poor in breed, father it on a Wayne," -said the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe fixed his eyes on Hiram Hey, who was watching -the pool with that daft air of simplicity which was his -staunchest weapon in times of peril.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We want to wash our sheep," said Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram lifted his head. "Oh, ay? Well, we shall noan -keep ye long—say till six o' th' afternooin," he answered, and -resumed his contemplation of the pool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Six of the afternoon? 'Tis easy to be seen, sirrah, that -thou hast a taste for jesting," said Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've scant time for jests, Maister, an' I'm telling ye -plain truth. Ay, we'll be done by six o' th' clock, for -sure—or mebbe a two-three minutes afore, if these feckless -shepherds 'ull bestir theirselns. Jose, what dost tha think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think?" echoed Jose, rubbing hard and fast at the fleece -of an old bell-wether. "Well, mebbe we shall win through -by half-after five—but there's niver no telling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe curbed his temper; for he had known many -moor folk in his time, and this trick of "shamming gaumless" -was no new one to him. He changed his key accordingly, -seeing that his own rough banter would stand no chance -against Hiram's subtler wit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clear the pens of yond murrain-rotted ewes; we've some -whole-bodied sheep to wash," he said peremptorily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clear th' pens?" said Hiram, scratching his head. "Well, -we're framing to clear 'em, fast as iver we can. An' as for -th' ewes—there's been no murrain among Wayne sheep these -five year past."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cease fooling, thou lousy dotard! Dost think we've come -all the way from Wildwater only to go back again because we -find a handful of yokels, belonging to God-know-whom, -fouling the water of the pond?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Honest muck fouls no pools, an' I thowt onybody wod hev -knawn we belonged to Wayne o' Marsh. Ay, for ye allowed -as mich a while back—seeing, I warrant, what well-set-up -chaps we war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, that's th' first we've heard on 't fro' owd Hiram," -muttered Jose the shepherd, chuckling soberly as he dipped -another ewe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," went on Hiram placidly, "there's none denies 'at -th' Wayne farm-folk can best ony others i' th' moorside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha lees, Hiram Hey! Man for man, ye're childer to us -as warks at Wildwater," cried one of the Ratcliffe yokels, -gathering courage from the armed force about him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Settle that quarrel as best pleases you," cried Red Ratcliffe -sharply; "meanwhile 'tis work, not talk, and if yonder -pool is not cleared by the time I've counted ten—well, there'll -be more than sheep dipped in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram looked at him with a puzzled air. "Theer!" he -said. "Th' gentry mun allus hev their little jests, an' I'll -laugh wi' th' best, Maister Ratcliffe, when I find myseln a -thowt less thrang. But orders is orders, th' world ower, an' -when young Maister says 'at a thing's getten to be done, it's -getten to be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is your Master?" snapped the other. "'Tis a poor -farmer lies abed while his hinds play."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram's glance was a quick one this time, quenched under -his rough grey eyebrows as soon as given. "So ye thowt he'd -be here this morn?" he said. "Nay, he's noan a lie-abed, -isn't th' Maister, but he's getten summat else to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he? And what might that be?" said Red Ratcliffe softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I tell him?" muttered Hiram, half audibly. Then, -after a pause of seeming doubt, "He's cutting grass i' th' Low -Meadow," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cutting grass at this time of year?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, for sure. Wildwater land ligs cold, an' ye're late wi' -crops up yonder; but th' grass lower dahn is running so to -seed that it war no use letting it bide a day longer. It 'ull be -poor hay as 'tis, an' all along o' this unchristian weather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So he'll not come to the sheep-washing?" broke in Red -Ratcliffe, with a glance at his fellows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've telled ye so," said Hiram, "an' telling ye twice -willun't better a straight tale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm thinking Hiram hes a soft spot i' his heart for young -Maister; I've niver knawn him tell so thick a lee afore," -muttered shepherd Jose, as he went forward with his work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe, looking down the streamway and wondering -whether it were worth while to insist on his claim to the pool, -laughed suddenly and jerked his bridle-hand in the direction -of a horseman who had turned the bend of the track below -and jumped the stream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shameless Wayne will come to the washing after all," he -said, and waited, stiff and quiet in the saddle, till Wayne of -Marsh should cross the half-mile that intervened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I war mista'en, seemingly. Th' Maister mun hev crossed -straight fro' th' grass-cutting," said Hiram, putting a bold face -on it to hide a sinking heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man turned his back on the Ratcliffes, and his face -to the upcoming horseman, whose head was thrust low upon -his shoulders as if some gloomy trend of thought were dulling -him to all sights and sounds of this fair June day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I framed weel, an' I could do no more," he said to -himself; "but sakes, why couldn't he hev bided a while longer? -Th' Ratcliffes 'ud hev been off to th' Low Meadow i' a -twinkling, if I knaw owt.—What's to be done, like? He's a wick -un to fight, is th' Maister, but there's seven o' these clever -Dicks fro' Wildwater, an' that's longish odds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram stood for awhile, puzzled and ill-at-ease, watching -his master draw slowly nearer to the pools; and then his face -brightened on the sudden as he shuffled across to where two -shepherd lads were talking affrightedly together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Set your dogs on a two-three sheep, an' drive 'em downhill, -an' reckon to follow 'em," he whispered. "Then ye'll -meet Maister—an' a word i' his lug may save him fro' a deal. -An' waste no time, for there's none to be lessen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lads, catching the spirit of it, had already got their -dogs to work when Red Ratcliffe's voice brought them to a -sudden halt; for Ratcliffe, mistrusting fellows of Hiram's -kidney, had marked his whispering and guessed its purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back, ye farm louts!" he cried, and turned to Hiram -with a sneer. "Art fullish of wit, thou think'st? Dost mind -how once before we matched wits, thou and I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mind," said Hiram. "'Twas when I told ye where -th' Marsh peats war stored—but ye didn't burn mich wi' 'em, -Maister, if I call to mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe laughed at the retort; for his eyes were on -the horseman down below, and his mood was almost playful -now that his prey seemed like to come so tame to hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm flaired for th' Maister this time, that I am," muttered -Hiram, as he, too, glanced down the slope; "but being flaired -niver saved onybody fro' a bull's horns, as th' saying is, so I -mun just bide still an' keep my een oppen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Ratcliffes passed a smile and a jest one to the other as -they saw Shameless Wayne draw near and marked the heavy -gloom that rested on him; for it pleased them that the man -they loathed should have bitterness for his portion during the -few moments he had yet to live.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne did not glance up the moor until he had ridden -within ten-score yards of them. He half drew rein on -seeing the seven red-headed horsemen waiting for him on the -hill-crest; and Red Ratcliffe, thinking he meant to turn about, -was just calling his kinsmen to pursue when he saw Wayne -drive home his spurs and ride straight up to meet them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bide where ye are," said Red Ratcliffe then. "He's -courteous as ever, this fool of Marsh, and would not trouble -us to gallop after him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis like him; he war allus obstinate as death, an' wod -be if th' Lord o' Hell stood up agen him," groaned Jose the -shepherd, as he left the water and joined the knot of -farm-folk who stood aloof, expectant, and doubtful for their own -safety and the Master's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I give you good-day, Wayne of Marsh," called Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall fare neither better nor worse for the same. What -would you?" answered Wayne, halting at thrice a sword's-length -from the group.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, we would wash our sheep, and yonder rough-tongued -hind of thine refused us. So, said I, as I saw you -riding up the slope, 'We'll ask the Master's leave, and of his -courtesy he'll grant it.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne would never stoop to the Ratcliffe frippery -of speech. "My courtesy takes no account of such as -ye," he answered bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think awhile!" went on the other gently. "These -pools were made for Waynes and Ratcliffes both in the days -before there was bad blood between us. 'Tis our right as -well as yours to use it when we will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when we will. First come, first served.—Come, -lads, ye're loitering, and half the sheep are yet unwashed," he -broke off, turning to the farm-men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe's face darkened. "The old wives say, Wayne -of Marsh, that the first feud sprang up at this very spot, -because it chanced that the Marsh and the Wildwater ewes came -on the same day to the washing. I would have no lad's blood -on my hands, for my part, so bear the old tale in mind, and give -us room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne had his sword loose all this time, and his eyes, even -when they seemed to rove, were never far from Red Ratcliffe's -movements. "Your talk, sir, wearies me," he said. "Ye -mean to strike, seven against one.—Well, strike! I'm -waiting for you, with a thought of what chanced once in -Marshcotes kirkyard to keep my blood warm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Ratcliffes were daunted a little by the downright, -sturdy fashion of the man; and for a moment they hung -back, remembering how Wayne of Marsh had met them -time and again with witchcraft and with resistless swordplay. -One looked at another, seeking denial of the folly -which could credit Wayne with power to match the seven of -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is the Lean Man to-day? 'Tis strange he comes -not to the sheep-washing," said Wayne of Marsh, as still they -halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He would not trouble," snarled Red Ratcliffe. "'Twas -butchery, he said, for a man of his years to fight with such a -callow strippling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne smiled with maddening coolness. "That is a lie, -Ratcliffe the Red. He dared not come. The last I saw of -him, he was riding hard—with my sword-point all but in his -back. Well? Am I to wait till nightfall for you, or are ye, -too, minded to turn tail?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stung by the taunt, Red Ratcliffe spurred forward on the -sudden, and his comrades followed with a yell; and even sour -Hiram Hey sent up a half-shamed prayer that the Master might -come through this desperate pass with safety. Hiram, as a -practical man and one who dealt chiefly with what he could -see and handle, was wont to use prayer as the last resource of -all; and his furtive appeal was witness that he saw no hope -of rescue—no hope of respite, even—for his Master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Jose the shepherd had not been idle during that brief -pause between Wayne's challenge and the onset of the -Ratcliffes. He had watched Hiram's attempt to send a warning -down the slope; and while the storm grew ripe for breaking, -he bethought him that there were those about Wayne of -Marsh who might yet serve him at a pinch. To one hand of -the Ratcliffes were the ewes, ten-score or so, which they had -brought to give colour to their quarrel; about the shepherd's -knees were his two dogs, the canniest brutes in the moorside. -A few calls from Jose, in a tongue that they had learned in -puppyhood, a sly pointing of his finger at the Ratcliffe sheep, -and the dogs rushed in among the huddled, bleating mass. -The sheep were for making off across the moor, but Jose the -shepherd shouted clear above the feud-cries of the Ratcliffes, -and worked his dogs as surely as if this were no more than the -usual business of the day; in a moment the flock was headed, -turned, driven straight across the strip of moor that lay -between Wayne and his adversaries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quickly done it was, and featly; and just as the Ratcliffes -swept on to the attack, the ewes ran pell-mell in between their -horses' feet. The dogs, wild with their sport, followed after -and snapped, now at the sheep, now at the legs of the -bewildered horses. Two of the Wildwater folk were unhorsed -forthwith; three others were all but out of saddle, and needed -all their wits to keep their beasts in hand; and Shameless -Wayne, watching the turmoil from the hillock where he stood -firm to meet the onset, laughed grimly as he jerked the curb -hard down upon his own beast's jaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thowt 'twould unsettle 'em a bittock," murmured Jose -the shepherd, stroking his chin contentedly while he watched -the ewes driven further down the hill, leaving clear room -between his Master and the rearing horses of the Ratcliffes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dang me, why didn't I think on 't myseln!" cried Hiram -Hey. "It war plain as dayleet, an' yond owd fooil Jose 'ull -mak a lot of his cleverness when next he goes speering after -Martha. Ay, I know him!—That's th' style, Maister!" he -broke off, with a sudden, rousing shout. "In at 'em, an' -skift 'em afore they've fund their seats again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne had seen his chance, and taken it; and now he was -riding full tilt at the enemy, over the pair of fallen horsemen. -Red Ratcliffe cut at him in passing, and missed; the rest were -overbusy with their horses to do more than raise a clumsy -guard; Wayne galloped clean through them, swirling his blade -to the right hand and the left, and in a breathing-space, so it -seemed to Hiram and the shepherd, the free moor and safety -lay before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, God be thanked, he's through, is th' lad!" cried -Hiram. "Lord Harry, he swoops an' scampers fair like a -storm-wind out o' th' North."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne would not take the plain road of flight; partly -his blood was up, and partly he feared for the safety of his -farm-hinds if he left them to play the scapegoat to these -red-headed gentry. He wheeled about, and the discomfited -horsemen, seeing him bear down a second time, were mute with -wonder. But their fury was keen sharpened now; they -glanced at the two fallen riders, trampled beneath Wayne's -hoofs; they heard one of their comrades cursing at a wound -that Wayne had given him as he rode through; a moment -only they halted for surprise, and then, with a deafening yell -of </span><em class="italics">Ratcliffe!</em><span> they closed in a ring about him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five to one now. Come, the odds lessen fast," cried -Wayne, as he pulled up and seemed to wait their onset.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he knew that flight was hopeless if he let the full -company attack him front and rear. One glance he snatched -at the open moor behind, and one at the walled enclosure -where the sheep had lately been herded for the washing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's life, I'll trick them yet," he muttered, and reined -sharp about, outwitting them, and rode hard as hoofs could -kick up the peat toward the shelter of the walls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he a Jack-o'-Lanthorn, this fool from Marsh?" -growled Red Ratcliffe, foiled a second time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought that Wayne was trusting to his horsemanship, -that he would double and retreat and glance sideways each -time they made at him in force, hoping to get a blow in as -occasion offered. But Wayne of Marsh had no such idle -play in mind; he was seeking only for sure ground on which -to stand and meet them one by one. He had marked the -opening in the pinfold through which the sheep were driven, -and he knew that, if he could once gain the wall, the battle -would narrow to a run of single contests.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They saw his aim too late; and as Red Ratcliffe swerved -and swooped on him, Wayne backed his horse with its flanks -inside the pinfold. He had four stout walls behind him now; -the uprights of the gateway were no more than saddle-high, -and above them he had free space for arm and sword-swing. -It was one against five still—but each of the five must wait -his turn, and each must fare alone against the blade which, to -the Ratcliffe fancy, was a live, malignant thing in the hand of -this witch-guarded lad of Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the red-heads fell back, while the Marsh farm-folk, -roused by the Master's pluck, sent up a ringing cheer. And -Shameless Wayne, who had chafed under long weeks of farming, -laughed merrily to feel his sword-hilt grafted to his hot -right hand again, to know that he had cut off retreat and that -five skilled swordsmen were at hand to give him battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God rest you, sirs. Wayne and the Dog are waiting," -he cried, and laughed anew to mark how they shrank from -the old battle-cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Red Ratcliffe, seeing his brave scheme like to go the -way of other schemes as promising, lost doubts and shrinking -on the sudden. Man to man, he was Wayne's equal, and -this time he would settle old scores—would go back to the -Lean Man with his tale, and claim Janet as the fruit of -victory. A thought of the girl's beauty ran across his mind, a -swift, unholy sense that it would be sweeter to take her thus, -unwilling and by force, than if she had consented to his -wooing; and the thought steadied heart and nerve, while it lent -him fierce new strength. No cry he gave, but made straight -at Wayne and cut across his head-guard. Wayne shot his -blade up, withdrew it, and thrust keenly forward; and -Ratcliffe parried; and after that the fight ran hot and swift.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Steel met steel; the blades hissed, and purred, and -shivered; up and down, in and out, the blue-grey lightning ran. -The men's breath came hard, their eyes were red with prophecy -of blood; their faces, that in peace showed many a subtle -difference of breeding and of courtesy, were strangely like -now, set to a strained fierceness, the veins upstanding tight as -knotted whipcord. Sons of the naked Adam, they fought -with gladdening fury; and the naked beast in them rose up -and snarled between clenched, gleaming teeth. Their very -horses—that are full as men of niceties overlaid by breeding—went -back to their old savagery, and bit one at the other, and -added their shrill cries to the men's raucous belly-breaths.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The farm-folk held their breath and watched. The Ratcliffes, -clustered in a little knot, followed each steel-ripple, -each cut and counter-cut, and forgot for the moment to take -sides from very love of swordsmanship. And then Wayne -knocked the other's blade high up in air, and would have -had him through the breast had Red Ratcliffe not jerked his -left hand on the curb and dragged his horse round into safety. -Wayne could not pursue, even had he been minded to leave -his shelter, for another Ratcliffe was on him now, offering -fight as stubborn as the first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My breath will fail," thought Wayne, and redoubled the -swiftness of his blows, and cut his man deep through the -rib-bones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there were three left yet, and Red Ratcliffe, smarting -under his defeat, had brought guile to help him where force -had failed. While the sword-din began afresh, and again -Wayne settled to the desperate conflict, Red Ratcliffe got to -ground, picked up the sword that had been ripped from out -his grasp, and crept softly to the far edge of the pinfold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis child's play, after all," he thought. "Lord, how -the rogue fights, with never a thought that he can be taken -in the rear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne—forcing the battle with all his might, lest breath -should fail—could get no nearer to his man as yet; and -meanwhile Red Ratcliffe had gained the wall behind him and was -throwing one leg over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He cannot keep it up, can't th' lad," murmured Hiram -Hey. "Sakes, I've a mind to run in myseln an' do -summat—though I mun be crazy to think on 't.—Hallo, what's -agate wi' Red Ratcliffe? He looks pleased-like, an' he's -getten off his horse. Oh, that's it, is't? Well, I can do a bit -o' summat, happen, after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram moved briskly up to the pinfold and reached the -hinder wall just as Red Ratcliffe was climbing over it; he set -a pair of arms about his middle, as he had done to one of the -Wildwater farm-folk not long ago, and put his muscle into the -lift, and brought his enemy with a thud on to the peat five -yards away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair play's a jewel ye've niver learned th' price on at -Wildwater," he said quietly. "Ye war for sticking th' -Maister i' th' back, as ye could no way meet him i' front? Well, -there's two opinions about ivery matter, an' mine's th' reet un -this time, I'm thinking. 'Twar a Providence, it war, that -yond hind o' thine came in to th' Friendly tavern yesterneet; -he braced me fine for hoicking feather-weights ower my -shoulder, like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shepherds looked at Hiram, and then at Red Ratcliffe, -who was lifting himself in dazed sort to a sitting posture; it -was plain they needed but the one word to close round and -stamp the life out of this treacherous hound who could aim to -strike from behind when Wayne had proved his match in -open fight. But Hiram had an old grievance to straighten—a -grievance that had rankled ever since Red Ratcliffe interrupted -his courtship on a long-dead day of spring—and he -paid no heed to his comrades' meaning glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, Maister; ye fooiled me once on a time, as ye called -to mind just now—an' now I've fooiled ye," said Hiram, -stroking his frill of beard and watching Red Ratcliffe's -lowering face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, by Wayne's cursed Dog, the third time shall pay for -all," snapped the other, making a second effort to stand upright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mebbe, but I'm fain to hev squared th' reckoning, choose -what comes. Ay, it war grand, warn't it, to get Hiram Hey -to tell ye how mich ling an' bracken there war at Marsh, an' -th' varry spot it war stored in? Ye went home fetching a -rare crack o' laughter, I'll be bound, an' ye came that varry -neet to mak use o' what I telled ye. What, ye're dizzy sick? -An' I'm laughing. An' that's how th' world allus wags wi' -them as thinks to best Hiram Hey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe shook off his dizziness, and snatched a dagger -from his belt. "Thou foul-mouthed sot, I'll teach thee to -set thyself against thy betters," he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram stood, sturdy and stiff; he knew there was little -chance for him, but still he hoped to come to grips with his -assailant and crush his ribs in before he could compass a clean -stroke with the dagger. He feared the upshot not at all, and -even as he waited he smiled in his old sour fashion to think -that he had settled his own private cause of quarrel with Red -Ratcliffe. The wind, freshening from the west, brought up a -sound of shouting with it; but Hiram had no eyes for what -was chancing on the far side of the pinfold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, I shall niver be wedded now to Martha," he -thought; "a chap </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> go too slow, 'twould seem. Ay, well, -I shall be saved a power o' worry, doubtless, an' wedlock's -noan all cakes an' ale, they say. But, lord, I'd right weel hev -liked to try it for myseln."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fight at the pinfold was waxing keener all the while; -but Shameless Wayne was hard-pressed now, and the first -twinges of arm-tiredness were cramping his strokes a little. -Yet his laugh rang deep as ever, and the sweetness of each -stroke was doubled, since each must be near his last. One -thought only held him, and that was a thought of pride—pride -that he would die in the mid-day open, righting the old -Wayne battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He gives, he gives!" cried one of the two horsemen who -were left to take their turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he give?" panted Wayne, and made the quick -cross-cut, following a straight lunge, which his father had -taught him long ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stroke told, and his opponent's bridle-arm dropped -heavy to his side; but still he fought on, and still his -comrades watched, eager to take his place the moment he fell back. -Then Wayne was touched on the neck, and again on the -side, just as Red Ratcliffe roused himself to leap on Hiram Hey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne in front, and Hiram, with whom he had -waged many a stubborn contest, on the far side of the -pinfold—it seemed that master and man would go out of life -together, each dauntless, each proud in his own hard way, each -ready, doubtless, to turn on the further shore of Death and -take up some interrupted quarrel touching farm-matters—yet -each dying because he had stayed to save the other when flight -had been full easy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shepherd Jose, not caring to see such matters as he knew -must follow, turned a pair of dim eyes down the slope, and -started, and clutched his neighbour by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In time—by th' Heart, in time!" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As if in answer to him, a swift, clear shout came up the -moor, over the sun-bright sweep of ling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Wayne and the Dog</em><span>. Hold to it, Ned! Hold to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne knew the boyish voices, and his heart leaped, but he -dared not let his eyes wander until the cry had been thrice -repeated, until his adversary had given back for dread of the -new foe. Red Ratcliffe, at the same moment, stopped half -toward Hiram Hey, turning his eyes on the upcoming horsemen; -then he raced for his horse, and sprang to saddle, and -joined his hesitating band of comrades.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, that's a let-off, an' proper," said Hiram Hey, -scarce comprehending yet that he was safe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment a silence as of night held the Ratcliffes, -while they watched the four Wayne lads charge gaily up the -slope, plucking their swords free of the scabbard as they -rode.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On to them; they'll break at the first onset," muttered -Red Ratcliffe, and galloped down to meet them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the first time Shameless Wayne's heart grew soft and -his nerve weak. They were over young, these lads who had -been left to his care, to fight with grown men; what if one -of them were slain in saving the life he had gladly given up a -while since? But that passed; breathing again, he felt new -strength in his arm, and as he crashed headlong in at the rear -of the down-sweeping band, he swore that this thing should -not be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne and the Dog!" cried Griff, as he made at the -foremost Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne and the Dog!" roared Ned from the rear, and -cleft the nearest Ratcliffe through the skull. And even as he -wrenched his blade free, he laughed to mark with what elderly -and sober glee these youngsters waged their maiden battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Front and rear the Ratcliffes were taken. Confused, hard -pressed on every side, their blows grew wilder and more flurried. -But still they held to it, and Wayne's four brothers had cause -to thank the hard, monotonous hours they had spent in learning -tricks of fence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All was changed on the sudden. There had been quick -breathing of striving swordsmen, and quiet, deep breaths of -silent watchers—a quiet which Hiram Hey's conflict at the far -side of the pinfold had scarce ruffled. But now it seemed as -if Bedlam had let loose a second strife of tongues. The -farm-men, maddened by the sight of blows, ran in at one -another and fought for Wildwater or for Marsh. The dogs -played Merry-Andrew with the sheep, and scattered them wide -across the moor, and still pursued them. Cries of men, bleating -of bewildered ewes, wild barking of dogs a-holydaying—and -then, clear above all, Griff's shrill cry, "They flee, they -free!"—and after that three flying horsemen steering a -zig-zag course through sheep and dogs and wrestling farm-folk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And over all was the splendour of the mid-day sun, the wind -among the ling, the deep, unalterable silence that lies forever -at the moor's heart, whether men live or die, whether they -fight or drink in peace together. Only the plover heeded the -swift fight, and screamed their plaudits to the victors.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-they-waited-at-the-boundary-stone"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW THEY WAITED AT THE BOUNDARY-STONE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Red Ratcliffe, and the two who had come through the -fight with him, checked their headlong gallop when at last the -pursuit died far in their wake. Their shoulders were bunched -forward, their heads downcast; and not till the surly pile of -Wildwater showed half a league from them across the moor -did they break silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be a queer welcome for us from the Lean Man," -said one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, he'll shake off his palsy when we come to him with -the tale of four men left behind us," answered Red Ratcliffe -gloomily. "Lord, how his lip will curl! And his eyes will -prick one like a sword-point, cold and bright and grey. And -he'll flay our tempers raw with gibes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still, there's but one of the four killed outright; and when -those boggart-shielded Waynes have left, we can return to -help the wounded. They'll not butcher them, think'st thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," sneered the third; "'tis part of their foul pride to -play the woman after victory. Like as not they'll set them -on some grassy hillock, with a wall to shield the sun from -them, and give them drink, and nurse them into health against -the next fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, a month ago they would have done as much; but -now? I doubt it," said Red Ratcliffe. "We've roughened -Wayne at last, and I never knew what flint there was under -his courteous softness till I crossed blades with him just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yond four lads have had their first taste of blood. -I've known boys do at such times what hardened men would -shrink from."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, they will kill the wounded, or they will not. 'Tis -done by this time, and we can have no say in it," put in Red -Ratcliffe. "Od's life, lads, I relish the look of Wildwater less -the nearer we approach it," he added, reining in his horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What brought the lads up? Had they winded our -approach, or was it just the old Wayne luck?" said one of his -comrades, halting likewise. "Marry, there'll be an empty -house at Marsh. What if we ride down before the Master's -coming and fire the dwelling from roof to cellar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe glanced quickly at him. "There's time for -it, if we ride at once," he muttered; "and something we -must do for shame's sake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be his sister there," said another, with a laugh; -"trim Mistress Nell, who gives us such open scorn whenever -we cross her path. She shall take scorn for scorn, full -measure, if I get within reach of her mouth. Come, lads, let's do -it! Burn them out, and carry the girl to Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A craftiness crept into Red Ratcliffe's face—a craftiness that -showed him an apt pupil of the Lean Man's. "We'll waste -no time on burning, lest Wayne and his cursed Dog come -back while yet we're gathering fuel," he broke in. "But -we'll ride down and snatch the girl, and take her up to -Wildwater. Ay, and we'll lay no rough hand on her till Wayne -has learned her capture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They nodded eagerly. "We shall save our credit yet. By -the Heart, not Nicholas himself could have hatched a bonnier -plot," they cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, the game is ours," went on Red Ratcliffe slowly, as -they turned and rode at the trot for Marsh. "Those four -ill-gotten youngsters have saved him, he thinks—but he shall -find that they have killed him twice over by leaving Marsh -unguarded.—The fool shall die once in his body and once in -the pride that's meat and bread to him. Hark ye! We'll -send down word that his sister is held at Wildwater, and he -will come galloping up and batter at the gates, all in his hot -way, with never a care of danger. We'll take him alive, and -bring our dainty Mistress Nell into the room where he lies -bound—and there's a sure way then, methinks, of racking his -brain to madness before we pay him, wound for wound, for -what he's done to us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His fellows drew back a little for a moment; the cool, -stark devilry of the plot shamed even them, who had dwelt -with the Lean Man and never hitherto found cause to blush. -Then the thought of their defeat returned on them, and -their hearts hardened, and they offered no word of protest or -denial.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From time to time, as they rode, the leader of the enterprise -laughed quietly; from time to time he thought of some -fresh subtlety whereby Wayne's anguish would be sharpened; -but not until they had covered half the road to Marsh did he -break silence. A little figure of a woman, with corn-bright -hair and delicate, round face, was standing in the roadway, -shading her eyes to look across the moor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis the mad woman they keep at Marsh," said Red Ratcliffe -lightly. "We aimed once before at the Wayne honour -through their women. The omen speeds our journey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne started as they came up with her, and -turned to fly, but saw the folly of it. Keeping her place, she -eyed them with the watchful, mute entreaty of a bird held fast -within the fowler's net. Something in her helplessness -suggested to Red Ratcliffe that he might find a use for her; the -weak, to his mind, were fashioned by a kindly Providence to -fetch and carry for the strong, and haply this mad creature -might aid him to get Nell Wayne to Wildwater. Turning -the fancy over in his mind, he stopped to question her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, pretty light-of-love? What wast gazing at so -earnestly when we came up?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She answered quietly, with a touch of frightened dignity in -her voice. "I heard the sound of cries and shouting far -across the heath awhile since, and I feared there was trouble -to my friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A right fear, too. There </span><em class="italics">has</em><span> been trouble, and your -friends have just learned a bloody lesson from us, Mistress," -said Red Ratcliffe, for mere zest in seeing her wince.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, sir, they are not slain? Tell me that they are safe.—Nell -was right," she went on, talking fast as if to herself; -"she would send her brothers to help him at the washing-pools -instead of hawking.—Why did we let him ride alone so -near to Wildwater?—They reached the pools too late.—Ah, -God! and the one friend I had is gone." Again she turned -her eyes full on Red Ratcliffe. "Is he dead, sir?" she asked -wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden thought came to him. "Not dead, Mistress, but -dying fast," he answered. "Thou know'st the boundary-stone -over yonder, where once he laid a Ratcliffe hand in mockery? -Well, we met him there not long since as he rode to the -sheep-washing, and I thrust him through the side.—Peace, -woman! Thou may'st help him yet to a little ease before he -dies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, I will go to him. At the boundary-stone, you -said——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis not thou he cries for, but his sister. See ye, we're -hard folk, and take a hard vengeance, but now that Wayne -has paid his price we do not grudge him such a light request—and -were, indeed, riding down to bid his sister come to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She passed a hand across her eyes, while Ratcliffe's fellows -glanced at him with frank amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas Nell, not I, he asked for?" she said. "Are you -sure, sir, that my name did not pass his lips?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure, quite sure. Pish! We've taken trouble enough, -and now we'll leave thee to it. Go thyself if it pleases -thee—but thou'lt rob the dying of his last wish if thou dost not -hurry straight to Marsh and bring his sister to the boundary-stone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She halted a moment, then went with slow steps down the -highway. And he who rode on Ratcliffe's left turned -questioningly to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What fool's game is this?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis a wise man's game, thou dullard. I tell thee, -Wayne may come straight home to Marsh, and meet us; -we'll run no hazard that can be escaped. Nay, by God! -This little want-wit will do our work for us, and bring -Mistress Nell three parts of the way without our lifting hand or -foot—and think how that will lighten one of our -saddle-cruppers. We have Wayne safe, I tell thee, and we'll risk -naught."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne was out of sight now, carrying a heart -that was heavier for the knowledge that Ned had no thought -of her in his last hour. A strange jealousy had wakened in her; -why should it be Nell, not she, who was to soothe him at the -last? She had loved him, surely, better than any friend he -had—and now it was Nell, Nell only, whom he wanted. -Well, she would bring her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not for the first time did this frail woman wonder bitterly -why she had been doomed to return to her right mind; yet -never, amid all the remorse that had followed her awakening, -had she felt one half the numbing sense of loneliness that -went with her now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is gone," she repeated for the twentieth time, as she -went over Worm's Hill, and down Barguest Lane, and in at -the Marsh gateway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey, meanwhile, had returned from pursuit of the -Ratcliffe farm-folk to find that his betters likewise had given -up the chase as hopeless. The four lads, indeed, would have -ridden to the gates of Wildwater had not Shameless Wayne -compelled them to turn back; and now they were gathered -round the washing pool, chattering like magpies, while the -yokels straggled back in twos and threes, and the dogs -returned to their masters with frolic in one eye and shamed -expectancy of rebuke in the other. The moor was dotted -white with sheep, some standing in bewildered groups, some -browsing on the butter-grass that grew at the fringes of the -bogs. Wayne of Marsh was eyeing his brothers with a fatherly -sort of care, seeking for wounds on them before he dressed his -own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, not a scratch on you?" he asked in wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Griff bared his left arm with ill-concealed pride and showed -a deepish cut. "'Tis no more than a scratch, Ned. I took -it from Red Ratcliffe," he laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then his brothers, not to be outdone, showed many a -trivial scar, which they had gleaned amid the give-and-take of -blows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God, it is no worse," said Wayne huskily. "I -should never have found heart, lads, to go back to Nell if one -among you had been lost.—There! Wash them in the stream, -and dust them well with peat—and, faith, I'll join you, for my -own hurts begin to prick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The streamway all about the pools was fouled by the trampling -of dogs and sheep, of farm-men and rough-ridden horses, -and the brothers moved further up the stream to find clean -water for their wounds. As they passed the far side of the -pinfold, their eyes fell upon the fallen Ratcliffes, unheeded -until now in the turmoil. One was dead, his skull splintered -by a hoof-stroke; the other three lay with their faces to the -pitiless sun, and groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne was harder than of yore; yet he could not let them -lie there in their agony until the sun, festering their wounds, -had made them ready for the corbie-crows already circling -overhead. He stood awhile, looking down on them; and -one, less crippled than his fellows, rose on his elbow and spat -on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me kill him, Ned—let me kill him!" cried Griff, in -a voice that was like a man's for depth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ned glanced at this youngster's face, and he remembered -what his own blood-lust had been when he fought his first -great battle in Marshcotes kirkyard, and bade them roof three -fallen Ratcliffes over with the vault-stone. For it was as -Red Ratcliffe had said; the fight was hot still in this lad, and -he shrank from naught.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne set a hand on Griff's shoulder and forced him toward -the stream. "Ay, lad, I know," he said quietly; "but -thou'lt think better of it in awhile.—Set these rogues under -shade of yonder bank," he broke off, turning to the shepherds; -"take their daggers from them first, for they have a shrewd -way of repaying kindness; and then look ye to their hurts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've hed a fullish day, Maister, I reckon," said Hiram -Hey, going up the stream beside them and standing with his -arms behind his back while he watched the brothers bind each -other's wounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," said the Master grimly, "and 'twill be work till -sundown, Hiram, if we're to make up for time lost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram opened his mouth wide. "What? Ye mean to -get forrard wi' th' sheep-weshing? At after what we've gone -through?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne nodded. "The lads here have come to learn how -farm-work goes," he said; "and would'st thou teach them -only how to idle through a summer's afternoon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, it beats me. Nay, your father war nowt, just now -at all, to what ye are," murmured Hiram, scratching his rough -head.—"Isn't it a tempting o' Providence, like, to wark -i'stead o' giving praise that ye've come safe through all?" he -added, under a happy inspiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne laughed. "Work is praise, Hiram, as thou told'st -me once, I mind, when I was idling as a lad. See how thy -old lessons stick to me." He turned to Jose the shepherd. -"Get yond Wildwater sheep gathered," he said; "they'll -stray back to their own pastures if thou'rt not quick with -them. And when the day's work is over, bring them to the -Low Farm, and we'll put a Wayne owning-mark on their -backs—for, by the Rood, I think we've won them fairly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord, Lord, I may be no drinker—but I could sup two -quarts of ale, an' niver tak two breaths," said Hiram Hey -forlornly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Wayne laughed as he clapped him on the back. -"Come to Marsh, Hiram—and all of you—at supper-time -to-night; and ye shall have old October till ye swim, to drink -to these stiff lads who plucked us out of trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's sense—ay, he talks sense at last, does th' Maister," -murmured Hiram. Then, bethinking him that it would -never do, for his credit's sake, to show himself in anything -more backward than the Master, he began forthwith to rate -the farm-hands with something of his old-time vigour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And soon the pinfolds on either hand were full again of -bleating sheep, and Jose and his brother shepherds were -scrubbing hard in each of the two pools, and a chance passer-by -could not have told, save for broken faces here and there, that -a half-hour since these leisurely moving folk had been fighting -hand-to-hand for the honour of their house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so it chanced that Wayne, who might have been saved -many a heart-ache had he ridden straight home to Marsh, as -any man less obstinate would have done, was still at the -washing-pool when his step-mother got back to Marsh. She had -found Nell at the spinning-wheel, and had told her tale; and -the girl had sat motionless for awhile, her head bowed over -the yellow flax, her hands clenched tight together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are our evil angel, Mistress," she said, looking up -at last. "Since first you set foot on our threshold, disaster -has followed on disaster. But for you father would be -alive—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nell, spare me! Do I not know, do I not know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Nell was pitiless. The news so rudely broken to her -had brought a twelvemonth's hidden bitterness to the front, -and she would not check it. "But for you the feud would -have slept itself away—but for you Ned would be sitting at -table yonder.—Mistress, how dared you come first to tell me -of it?—Nay, hold your tears, for pity's sake; they'll bring no -lives back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl rose, and would have gone out, but her step-mother -stood in front of her, lifting up her hands in piteous -entreaty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nell, I want—I want to go with you; I loved him, too, -and I think he'll be glad to see me at the last—if—if he's not -dead by this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> want to go with me? My faith, I'll seek other -company, or go alone," flashed Nell, and left her there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne had found a certain fluttering courage -nowadays; see Ned she would and claim a farewell from him, -without leave from Nell. The girl would not share her -company; but the road was free to her—the road that led to the -Wildwater boundary-stone. She waited only for a moment, -then followed Nell whose figure she could see boldly outlined -against the sweep of still, blue sky that lay across the top of -Barguest Lane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have brought disaster to them; yes, 'tis very true," -she mused all along the bare white road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl had far outstripped her by this time; but she -caught sight of her again, a long mile ahead, as Nell topped -the hill at whose feet the boundary-stone was set. Full of -eagerness to know the worst, Mistress Wayne quickened -pace, though her feet ached and her head throbbed painfully. -It seemed this ling-bordered stretch of road would -never end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gained the hill-top where she had last seen Nell, and -glanced down in terror-stricken search of the body lying in -the hollow; but naught met her eyes, save an empty road -winding into empty space. Nor did a nearer view dispel the -mystery: the boundary-stone stood gaunt, flat-topped and -black, in the hot sunlight; the sand of the roadway was -disordered as if a plunging horse had scattered it with hoof-play; -but that was all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Where was Ned? He lay beside the boundary-stone, those -evil folk from Wildwater had told her. Yet there was no -blood upon the ground, nor the least sign to tell her that a -man had been done to death here. Nell, too, was gone, -completely as if the road had yielded, bog-like, to her tread and -closed about her. Only the sad cries of moor-birds broke -the stillness—these, and the far-off echo of horse-hoofs -pounding over a stony track.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne sat her down at the roadside, among the -budding heather. A great faintness stole over her; she felt -her new-found hold on life slipping from her grasp. What -had chanced to Wayne? Where was Nell? Was this some -fresh delusion, nursed by the sun-heat and her hurried walk? -She could not tell—only, she knew that the grey line of road -was circling round her, that the sky seemed closing in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—brought—disaster," she murmured, and let her head -fall back among the heather.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="what-chanced-at-wildwater"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">WHAT CHANCED AT WILDWATER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lean Man was sunning himself in the garden at Wildwater, -and Janet, sitting beside him, wondered afresh to see -the dumb air he had, as of one who had crept from the -trampling life of men and had no thought to return to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The old trouble has left you, sir, to-day. Is it not so?" -she said gently, chafing his cold hands in hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, it has left me, girl, for a little while. But the sun -has no warmth in it, and the bees' hum sounds dead and -hollow. Look ye, Janet, this is not summer at all; 'tis like an -old man stammering love-vows and wondering why they -sound so cold.—Are our folk hunting to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some of them have gone to wash the sheep. They said -they would be home betimes, but the afternoon wears on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were young again, lass! Sorrow of women, if only -I were young again!" broke in the Lean Man. "To hunt -the fox, and see the sheep come white and bleating from the -pool, and feel the old gladness in it all." He fell back -moodily into his seat. "A man has his day," he muttered, "and -mine is over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his eyes languidly as the garden gate opened and -Red Ratcliffe and his two companions came laughing through.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've news, sir, for you," cried Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man looked them up and down, and smiled with -something of his old keenness, as he saw the stains of fight on -them. "Ay, I can believe it," he said. "Bonnie news, I -fancy, of Wayne and of those who thought to crush him when -Nicholas Ratcliffe had failed. A wounded bridle-arm, a -matter of two bloody cheek-cuts, and thy right thigh, lad, -dripping through the cloth. Ye make a gallant band."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis true, sir, he worsted us in fight," said Red Ratcliffe, -sulkily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blood came back to Janet's face. "Again he shows -the stronger hand," she murmured. "Who says that Wayne -of Marsh is unfit to have a maid's heart in keeping?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He worsted you," said the Lean Man to his grandsons; -"is that why ye came with laughter in your throats, and -mouths a-grin as if a man had ploughed a furrow 'cross them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but because we used our wits when swords failed us, -and trapped Wayne's sister; she is in the house now, safe -under lock and key."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man roused himself. "A good stroke, lads!" -he cried, slapping his thigh. "She's in the house, ye say? -Then take me to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had best go armed to talk with her," laughed he -whose cheek was cut; "shame will out, sir, and I took these -wounds, not from Wayne, but from the she-devil I carried -hither on my crupper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good lass!" chuckled old Nicholas. "I like that sort of -temper. She carries a dagger, then, to help keep up the feud?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She snatched my own from its sheath, and pricked me -twice before I guessed her purpose. And all because I stooped -my face to kiss her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis just what thou'd'st have done, Janet; eh, lass? Methinks -thou'lt pair with this hot wench from Marsh," said the -Lean Man, laying a jesting hand on the girl's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall pair ill, I fear," she answered coldly,—"as for -the dagger-stroke—I should have aimed nearer the heart, -grandfather," she added, glancing hardily at Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy aim for a man's heart is always very sure," her cousin -answered, meeting her glance good-humouredly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut-tut! Thou'rt indifferent clumsy as a wooer, lad—but, -by the Lord, thou hast a head for scheming. What, -then? We've got the lass, and Wayne will follow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was my thought, sir. We'll let him bide awhile—till -sundown, say—and then, just as his anxiousness on Mistress -Nell's behalf is getting past bearing, we will send word -that she is here, with a broad hint or so of what will chance -to her before the dawn——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, ay," broke in the Lean Man, "and he'll come, if I -know him, as if his horse were shod with wind; and I'll brace -my stiffened sinews once again; and an old sore shall be cured -for good and all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will the Brown Dog carry its master through this pass, -think ye?" cried Red Ratcliffe boastfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man's eagerness died swift as it had come. His -hard lips shrank into senile curves. The dulness of a great -terror clouded his hawk-bright eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Dog? The Dog?" he mumbled, at the end of a -long silence. "Ay, thou fool, 'twill conquer as aforetime. -Useless, useless, I tell thee! The girl is here—well, he will -find a way to rescue her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir, this is folly! What can he do with a score men -waiting here for him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What he did at Dead Lad's Rigg—what he did to-day at -the sheep-washing—what he and his cursed hound would do, -if ye, and I, and fifty times our numbers, fenced him round -with steel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, cousins. Grandfather is—is faint again. The fit -will pass if ye leave him to it," said Janet, jealous always lest -they should guess the secret which only she and Nicholas -shared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The younger men glanced meaningly one at the other as they -moved off. "Old brains breed maggots," muttered one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so will Wayne before the month is old," answered -Red Ratcliffe brutally, turning for a last malicious glance at -Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw that the girl was following him with fearless, -inscrutable eyes. A shadow of doubt crossed his triumph, and -he cursed the boastfulness that had led him to tell his plans so -openly in hearing of one who was well affected toward -Shameless Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man sat on, his head between his hands, his feet -working shiftlessly among the last year's leaves that still -cumbered the neglected garden. "Not by skill of sword, nor yet -by guile," he was saying, over and over. "We must go with -the stream now—'tis useless striving—yet, by the Red Heart, -I shall turn nightly in my grave if Wayne goes quick above -ground after I am dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet crept softly over the strip of lawn without rousing -him, and went through the wicket that opened on the -pasture-fields. Nell Wayne was here, then, and in peril—Mistress -Nell, who had railed on her as a light woman because she had -gained the love of Shameless Wayne, who had flouted her as -if she were mud beneath her feet. A savage joy burned in -the girl's heart for a moment; but after it there came the -memory of Red Ratcliffe's words; and it seemed a poor thing -to humble Nell if Wayne were to pay a better price for it. -Could she do naught to help him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled in self-derision. The last time she had sought to -help Wayne, she had all but compassed his undoing. Yet how -could she rest idle, knowing what was to come? As of old, -she turned to the moor for help, and walked the heather -feverishly; and not till the sun was lowering fast toward Dead -Lad's Rigg did she return to Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas and Red Ratcliffe were in hall together, the -younger man full of talk, the other taciturn and hopeless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The messenger has gone, sir," Red Ratcliffe was saying; -"Wayne will be here before long—rouse yourself, for we're -growing to lose heart at sight of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me the key of the room where Mistress Nell is -prisoned. I want to speak with her," said Janet, coming -boldly up to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A likely request, cousin! The key lies safe in my pocket, -and there 'twill stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When Janet asks aught, thou'lt give it her, thou -cross-mannered whelp," put in the Lean Man sharply. A lack of -courtesy toward his chosen one could rouse him even yet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe hesitated, then gave way to the old habit of -obedience; but, as Janet took the key and crossed to the -passage leading to Nell's prison, he followed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll stay this side the door while thou hast speech of her," -he said, with an ugly smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As it pleases thee," she answered, opening the door and -closing it behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had meant to set the captive free, at any hazard to -herself; but she was prepared to find her scheme thwarted in some -such way, and she had a likelier plan ready framed against the -failure of the first. It was not needful now to have speech -at all of Nell; but lest suspicion should fall more darkly on -her than it need she must go in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was low and small, lighted by a single narrow -window that showed a sweep of purpling moor. Nell Wayne -was sitting at the casement, her eyes fixed hungrily on the -freedom that was almost within touch of her hand; she sprang -to her feet as the door opened, and turned at bay; and when -she saw who stood before her the fierceness deepened in her -eyes and straight-set figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment they stood and looked at one another; and -no Wayne had ever crossed sword more hotly with a Ratcliffe -than these two women of either house crossed glances. -For theirs was no chance feud, bred by a quarrel as to -precedence in sheep-washing; it was the age-old feud that lies -heart-deep between woman and woman, the feud that hisses -into flame whenever love for the one man blows on the -smouldering fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You come to mock me, doubtless," said Nell at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">That</em><span> would be to mock my own pride, Mistress. I came -with quite other thoughts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am honoured that the lady of the house sees fit—in a -late hour, perchance—to give welcome to her guest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lower your voice, I beg. There's a pair of sharp ears at -the door, and what I have to say will not bear listening -to.—Hark ye, Mistress! I am going to pluck you out of this, and -quickly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How, you? I do not understand—I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis for no love of you I do it, but because they mean -to use you as a lure to bring your brother up to Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell lost a little of her upright carriage. "Is that why -they brought me here?" she asked slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For that—and with a thought of their own pleasure, -doubtless, afterward. Shall I save your brother, Mistress, or -will it defile him to owe safety to such as me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell turned to the window again, and did not answer for a -space. Then, "Go," she whispered faintly—"but I would -God it had been any one but you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> would God I might save him alone, leaving you to -nurse your pride in a cold lap. But fate is hard, Mistress, -and compels us to travel over the same bridge; 'twould be -well to hold your skirts, lest I touch them by the way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, go! Say I wronged you—say anything, so only you -keep Ned out of danger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Despite herself, Janet could not but mark how little this -girl thought of her own safety, how much of the brother who, -at worst, had only life to lose. "I shall have to leave you -here awhile. Have you no fear?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None, save that Ned will knock at the gates while you -stand dallying here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet turned to the door, then faced about, her bitterness -craving a last word. "Remember, whether I lose or win, -that 'twas all for Ned I did it. I would have seen you -shamed, and gladdened at it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some hidden softness slipped into the other's voice. She -had endured suspense and misery, and now that help had come -she weakened at the thought of peril. "Nay," she -whispered, "you are a woman as I am, Mistress, and you know, -as I know, how frail is the casket in which we keep our -jewels. For love of her that bore you, you could never have -looked on gladly and seen——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet glanced curiously at her. "You are right," she -flashed, taking a dagger from her breast. "Mistress, I would -have fought for you, had blows been needful. Take this, and -if any troubles you while I'm away—why, you know how to -use it. Only, strike for the heart next time, if you are wise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe was walking up and down the passage when -she came out. He took the key from her, turned the lock -sharply, and scanned her face for some hint of what had -passed. For again he was puzzled, as he had been once -before when he had suspected Janet's good-faith and had found -it justified. Listen as he would, he had not been able to -gather the drift of what passed between the girls; yet their -voices, low and strained, did not sound like those of friends -who talked of each other's safety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he said, putting the key into his pocket and -laying a rough hand on Janet as she tried to pass him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My answer is to grandfather, sir. What I have said or -not said is for wiser ears than thine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed as a fresh thought came to him. "Gad, Janet, -I see it now! This proud wench of Marsh disdained thee as -a brother's wife, and thou didst take the chance to turn the -tables on her. By the Heart, I believe thou'rt glad we brought -her here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet hung her head, as if for shame of being found out. -"Suppose I am?" she murmured.—"Yet, cousin, I had liefer -thou hadst guessed naught of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trick a weasel, and then look to hoodwink Red Ratcliffe," -cried the other, pleased with his own discernment.—"Where -art going, Janet?" he broke off, as she turned to the -side-door leading to the fields.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where I list, cousin, without leave asked of thee or granted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but I think thou'lt not go out of doors! To hate -the sister is one thing—but thou'lt foil us with the brother if -once we let thee out of doors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought of slipping past him first, but his bulk filled -three parts of the narrow passage; so, curbing her tongue, -she made him a little curtsey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou dost honour me to think I take sides against my -folk," she said. "As it chances, I care not so much, after all, -to go out, and grandfather will need me. Have I thy -permission to go into hall and seek him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One day I'll cut out that little tongue of thine, Janet, and -clean it of its mockery. Go and welcome—and may the Lean -Man have joy of thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He followed her a pace or two, remembering that there -were more doors than one which opened on the moor; then -stopped with a shrug. He was no match, he knew, for Janet -and her grandfather together, and if the girl were bent on -going out, she was sure of winning the old man's consent. -Besides, Nell Wayne was here, and it would take more than -Janet's beauty, if he knew aught, more than her wit and quick -resourcefulness, to keep Wayne of Marsh from galloping to -the rescue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet found the Lean Man half-sitting, half-lying on the -lang-settle, his eyes closed, his head resting in the hollow of -one arm. She came and leant over the high back of the settle, -and watched him with infinite sadness in her eyes. She knew -the meaning of these spells of daytime sleep which were more -akin to stupors than to healthy slumber; he had passed a night -of terror, wrestling hour by hour with the Brown Dog of -Marsh, and now weariness had followed, giving him uneasy -dreams in place of fevered wakefulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Dog—flames of the Pit, he holds me—beat him off, -there! Cannot ye see I'm helpless—beat him off, I say—his -teeth are in my throat," muttered Nicholas, with closed eyes -and tight-clenched lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather, would I could cleave to you, in loyalty as in -love," whispered the girl, the tears streaming down her cheeks. -"What can I do, sir?" she went on hurriedly, as if he were -awake to hear her. "I loathe myself for going—I should -loathe myself if I stayed. Cannot I save Wayne without -wronging you? See, sir, you'll gain nothing by his -death—bid me go and snatch him from these red folk who are not -worthy to be kin to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne will win free—</span><em class="italics">must</em><span> win free—there's naught can -pierce that armour," said the Lean Man, stirring in his sleep -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's face brightened. This chance repetition of the -thought that ever lay uppermost in the old man's mind was -no chance to her, but an omen. "Wayne must win free," -she echoed, changing the whole meaning of the words by a -skilful turn of voice. "Wayne must win free. He has said -it, and I will obey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Crossing the noisy boards on tip-toe, she opened the -main-door, sped through it, and was lost amid the flaming sunset -glory of the heath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lost, all lost. God of the lightning and the storm, will -you not strike Wayne dead for me?" cried the Lean Man, -and woke, and gazed about him wonderingly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="and-what-chanced-at-marsh"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>All afternoon the Marsh farm-hands had laboured at the -sheep-washing, after their brisk skirmish with the Ratcliffes. -There had been but one break in the work, and that was when -Shameless Wayne and all his folk crossed to the nearest farm -to stay their hunger. Nor would Wayne leave them afterward, -though there was little need of him once the work had -started again in good earnest. It pleased his mood to share -and share alike, despite his wounds, with the unwilling labour -he had forced from them; and the sun was going down redly -and the rushes whispering their evening dirge when he set off -for Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mind that ye bring the Ratcliffe sheep with you; I'd not -lose them for the world," he said at parting, and rode -light-hearted down the slope, the lads beside him, with a thought -that home and a full meal and the sight of women's faces -would be passing good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hall at Marsh was empty when he went in, after leaving -his brothers to put the horses into stable. Man-like, he -felt aggrieved that there was none to give him welcome, when -he had looked forward to such greeting throughout the -journey home. Where was Nell? Or, failing her, surely his -step-mother should be at hand somewhere. He went to the -garden in search of them, but that was empty too; so he -crossed to the kitchen, where he found Martha busy with -preparation of the evening meal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is the Mistress? I can find her nowhere," he -said, leaning against the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martha looked up from the joint that was turning on the -spit, and settled herself into an easiful attitude that suggested -a hope of gossip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I cannot tell ye, Maister," she answered. "I've -been wondering myseln, for I've niver set een on her sin' -afternooin. Mary telled me 'at Mistress Wayne came in, -looking gaumless-like an' flaired, an' a two-three minutes at -after Mistress Nell went out wi' her. But nawther one nor -t' other hes comed back that I knaw on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne nodded curtly to Martha and turned on his heel, -cutting short her expectation of a pleasant round of doubt and -fear and surmise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would they were safe back again," he muttered. "Nell -must be fey, to go wandering abroad at this late hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A brisk step sounded behind him, as Nanny Witherlee entered -by the outer door of the kitchen and hobbled across the -rush-strewn flag-stones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-even, Maister. Is there owt wrang at Marsh?" -said the Sexton's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Nanny, what dost thou here?" cried Wayne. -"Lord, nurse, thou wear'st thy eerie look, as if thou wert -ringing God-speed to a dead man's soul. What ails thee to -cross from Marshcotes after sundown?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I've heard th' wind sobbing all th' day, like a bairn -that's lost on th' moor; an' th' wind niver cries like yond -save it hes getten gooid cause. So, says I, at after Witherlee -an' me hed hed our bit o' supper, I'll step dahn to Marsh, -says I, for I cannot bide a minute longer without knawing -what's agate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne kept well in the shadow of the passage, for he -shrank from letting Nanny see the marks he carried of the -late fight—shrank, too, from showing how prone he was to-night -to catch the infection of her ghostly speech. This bent -old woman, with her sharp tongue, her outspokenness, her -queer, familiar talk of other-worldly things, had never lost her -hold upon the Master; she was still the nurse who lang syne -had sent him shivering to bed with her tales of wind-speech -and of water-speech, of the Dog, and the Sorrowful Woman, -and the shrouded shapes that stalked at midnight over -kirkyard graves. He had been no more than vaguely troubled -hitherto by Nell's absence; but now he feared the worst, for -he had never known the Sexton's wife make prophecy of dole -for naught.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny stood looking at him all this while—trying to read -his face, but baulked by the shadows that clustered thick -beyond the fringe of candle-light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Maister?" she said softly, as still he did not speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, nurse? Dost think I'm still unbreeked, and ready -as of old to shiver at thy tales?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there's nowt wrang at Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What should be wrong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If all goes weel, why do ye stand so quiet there, Maister? -An' why do ye hide your face when Nanny talks to ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne forced a laugh as he moved down the passage. -"Hunger puts strange fancies in a man," he said, "and 'tis -long since I had bite or sup."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny did not follow him, but turned to Martha, who had -listened with dismay to all that passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Proud—allus proud," she said. "He niver wod own to -feeling flaired, wodn't th' Maister. But I tell thee, lass, -there's bahn to be sich happenings as nawther thee nor me -hes seen th' like on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've hed happenings enough, Nanny—Lord save us -fro' owt but peace, say I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord save us, says th' wench! As if there war Lord to -hearken save th' God that fills th' storm's belly wi' thunder -an' wi' leetning. Cannot tha hear, Martha, lass? 'Tis -throb, throb—an' ivery cranny o' th' owd walls hes getten a -voice to-neet.—Hark ye! Th' Maister hes gone out into th' -courtyard! An' there's Wayne o' Cranshaw's rough-edged -voice. Th' storm is gathering fast, I warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, wandering out of doors to -see if there were any sign of Nell's return, had found his -cousin in the courtyard. Rolf had just ridden over from -Cranshaw, and the four lads stood round his horse in an eager -knot, telling him of the day's exploits and making off-hand -mention of their wounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Ned, has the day borne hardly on thee? Thou -look'st out of heart," cried Rolf, as Shameless Wayne came -slowly across the courtyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne tried to shake off his forebodings. "Nay, 'tis not -the day's work troubles me," he said. "We trounced them -bonnily, Rolf, and these four rascals would have chased them -to the Pit had I not held them in. Griff yonder will be a -better swordsman than his teacher before the year is out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt wounded deepish, by the look of thee. Ned, I'd -give a twelvemonth of my life to have fought beside thee at -the washing-pools."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne laughed soberly. "'Twas worth as -much.—There, Rolf! Thou'lt have thy chance, I fancy, by -and by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there's to be another battle?" cried Griff eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Likely, thou man of blood," said Shameless Wayne, with -a would-be lightness that sounded strangely heavy to Rolf's ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What troubles thee?" he asked. "'Tis naught to do -with the Ratcliffes, thou say'st?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With the Ratcliffes? I'm not so sure, lad. Nell has not -come home since dinner, nor Mistress Wayne.—Ah, there's -the little bairn at last; haply she can tell us what mad scamper -Nell is bent on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne was walking down the lane as if she could -scarce trail one foot behind the other; but she glanced up as -she came through the gate, and her weariness left her on the -sudden. One startled cry she gave at sight of her step-son, -and then she ran to him with outstretched hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what is it, bairn?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They said thou wast dying, Ned, and I never thought to -doubt them. Tell me it is no dream; thou'rt living, -dear—yes, yes, thy grasp feels warm and real. Ah, God be -thanked!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">They said</em><span>. Who troubled to tell lies to thee?" cried -Wayne, sore perplexed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three of the Ratcliffes who met me on the moor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw looked at his cousin. "Trickery," -he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, there's trickery somewhere.—Tell us more, bairn, -about this ill-timed meeting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Little by little they drew the whole tale from Mistress -Wayne—how they had bidden her bring Nell to the boundary-stone, -how Nell had gone, she following; how she had seen -her last on the hill-top, and then had found an empty road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I swooned, Ned, then," she finished, "and lay so for a -long while. And when I came out of it I had no strength to -move at first, and I thought the journey down to Marsh -would never end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am riding to Wildwater, Ned. Who comes with me?" -said Wayne of Cranshaw brusquely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All of us," broke in the four lads, with a gaiety -ill-matching the occasion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, youngsters, ye've done enough for the one day," -said Shameless Wayne.—"Let's start forthwith, then, Rolf, -and rattle their cursed house about their ears."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, two against them all?" cried the little woman, -aghast. "Ned, 'twould be throwing thy life away—ride up -to Hill House and to Cranshaw first, and get thy folk about -thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Wayne is right," said Rolf, after a pause. "We -shall but throw our lives away if we go up alone—and what -will chance then to Nell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still Wayne would not yield; the speed of his last battle -was in his veins still, and he could not brook delay. And -while they stood there, halting between the two courses, a -red-headed horseman came at a wary trot down Barguest -Lane. The summer dusk was enough to show that he glanced -guardedly from side to side and kept a light hold of the reins -as if to turn at the first hint of danger. Seeing the gate fast -closed, however, he drew rein at the far side of it and peered -over into the courtyard. He glanced at the men's belts first, -and saw that they were empty of pistols; then turned his -horse in readiness for flight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's life the fool is venturesome," muttered Wayne. -"What should he want at Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've a message for thee, Wayne of Marsh," cried the -horseman, still fingering the reins uneasily and striving to cover -his mistrust with a laugh. For he had liked this mission ill, -and only the Lean Man's command had forced him to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A message, have ye?" said Wayne. "Your news is -known already. Ride back, you lean-ribbed hound, before we -whip you on the road."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The horseman gathered confidence a little from the closed -gate. "Soft, fool Wayne! We hold your sister safe at -Wildwater, and the Lean Man, of his courtesy, bade me ride -down and ensure you a fair night's rest by telling you what we -mean to do with her. She will lie soft to-night——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The red-head, even while the taunt was on his lips, pulled -sharply at the curb. But Wayne of Cranshaw was overquick -for him. With a cry that rang up every hollow of the fields, -Rolf set his horse at the gate, and landed at the rider's side, -and dropped him from the saddle before he guessed that there -was danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rolf steadied his horse, then was silent for awhile as he -wiped his blade with unhurried carefulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost see the plot, Ned?" he asked grimly, with another -glance at the fallen horseman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I see only that Nell is in peril all this while—and -that the Ratcliffes had need to rid them of a fool, since they -sent him here to meet so plain a death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He came, this same fool, to taunt thee into going to -Wildwater, if I can read the matter—came to make sure that we -should do just what thou wast so hot to do just now.—God, -Ned! </span><em class="italics">She shall lie soft to-night</em><span>—how the foul words -stick——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, is there no end to it—no end to it?" broke in Mistress -Wayne, clinging tight to his hand and keeping her eyes -away from the body lying in the roadway just without.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get thee within-doors, bairn; 'tis no fit place for thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not unless thou'lt come, too. Ned, I'll not have thee ride -to Wildwater—keep within shelter while thou canst——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But her step-son shook off her hand. "Rolf," he said, -coming to the gate and trying to read the other's face, "wilt -come with me now to Wildwater?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw straightened himself in the saddle and -gathered the reins with a firmer grip. "Nay, for we'll make -sure—we'll go neither by ones nor twos, but take our whole -force with us. Hast had supper, Ned? No? Well, thou -need'st it if thou'rt to fight a second time to-day; so let the -lads go fetch our kin from Hill House. I'll ride to Cranshaw -for my folk, and we'll all fare up together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, we'll not wait—" began Ned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Rolf was already on his road to Cranshaw, and Shameless -Wayne, knowing that any other plan was madness, curbed -his hot mood as best he might. He would have ridden to -Hill House himself, but the lads pleaded so hard to go, and he -had such crying need for food to brace him for the coming -struggle, that he agreed at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be off, then, lads," he said. "'Tis a short ride, with no -danger by the way, if ye'll promise not to turn aside for any -sort of frolic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They scampered off to the stables to re-saddle their horses; -and Wayne, as he watched them go, sighed for the boyish -heedlessness which had been his not a twelvemonth ago. -Griff's thoughts were all of danger, the thrill and rush of -battle; and his sister's capture, it was plain, was no more to him -than a fresh fight, in which the Ratcliffes would again go down -before them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, if it meant no more!" mused Shameless Wayne, and -turned as his step-mother came timidly to his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in to supper, dear. Thou need'st it, as Wayne of -Cranshaw said," she pleaded, threading her arm through his -and coaxing him indoors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The board was ready spread; but the brave show of -pewter, the meats and pasties and piled heaps of haverbread, -served only to make the wide, empty hall look drearier, and -Wayne would not glance at the slender, high-backed chair -which marked Nell's wonted seat at table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hunger was killed in him; but he forced himself to eat, -since food meant strength to fight Nell's battle by and by. -And while he ate, the little woman sat close beside him, -watching his every movement, and wishful, so it seemed, to -speak of something that lay near her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned," she whispered, finding courage at last, "it was I -who sent Nell across the moor to-day; and what she said to -me was true—I have brought nothing but disaster on your -house since first I came to Marsh. The man who lies -outside there, Ned—the man whom your cousin slew—I was -feared just now, seeing him dead. But need I be? God -knows I would fain lie where he lies now, for then—then, -dear, I should bring no more trouble upon those I love. -Naught but disaster I've brought——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not true, bairn," said Wayne gently. "Many a -time thou hast brought rest to me when none else could—no, -not Nell herself.—Ay, once thou gav'st me hope that there was -no such crying shame in loving awry," he added, with sudden -bitterness. "What of thy wisdom now, bairn? Shall I woo -Mistress Janet while I help tear Wildwater stone from stone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was no fault of hers, dear. How if she sorrows for -Nell as much as thou, or I, or any of us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne would not listen. "How the time crawls!" -he muttered, as he pushed his plate away and rose impatiently. -"Surely they are here by now. Hark! was not that the -courtyard-gate? I left it unbarred against their coming. -Didst hear it opened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I heard it opened—and there's a footstep on the -paving-stones."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bairn, help me to buckle my sword-belt on again. I -know there's luck goes where thy hand has rested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She helped him eagerly. "It is not all disaster that I -bring, then? Thanks for that word, Ned; I needed it," she -murmured, chafing her baby fingers against the stiff buckle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was still striving with it, and Ned was stooping to help -her, when the main door opened, and Janet Ratcliffe stood -slender on the threshold, not laughing, but with an odd -merriment lurking in her eyes and about her resolute mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have come to our dearest enemy. Make me your captive, -Wayne of Marsh," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang back as if she had been less warmly flesh and -blood; but Mistress Wayne smiled in her pleased child's -fashion as she crept out of sight among the shadows at the -far end of the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have chosen your time well, Mistress, if a jest is in -your mind," said Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing further, sir. Your sister is in dire peril; would -less have brought me to one who has spurned my warnings -oft aforetime?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited, frowning, till she should tell him more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men's wits move like the snail does, methinks," she -cried. "Am I less dear at Wildwater than Nell at Marsh? -Send up to the Lean Man, sir, and say what dread things you -will do to me, and see if he will not exchange his prisoner for -yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne looked hard at her, doubtful still and bewildered by -the heedless devilry of her plan. "You have risked much -for the honour of my house," he said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for the honour of a woman who had little deserved -the infamy they planned for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But 'tis out of reason! You run too great a hazard, -Mistress.—See, our plans are laid, and already the Cranshaw -and the Hill House Waynes are on the road hither. Go back -while you have time, Mistress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall not go back, sir, for I know how hopeless are your -plans. They have guarded Wildwater securely against -attack; and even if you seemed like to force an entry they -would make sure—how shall I tell thee, Ned?" she broke -off, lapsing to the old familiar speech and turning her eyes -shamefacedly from his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They would make sure of Nell's dishonour. That is thy -meaning, Janet? God's life, that is a true word. Yet—when -they learn that this capture was all thy doing, not mine, -thou'lt have a rough welcome home to Wildwater?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is always danger for me there," she said, her voice -deepening; "but that should not vex thee, surely, Wayne of -Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne glanced neither back nor forward now. -It seemed as if some hidden chord, frayed by the months of -self-denial, had snapped on the sudden; her fearless strength, -her man's power to frame a swift stroke of daring and to -carry it through, her woman's fierce, unheeding tenderness—all -these he understood at last—understood, too, that his love -for her, nurtured in rough soil and inclement weather, had -come to a hardier growth than pride. Before, he had lacked -her, felt the keen need of possession; but now he loved -her, and watched the old barriers crumble into unmeaning -dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet," he said quietly, not moving nearer to her yet, -"dost think I care naught what chances to thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould seem so, Ned. Twice I have told thee of the -bargain made between the Lean Man and my cousins——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, only hinted at it. What was this bargain, Janet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lower still her voice dropped. "That I should be given -to the one who slew thee," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced once at him, and for the first time since -leaving Wildwater she felt a touch of fear. For Shameless -Wayne had given a cry—a cry such as she had never hearkened -to, so deep it was, so brutish in its rage against those who -had agreed to this foul bargain. He sprang to her side—she -could feel his arms close masterful about her—and then, with -some strange instinct of defence, she forced herself away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not that, Ned," she cried. "Is it a fit hour for—for -softness?—And see, thou'rt wounded, Ned—and I've had no -time to tell thee——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A dozen feints of speech she would have tried to keep him -at arm's-length, but Wayne would none of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's one wound, lass, of thy own giving, that -matters more than all the rest," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush! I'll not listen. There's work to be done—'twill -not wait—it is no fit hour, I tell thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last flush of gloaming stained the dark oak walls, the -spears and trophies of the chase that hung on them; it -lighted, too, the girl's straight figure and bent head, as she -shrank against the window—shrank from Wayne, and from -the knowledge that her will was broken once for all. Ay, she -was conquered, she who had lived her own life heretofore; -what if she could hide it from him? Was it too late to -escape into the free wilderness where she was mistress of her -thoughts and secrets? It had been easy once, when they had -met, boy and girl, to pass light love-vows at the kirk-stone; -but this was giving all to him, and her pride rebelled, ashamed -of its own powerlessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne was not to be held in check. He wooed like a -storm-wind, and like a reed she bent to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a fit hour," he cried—"and what is to be done will -wait, child, till thou hast told me—" He stopped, and lifted -her face till she was forced to meet his glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Told thee what, Ned?" she asked, not knowing whether -her unwillingness were real or feigned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That thou'rt mine altogether—that thy thoughts are mine, -and thy body, and thy pride—ay, that I've mastered thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne kept her face tight prisoned. She could feel his -touch gain fierceness; his voice had a note in it not to be -gainsaid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, I will not say it—will not—" she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then on the sudden she put both arms about his neck, -and laid her face to his, and, "Thou art my master—my -master, God be thanked," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good-nights of birds came sleepily from the dim garden; -there was a stir of laggard bees among the flowers; and -pride of summer reigned for its little spell with these -storm-driven children of the moor. And frail Mistress Wayne, who -had watched, mute and unheeded, from the shadows that -seemed scarce more unsubstantial than herself, went out and -left them to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So for a space; and then a new sound was born of this -restless, haunted night. Far off from Barguest Lane there -came a shouting of gruff voices, and the sparrows in the eaves -awoke to chirp a fitful protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet turned in Ned's arms and glanced toward the door. -"What is't, Ned?" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Waynes are here," he cried—"and I'll take a -lighter heart to Wildwater, Janet, for knowing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Ned, thou didst promise not to go," she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but I've learned that from thee which makes me -doubly set on going. Dost think I could let thee return now -to the Lean Man's care?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes! I tell thee, there's no danger but what I have -faced before, and can meet again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We were over-happy just now, girl; fate grudges that. -Thou shalt not go, I say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! I knew 'twas folly to name thee </span><em class="italics">master</em><span>. Hark -how thou usest the whip at the first chance! Is every wish of -mine to be thwarted now, to prove thy sovereignty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for it's sure. But when I hear thee ask to fight my -battles——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whose else should I fight, dear lad?" she broke in, with -pretty wilfulness. "See, 'tis the first thing I've asked of thee, -and I will not take denial. Ride to Wildwater, thou and thy -friends, and ye place Nell in peril, as I told thee. Send word -that I am here, and she will be brought safely down to -Marsh. Ned, try the plan at least! And if it fails, I'll let -thee——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what of Nell meanwhile? Each moment lost——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I left her my own dagger, and she has given proof already -that she can use it. But there's no fear for her, unless ye -drive my folk to bay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The noise without grew louder, and Wayne moved slowly -to the door. How could he let Janet go? Yet how could he -place Nell in greater jeopardy than need be? It was a hard -knot to unravel, but the dogged self-denial of the past months -stood him in good stead now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou shalt go," he said, and went out into the courtyard, -wondering how best to send a message up to Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Waynes had not come yet, however. The shouting -he had heard was from the farm-hands, returning in gay spirits -to the supper he had promised them. But their jollity had -met with a sudden check. The moon was rising over Worm's -Hill, and by its light the men were stealing awed glances at the -Ratcliffe whom Wayne of Cranshaw had left lying by the gate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, begow!" Hiram Hey was saying. "If this doan't -beat all. First we mun sheep-wesh; then we mun fight; an' -at after that we mun wesh an' wesh till our bodies is squeezed -dry o' sweat. An' then, just as we think all's done, th' Maister -mun needs go killing fair on th' Marsh door-stuns. We'll hev -to whistle for yond supper, lads, ye mark my words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for long, Hiram," said Wayne lightly. He was -anxious to keep Nell's capture secret from all these chattering -folk as long as might be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram, no whit abashed to find the Master standing so unexpectedly -at his elbow, thrust his hands still deeper into his -pockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm hoping not," he said, in his slow way; "for -I'm that droughty I scarce know how to bide. Wark's wark, -Maister, I've hed as mich fighting as iver I can thoyle i' th' -one day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get to the kitchen, all of you, and tell the maids I sent -you," cried the Maister, disregarding Hiram's snarls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' th' ale, Maister? October, ye said, if I call to -mind—there's no weaker-bodied ale could fill th' hoil I've getten i' -my innards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Broach a fresh barrel, then," snapped Wayne, "and put -thy mouth to the bung-hole if it pleases thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder," said Hiram shrewdly to himself as he slouched -off at the head of his fellows. "Th' Maister hes a queerish -look, I'm thinking—trouble i' th' forefront of his een, an' -behind it a rare gladsomeness. There's a lass in 't, mebbe—his -face hes niver caught that fly-by-sky brightness sin' he used to -come fro' coorting Mistress Ratcliffe i' his owd wild -days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne looked up the road to see if his kinsfolk -were in sight; then at the retreating backs of the farm-men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hiram! I want a word with thee," he called, following -a sudden thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll warrant. What did I say?" growled Hiram to himself, -as he retraced his steps. "Lord, I wish th' lad's back -hed niver stiffened, that I do; it's wark an' nowt but wark -sin' he took hod."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Canst keep a still tongue when 'tis needful?" said Wayne -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As weel as most, Maister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Mistress is taken by the Ratcliffes—taken while we -were at the washing-pools."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram did not answer for awhile. "Oh, ay? Then we -mun get her back again," he said at last, not showing a trace -of his concern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> have snatched the Lean Man's grand-daughter in -return."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now I knaw!" murmured the other. "I said no less -wod set that light i' his een.—Well, Maister, an' what are ye -bahn to do wi' th' wench, now ye've getten her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to send her safe to her folk when they bring -back Mistress Nell; and I want thee, Hiram, to get word -taken somehow up to Wildwater. Thou know'st where to -find one of their farm-hands, maybe, or——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, that I do; for we fell in wi' one as we war coming -dahn th' loin a while back, an' a rare laugh we hed at him. -We sent a word ourselns by him to Wildwater, to axe when -they'd like next to wesh sheep alongside th' Wayne lads. -Let's see, now—he war wending Marshcotes way, an' it's owt -to nowt 'at he's i' th' Bull tavern this varry minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll ride across, then, and see him; thank thee for the -news, Hiram," said the Master briskly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave that to me, Maister. Kind to kind, an' th' gentry -is poor hands at trafficking wi' sich as us. I'll say more to -yond chap i' five minutes nor ye'd say i' a twelvemonth—an' -he'll tak a straight tale, too, if I knaw owt. What's he to -say, like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That we hold Mistress Janet. That if my sister is not -here by midnight, we'll pay coin for coin. That they can -trust our honour better than we can trust theirs, and the -moment Mistress Nell sets foot on the Marsh threshold, my -prisoner shall go free likewise. Canst carry all that, Hiram?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try—ay, I'll try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then get thee gone, and make the message curt as if it -were a sword-thrust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram had scarce taken the field-track to Marshcotes, when -again the clatter of hoofs came down Barguest Lane—hoof-beats, -and the ring of many voices. Wayne could hear his -Cousin Rolf's voice loud above the rest, and he ran into hall -for one last word with Janet before the coming of his folk -denied him further speech of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found her sitting by the window, her hands lying idle in -her lap as she watched the promise of a moon scarce risen -steal through the dimness of the summer's night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What art thinking, Janet?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinking? Why, that the doubts were all on thy side -once—and now they seem all on mine. I, too, have kin to -wrong, Ned, and when I think of meeting the Lean Man with -guile——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has cared well for thee," said Wayne bitterly. "Small -wonder thou think'st kindly of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but thou know'st naught of the kindly side of him. -He has loved me as if—there, Ned! I would not have it -otherwise, and I'll not vex thee with the aftermath of -self-disdain there'll be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They could hear the horsemen massing in the courtyard -without. They glanced toward the door, then at each other, -and Wayne drew the girl closer to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Once more, Janet—wilt let us ride up to Wildwater, and -carry it by storm?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay! Bring thy folk into hall here, and bide—bide, -Ned, I tell thee; 'tis wit, not swords, to-night.—Go! They -are knocking at the door. Tell me where the parlour lies, -dear lad, and I'll wait there till Nell comes back to take my -place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To take thy place?" echoed Wayne, and tried still to hold -her, though the knocking from without grew more peremptory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she slipped from him, and crossed to the further door, -and found Nanny Witherlee standing on the threshold. It -was plain from the little old woman's face that she had -watched the scene, and she made way for Janet with a half -curtsey that had a world of mockery in it. The girl went -by without a word; but her cheeks tingled with a shame she -could not hide. If such as Nanny Witherlee could cry out -on her love for Wayne, how would she fare with his own -kinsfolk?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, Maister—'tis sweet an' hot, belike," said Nanny, -meeting Wayne's eyes across the hall. "Ay, but 'tis a -downhill road, for all that, and an unchancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne answered nothing, but went to the great main door -and flung it wide, letting in a stream of light from the moon -new risen over Worm's Hill. A trampling crowd of horses, -backed by wide-shouldered fellows, filled the courtyard. -Griff's voice could be heard, shrill and clear, and Wayne of -Cranshaw was stooping to batter on the oak again just as his -cousin opened to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're ready, Ned. Why dost hold back, lad, and keep -us shivering here?" cried Rolf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because there's to be no attack just yet. Get down from -saddle, friends, and drink a measure with me here in hall."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-wayne-kept-faith"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Nell Wayne, prisoned close in the little room at -Wildwater which looked out from its narrow, cobwebbed window -upon the waste of Ling Crag Moor, watched the sun lower -hour by hour—watched him change from white to yellow, -from yellow to full sunset red—watched the heath grow -gloaming-dim and lighten again at the bidding of the -white-faced moon. But still her captors made no sign, and still she -was racked with fear lest each moment should bring Ned on a -forlorn hope of rescue. The very nearness of the moor, -with its far-reaching air of freedom, seemed but an added -mockery; yet every now and then she turned anew to the -window, and rubbed it freer each time of dust and cobwebs, -and looked out eagerly in search of the help that would not -come. From time to time she wondered what had chanced -to the girl who had made her such fair promises of deliverance; -and then she told herself that Janet, after all, had been -but mocking her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis sharp," she murmured, fingering the dagger which -Janet had left with her. "There'll be time, it may be, for -two fair strokes—one in Red Ratcliffe's heart and another in -my own. Love of the Virgin, do I care so much for life, -when all's said? The days have not run so smooth of late -that I covet more of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bat, fluttering unclean out of the pregnant night, swept -against the window-pane, startling the girl out of her musings. -For a moment it hovered there, and the moonlight showed her -its dark wings, its evil head and twinkling, star-bright eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a vampire," she whispered, crossing herself. "They say -the pool breeds such. What if it should break through——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lost her fanciful terror and turned sharply to the door; -for the Lean Man's voice mingled with Red Ratcliffe's in the -passage without, and her brother's name was on their lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you, sir, Wayne loves the girl," said Red Ratcliffe -testily; "he had liefer do himself a wanton hurt than Janet, -and 'tis a fool's bargain to let Nell Wayne go in exchange for -her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I tell thee, puppy, that thou know'st little of Wayne -nowadays. We've killed his courtesy, and there's naught -he'll stick at—naught. I said he would find a way out—I said -'twas useless striving——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And useless it is like to be if we meet him always in this -spirit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool! We have met him all ways—with light hearts and -with heavy, with force and guile, with many men and few—Give -me the key!" he broke off roughly. "This girl goes -scatheless—and for her safer conduct I'll take her down -myself to Marsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell caught her breath as she listened to the voices, raised -high in dispute, which spoke to her of safety. Was she -mazed with the long confinement, or were the voices real?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you are willing, sir, to accept so curt and uncivil a -message as Wayne sent hither?" went on Red Ratcliffe, -sullenly. "You are willing to give them cause for boasting—ay, -and to put your own life in their hands by going to Marsh? -The messenger we sent returns not—will Wayne do less to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The messenger is not slain that we know of; he may be -drinking in some wayside tavern, for unless he were a very -fool his horsemanship would carry him free of Wayne after -he had shouted his message, as I bade him, from the lane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he comes not back. And you, sir? Is your life -of such little moment to us——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt a babe," broke in the Lean Man. "Some things -a Wayne will do for the feud's sake, and some he could not -do. He has promised safe conduct, and if I go down with -the lass, I shall return in safety. The Waynes—plague rot -them!—keep faith, whatever else they do or leave undone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At a loss still to comprehend the meaning of it, Nell was -conscious of a flush of pride. Even their foes, it seemed, -gave her folk credit for scrupulous observance of their -word—ay, the Lean Man admitted it, steeped as he was in subtlety -and lies. But how came this about? Had Janet, in trying -to save her been captured by Shameless Wayne? It must be -so. A quick thought came to her then, that Ned could not -love the girl so madly, after all, if he were willing to make -her a cat's-paw with which to outwit his adversaries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was still turning the thought over, well pleased with it, -when the voices in the passage ceased disputing; the key -grated in the lock, and the door moved slowly open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come with me, Mistress Wayne; there's a horse ready -saddled to take you down to Marsh," said the Lean Man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, am I free? Or is this a fresh trick, to make my -case seem harder for a sight of freedom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis no trick. Come, Mistress! Time slips by, and -there's one awaiting me at Marsh who's worth fifty such as -thou."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His gruffness pleased her, for it rang true; and so, without -question or demur, she followed him down the passage and -out into the courtyard. He lifted her to the saddle, mounted -the big bay that always carried him, and together they rode -out in silence across the moor. The moon glanced silver-black -across the heather; the gullies were full of whispering -winds, alive with the sob and fret of running water; and -more than once the Lean Man shivered, as if the night's quiet -eeriness weighed heavy on his fears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How comes all this?" asked Nell, as they drew near to -Barguest Lane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask your folk that, Mistress. A message came through -one of my hinds that Janet was held at Marsh; your safety -was matched 'gainst hers; it is no good-will of mine that has -brought you hither.—Yonder is Marsh," he broke off, pointing -down the hill. "Lord God, how I hate the fair, quiet -look of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are honoured by such hate, sir," said Nell.—"Have -a care! The road is sadly over-full of stones," she added, as -the bay horse stumbled badly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dead Ratcliffe had been taken indoors, and neither -Nicholas nor his companion had leisure to note the signs of -bloodshed that lay this side the closed gate of the courtyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A Ratcliffe! A Ratcliffe!" yelled the Lean Man, with -a thought that the old cry would bring them quickly to the -gate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And soon, indeed, there was a rush of feet across the courtyard, -a rattle of swords snatched hastily from the scabbard, the -hum of many voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peste! The whole swarm has settled in the Marsh hive," -muttered Nicholas, glancing doubtfully at Nell. "Was I a -fool, then, to trust to the Wayne honour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No man has ever repented such folly, sir. If you raise -the feud-cry to win peaceable entry, can you grumble that -they come out armed to welcome you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated, wondering whether to take Nell's bridle and -make a dash for safety. But the gates were flung wide open -before he could turn, and Shameless Wayne stood bareheaded -in the moonlight, a score of his folk behind him. Wayne -stopped on seeing the Lean Man alone with Nell, and his -sword, half-lifted, fell trailing to the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you come in peace?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I come in peace," answered the Lean Man bitterly. -"Give me your captive, Wayne of Marsh, and take your -sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was this your doing, Nicholas Ratcliffe?" went on the -other. "Was it you who carried Mistress Nell to Wildwater?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas found a sour pleasure in assuming a credit that -was not rightly his. "'Twas my doing," he answered hardily. -And the Waynes, seeing him stand fearless before the score of -them, sent up a low murmur of applause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then mark well the oath I swear. By the Brown Dog, -I'll hunt you day and night, and night and day, till I force -combat from you. Get ye gone, lean thief, lest I break faith -and fall upon you now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if Ned fails, then I'll take on the hunt," cried Rolf -Wayne of Cranshaw, stepping forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man cast a scared glance across the courtyard at -mention of the Dog. He could see the wide doorway of the -house, dark in the mellow moonlight, and he recalled the hour -when he had ridden down to fix the badge of feud above the -threshold and had unwittingly crossed Barguest as he drove -home the nail. A deadly faintness seized him; but the hated -folk were watching him, and he forced the weakness off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hunt when ye will, and where ye will; I shall be ready," -he answered, and led Nell's horse with great show of -ceremony into the yard, and put the bridle into her brother's -hand.—"Now, sir, make good your own half of the bargain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shadow crossed Wayne's face, as he turned and moved -silently toward the house. Nell would have entered with him, -but he checked her roughly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a word for Mistress Janet's ear," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a sudden the meaning of her unlooked-for escape grew -clear to her. Janet had gone of her own free-will to Marsh, -and it needed but a glance at Ned's face to tell her what had -followed the girl's coming. The joy of freedom, her gladness -in returning to the home she had scarce looked to see again, -died out; she was supplanted, and by one whom it was dishonour -for a Wayne to touch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet was not in hall, but Wayne found her, after a hurried -search, standing at the garden-door, plucking the roses that -grew above her head and tearing them to pieces one by one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou—must go, Janet," he said, touching her on the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she answered dully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lean man is at the gate; he has brought Nell with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Ned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God, lass, how </span><em class="italics">dare</em><span> I let thee out of sight!" he cried, his -studied coldness breaking down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something of the devil that is in every woman prompted -the girl to tempt him. He had mastered her, and even yet she -grudged it him; there would be a sort of reprisal in trying his -strength to the utmost.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep me, Ned," she whispered. "Keep me, dear, and -think no shame to break faith with a Ratcliffe.—Hark, Ned, -how soft the garden-breezes are—and the roses; are they not -heavy on the air? Let's wander down among them, and talk -of the days to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her heart failed her as she saw his agony. He did not -glance at her, nor speak, but stood looking straight before -him as he put honour in the balance and marvelled that it -weighed so light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that thy wish, girl?" he asked hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis neither thy wish nor mine," she cried with a -troubled laugh. "Forgive me, Ned; I—I tempted thee for -wantonness. There! Bid me farewell, dear; 'tis idle to -make the parting harder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they gained the hall he stopped, and held his arms wide -for her. "Once again, Janet—</span><em class="italics">thy master</em><span>," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">My master</em><span>—to the end, dear lad. There shall none take -thy place, however ill it fares with me; and when need comes, -I'll send for thee.—But, Ned, thou'lt promise to do naught -rash? Move slowly—and wait till I can come to thee with -the best chance of safety."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She slipped from his grasp and ran quickly out, brushing -against Nell Wayne as she crossed to the gate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good even to you, Mistress. Shall I offer thanks for the -night's work you've done?" said Nell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should accept none," answered the other, in the same -hard voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Waynes opened their ranks to let her pass through, -and one offered her a hand to mount by; and just as they -were starting, Shameless Wayne came to the Lean Man's -crupper, a brimming flagon in his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You came in peace, and I'll not have it said you -lacked any of the usages of peace," said Wayne, holding the -flagon up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My faith, you traffic in niceties!" muttered the Lean -Man. "'Tis the first wine-cup any of your house has offered -me these score years past."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And 'twill be the last, belike, for another score; so drink -deep, sir, while you have the chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nicholas turned the flagon upside down with sudden spleen, -and watched the stones darken as the wine splashed on to -them. "When I drink out of your cup, Wayne of Marsh," -he said, "I shall lack wine more than ever I lacked it yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They set off, he and Janet, and once only the girl turned -for a last look at Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched them ride over the crest of Barguest Lane, and -his lips moved to the instinctive cry, "Come back, come -back!" And when his kinsfolk presently began to talk of -riding home, since there would be no further need of them for -that night at least, he did not urge them stay and pledge Nell's -safe return. He wished to be alone with the madness that -had fallen on him, wished to take counsel how to rive Janet -once for all from Wildwater, and marry her, and hold her in -despite of his folk and her own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood idly in the courtyard while they got to horse, and -Nell, seeing him apart from the rest, came to his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So thou hast let all else go—all save Janet?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, I have let all else go," he answered; "and if thou -canst say aught against it, Nell, after she has plucked thee out -of certain ruin—why, thou'rt less than my thoughts of thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis carrying thankfulness a far way, Ned.—And what -of our kin? Will they smile on the match, think ye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They may smile or frown, as best pleases them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was about to break into some hot speech, but he -checked her. "Sleep on it, Nell; 'tis wiser. There are things -said in heat sometimes that can never be forgot.—Well, Rolf, -hast come to say thy farewells to Nell? Od's life, I'll make -no third at any such parting of maid and man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay, lad, for I've come to tell thy sister that I'll have no -more delays," said Wayne of Cranshaw, "and thou'lt add thy -voice to mine, I fancy. Am I to wait and wait for thee, Nell, -until every Ratcliffe of them all comes down to carry thee off?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had expected the old tale of duties that must keep her -yet awhile at Marsh. But she offered no excuse, as she came -and put her hand in his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no place for me now at Marsh," she said; "I'll -go with thee, Rolf, at thy own good time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No place for thee at Marsh?" he echoed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None. Ned is to marry Mistress Ratcliffe by and by, -and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this true, Ned?" said Wayne of Cranshaw sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true that I've plighted troth with Mistress Ratcliffe; -it is false that there is no place for Nell at Marsh," said -Shameless Wayne, and turned on his heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But that one glance of Rolf's had given him a foretaste of -what lay ahead. Nell was implacable; his kin would be -implacable; her own folk would do their best to thwart the -match.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say a Wayne of Marsh loves alway to stand alone," -he muttered, as he returned to hall. "Well, I care not -who's against me now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at the moonlight streaming through the latticed -windows, and thought of how Janet had lain there in his -arms while they snatched a moment's grace from feud. Then, -restless still, he crossed to the garden-door, from over which -the roses were dropping white petals in the lap of a -slow-stirring breeze. It was here that Janet had stood with the -moon-softness in her eyes and had tempted him to sell his -honour. He pictured her going up to the moor—up and -further up—nearer to the red folk of Wildwater; and the -strength which had saved his pride seemed wildest folly now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the garden he went, now harking back to what -had passed, now fancying new perils that might be lying in -wait for Janet. The kitchen door was open as he drew near; -through it he could see the rushlights flickering on the faces -of the shepherds as they ate with greedy relish or lifted -brimming pewters to their frothy lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At another time there would have been song and jest; -shepherd Jose would have been to the fore with tales of -yesteryear; the women would have laughed more loudly and kept -sharper tongues for over-pressing swains. But to-night their -merriment was soured by what had gone before it; and, -though the Mistress had come back safe to Marsh, they could -not forget how nearly she had been dishonoured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At another time, too, Wayne would have gone amongst -them to drink his due measure of October and set the glees -a-going; but his heart was not in it, and he held aloof. -Leaning idly against the garden-wall, he watched them at their -meat, and let their talk drift past him while he asked himself, -again and again, what end they would find, Janet and he, to -their wind-wild wooing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now and then he pushed the matter from him and turned, -for lack of better company, to listen to the gossip of his -farm-folk. He heard each detail of the morning's fight -described, repeated, and described again, till he wearied of it and -half turned to go indoors again. Yet still he dallied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wheer's th' Maister, like? I could right weel like to -set een on him," said Jose the shepherd, breaking a long silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, a feast's no feast at all without th' Maister comes to -drink his share," cried one of the younger men.—"What, -Hiram, mun I pass thee th' jug again? For one that's no -drinker tha frames as weel as iver I see'd a man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram filled his pewter and all but emptied it before he -spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll noan show hisseln this side o' th' door to-neet, -willun't th' Maister," he said slowly. "He's getten summat -softer to think on nor sich poor folk as ye an' me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne flushed under the moonlight and muttered a low -oath; but he would not move away, for the whim took him to -hear the worst these yokels had to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, ay?" put in one of the wenches. "What dost -mean, Hiram? Tha'rt allus so darksome i' thy speech."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What should I mean? We knaw by this time, I reckon, -what hes chanced. D'ye think snod Mistress Ratcliffe came -an' swopped herseln just out o' love for Mistress Nell? Not -she; 'twas for love o' Maister hisseln, if I know owt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha'rt bitter, Hiram," cried Martha. "An' thee to hev -fought for him nobbut a few hours gone by!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram spoke in a tone which Martha had heard more than -once before—a grave, troubled voice that had a certain dignity -of its own. "I'm bitter, lass, an' tha says right," he went -on. "He shaped like a man, did th' Maister, up at th' -weshing-pools, an' I warmed to him. But what then? Nanny -Witherlee telled me, just afore she gat her back to Marshcotes, -that she'd crossed to th' hall a while sin', an' fund th' -pair on 'em—nay, it fair roughens me to think on 't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, an' let 'em do as they've a mind to, poor folk, says -I," put in Martha. "She's no Ratcliffe, isn't Mistress Janet, -not at th' heart of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She carries th' name, choose what, an' that's enough to -mak most on us hod our nostrils tight. Well, he war born -shameless, an' shameless he's like to dee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan't believe it!" cried shepherd Jose, striking his -pewter on the table. "That's an owd tale o' thine an' -Nanny's, Hiram, but I'm ower fond o' th' Maister myseln to -think he'd do owt so shameless-crazy as wed a Ratcliffe. Ay, -tha should bite thy tongue off for whispering sich a thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Wayne lifted his head and looked straight in through -the doorway, himself unseen across the moonlit strip of yard -which stood between the garden and the kitchen. Hiram's -wryness was no more to him than the thistle-burrs which -waited for him during any of his usual walks about the fields; -but the shepherd's plain kindliness toward him, the shepherd's -quiet assurance that there could be naught 'twixt Janet and -himself, touched him to the quick. In vain he mocked -himself for hearkening to what such folk as these could find to -say of him; he stayed stone-still, his arms upon the rounded -garden-wall, and heard them wear the matter threadbare with -their talk. And there was not one—save Martha—who -augured less than disaster from the match.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good hap, my very dogs will turn next and look askance -at me," muttered Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But still he did not move, for he had plumbed the bottom -depth of weariness to-night, and it was easier to stay hearkening -to distasteful gossip than to turn to the ill company of his -own thoughts. Work had succeeded fight and loss of blood; -and close after these had followed his anxiety on Nell's -behalf, his sudden yielding to the passion that had dogged his -path all through the uphill months; then had come the -struggle with his honour, the victory that was worse than -defeat, and, last of all, the chill glances of those who were his -nearest kin. Aged as he had grown of late, his youth was -slow to die outright, and the quick ebb and flow of passion -had left him weak to bend to the touch of his surroundings; -and the chatter of these farm-folk, who condemned him in -such frank, straightforward terms, seemed the last straw added -to his burden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They left talking of him by and by, as the ale began to -warm them and frolic pressed for outlet. Little by little the -Master lost his own cares in watching their rustic comedy -played out; from time to time he smiled; and once, when -Martha encouraged shepherd Jose too patently at the expense -of Hiram, he laughed outright. Heretofore Wayne had been -friendly with his servants in his own proud way; but to-night -it was borne in upon him how like their betters, after all, were -these rough-speeched folk. The same jealousies were theirs, -the same under-fret of passion, veiled by banter or rude -coquetry; and they, too, reared a score of stumbling-blocks, -feigned or real, about the path of wedlock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night was wearing late meanwhile, and the farm-folk -got to their feet at length and shuffled out by twos and -threes—some to return to outlying farms or shepherds' huts far up -the moor, others to less distant farms. Martha came to the -gate to give them a God-speed, with Hiram Hey beside her, -and it was long before the last shout of farewell died echoing -up the moor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps it was the ale he had drunk; perhaps it was -Martha's flouting of him throughout the evening in favour -of shepherd Jose; but for one cause or the other Hiram -showed less than his wonted hesitation as he drew nearer to -her in the moonlit yard. Their faces were turned sideways -to the Master, and neither noted his quiet figure leaning against -the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Martha, 'tis a drear house, this, I'm thinking," said Hiram.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, but it's all the roof I've getten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis as full o' dead men's ghosts as it can hod, an' nobbut -to-neet there war one more ligged quiet beside th' gate, as if -th' owd place fare went hungering for bloodshed an' sudden -death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Hiram?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pointed down the fields to where, in a snug-sheltered -hollow, the gable-end of his own farm climbed up into the -moon-mists.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yond's a likelier spot, an' quieter, for a wench," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sakes, Hiram! Tha'rt noan so backard-like i' coming -forrard, when all's said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram was quiet for a space, and the Master could see a -laughable air of doubt steal into his face as he ruffled the frill -of hair that framed his smooth-shaved chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' then," put in Martha softly, "there's even a quieter -spot nor yond that mud varry weel be mine for th' axing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Hey ceased doubting. "What, dost mean that owd -fooil Jose wod like to tak thee to th' wind-riven barn he calls -a house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Summat o' th' sort, Hiram—ay, he'd be fain, wod shepherd -Jose. An' if th' house be i' a wildish spot—well, 'tis -farther out o' harm's way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sattles it. Wilt wed me afore th' corn ripens, lass, -an' come to yond snug bigging dahn i' th' hollow?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I reckon I will, lad. Why didst not axe me plain afore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Hiram kissed her, under the left ear; and the Master, -forgetting that they did not count upon a listener, laughed -outright. Martha turned, with cheeks aflame like the peonies -newly-opened in the garden place behind her; and Hiram -lost his calmness for the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou dost well, Hiram," said the Master drily. "Love -while thou canst, for thou'd'st better make the most of what -few years are left thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram took the stroke staunchly, knowing it was the -return-thrust for many a home-blow he had given Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' so I bed, Maister," he answered, not shifting a -muscle of his face—"by wedding one that counts no red folk -i' her family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man and Janet had been riding slowly home -while Wayne sat listening to the shepherds' gossip; and as -they went up Barguest Lane Nicholas had bent toward his -grand-daughter with more than his wonted tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Janet, girl, 'tis good to know thou'rt safe again," he said. -"What would Wildwater be without thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer, but turned her head away a little; and -so they rode on in silence until they reached the open moor. -The old man shivered then, and glanced behind with the quick -gesture she had learned to know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had forgotten it," he muttered.—"Didst hear aught in the -wind, Janet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard a moor-bird calling, sir, and the rustle of dry -heather-stalks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught else? No sound, say, of a hound baying down -the lane?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a farm-dog barking at the moon; that is all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened in the saddle. "To be sure! When a -fool is old, he's past praying for, eh, girl? Yet—is yond -brown shadow going to fare to Wildwater with us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long as there's a moon to cast it, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another silence, while a mile of heath slipped underneath -their hoofs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They bade me keep Nell Wayne, and let thee take thy -chance," said Nicholas presently. "Think of it, Janet! To -wake in the morning and have no slip of sunshine like thyself -to come down to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather, it—it hurts me to hear you praise me so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what ails thee? Cannot I praise the one thing on -God's earth that I love, without hurting thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, she must tell him all. All the way up it had been -borne in on her that she would let the deceit go no further. -She owed no less than frankness to him, and he should have -it, though afterward he struck her to the ground. They were -alone with the sky and the wind; the hour, the dim-lying -spaces of the moor, encouraged confidence. She had chosen -her road—but at least she would start fair on it, honest as the -man who had her love in keeping. Quietly, without -shrinking or appeal, she told him all—how she used to meet -Shameless Wayne by stealth, how she had given him warning, how, -lastly, she had to-night ridden down to Marsh and surrendered -herself into Wayne's hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man was very quiet when she had finished, and -not till they were skirting the dull ooze of Wildwater pool -did he break silence. "I had rather have shovelled the earth -above thy dead body, girl," he said, checking his horse at the -brink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched his face working fantastically as he stared into -the water. Mechanically she traced the scars of fire, the lump -of discoloured flesh that marked where his right ear had been -shorn level with the cheek; and she told herself that Wayne -of Marsh was answerable for both. His anger, gathering -slowly, was terrible to meet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is't to thee that my heart is broken?" he went on. -"I could set finger and thumb to thy throat, girl, but would -that heal my own hurts? The care I've given thee, the -constant thought—womanish thought—the way I shamed myself -by opening to thee all my secret fears." He laughed drily. -"Barguest? Methinks thou hast killed him, lass, with a -worse sickness. Hark ye! This shall not be. I've sap in -my veins yet, and I'll cheat thee of thy lover before I die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, is this the love you have for me? What has Wayne -ever done that you should not cry 'peace' and let our -marriage staunch the feud?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has he done? He has fooled me, beaten me in -fight, robbed me of more than life. Is that naught, or must I -fawn on him and thank him for good service rendered in -wedding Janet Ratcliffe? Thou hast heard of Sad Man's Luck, -girl? It comes to those who have lost all, and it nerves them -to strange deeds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved forward, Janet following; and as they waited for -the gates to be thrown open, he gave the low, hard laugh -which never yet had boded good to man or woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The luck has veered at last," he said quietly. "Wayne -will begin to fear for himself, now that he has thee to unman -him. His pluck will get tied to thy apron, lass, and he will -quaver a little in his sword-strokes—what, did I say thou -hadst broken my heart? I lied. Thou hast put new heart in me."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-the-lean-man-fought-with-shameless-wayne"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT WITH SHAMELESS WAYNE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Sexton Witherlee moved unsubstantial among his graves, -stopping here to pull up a tuft of weed and there to rub a -sprig of lavender or rosemary between his shrivelled fingers. -He looked old beyond belief, and the afternoon sun, hot in a -sweltering sky, traced crow's feet of sadness across his cheeks, -and in among the sunken hollows underneath his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's amiss wi' me?" he murmured. "Here hev I -been gay as a throstle all through this God-sent-weather—going -about my business wi' a quiet sort o' pleasure i' seeing -this little garden-place look so green, like, an' trim-fashioned—so -green an' trim—an' now, all i' a minute, I'm sick-like -an' sorry. Ay, I could cry like any bairn, an' niver a reason -for 't, save it be this thunner-weather that's coming up fro' -ower Dead Lad's Rigg.—Well, I mun hev a bit of a smoke, -an' see what that 'ull do for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lit his pipe, then fetched a broom from the tool-house -and began to sweep the path of the leaves which had fallen, -curled and brown, during the long spell of drought. But he -desisted soon and sat him down on the nearest grave-stone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I've sweated ower long at helping th' living to bury -their dead out o' mind, till now there's no lovesome sight, nor -sound, nor smell of sweetbriar, say—but what it leads my -crazy thoughts to th' one bourne—th' one bourne—an' that's -a blackish hole, measuring six feet by length an' three by -breadth. Lord God, I'm stalled, fair stalled! Hevn't I toiled -enough at life? An' th' Lord God knaws how fain I am to -be ligging flesh to earth myseln."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat silent for a long while, and his favourite robin came -and perched on his shoulder, asking him to dig up its evening -meal; but Witherlee paid no heed to the bird.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I reckon it's a sight o' little Mistress Wayne I'm -sickening for," he went on presently. "When she war fairy-kist, -she niver let day pass without heving her bit of a crack wi' -th' Sexton; but now she's fund her wits again—why, she -hesn't mich need o' th' likes o' me, seemingly. Eh, but I -wod like to hear her butter-soft voice again! There's peace -in 't, somehow, to my thinking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, tha'rt theer, art 'a?" put in Nanny's voice at his elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Begow, tha made me jump! What is't, Nanny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I nobbut came for a two-three sprigs o' rosemary. -It grows rare an' sweet i' th' kirkyard here, I call to mind, an' -Mistress Nell, 'at I've nursed fro' a babby, is bahn to be wed -to-morn to Wayne o' Cranshaw—sakes, how th' days run by!—an' -she'll be wanting rosemary to wear ower her heart i' -sign o' maidenhood. Well, I'd like to see one who's more a -maid, or bonnier, i' all th' parish—an' I'll thank thee, Witherlee, -to stir thy legs a bit for fear they'll stiffen for want o' -use. What mak o' use is a gooidman, if he willun't stir -hisseln to pluck a two-three herbs?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sexton rose with his old habit of obedience, and went -to the corner where the rosemary grew, and brought her both -hands full.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis queer, I've often thowt," he said; "we all knaw -what mak o' soil grows under foot here—yet out on 't come -th' sweetest herbs i' Marshcotes. An' that's a true pictur o' -life, as I've fund it through three-score year an' ten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's tha knaw about life?" snapped Nanny. "Death -is more i' thy way, an' tha'll be a wise man, Witherlee, sooin -as tha comes to join th' ghosties.—Not but what there's sense -for once i' what tha says. Sweetness grows i' muck, an' ye -can't get beyond that; an' if onybody thinks to say it isn't so, -let 'em look at Shameless Wayne, an' set him beside what he -war afore th' feud broke out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, he's better for th' fighting," put in Witherlee, with -something of his wonted zest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fighting? I reckon nowt on 't. All moil, an' mess, an' -litter—gaping wounds that drip on to th' floors just when ye've -bee's-waxed 'em—women crying their een out, an' lossing so -mich time, ower them 'at's goan—'tis mucky soil, I tell thee, -Luke. An' yet, begow, it hes bred summat into Shameless -Wayne that he niver hed afore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say him an' th' Lean Man is hunting one t' other -fro' morn to neet, but allus seem to tak different roads. -What's come to th' Lean Man, Nanny? He war daunted a -while back, an' now he's keen as ony lad again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha doesn't knaw Barguest's ways as I knaw 'em, lad. -Th' Dog, when he's haunted a man nigh out of his senses, -hods off for a bit, for sport, like, an' maks him 'at he's marked -think th' sickness is all owered wi'—an' then, when he's -thinking o' summat else entirely, up th' Brown Beast leaps, -snarling fit to mak his blood run cold.—Ay, it's true th' Lean -Man is hunting this day, for I met him riding into Marshcotes -not a half-hour sin', wi' his een on both sides o' th' road at -once, an' his hand set tight on his sword-heft."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he say owt to thee, Nanny? He's noan just friendly -to thee, an'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said nowt to me," broke in Nanny, "but I said a deal -to him. I asked if Barguest's hide war as rough, an' his teeth -as sharp, as when he fought th' owd feud for th' Waynes. -An' he seemed fit to strike me first of all; an' then he -sickened; an' at after that he rode forrard, saying nowt nawther -one way nor t' other. Well, he minds how his father died, -an' his father's father; an' he'll be crazy again by fall o' neet, -if I knaw owt. It's th' Dog-days, an' all, an' th' month when -dogs run mad is Barguest's holiday, I've noticed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tha mud weel say it's th' Dog-days," said Witherlee, -pointing to the moor above. "We shall hev sich a storm as -nawther thee nor me hev seen th' like on, Nanny, sin' we war -wedded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the moor-edge an angry haze was beating up against -the wind, and the sun, a round ball that seemed dropping from -the steel-blue of the sky above it, was cruel with the earth. -Everywhere peatland and tillage-soil—the very graveyard -earth—opened parched mouths and cried for drink. But still -the sun shone, and only the slow-moving haze told of the rain -to come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, it 'ull be a staunch un," said Nanny. "Tha'd best -come indoors, Witherlee, afore it breaks—for when it does -break, buckets willun't hod th' drops, an' tha'll be drenched i' -crossing th' kirkyard.—Why, there's Mistress Wayne. If -iver I see'd a body choose unlikely times, it's yond little bit o' -sugar an' spice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Witherlee glanced eagerly down the graveyard path. "Now, -that's strange," he murmured. "I war nobbut saying afore -tha comed, Nanny, that I hedn't bed speech of her this mony -a day—an' here she comes. Eh, but she's a sight for sore -een, is th' bonnie bairn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny's half-religious awe of Mistress Wayne was -disappearing now that she had come to her right mind again. -"Nay," she grumbled, "I reckon nowt so mich on her. She -war bahn to do a deal for th' Maister, so I thowt; but what's -comed on 't? Nowt, save 'at she carried a fond tale to -Mistress Nell a while back, an' all but brought her into -ruin.—Now, lad, art minded to get out o' th' wet that's -coming?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I'll step indoors by an' by, for I'm fain of a crack -wi' th' little Mistress at all times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny glanced shrewdly at her husband; something in his -voice—a weariness that was at once helpless and resigned—brought -an unwonted pity for him to the front. Impatient -she was with him at most times; but under all her fretfulness -there was a sure remembrance of the days that had been.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Luke," she said, laying a hand on his sleeve, "tha'rt -nobbut poorly, I fear me. Stop for a word wi' Mistress -Wayne, if needs must, but don't stand cracking till tha'rt wet -to th' bone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I'll noan stay long, lass—noan stay long," he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny moved down toward her cottage, and the Sexton, -sighing contentedly, gave a good-day to Mistress Wayne while -yet she was half up the path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye've not been nigh me lately, Mistress," he murmured, -making room for her on the grave-stone which had grown to -be their wonted seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been restless, Sexton, and my walks have taken -me far a-field. But to-day I'm tired, and full of fancies, and -I thought 'twould be pleasant to sit beside thee here and talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure, to be sure. Ye're looking poorly-like, an' -all; it 'ull be this heavy weather, for I feel that low i' sperrits -myseln——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis more than the weather," she interrupted, turning her -grave child's eyes on his. "The mists begin to come down -again, Sexton, as they did when my lover was killed yonder -on the vault-stone. Sometimes I can see men and women as -thou see'st them; and then a mist steals over them, and they -are only shadows, and the ghosts creep out of the moor, -moving real among the unreal men and women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's nobbut th' second-sight," said Witherlee gently. -"I've getten it, an' ye've getten it, Mistress, an' we've to pay -our price for 't. But it's nowt to fret yourseln about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not when I hear Barguest—Barguest creeping pad-footed -down the lane? Sexton, I've heard him every night of late—just -at dusk he comes, and if I pay no heed he presses like -a cold wind against my skirts. Does it mean trouble for -Wayne of Marsh, think'st thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hev ye set een on th' Dog?" asked Witherlee sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I have but heard him, and felt his touch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there's danger near Wayne o' Marsh, but nowt no -more nor what he'll come through. 'Tis when th' Brown -Dog shows hisseln 'at he doubts his power to save th' Maister—he -like as he seeks human help then, an' it's time for all as -wish well to Marsh to be up an' doing.—Begow, but we'd -better be seeking shelter, Mistress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She followed his glance, and shivered at that look of earth -and heaven which they called in Marshcotes the scowl of -God. To the west, whence the wind was gathering strength, -the sky was a dull, blue-green; from the east a tight-drawn -curtain of cloud moved nearer to the sun, which shone with -dimmed light and heat unbearable. Light drifts of cloud -trailed like brown smoke between earth and sky. The whole -wide land was still, save for quick breaths of suffocation -which stirred the summer dust and whipped up the leaves -untimely fallen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am frightened, Sexton. Let us go," murmured Mistress Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All day I've watched it creeping up," said Witherlee, -regarding with rapt eyes the eastern sky. "There's storms as -come quick, an' go as lightly—but this un hes nursed its rage -a whole long day, an' when it bursts, 'twill be like Heaven -tumbling into Hell-pit fire. Ay, I've seen one sich storm, an' -it bred bloodshed. See ye, Mistress, th' first rain-drops fall! -An' th' streams that are dry this minute 'ull race bank-top -high afore an hour is spent. An' them as seeks for tokens -need seek no farther."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beyond the kirkyard hedge a horseman passed, fast riding -at the trot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did I tell ye!" cried the Sexton. "Th' storm an' -th' Lean Man ride together, an' th' streams that war empty -shall be filled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He must be hastening from the rain. See, Sexton, he -rides as if pursued."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Witherlee remembered Nanny's meeting with Nicholas. -"It may be th' rain he's hastening fro'—or it may be summat -'at ye've heard whining, Mistress, when dusk is settling over -Barguest Lane," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a while he stood there, nursing his visions and heedless -of the gathering drops; then, seeing how Mistress Wayne -was shivering, he came back to workaday matters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come ye wi' me, Mistress," he cried. "Th' drops is -falling like crown-pieces.—Good sakes, there's another horseman -skifting out of th' wet, or intul 't; who mud it be, like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne, riding up the field-side that ran from the -Bull tavern to the moor, looked over and saw his step-mother -standing beside the Sexton in the kirkyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The clouds blow up against the wind. There'll be -thunder, Witherlee," said Wayne, and would have passed on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there's one gooid thing 'ull come on 't, ony way," -answered the Sexton. "Th' Lean Man o' Wildwater is like -to get wet to th' bone afore he wins across th' moor. An' ye -can niver tell but what a wetting may tak a man off—I've -knawn mony a——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne swung his horse round sharply. "The Lean Man! -Hast seen him, then?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not ten minutes agone. He crossed up aboon there at a -gooidish trot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, by the moor-track?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, his face war set for th' Ling Crag road; he war -hurrying, an' wanted better foot-hold for his horse, I reckon, -nor th' peat 'ud gi'e him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne was at the wall-side now. "Ned, thou'lt -not ride after him?" she pleaded. "'Tis Nell's wedding-day -to-morrow—she'll think it a drear omen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne was already gathering the reins more firmly -into his hand. "Nell will want a wedding-gift, little bairn—and, -by the Red Heart, I'll bring her one of the choicest.—Sexton, -shall I overtake him before he gets within hail of -Wildwater?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wi' that mare's belly betwixt your legs, Maister, ye'd -catch him six times ower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne stopped for no more, but touched the mare once -with his heels and swung up the field and round the bend of -the Ling Crag road. The Sexton looked after him and -nodded soberly; and it was strange to see his old eyes -brighten, as if at the grave-edge he were turning back to see -this one last fight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's more nor one storm brewing; I said as mich," -he muttered, and hobbled to the wicket to see the flying trail -of dust and rain that marked the rider's headlong course.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind rose on the sudden. The rain-drops fell by -twos now where lately they had fallen singly. A far rumble -of thunder crept dull through the leaden sky-wrack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gallop, thou laggard, gallop!" muttered Wayne to his -mare, as Ling Crag village swirled by and the rough track to -Wildwater stretched clear ahead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The village folk came out of their houses as he passed, but -they were slow of foot, and all that they reaped for their -trouble was the fast-dying beat of horse-hoofs down the -wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne, 'tis Shameless Wayne. Who but him carries -Judgment-fire i' his hoss's heels?" they said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Past Blackshaw Hall and through the Conie Crag ravine -swept Wayne the Shameless; past the three wells of Robin -Hood and Little John and Will Scarlett, and up into the naked -moor. The land lay flat to the sky up here, and through the -thickening rain-sheets Wayne could see his enemy's lean -figure rising and falling to the trot of his lean bay horse. Soon -the track crept timorous round the bog, and under foot the -water splashed and creamed; but still Wayne plied his mare -with tongue and spur. The thunder-throb grew nearer, and -muttered all along the murky sky-edge and down the dun -moor-fastnesses. Earth and sky, bog and peat and cloud-wrack, -were wakeful and at war; the starveling moor-birds fled -on down-drooping wings, and from the under-deeps the Brown -Folk chattered restlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne's heart was lifted to the storm's pitch as he rode. -Ahead was the man who had made a shameful bargain touching -Janet, the man who had perilled his sister's honour and -warred with malice unceasing against his house. There was -but a quarter-mile between them—and now but ten-score -yards—yet Wildwater lay over yonder slope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost crawl, I tell thee, just when I need thy speed. -Gallop, thou fool!" he muttered, then rose in the stirrups -and raised a cry that might have roused the slumber of dead -men in Marshcotes kirkyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man checked when he heard the cry, and looked -behind; and Wayne lessened by the half the distance between -horse and mare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who calls?" yelled Nicholas Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne of Marsh. Who else? There are old debts -between us, Ratcliffe the Lean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On both sides, Wayne the Shameless," cried Nicholas, -and turned the big bay's head, and rode straight at his man -with heavy sword uplifted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Between them, while they neared each other, a zag of lightning -flashed to earth, and Wayne's cry as he galloped to the -shock was drowned in a wild roar of thunder. He took the -Lean Man's stroke, and jerked his own sword back; but the -mare shied with terror, and his return blow aimed wide, -grazing the Lean Man's saddle-pommel as it fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou aimest ill, lad. I thought a sword sat better in thy -hand," laughed Nicholas, as Wayne brought his mare round -once more to the attack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man had found his youth again, and in his heart, -too, the storm-wind was singing shrill. Fear of the Dog -slipped from him. He warmed to the old joy of hardened -muscles and of crafty hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis thou and I now, thou bantling," he cried, plucking -the curb as his beast reared its fore-feet to the sweltering sky. -"Does the Dog fear the storm, that it comes not up with thee -to fight?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A second flash shot through the rain-sheets, and another -roar snapped up the Lean Man's words. Try as their riders -would the horses refused obedience to the bit, for each flash -and each new burst of thunder whetted the keen edge of their -terror. Three times Wayne brought round the mare and -strove to force her to the shock; and three times she swerved -out of sword's-reach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's life, shall we never get to blows!" roared the Lean -Man. "Down, lad, and we'll fight it out on foot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no gully of the moor now but hid a rolling -thunder-growl. The streams raced foaming between their -dripping banks, and all across the sky ran sinuous lines of -blue-red fire, the harbingers of lightning-blasts to come or the -aftermath of flashes spent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet neither Wayne nor the Lean Man knew if it were foul -weather or fair, save that the rain dimmed their sight a little; -for each saw his dearest enemy across the narrow, sword-swept -space between them that stood for the whole world. -And now one gained the advantage, and now the other, while -still they shifted back and forth, treading into great foot-holes -the soaked bed of peat on which they stood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Above, the greater battle—the shock of hurrying clouds -close-ranked against each other, the shriek and whistle of the -wind, the down-descending sweat of combat. Below, the -lesser battle, with smitten steel for lightning, and hard-won -breaths for wind and thunder, and rage as fierce, and -monstrous, and unheeding, as any that smote the moor-face raw -from yellow east to smouldering, ruddy west.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thee, Wayne!" yelled Nicholas, as he cut down -the other's guard and aimed at his left side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," answered Wayne, and leaped aside so swiftly that -the stroke scarce drew blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A keener flash ripped up the belly of the sky as they fell to -again, a nearer harshness crackled in the thunder's throat; -but naught served to quench the fury of the onset. Like men -from the Sky-God's loins they fought, and their faces glowed -and dripped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne was forcing the battle now, and step by step -the Lean Man was falling back for weariness. Harder and -harder he pressed on him; there was a moment's pauseless -whirr of cut and parry, and it was done. Shameless Wayne, -seeing his chance, sprang up on tip-toe and lifted his blade -high for the last bone-splittering stroke that is dear to a -swordsman's heart as life itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then a strange thing chanced, and a terrible. As his -sword was half-way on the upward sweep, Wayne saw, -through a blinding lightning-flash, the Lean Man's blade -shrink crumpling into a twisted rope of steel and the Lean -Man's arm fall like a stone to his side. He checked himself, -with a strain that nigh wrenched the muscles of his back in -sunder, and lowered his weapon, and cursed like one gone mad -because the sky had opened to rob him of his blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your tale is told, Lean Ratcliffe," he said. "Had the -storm so few marks for sport that it must needs rob me in the -nick of vengeance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man tried to move his stricken arm, and his face -showed ghostly-grey through the rain sheets while he mowed -and mumbled at his impotence. But the old light shone -quenchless in his weasel eyes, as he slid his left hand toward -his belt, and clutched his dagger, and stumbled forward with -the point aimed true for the other's breast. But Wayne had -never taken his eyes from him and he warded the stroke in -time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis an old device of your folk, and one I know," cried -the younger man. "Your game is played out, lean thief of -Wildwater—God pity me that I lack your own strength to -kill a stricken man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curse thee, curse thee!" groaned Nicholas. "Is that -not an old Wayne device likewise? Ay, and a mean device, -when we would liefer take steel at your hands than quarter. -Kill me, thou fool, least it be said I begged quarter of a -Wayne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne eyed him gloomily. "Cease prating! I cannot -kill you, and I cannot leave you to die among these howling -moor-sprites. Can you sit in the saddle if I lift you to -'t?—Peste, though, the horses have taken to their heals. Can you -frame to walk, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man made a few steps forward, then stopped -and seemed to stumble. "Give me thy hand, Wayne, as far -as Wildwater gates. I am weak, and cannot walk alone," he -mumbled. "There shall none of my folk do thee hurt—I -swear it by the Mass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne saw through the trick, for he knew from those few -forward steps that, though his enemy's sword-arm was sapless -as a rotten twig, his legs were firm to carry him. A touch of -grim approval crossed his hate. This Lean Man had a grandeur -of his own; maimed, defeated, worn with the fiercest battle -he had ever fought in his long life of combat, he could yet -keep heart to the last and frame a quick stroke of guile when -all weapons else had failed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Featly attempted!" cried Wayne of Marsh. "How your -folk would swarm about me when you got me to the gates! -And in what strange fashion they would keep me safe from -hurt. Nay, Lean Man, I know the way the hair curls on the -Ratcliffe breed of hound."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man was silent, weaving a hundred useless -subtleties. And then an exceeding bitter cry escaped him. -"God curse thee, youngster! The Dog fights for thee—my -very children fight for thee—and now the sky opens to snatch -thee out of hurt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," answered Wayne, gravely, "for the blow was -mine, and you know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so they parted. And the storm howled ravening over -the tortured waste.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="and-how-he-drank-with-him"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was the morrow of Wayne's fight with Ratcliffe of -Wildwater, and he rode with his sister to her wedding. The -past day's storm was over, but the clouds hung grey and -lowering, spent with the battle, yet waiting to rally by and by -for a fresh outburst. The day was scowling on the bride, folk -said, and Nell herself would fain have seen one gleam at least -of fair-omened sunlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, lass, I have brought thee a wedding-gift of the -choicest," said Wayne, as they neared Marshcotes village.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what is that, Ned?" Her voice was cold, for she -would not forget how Janet Ratcliffe had supplanted her, had -driven her into wedlock before she wished for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it? Why, the knowledge that the Lean Man -has fought his last. I would not tell before, seeing thee so -busy with thy bridal-wear—but yestereven we met on Ling -Crag Moor, he and I, and fought it out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The light came back to her eyes. "Didst kill him?" she -asked eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for the storm robbed me. I had him, Nell, and just -was striking when the lightning snatched my blow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis well, Ned. I had liefer thou hadst given the blow—but -he is dead, and I'll take that thought to warm me through -my bridal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne eyed her wonderingly, for he had looked for greater -softness at such a time. "He is not dead, lass; his sword -arm was crumpled—but for the rest, he could make shift to -get him home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou—didst—let him go?" Nell had come to a sudden -halt, and her voice was low and passionate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's life, what else could any man have done? Wast -bred a Wayne, Nell, or did some Ratcliffe foster-father teach -thee to trample on a stricken man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou should'st have killed him," she answered, and went -slowly forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Wayne glanced at her. "There's rosemary on -thy breast, lass, and thy shape is like a maid's," he said, after -a deep silence,—"but, Christ, I sorrow for thy goodman, if -thou com'st to thy very bridal with such thoughts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt never understand?" she cried impatiently. "Wilt -never learn that I wedded the feud, long months ago, when -father staggered to the gate and died with his head upon my -knees? Sometimes, Ned, it seems I care for naught—naught, -I tell thee—save to see the Ratcliffes stricken one by one. -And thou could'st have slain their leader, the worst of all of -them, and didst not!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor would do, if I had my chance again," he answered, -meeting her eye to eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, God, that I had been born a man-child of the -Waynes! That was like thee, Ned, just like thee. Reckless, -stubborn, hot for battle—and then, all in a moment, the -devil apes helplessness and touches thee to woman's pity. -Father was the same, and died for it; he would not kill the -last remnant of the Ratcliffes when the chance offered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If thou hadst made a comrade of the sword, and learned what -it teaches a man's heart," said Wayne quietly, "thou would'st -know why father left killing—ay, and why I let the Lean -Man go in safety."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent until they had turned the bend of Marchcotes -street and saw the kirk-gates standing open for them, -with the knot of village folk clustered round about the tavern. -And then she glanced at him—once, with the passion frozen -in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had Mistress Janet naught to do with that?" she asked. -"Or was it a thought of her that weakened thy heart at the -eleventh hour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne jerked his bridle and started at the trot. "Thou -lov'st me, lass," was all he said. "Well, thou hast a queer -way of showing it.—See, our folk wait for thee just within -the gates; and there is Rolf, with as soft a bridegroom's look -as ever I saw. For shame's sake, Nell, return him something -of the love he's giving thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love!" she murmured, as they dismounted at the gates. -"Well-away, I've naught to do with it, methinks; 'twas -hate that cradled me—and if God gives me bairns, I'll rear -them to take on the feud where thou hast failed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed the folk were right when they named the day -unchancy; for Nell's hand was cold in her lover's as he led -her up the graveyard path, and her mind, disdaining all that -waited for her in the present, was wholly set upon that -late-winter afternoon when she had watched her father breathe his -last. Nor could she shake the memory off when she stood -within the kirk and listened to the droning Parson's voice. -</span><em class="italics">Till death do us part</em><span>—what meaning had the words? Death -walked over noisily abroad in Marshcotes parish to render the -vow a hard one either to make or keep; and man and wife -need look for such parting every day so long as there were -Ratcliffes left to foul the moor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was done at last. Rolf and the pale, still girl whom now -men named his wife moved down the rush-strewn aisle. -Their kinsfolk, with pistols in their belts and swords rattling -at their thighs, followed them into the wind-swept, sullen -place of graves. And the village folk ceased every now and -then from strewing rue and rosemary before the bride, and -whispered each to other that twice in the year this kirkyard -had seen the Waynes come armed—once to the old Master's -burial, and now to his daughter's bridal. Would this end as -that had done, they asked? And then they glanced affrightedly -toward the moor-wicket, as if they looked for another -shout of "Ratcliffe" and another rush of red-heads down the -path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But naught chanced to break the grey quiet that hung over -graves and dripping trees. The bridal party got to horse. -The landlord of the tavern, according to old usage, brought -the loving-cup and lifted it to the bride's lips. And then, still -with the same foreboding stillness of the crowd about them, -they wound down Marshcotes street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne rode with them until they came to the -parting of the ways this side of Cranshaw; and then he -stopped and took Nell's hand in farewell; and after that he -gave Rolf a grip that had friendship in it, and a spice of pity -too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is in thy care now, Rolf," he said. "Od's life, -Marsh will seem cold without its mistress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twill not lack one for long; I trust the new mistress -will love Marsh as I have done," said Nell, and Wayne, as -he turned about and set off home, knew once for all that no -wit of his could ever throw down the barrier that had reared -itself between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he had scant time for counting troubles during the -weeks that followed. The grass was ready for the scythe in -every meadow, and he was busy day-long with the work of -getting it cut and ready for the hay-mows. The weather—rainy, -with only now and then a day or two of sun between—doubled -the labour of hay-winning; for no sooner was it -cocked and all but ready for the leading, than the rain came -down once more, and again the smoking heaps had to be -spread abroad over the sodden fields. The work was ceaseless, -and Wayne of Marsh took so tired a head to pillow every -night that sleep fell on him before he could hark back to the -tangled issues of the feud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet every now and then he found time to stop amid his -labours and to tell himself that, spite of all Nell had to say, -he was glad to have kept his hand from the Lean Man that -day upon the moor. It had been easy to fight with Nicholas -Ratcliffe in hot blood; but he had conquered him, and that -was enough; and Janet would have given him less than -thanks if he had killed the only one among her folk who -claimed her love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another matter he learned, too, and one that irked him -sorely. Heretofore he had gone about the fields with no fear -of danger, but rather with a welcome for it; but ever since -the night when Janet had come down to Marsh and given -herself to him, he had grown tender of his skin—had halted -before going out, and had wondered if sundown would find -him still unharmed. Some day, perchance, he would confess -as much to Janet if she came to need proof of his passion for -her; but the knowledge of it was very bitter to him now, and, -even as he crushed it down, he mocked himself for feeling it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The days wore on until at last the hay was all won in, and -the farm-folk paused for breath before the corn should be -ready for harvesting; and all the while Wayne's friendship -with his step-mother grew deeper and more intimate. Often, -when his brothers were out with hawks or dogs, she was his -only companion at the supper-board; and afterward she would -sit beside him while he drank his wine, talking and watching -the fire which burned on the great hearth-place the year -through. Mistress Wayne showed even frailer than of yore; -she clung more closely to Ned, with more of the dumb pleading -in her eyes; and his pity deepened as he saw that she was -slowly drifting back to witlessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three weeks had passed since the Lean Man had fought -with Shameless Wayne, and it was whispered up and down -the moorside that Nicholas Ratcliffe was near his end. None -knew how the rumour had arisen, but some traced it to gossip -of the Wildwater farm-men; and Earnshaw, who had caught -a chance sight of Nicholas on the morning after the storm, -vowed that he had never seen a man shrivel so in the space -of one short day. Nanny Witherlee had the news from Bet -the slattern, and she passed it on in turn to Hiram Hey, who -carried it to the Master on the very morning that saw the last -of the hay safely housed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne sat up late after supper that night, turning the news -over in his mind and wondering if it were true. Dusk was -stealing downward from the moor, but the storm-red of sunset -lingered yet, and the ghostliness which crept about Marsh -o' nights had more unrest in it than usual, as if the darkness -that it craved were falling over slowly. The Master had the -old house to himself: Mistress Wayne was in her chamber; -the maids were gone to Rushbearing Feast; the four lads, -despite the broken weather, had followed the chase all day and -were not yet returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So the Lean Man is dying," mused Wayne, his eyes on -the slumbering peats. "Ay, there's likelihood in Hiram's -gossip. 'Tis a marvel he has lived so long, after the storm -that palsied him.—Well, God knows I'd liefer the lightning -had done the work than I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The silence of the house crept softly over him, as he sat -on and on, thinking now of Janet, now of his sister, and -again of the feud that still lay smouldering until one side or -the other should stir it into life again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden weariness of it came to him. Must they fight -everlastingly, till either Waynes or Ratcliffes had been swept -from off the moorside? The Lean Man's death would free -Janet of the only tie that bound her to Wildwater; would it -bring her folk likewise nearer to the thought of friendliness?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God grant it may," muttered Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he glanced across the hall, toward where his -father had lain upon the bier awaiting burial—where he -himself had stood and sworn above the body that he would never -rest from killing. The tumult of the past months rolled -back; he saw again the quiet face of the dead; he felt anew -the bitter hate that had informed his vow. Was he to draw -back now, because the one sweeping fight had given his -stomach food enough? Nay, for his oath held him, now as -then; and, now as then, he must be ready at all hours to -carry on the old traditions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he sat there, his head between his hands, with the -peats dropping noiseless into light heaps of ash, the door -opened and Mistress Wayne crept into hall. Her hair was -loosened; her bare feet peeped from under her night-gear; -and a man, to look at her, would have named her the -bonniest child that ever stood far off from womanhood. She -stood for awhile regarding the quiet figure by the hearth, then -came to him and rested both hands lightly on his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, bairn, I thought thou wast asleep," said Wayne, -starting from his reverie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could not sleep, Ned. Each time I closed my eyes the -dreams flocked round me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hands in his and drew her gently down. -"Dreams? Come tell them to me, little one," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She crept still closer to him, shivering as with cold. "Ned, I -saw thy father as he lay in hall here, long ago—saw his still look, -and the candle-shadows slanted by the wind across his face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her glance, as Wayne's had done, sought the place where -the bier had rested; and he wondered why his thoughts and -hers should run on the same theme to-night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the dream rest there, bairn," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not heed him, but went on, with wrapt, still face. -"And then the dream shifted, Ned, and it was the Lean Man -lay there—the Lean Man, with one ear shorn level with the -cheek and the dreadful scars upon his face. Ned, 'twas -fearsome! For Nicholas Ratcliffe sat him up and scowled at me -as he does when he meets me on the moor—as he did when -first I went to Wildwater and was turned forth of doors by -him. And his hands crept out toward me, Ned, till they -closed about my throat; and then I woke; and I could not -bear it, Ned, so I came down to thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never heed such dreams," he whispered soothingly. -"Thou'rt over-weary, that is all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be so—yet they were so real, Ned! So real." Again -she glanced across the hall. "Thrice I saw thy father -lying there—and once, Ned, thou stood'st beside him, so I -thought, and pleaded with him. Thou had'st kept well thy -oath, thou said'st; was't not enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne's hand tightened on her own. It was not the first -time that she had touched, as with a magic wand, the hidden -burden of his thoughts; yet never had she aimed so surely to -the mark as now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what said he—what said the dead man on the bier?" -he queried eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What said he? He opened his eyes, Ned, and looked -thee through and through. ''Tis not enough, save all be -slain,' he answered, in a voice that was faint as the echo of a -bell. 'I weary of it, father,' thou said'st. 'Yet wilt thou -keep the vow, though thou think'st 'tis done with,' said the -dead man, and closed his eyes. And then—Ned, there was a -whimper and a crying at the door, and thy father stirred in -sleep, and lifted himself, and cried </span><em class="italics">Wayne and the Dog</em><span>, so -clear that it was ringing in my ears when I awoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne answered nothing for a space. For not his father -only, but his father's fathers, lifted their shrouds and gazed at -him—gazed mercilessly and told him that the feud was not -his, to be staunched or fought at pleasure, that it was a -heritage which he must bear as best he could, passing it on when -his turn came to die.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No buried legend of his house, no musty tale of wrongs -suffered and repaid but came back to mind. And Mistress -Wayne sat still as destiny beside his knee, and kept her eyes -on his. The wind moaned comfortless through the long, -empty passages; the garden-shrubs tapped their wet fingers on -the window-panes; and the House of Marsh seemed to -mutter and to tremble in its sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne roused himself at last, and looked down at the frail, -troubled face. "Dreams need not vex us, bairn, when all is -said. Fifty such will come in the space of one night, and -each carry a contrary tale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then we heed them not; but mine to-night are -played all upon the one string, Ned. What should it mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means that thou hast lived through some drear months, -little one, and the memory of them takes thee at unawares in -sleep.—Come, now, fill up my wine-cup for me, and light the -candles, for 'tis gloomy here in hall—and then I'll tell thee -tales until thou'rt ready for thy bed again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was quick at all times to shift her mood to his; and -soon her face smoothed itself, her hands ceased moving -restlessly, as she lay back against his knee and listened to his -voice. Only the softer tales he told her, of the Wayne men -and the Wayne women, their loves and the fashion of their -wooing. And in the telling he, too, began to lose the -discomfort which her dreams had roused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, Ned," she said, looking up on the sudden; -"had any of thy folk so strange a wooing as thine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, three generations back. But that tale has a drear -ending, bairn, and I'll not tell it thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Often and often I dream of thee and Mistress Janet; -sometimes she stands at the far side of Wildwater Pool and -bids thee cross to her—and thou goest waist-deep, Ned, to -reach her—and then the sun sets red behind the hill and the -waters turn to blood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of a truth, little one, thou'rt minded to have me sad -to-night," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, not sad!" she pleaded. "There's much that is -dark to me, Ned, but one thing I never doubt—that Janet -will come safe to thee. Let the waters redden as they will, -thou'lt cross to her one day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Over her kinsfolk's bodies? Ay, it may be so," said -Wayne bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They both fell silent then, and by and by Wayne looked -down and saw that her eyes were closed and her breath came -soft and measured. He let her lie so for a while, then took her -gently in his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor bairn!" he said. "She's sadly overwrought; I'll -take her to her room again before she wakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came down again presently to hall, and threw fresh -peats on the fire, and settled himself beside the hearth; for -Mistress Wayne had given him fresh food for thought, and -sleep was far from him. This little woman, half witless and -altogether weak, had echoed Nell's words of the morning—that, -weary of it or no, he must take on the feud. He recalled -Nell's look, the quiet and settled hatred that had seemed so ill in -keeping with her bridal-morn; and he understood, with the -clearness that comes to a man at lonely night-time, how deep the -memory of her father's death had gone. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> had been revelling -when the blow was struck on that stormy winter's afternoon, -and it had been to him no more than a disastrous tale re-told; -but she had seen the blow, had looked into Wayne's dying face, -had watched the life ebb out to nothingness. Ay, there was -scant wonder that she could not loose her hold upon the quarrel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then his mind revolted from such thoughts, and a clear -picture came to him of Janet—Janet, as she had stood yonder -in the window-niche and named him master. Dead Wayne -of Marsh had his claims, and he had looked well to them; but -had the living no claims likewise? He had pledged his word -to Janet, no less than to his father; and if a chance offered, -he would cry peace with the Ratcliffes and be glad. A deep, -pitying tenderness for the girl swept over him; he would be -good to her—God knew he would be good to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was roused by a sharp call from without, a call that was -thrice repeated before he got to his feet and opened the main -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gate, ye Marsh folk, gate!" came a thin, high voice from -the far side of the courtyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne looked across the moonlit yard and saw Nicholas -Ratcliffe, whom he thought to be dying, seated astride his big -bay horse and lifting his hand to beat afresh upon the gate. -Too startled to feel anger, if anger had been possible after the -plight in which he had left his foe at their last meeting, Wayne -crossed the yard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your errand?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To drink the wine I spilled on my last visit here," said -the Lean Man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice, his bearing, were softened strangely; and Wayne, -seeing what weakness underlay his would-be gaiety, felt a touch -of something that was almost pity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Spilled wine is hard to pick up, sir," he answered; "but -if you come to ask for a fresh measure—why, there's none at -Marsh will be so churlish as to grudge it you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was turning to fetch the cup when the Lean Man called -him back. "I could scarce keep my seat for faintness—I'm -weaker than I was, as you will guess perchance—and I am -fain to rest my limbs. There's a matter to be talked of, -too—would it irk you, lad, to let the Marsh roof shelter me a -while?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still wondering, Wayne drew the bolts of the gate, then -glanced to see if Nicholas held dagger or pistol in his hand. -But he was unarmed, nor did he look like one who could use -any sort of weapon. As in a dream the younger man helped -his guest from the saddle, and noted that he had much ado to -stand upright soon as his feet were on the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Times change," said Nicholas, smiling faintly. "Not -long since I forswore your wine—and here I'm craving your -arm to help me indoors that I may drink the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne was gentler than his wont after his long brooding -by the hearth, and again the other's weakness touched his pity. -This guest of his, who leaned so heavy on his arm, was an old -man, and he, who had brought the bitterness of defeat on him, -was young. This guest of his, too, had been kind to Janet -in his own rough way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lie on the settle, sir," he said, busying himself after the -Lean Man's comfort soon as they had got indoors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I've hated this house of Marsh through life—but, -sooth, I find its welcome pleasant now the ice is broken.—The -wine, lad! Bring me the wine!—I thank you. Shall I give -you a toast that will please us both?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you can find such, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Janet Ratcliffe, who rules at Marsh and Wildwater," -said Nicholas, and drained the cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne leaned against the wall and passed a hand -across his eyes. It was more like some fantastic dream-scene, -this, than aught else. Had Nicholas, then, learned all that -had passed between Janet and himself? Nay, that could not -be, since he took it with such friendliness. The riddle was -beyond him, and he looked up at last—to find the Lean Man -smiling frankly at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, lad! It puzzles thee, and I'll make no mystery of -it. Janet grew shamed of lying to me, and made a straight -confession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After—after we fought together, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other halted a moment; then, "After we fought -together," he echoed.—"See, Wayne of Marsh, I'm humbled—by -you. I have been scarred by fire and lightning—through -you. I despised you when first the feud broke out, thinking -you a worthless lad, scarce meet to cross blades with me. Yet -you have prevailed; you have made shame my portion——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold, sir! What is past, is past, and I will not hearken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have cursed you, lad, till, by my life, I think there are -no curses left in me. Weakness has stepped in everywhere, -and even my hate is lost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no shiftiness about the Lean Man now. His -eye met Wayne's with shame in it, but with no trace of guile. -And the younger man despised himself that at such a time a -doubt should take him unawares.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet 'tis not long since you carried my sister off by deep-laid -treachery—ay, and boasted of it when you brought her in -exchange for Janet," he said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My body was whole then, and my heart hot; and for -devilry I lied to you. 'Twas not I, but Red Ratcliffe, who -hatched the stratagem.—Lad, lad, if you could read me -through, you'd see I'm over broken to lie, or scheme, or fight -again." His eyes dimmed, and he bent his scarred face on -his breast awhile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne felt his doubts slip by. Like a dream it was still, -but a truer dream than Mistress Wayne's. Only an hour ago -she had talked of disaster and bloodshed; and here was the -Lean Man, come to give her prophecies the lie. And Nicholas -could give him Janet, and peaceful days wherein she and he -might watch the old sores heal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man roused himself presently, and tried to smile. -"I lack it, Wayne, that hate of mine, when all's said; but 'tis -gone, lad—gone altogether."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As mine is, too," said Wayne in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that a true word?" cried the other. "Is't courtesy -only bids you say it, or——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I live, I have lost my hate for you. Ay, I could -welcome peace if it were offered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is the Wayne spirit, lad—the damned Wayne pity -when theirs is the upper hand. Have you no fear of what -chanced to your folk aforetime through letting us breed instead -of killing us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne warmed to the downright sturdiness of the man. -"I must leave that to shape itself," he answered.—"But, -Janet, sir? What of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She came with her tale, boy, when I was at the lowest -ebb of spirits, thinking on my dead arm and the fights it might -have played a part in. She told me her love for you—she -pleaded that the long strife should end, that she and you should -bind the two houses close in friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you consented? You——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, like a fool, consented—and she, like a woman, holds -me to the folly. There, lad! A life's enmity is a dear thing -to surrender—but Janet has witched it from me. I'm tired, -and old, and very near my grave, and peace it shall be -henceforth if you're of that mind too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne held out his hand, and the Lean Man -gripped it with his left; and they looked deep into each other's -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a fancy, lad," said Nicholas presently, "an old -man's fancy, and a worthless. You see me here now, and -think the end will not be yet; but I know better. Death -may come to-day, to-morrow—and, when it comes, I should -like full peace to be made above my body. My folk are -ready as myself; 'tis only my zeal has kept them to the feud -so long. Wilt promise me this much—that thou'lt bring -thy kin to my lyke-wake and make peace at the bier-side. -Oaths taken at such a time bind men more straitly, I've -noticed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir, there's no need to talk of death as yet!" cried -Wayne, eager to soothe the old man's trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other did not heed him. "I've not done much good -in my lifetime," he went on, as if talking to himself. "Life's -pity, I'm growing womanish, to sorrow over back-reckonings—yet -still—'twould please me to bring this one good deed to -pass. Wilt promise, lad, to grant my whim?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promise gladly, sir—and trust that the need to keep it -lies far off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good lad! Fill up for me again, and then help me back -to saddle. There's none but you would have brought me so -far from home to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their hands met again when Nicholas had mounted and -was ready to start. A grim humour was twitching at the -corners of his mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, sir?" asked Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I was but thinking we parted in a different fashion -when last we met. Fare thee well, lad, and I'll take some -sort of love-sick message from thee to one at Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne went back to his seat by the hearth, and -leaned his head on his hands, and wondered if all had been -indeed a dream. And then his heart rose up in thankfulness, -that at last the rough ways were to be made smooth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a true word I spoke," muttered the Lean Man, as -he rode at a foot-pace up the hill. "The strength is dying -fast in me—this peace-errand of mine is the last big effort I -shall ever make." Again the smile flickered and died at the -corners of his mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The last effort—save one," he added when he gained the -top of Barguest Lane.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="mistress-wayne-fares-up-to-wildwater"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MISTRESS WAYNE FARES UP TO WILDWATER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A week had passed since the Lean Man came down to -drink with Shameless Wayne, a week of bitter winds that -brought rain and hail from the dark northern edge of moor. -July, which should have been at middle splendour, had been -flung back to March, for the thunderstorm, fiercer than any -that had swept over Marshcotes in the memory of man, had -quenched the sun, it seemed, and had harried the warm winds -and lighter airs to hopeless flight. The heather, that had been -budding fast, bent drearily to the peat and kept its flowers -half-sheathed. The corn draggled limp and wet across the -upland furrows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne, as he sat at meat this morning with his -step-mother, turned his eyes from the window and the -dripping garden-trees that stood without. Never had his chance -of happiness shown clearer than it had done since the Lean -Man came to drink the peace-cup with him; yet the weather -chilled him with a sense of doom. Do as he would, he could -not shake off the influence of moaning wind and black, -cloud-cumbered skies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a child, to sway so to a capful of cold wind—eh, -little bairn?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The past week had set its mark on Mistress Wayne; her -eyes were ringed with sleeplessness, and wore perpetually that -haunted look which had been in them when she came from -her bed to rid her of perplexing dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The children are wise sometimes, Ned," she murmured. -"They sadden for storm and clap hands when the sun -shines—and that is wisdom. Does the sky know naught of what -is to come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for it lifted when I was heaviest, and now that the -tangles show like to be unravelled—see, the sky scowls on me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it knows—and when disaster steals abroad it veils its -face for sorrow.—Look, Ned, look! There's hail against the -window-panes. Dost recall that night when thy—thy father—lay -dead in hall here, and they killed Dick Ratcliffe on the -vault-stone? 'Twas the edge of winter then, and now 'tis -full summer; yet the hail falls, now as then, and the trees -sough with the same heartbreak in their voices."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis just such another day," he muttered, crossing to the -window and watching the hail-stones gather on the sill.—"What, -then, bairn! Are we to cry because fortune is fairer -than the weather? Have I not told thee there's to be peace -at last? And Janet Ratcliffe, whom thou wast so eager for -me to wed, will be mine soon as——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast told me all that, Ned," she interrupted gravely, -"and yet—forgive me—I am sick at heart. Barguest was -scratching at my door last night; I cannot rid me of him -nowadays. What should the poor beast want with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne turned sharply and looked into his step-mother's -face. If the sky's frown had chilled him, how could a word -of Barguest fail to move him—Barguest, whose intimate, -friendly dealings with his house had grown to be as much a -part of Marsh as its walls, its trim-kept garden and lichened -mistal-roofs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And not the Dog only, Ned," she went on, quietly, "but -I saw thee stand on the brink of Wildwater Pool again—thee -and Janet—and she cried to thee across the crimson waters -like one whose soul is in dire torment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God keep us, bairn!" he cried. "Why didst not tell -me this before? Did Janet speak in thy dream? Did she -say aught of the Lean Man or her folk?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught; she did but wring her hands, and bid them -hasten.—Ned, Ned, where art going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Going? Why, to Wildwater. Red Ratcliffe has taken -advantage of the old man's weakness.—God, bairn! Shall I -be in time to save the lass?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas no more than a dream, Ned," she stammered, trying -to block his way. "I never thought 'twould drive thee -up to Wildwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could it do less?" he answered, putting her from -him and buckling on his sword-belt. "I laughed at dreams -a while since—but only when they promise peace need we -have doubt of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She followed him to the door, still piteous with entreaty. -"Ned, have a care! The Lean Man is on our side now, but -he is only one, and they are many at the grim house on the -moor—rough men and cruel, like those who met me once -and told me thou wast dying.—Well, then, if thou must go, -let me come with thee!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou, bairn?" he cried. "What should such as thou -do up at Wildwater? There, I'll come safe home, never -fear; and keep thou close within doors, meanwhile, for thou'rt -over-frail to meet these blustering winds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood there at the door until he had saddled his horse -and brought it round from stable; and again she sought to -keep him from his errand. But he paid no heed to her, and -soon she could hear his hoof-beats dying up the lane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God guide him safe," she whispered, and held her breath -as the wind rose suddenly and set the hall-door creaking on -its hinges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All morning she wandered up and down the passages, afraid -of the dreams that had racked her through the night, doubtful -if she had done well to give Ned warning, in hourly dread -lest some ill news of him should come from Wildwater. All -morning the wind sobbed and wailed, as if there would never -again be gladness over the cloud-hidden land. And under the -wind's note Mistress Wayne could hear the patter-patter of -soft feet, ceaseless and unrestful, till for very dread she -wrenched the hall door open once again and went into the -courtyard. But the footsteps followed her, and once she -sprang aside as if some rough farm-dog had brushed her skirts -in passing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wild the storm was in this sheltered hollow, but on the -open moor it was resistless. The wind's voice in the -chimney-stacks, piteous at Marsh, was a scream, a shriek, a -trumpet call, up at the naked house of Wildwater, and the walls, -square to the harshest of the tempest, shook from roof to the -rock that bottomed them, as if they grudged shelter to the sick -man whom they harboured. For Nicholas Ratcliffe had taken -to his bed on the day that followed his ride to Marsh, and he -knew that he would never rise from it again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had made them move the bed to the window, from -which his eyes could range to the far hill-spaces of the heath; -and he lay there this morning, listening to the storm and -counting the hours that he had yet to live. As the wind -raved out of the north, he could see it plough its green-black -furrows across the dripping murk that hugged the ling from -sky-line to sky-line; and the sight seemed good to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It fits, it fits!" he murmured. "Lord God, how sweet -the storm-song is!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was dying hard, undaunted to the last. He had feared -naught save Barguest through his sixty years of life; and even -the dog-dread now was gone—it had as little terror for him as -the grave which showed so close ahead. Nay, a grim sort of -smile wrinkled his lips as he lay on his side, and gasped for -breath, and heard the wild wind drive the Horses of the North -across the waste; for he counted his hours, and he thought -they would lengthen till dawn of the next day—or may be noon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And by then we shall have made peace with Wayne of -Marsh, and with his kin," he muttered; "ay, peace—'tis a -fair word after all, methinks, though once I cared so little for -it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes were on the open doorway, and they brightened -as Janet crossed the stair-head. "Janet!" he called. "I've -a word for that pretty ear of thine; come to the bedside, -lass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl came softly across the floor and put a hand on his -wet forehead. "Can I do aught?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, thou canst do much, girl. Dost recall how I railed -at thee when first I heard of thy love for Wayne? And then -how I softened to thy pleading? Od's life, I think thou hast -bewitched me; for now I'm keener set on peace than ever I -was on blows. Hearken, Janet! I rode down to Marsh not -long since, as I told thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, sir—and didst drink a cup of wine with Wayne in -token that the feud was killed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In token that the feud was killed," he echoed, with a -sideways glance at her. "And now I cannot die till I have seen -the peace fairly sealed, here by my bedside. Would Shameless -Wayne bring his folk here to Wildwater, think'st thou, -if I made thee my messenger?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet caught his hands in hers. "Would he bring them? -Why, sir, he would ask naught better," she cried. "Let me -ride down to Marsh forthwith."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Young blood, young blood!" said the Lean Man, with a -laugh that brought the colour to her face. "I warrant the -sight of Wayne is worth more to thee than fifty truces, for -thou'rt eager as a hind in spring to seek this new-made lover -of thine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, grandfather," said Janet gravely; "I would do for -peace sake all that I would do for love. Peace means life—life -to Wayne—is that so slight a matter that I should scruple -to ride down to him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne's life is no slight matter," said the other softly. -"Get thee down to Marsh, Janet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl grew very tender on the sudden. She had dealt -amiss with her grandfather in times past, and he was -rewarding her by kindness not to be believed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall thank you all our lives for this—all our lives," -she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shadow crossed the Lean Man's face; his hand trembled -on the bed-covering; his eyes wandered hither and thither -about the room, not meeting Janet's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was so fearful when you learned my love for Wayne," -she went on. "I feared you would find a way to kill him, -and then that you would leave Red Ratcliffe free to do as he -would with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All that was in my mind, lass," said Nicholas, after a long -silence. "Nay, if this pesty sickness had not weakened the -pride in me—but that is passed. Get thee to Marsh, then, and -bid every Wayne in Marshcotes or in Cranshaw come up to -drink old sores away.—What, doubtful?" he broke off, as -Janet halted half toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not of Ned's coming, sir—but the Waynes of Cranshaw -will hold back, suspecting treachery. I saw Ned two days -ago, and he told me how his kinsfolk had taken the news of -your peace-errand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The smile played again about the Lean Man's lips. -"God's pity, what do they fear from me?" he cried. "Look -at me, Janet, and say if I could scare any one—save the crows, -haply, when they come a-stealing corn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say that, while Nicholas Ratcliffe lives, there will -be bloodshed; they say, sir, that they'll give no ear to talk of -peace until—" She checked herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, finish it out, lass! Until I'm under sod, thou -would'st have said? So my name holds good even yet? -Well-away, 'tis a thought to soften one's pillow, when all is -said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fell into silence, and Janet, standing by the bedside, -saw his rough brows drawn tight together as if the brain were -quick yet in his dying body. A vague foreboding seized her; -time and again in the past she had seen the Lean Man knit his -brows in thought, and some one of his moorside foes had -always rued it later in the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So the Cranshaw Waynes carry suspicion of me still?" -said Nicholas after awhile. "Art sure, Janet, they will doubt -me to the last? Doubt me, when Wayne of Marsh has -given his hand, knowing that peace is all I ask for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They have not seen the changed look of you as Wayne of -Marsh has done, or they could never doubt." There was a -break in Janet's voice, for her foreboding of a moment ago -grew shameful when measured by the old man's gentleness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I must die without seeing what I yearned to see. -Well, so be it. Now give me a promise, girl—the last I shall -ever ask of thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promise it beforehand—but it must not be the last. You -will live, grandfather——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush, bairn! A broken jug carries no wine.—God, -don't cry so, Janet! When I was hale, I could never bide -the sight of tears; and now they madden me. Listen; when -the breath is out of my body, my folk will wake beside the -bier. Well, the Waynes must come then if they'll not come -while I'm living; death will soften them, lass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace, I say!—Whenever I die, girl, be it to-day or when -it will, do thou take the news to Wayne of Marsh and bid -him to the lyke-wake with all his kin. Wilt do this much, -Janet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will do it gladly, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be to-night, Janet. Art prepared?—Yet, Lord, I -doubt they will not come! Girl, will they come, think'st -thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grandfather, what ails you? Is't not enough that you -have righted this evil quarrel? You rode down to Marsh, at -a time when you had scarce strength to sit the saddle; you -showed Ned that he could trust you; you won him to the side -of peace. What then? Lie back on your pillow, sir, and -rest content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rest? There's no rest," he muttered. "Fears crowd -thick about a dying man; fears are carrion crows, girl, that -never swoop until a man is past his strength. I fear -everything, I tell thee—everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not wait, sir; let me go see Wayne of Marsh this -moment—'twill ease thee to know I 'have told him how hour by -hour your eagerness for peace grows hotter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, go! Have thy mare saddled, and ride with the wind's -heels. Tell Wayne to be prepared against my death—the -death his folk are watching for. Bid him come to the lyke-wake -on peril of his soul, for the curses of the dead are no -light load to bear. Bid him in God's name or the -devil's——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice tripped for very feverishness; his eyes burned -with a sombre fire; there was no doubting that this last whim -of his had grown to be an overmastering passion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will persuade him, grandfather, have never a fear of that," -said Janet, as she went to do his bidding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned at the door, and saw that he was following her -with his eyes; and she stopped for a moment, spellbound by -the scene. The wind was raving overhead; the light that -filtered through the panes was leaden, streaked with a -storm-red; the gurgle of rain, the hiss of hail, came never-ceasing -from across the moor; it was as if the earth were riven -asunder, and all the waters of the earth were gathering to a -head. And there, silent amid the uproar, lay the Lean Man -of Wildwater, with the fire-scars on his face, and the red -lump that stood for his left ear, and the strained look that -comes when the one-half of a man is palsied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How drear it is, how drear!" murmured Janet, and looked -at the Lean Man again, and saw that a bitter sadness had -come into his face—a sadness whose depth she could not -fathom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back," whispered the Lean Man, beckoning feebly -to her.—"Thou hast loved me well, Janet," he went on, as -she stooped above him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have loved you well, grandfather—better than ever you -knew of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But less than Wayne of Marsh—Wayne, who thwarted -me at every turn—who—there, lass! What am I saying? -That is wiped out, and haply I like him none the worse -because he gave shrewd blows. God, to think how fain I am to -see thee wed to him—safely wed to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dwelt on the last words, repeating them with a vehemence -half grim, half childish. And then he pointed to the -door, and not till Janet's footfall sounded on the stair did he -break silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The lad has thwarted me, and I forgive him," said the -Lean Man slowly. "Janet has played me false, and I make -her the messenger of peace. 'Tis fitting; the old hatred was -an ill comrade for grey hairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he lay back, listening to the </span><em class="italics">spit-spit</em><span> of the rain, -the falling cadence of the wind. And a smile, as of -hardly-won content, played round about his hollow face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe was waiting at the stair-foot when Janet came -down into the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How goes it with the dotard?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made no answer, but brushed past him toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, go where thou wilt," sneered Ratcliffe, watching her -put on cloak and hood; "so long as the Lean Man lives, I'll -lay no finger on thee, for there's a devil in him that only the -grave can kill. But what after that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After that, Ratcliffe the Red," she cried, turning suddenly -to face him, "after that I shall put my safety in the keeping -of one thou know'st."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne of Marsh, I take it? Shameless Wayne, who -drank his own father's quarrel away, who——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who goes abroad with a cry of </span><em class="italics">Wayne and the Dog</em><span>. Hast -ever heard the cry, Red Ratcliffe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He winced, remembering how often he had fled panic-stricken -with the cry behind him; and Janet, turning from -him in disdain, crossed to the stables through the misty drizzle -that was scattered from the skirts of the late storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It might be a half-hour later, as she dipped down the Ling -Crag hill, that she met Shameless Wayne galloping hard up -the stiff rise. He checked on seeing her and brought his -mare on to her haunches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was riding to thee, Janet. What brings thee here? -No ill news, is't?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Ned—save that grandfather is not like to live the -day through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no danger threatens thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never less, Ned. Whither wast galloping so hard, and -why dost look so tempest-driven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What hast done to me, Janet?" he cried. "I'm full of -dreads since winning thee; and just because Mistress Wayne -saw thee last night in a vision, I needs must come -helter-skelter to learn if thou wast safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If the vision foretold disaster, Ned, methinks it erred—and, -by that token, it is well we met, for I have a message to thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, from Wildwater?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay. Grandfather, like thee, is full of doubts—but his -are a sick man's terrors. His fury I know, and his tenderness—ay, -I have seen him panic-stricken, too—but I cannot tell -what ails him now. His talk is all of peace between our -houses; and yet, when he speaks of my wedding thee, he -scarce knows whether to jest or scowl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was a youngster, and chance gave me the better of the -fight," said Wayne quietly. "Canst wonder he grudges it a -little?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It must be so—and, Ned, we've happiness to thank him -for. His message was that, soon as he is dead, you are to -come with your folk to wake beside the body. My kinsmen -are rough, Ned, but they know grandfather's wish, and when -ye stand beside the bier with them, be sure the thought of -death will soften them to the truce."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promised him as much a week since, and I'll keep faith, -dear lass—for thy sake, if for no other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet he fears the Cranshaw Waynes will still hold back. -Ned, canst make sure of them? 'Tis his last wish, and I -would not have him thwarted.—And now, dear, fare thee -well. I dare not be away from Wildwater, lest he be -wanting aught, or—lest he die, Ned, without my hand in his."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne turned about. "I'll ride to Hill House now, and -then to Cranshaw. They shall come with me, Janet; trust -me to persuade them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned! 'Twill be—'twill be to-night, I think. To look -at him, he cannot live through the day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then to-night shall find us ready.—Why, child, what is't?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She brushed the quick-rising tears away. "Naught—'twas -naught—only, Ned, I've no friend in the world but thou when -grandfather has gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was gone with that, and Wayne, after seeing her gallop -into the mists, turned his mare's head and made across the -moor to Hill House, where he told them of the Lean Man's -message and the nearness of his end. Some were in favour -of the truce, others refused to abandon their settled mistrust -of Nicholas Ratcliffe; and last of all they rode with him to -Cranshaw, there to take counsel of the Long Waynes. At -Cranshaw it was the same; some were on Shameless Wayne's -side, others were hot against his plan; and Nell herself was -the first to resist his counsel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems the Lean Man's dying wish is more to thee than -father's," she cried; "but, for my part, I can hear no talk of -peace for the cry that rings day-long in my ears. No quarter, -Ned—dost mind the cry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have followed it far enough," he answered. "Has -wedlock taught thee so little, Nell, that peace shows not worth -the gaining?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I told thee,—neither wedlock nor aught else can wipe -one picture out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I for one, Nell, am fain to see the end of all this -blood-letting," cried her husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And art thou fain," she answered bitterly, "to see him -wedded to this Ratcliffe girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, even that I'd welcome, though 'tis not long since I -thought ill of it. But it should help to heal the feud—and, -besides, they say she is no Ratcliffe in her honesty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have it as ye will. Mistress Janet is leagued with her -kin, doubtless—but men do not believe these matters when -their logic is a bonnie face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Janet is well enough; all the moorside has a -kindly word for her," put in one of the Waynes of Hill -House; "but what if the Lean Man has not done yet with -his accursed trickeries?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we are armed, and in full force," said Shameless -Wayne. "Would the Lean Man have bidden all of us to the -feast, think'st thou, if he had meant trickery?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned is right," put in Rolf; "we will go to the lyke-wake, -and if the feud is to be staunched above his body, -there'll many a wife go happier to bed than she has done since -the spring came in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nell held out against them still; but they overruled her, -and one by one the malcontents agreed to follow the counsel -of those they counted as their leaders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll not last through the day, so Janet told me," said -Shameless Wayne. "Best come with me to Marsh forthwith, -and wait the messenger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So thou'lt marry this daughter of the Ratcliffes?" said -Nell, as she stood at the gate and watched her brother get to -horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God willing, Nell—and one day thou wilt love her near -as much as I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I have done with loving. Ride on, Ned, and if -they tell thee I have cared for thee—why, say they lie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He touched his horse and rode slowly out; and all the way -to Marsh his thoughts were busy with this sister's love that -would fain have kept him close in prison. It was not the -feud only then, that warped her nature. </span><em class="italics">I have done with -loving</em><span>, she had said; and dimly he understood that even her -husband had no place beside him in her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Od's life, these women! Who framed them at the -start?" he muttered, as he gained the steep down-hill that led -to Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he remembered little Mistress Wayne, and wondered -if she had rid her of the needless fears which had driven -him out this morning in search of Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But his step-mother had left Marsh House and was already -nearing the lane-top that took her to the moors. All -morning she had wandered from room to room, from house to -courtyard, to see if Ned were coming home. Why had she -listened to her dreams, she asked herself? Why told him -how Janet had stood on the verge of Wildwater Pool, entreating -help? Visions might play her false and had done as much -a score of times. Yet—what of Barguest? He at least was -real; he at least—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her hands against the gate to steady herself, and -looked up the lane; for the sound of pattering feet was in her -ears once more, and there was a coldness in the wind more -shrewd than any that blew off the moors. And not only the -sound of feet, and icy, upward moving breeze—for a dun and -shaggy-coated hound crept out of the empty road, and swung -up toward the heath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne halted no longer now. There were many -who had heard the Dog in Marshcotes, but none save she to -whom he showed himself. It must be as she feared; Ned -was in peril at Wildwater, and the Dog was leading her to -him. Not once did she halt to ask what service she could -render him; it was enough that he was in danger, and that -Barguest sought her aid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dun mist hugged the moor as she made forward. The -clouds were grey as hopelessness, and everywhere the sound -of moorland brooks, flushed by the heavy rains, was like a -doom-song in her ears. Underfoot the peat oozed black at -every step. The further hills were blotted out, the nearer -rises showed unsubstantial, wan and ghoulish; the very grouse -were wearied into silence. The shaggy-coated beast that had -led her here had vanished into the drifting mists; but still she -pressed on, her whole mind bent on reaching Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would have been lost at the first mile had she brought -reason to help her find the track to Wildwater; but instinct -guided her more surely, and presently the black house in the -wilderness showed swart among the mists. So dark it looked, -so evil, that once she half turned back; but Ned had need of -her—and she would go to the house-door and knock, and ask -what they had done with him. And if they killed her—well, -it would not matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On and on she went. And now she had reached the outer-most -intake; and now she had crossed the lank grass, and -gone through the gate at the top, and reached the bare house-side -that looked from its solitary window on to the path which -led to the courtyard. Mistress Wayne caught her breath, and -stopped, and listened; but the house was still as death. Her -resolution faltered; she looked up and down the wall, with -the rain-lines shimmering grey from the gable-end to the -rustling weeds at its foot—looked, and saw nothing for -awhile—looked, with the absent gaze of those who wander in their -sleep, until a shadow crossed the window-pane, a shadow that -took substance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then there was a crash, the falling of broken glass, and -Mistress Wayne had wit neither to scream nor flee. She could -but follow the hand that beckoned through the broken pane.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="how-the-lean-man-forgot-the-feud"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HOW THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Janet, soon as she reached Wildwater after bidding -farewell to Shameless Wayne, went up to the Lean Man's room -to tell him how she had fulfilled her errand and to see if he -were in need of anything. But the sound of voices met her -when she gained the stair-head, and she stopped irresolute. -The pity that she felt for her grandfather was such as to make -her shrink from showing it to the rude eyes of her kinsmen, -and she would wait until the Lean Man and she could be -alone together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door was wide open, and as she turned to go downstairs -again Red Ratcliffe's voice sounded harshly across the -landing. "By the Heart, sir, we judged you all amiss! We -thought the fight was dead in you, and now——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead? The fight will die, lad, when I do," chuckled -the Lean Man. "Tell me, is it not bravely planned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet crept close to the door, her eyes wide-open with -dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bravely, sir," went on Red Ratcliffe. "Peste! We -have them in the hollow of our hands, and yond Wayne of -Marsh will learn, as his father did, whither courteous foolery -leads a man. He drank in your tale, then, when you went to -him that night at Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, did he; and God knows how I kept my laughter in -when I saw him falling into the wonted softness of his race. -How could he refuse an old man's plea? How could he be -less than courteous when I fetched a tear or so and babbled -of my failing strength?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet leaned against the wall, sick and nerveless. The -blow had fallen on her like a thunder-bolt, and as yet she -could not realise that the Lean Man on his very death-bed -was playing so grim a part.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would have had them ride up this afternoon," went on -Nicholas, "because I feared to die before the good hour came. -But the Waynes of Cranshaw are less guileless, it would seem, -than him of Marsh, and they would trust me not a stiver till -the breath was cold in me. What, then? Ye shall lay me -out in state in the great hall below us, and I will show death -that I am ready to play his game before he calls me—ay, but -I'll not die, call he never so, before I have sat me up on my -bier and cheered you to the fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll look so reverend, I warrant, that the sight of you -will disarm them altogether," laughed Red Ratcliffe -boisterously. "We shall pledge your soul with such sorrow, we -Wildwater folk, and they'll be eyeing us so steadfastly, that -our blades will be clean through them before they have got -hand to hilt. Courage, grandfather! You'll see the end of -every Wayne that steps before you leave us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If fortune holds. I bade them all to the feast—all, lest -one should be lacking from the tally of dead men. Lord -God, I must live until the dawn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Janet was your messenger? A bonnie stroke, to -make the stock-dove lure the wild goose into bowshot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lean Man rose from his pillows, and his voice was -terrible to hear. "Janet?" he cried. "She played me false, -she let my foe wanton with her in sight of all the moorside; -she killed my love, I tell thee, and I hate her more than I hate -Wayne of Marsh. From the first moment that I learned it, -I cursed her by the Dog; and to my last breath I'll curse -her. I all but killed her on the first impulse; but then I -thought better of it, and planned to tear her heart in two by -making her the bait for Wayne—and the plan will carry—the -plan will carry, lad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, it will carry, sir. But she must guess naught of it, -or by the Mass she'll find a way to warn them. Where is -she now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the feeble, hollow laugh. "With Shameless Wayne, -lad, to be sure. I sent her to him, saying I was like to die -this night and bidding him be ready for the lyke-wake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christ pity me! It was I who sent him for his kinsfolk," -murmured Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was dazed yet from the shock; the wall against which -she leaned seemed to turn round and round her; love, faith -and honour, so sure a moment since, were empty phantoms -now; nothing was real, save these two evil voices, of the -youngster she had hated and the old man she had loved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And they'll be fondling one another," cried Red Ratcliffe, -after a silence, "and saying how all is made straight for them -at last.—Look ye, sir," he broke off fiercely. "I claim Janet -after this night's bloody work is done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And shalt have her, Red-pate, if for no other reason than -that she loathes the sight of thee. Ay, she shall learn the -price a Ratcliffe asks when he is thwarted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The colour was returning to Janet's face. She had been -stunned by the first shock of discovery; but now that they -threatened—threatened death to Wayne, and worse than death -to her whom Wayne had mastered—her face went hard of -purpose as the Lean Man's own. She rallied quickly, stood -for a moment with one ear turned toward the door, then -moved on tip-toe to the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" she heard Red Ratcliffe say. "Didst hear -a footfall on the landing, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I. Tush, lad, I begin to think thou'rt feared of -what's to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm feared of naught, save treachery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why dost grow pale because a puff of wind sets -doorways creaking? As for treachery—Janet is at Marsh, I -tell thee; she cannot have got there and back by now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet held her breath and started down the steps, slowly, -with a thief's tread. One step, two—all was well. But the -stones were slippery with the wet mud that Red Ratcliffe had -brought up with him from the stable-yard, and at the third -step she slipped and would have fallen but for the oaken rail -that protected the stairway from the well. There was a pause -and then she heard the sound of heavy feet crossing the floor -above.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis Janet, I say! Who else would be spying up and -down the steps?" cried Red Ratcliffe, running to the stairhead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, reckless of another fall, sped down the steps, and on -along the gloomy passage. Red Ratcliffe, heedless likewise of -his neck, leaped after her. She reached the side-door leading -to the orchard, and wrenched the bolts back; but the wood -was swollen by the rain, and she could not move it. Red -Ratcliffe was close behind her now; she tugged at the heavy -door, but still it would not yield, though her fingers bled and -the nails were broken half-way down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not again, pretty one!" laughed Red Ratcliffe, as he -caught her by the arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go. I—I will not have thee hurt me so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'lt have what I think good for thee in future," he -answered, tightening his grip until she screamed for pain. -"Thou didst hear, doubtless, that the Lean Man gave thee to -me just now? Well, 'tis best to show who is master at the -start."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Master!" she cried. "Thou dar'st to call thyself my -master?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The word was like a knife-thrust to the girl. This lewd, -red-headed fool to claim the title which belonged to Shameless -Wayne! And then she remembered that Wayne's safety and -her own depended, not upon passion, but on coolness now. -She turned as Red Ratcliffe loosed his hold, and eyed him very -softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cousin," she said, "thou wast wont to prate of thy love -for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll prove it by and by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, prove it now—by gentleness. I only ask a -moment's freedom—just to the garden-gate and back again, to -cool my feverishness. This house-air stifles me. Cousin, be -kind this once, and I will—will love thee for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast fooled me so oft, lass, that it seems the fondest -lie is reckoned deep enough to take me now. How far is't, -tell me, from the garden-gate to Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne is not at Marsh," she broke in. "Why should -I want to go there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So thou hast persuaded him to ride to Cranshaw? My -thanks for the news, pretty one. The sport speeds better -than I hoped for when I found thee returning over-soon from -thy errand. Didst meet him by the way, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rued her hastiness; for she saw by Red Ratcliffe's face -that no turn of speech or eye could cozen him; and she had -confessed, all for naught, that Shameless Wayne would come -to the lyke-wake when they bade him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cousin, let me have speech of grandfather," she said, -making a last effort. "I—I can explain all to him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Doubtless," answered the other grimly. "Old liking is -hard to kill, Janet, and I would not trust thee with him—nay, -not though he hates thee now. Thou would'st be soft with -him, letting thy lashes melt upon thy cheeks. God, yes, I -can see thee at thy antics!—A murrain on thee!" he broke off. -"Is there so little to be done that I must needs stand -chattering here? Follow me, girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not follow thee," she answered stubbornly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer he set his arms about her and half carried, half -dragged her to the little room at the bottom of the passage -where once he had prisoned Nell Wayne; then pulled the -door to and turned the key sharply in the lock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, left to herself, gave way utterly. She had no heart -to lift herself from the floor, but sat there, her head bowed -upon her knees, and pictured what was so soon to follow in -the great hall that lay just behind her prison-chamber. And -by and by her mind began to wander idly down strange paths -of thought, as she recalled each speech and glance of her -grandfather's at their last meeting. All that had puzzled her -in his air grew clear—the touch of remorse, the look of pity -that came into his face at parting. For the one moment he -had wavered, remembering his love for her; why had she not -known, not guessed what he was planning? For then she -might have over-ridden his purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Too late! There was nothing to be done now. The -thought maddened her. Springing to her feet, she crossed to -the one small window of the room and stood looking out upon -the mist-swept greyness of the heath. But there was no -chance of escape, for a child could not creep through it—she -must wait, then, watching the hours slip ghostly past this -strip of moor—watching the dark come stealthily from the -sky-edge—listening to the noise of men about the house and -knowing the reason of their gaiety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she had led Wayne here. In a flash she recalled that -other day when she had sought to save him from going to -Bents Farm in face of peril; now as then her very care for -him had been his undoing. If he were here now—if she -could have one poor five minutes with him before the end -he would never doubt her love again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she could bear her thoughts no longer, and she threw -herself time after time against the door, striving to beat it -down. That brought weariness, and welcome pain of body, -to her aid, and she sank into a sort of numb heedlessness that -yet was nothing kin to sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was roused by the sound of feet, slow-moving down -the stair as if some heavy burden were being carried from an -upper room. The house, empty of all furniture save such as -the rough needs of their life demanded, re-echoed every -sound. Janet could hear the very shuffle of the men's boots -as they halted at the stair-foot. Then, slowly, with measured -burial-tread, the footfalls came down and down the passage, -halted at the rearward door of the hall, made forward again -until they sounded close beside the wall of Janet's prison. -What were they doing, she asked herself? And then the -Lean Man's voice sounded from the other side of the wall, -and she understood the grim business that they had on hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, well in the corner, lads," said the Lean Man. -"Custom bids me lie in state in the middle of the hall—but I -should ill like to cumber fighting-ground. Say, is there room -for all of you—ourselves and all the Waynes in Cranshaw -and in Marshcotes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Room and to spare, sir," answered Red Ratcliffe. "God -rest the builder of the hall for giving it such width."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, remember to strike swift at the word. Fill up -your glasses and lift them to the cry, 'In the name of the -dead man—peace between Wayne and Ratcliffe.' And then—on -to them while they drink, and the dead man on the bier -will lift himself to watch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A subdued hum of laughter followed, broken by the Lean -Man's voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I warrant ye found the carrying of me no light work. -By the Mass, the sweat drips from under your red thatches like -rain from mistal-eaves!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet shuddered to hear his gaiety. This man was dying, -and yet by sheer force of hate he was keeping the life in him -until—but she dared not think what followed that "until."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A messenger has gone to bid the Ryecollar Ratcliffes to -the wake," said another voice presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis well. And Wayne of Marsh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will be gladdening at your death by this time, sir; for -Ralph here, who rode down to Marsh, as thou badest him, to -tell them of thy death——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Returns," put in Ralph, "with Wayne's greeting to my -kin, and his pledged word that he and his will come to the -lyke-wake after sundown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Harry, what a night 'twill be!" cried the Lean -Man. "Do ye wonder, lads, that I was eager to get me to -the bier before I need? I like the feel of it; I like to meet -yond dotard death half-way and show him that I have scant -respect for him. Death? What is death, when I shall see -the sweep of swords on splintering skulls before I leave? -Come, wrap the cere-cloths round me; they'll be softer -bedfellows than any wife I ever lay beside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet listened to it all and wondered if her wits were playing -her false. This man, who could rest on his own bier and -play with the death which was already overwatching him—was -he the grandfather she had loved, or some bog-begotten -thing that had come from out the moor and claimed his body? -It might be so, for strange tales were told of what chanced to -men who halted between this world and the next. Again she -turned to the window, striving to keep her wits by deadening -sense and hearing to what was passing on the other side of the -wall. Without, grey clouds were hiding the last edge of -sunset, and a grey mist was trailing up the pathway of the wind. -Oh, for a moment's freedom! No more—for not the wind -itself could race as she would race to warn the Ratcliffes' -enemies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She passed a hand across her eyes, thinking that in sober -truth she was going mad at last. For out of the mist-wreaths -a figure—a frail figure, with wet, wind-scattered hair—was -coming toward the house of Wildwater. Janet, awe-stricken, -watched it draw near and nearer yet; and then, with a rush -of hope that was almost agony, she saw that it was no -phantom, this, but Mistress Wayne of Marsh—Ned's stepmother, -and his constant friend. Clenching her fist she drove it -through the window-pane with one clean blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick! I've a word for you, Mistress Wayne," she -stammered, dreading lest one of her folk should come to learn -the meaning of the crash.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yond is the pretty traitor," she heard Red Ratcliffe say. -"Let her break every shred of glass the window holds—not -even her slim body can win through the opening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne, startled out of the lonely musings that -had kept her company across the moor, turned about as if to -flee; but terror held her to the spot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis I—Janet Ratcliffe—Ned's sweetheart—do you not -know me, Mistress?" cried Janet, feverishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little woman drew near a step or two and eyed her -gravely. "I remember—yes, you are Janet Ratcliffe—why -did you fright me so?" she whimpered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mary Mother, must our safety rest with such a want-wit -babe as this," muttered Janet.—"Come closer, Mistress!" -she went on peremptorily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne obeyed the stronger will, though still she -was afraid of she knew not what.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to Marsh and tell them there is treachery," -whispered Janet. "Tell them, if come they will—and -Ned, I know, will do no less—that they must come with -swords loose in the scabbards. The signal is, 'In the name -of the dead man, peace between Wayne and Ratcliffe.' Now, -hasten, Mistress—hasten, I tell you, unless you wish to see -Ned killed at Wildwater; for see, the sun sinks fast, and -sundown is the time appointed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not at once did Mistress Wayne learn her message; she -had to repeat it, child-like, over and over until she had it -letter-perfect, while all the time Janet could scarce get the -words out for impatience. But one thing the little woman -understood—.that Barguest had not led her up the moor for -naught, that Ned was in instant peril, that only she could save -him by hurrying back to Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet watched her, when at last her lesson was well learned, -fade ghost-like into the darkening banks of mist. And then -she dropped to the floor, and lay there forgetful of the -preparations that were afoot behind her in the hall, heedless of the -rattle of swords, the interchange of pleasantries between the -Lean Man and his folk, the chink of flagons on the lyke-wake -board. And afterward she found cause to thank Our Lady -for the swoon which gave her so merciful a breathing-space -between what had chanced and what was yet to follow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne never halted until she had gained the door -of Marsh. Shameless Wayne himself answered her knocking; -his mind seemed bent on weightier matters for he scarce -noticed her after the first quick glance of surprise, but led her -into hall, where thirty of his kinsfolk were gathered in -chattering knots about the hearth, or in the window-nooks, or -round about the supper-table. Griff and the three lads stood -together in one corner, whispering and trying the edges of -their swords.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no place for trickery, I tell thee," Rolf Wayne -of Cranshaw was saying as she entered. "Why should they -send a messenger to say that the Lean Man is dead? Why -should they press us to go drink in amity above his body?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because they've hatched some pesty stratagem," answered -his fellow, whose doubts had reawakened during the suspense -of waiting. "They'll find it easier to fight at home than in -the open."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish! We've eyes and swords to help us," cried Shameless -Wayne, turning sharp round from his step-mother. "If -they want peace, they shall have it; and if war, then they -shall have that likewise. But 'tis peace, I tell you, for the -Lean Man had repented of his hate before he died."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>None answered him, for all had turned as Mistress Wayne -came in. And Shameless Wayne turned then and scanned -her up and down; yet, startled as he was to see her in this -plight, he asked her no question, but filled a wine-cup to the -brim and set it to her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wast ever kind to me, Ned," she whispered brokenly. -"None knows, I think, how thou hast watched to give me -my least need."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy needs are no great burden for a man's back," he -answered, in the old kindly tone that he kept for her -alone.—"Does the company fright thee, bairn? Why, then, we'll -none of them. Come to the parlour and tell me all thou hast -to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head, and stood with one hand in his, and -looked from one to another of the swart, sinewy men who -kept so mute a watch on her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's treason," she said simply, and stopped till she -could gather the scattered items of her message.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne looked at Wayne, but none spoke. The silence -that foreruns a storm held one and all of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I went to Wildwater—in search of Ned," went on the -little woman. "He was long a-coming, and I feared for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what could'st thou have done to help?" muttered -Shameless Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not know—only, that Barguest had called me to -thy aid. I crossed the moor, and it was very dreary, and I -was frightened. But I saw the Dog go footing it up the lane -before me, and I went on—on—until I reached the black -house of the Ratcliffes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still no word, not a murmur, from the listening group. All -eyes were on the little figure by the table, but she stood with -clasped hands and far-away regard, as if she were looking at -some other scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I passed close to the one end of the house—the end that -has a little window looking on the moor—and I grew lonely, -so lonely, that I wished to turn and run back home to Marsh. -And then I saw a hand beckoning me from behind the -window—and there was a crash—and, when I had found my wits -again, Janet Ratcliffe was whispering to me through the -broken pane. A long tale she told me, and I learned it all by -heart, and—nay, it has gone! There's but one word in my -ears—and it sings so loudly that I cannot hear the rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the word?" asked her step-son gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Treason—treason—treason. But there was more—some—some -signal. Oh, what will Janet say when she knows I -have forgotten my lesson!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The strain was over great for her; her face worked piteously, -her hands clasped and unclasped each other in the -effort to remember. And Shameless Wayne, dumbfounded as -he was to know he had been the Lean Man's dupe, knew well -that they must humour this poor waif if they were to get her -tale from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, little bairn," he said, "thou hast told enough. -Rest thyself awhile, and never heed the finish of thy tale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I must! It touches thee so nearly, Ned." Her -face cleared on the sudden. "I know now," she went on -still with the same grave simplicity. "They have asked you -to wake with them in token that the feud is healed. They -will fill your goblets and their own, and lift them to the cry, -'In the name of the dead man, peace between Wayne and -Ratcliffe.' And then, while ye are drinking, they will kill -you with their swords."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The storm was let loose now. The Long Waynes of -Cranshaw had their say, and the Waynes of Hill House; -Griff and his brothers watched from their corner, with eager -faces that showed how they were spoiling for a fight. The -Lean Man's name flew hither and thither through the clamour; -none doubted that the plot was his, and they cursed him -by the Brown Dog of Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne stood aloof from all until the din had -lessened; and when at last he spoke his voice was rough and -hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Waynes, are ye ready for the lyke-wake? 'Tis time we -got to saddle," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art mad?" cried one. "Is the warning to go for naught, -that we should put our necks into so trim a noose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let be, Ned. Wildwater is no good drinking-house for -us," said another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would'st ride thy luck till it floundered?" snarled a third.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne beckoned to his four brothers. "Come -hither, lads," he said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came and ranged themselves about him, facing the -noisy throng.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will ye ride with me to Wildwater?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, if thou mean'st to fight," answered Griff. And, -"Ay, will we!" cried the rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then saddle.—Who goes with us?" he went on, turning -to his kinsfolk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They glanced at each other, angrily, sheepishly. If Griff -and his stripling brothers were fain to follow this -bog-o'-lanthorn chase, could they hold back?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think twice about it, Ned, and keep thy strength to meet -them in the open," said one of the Long Waynes of Cranshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I go, and the lads go, whoever follows.—Hark ye, -Waynes! These swine have fooled us; they have twice -broken hospitality—once in drinking with me here, and once -in offering us a friendly cup at Wildwater. Will our sword's -rest light in the scabbard, think ye, if we hold back for one -single day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned is right," struck in Wayne of Cranshaw; "and we -shall take them at unawares. They count us unprepared. The -first blow will be ours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He crossed to his cousin's side, and others with him; and -those who still thought the enterprise foolhardy could not for -shame's sake stand aloof.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Waynes," said Ned grimly, as they clattered to the door, -"they think us over-gentle, these Ratcliffes; but to-night, I -warrant, we'll be something better than our reputation. </span><em class="italics">Kill</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Mass, we shall see fair sport at last!" cried Griff, -his face afire with eagerness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Wayne laid a hand on Ned's arm as he was following -the rest. "I—I want to come with thee," she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To come with me?" he cried impatiently. "Thou -look'st fitter for thy bed, foolish one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say it is fancy—only take me. I'll not fear the -bloodshed—I'll not give one cry—take me, Ned!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, bairn, what should I do with thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast heard what they say in Marshcotes—that I am thy -luck, Ned? Thou'lt win to-night if I am near at hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reasoned with her, stormed at her, all to no purpose; -for the little woman could be obstinate as himself when she -believed that his safety was in case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say thou shalt not come with us," he said. "There's -work to be done, bairn, and we want no women-folk to -watch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet for all that he would have had her come, for the -superstition which he disavowed was quick in him. She was his -luck, and he knew it well as she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, I never yet asked aught of thee and was refused," -she pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold thy peace, child! I cannot take thee—and I will not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes filled with tears; it was as idle, she could see, to -turn him from his refusal as to hold him back from Wildwater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! I was harsh with thee. Never heed it, bairn," -he said, looking toward the courtyard where already he could -hear the fretful pawing of horses, the rattle of scabbards as his -folk sprang into the saddle, the gruff cries of the stable-men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A thought came to him, then. He fingered the dagger at -his belt, in absent fashion, and turned to ask Mistress Wayne -if the room where Janet was prisoned was easy to be found.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could show it to thee if thou would'st take me," she -said, with a child's subtlety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt make me curse thee, bairn? Where is the room, I say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It—it lies fair on the bridle-way. 'Tis the only chamber -on that side the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So Janet learned their secret, and they held her back from -warning us," he muttered. "What if the day goes against -us? Peste! I never asked myself so mean a question before -I had two lives to think for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned! Where art thou?" cried Rolf from the courtyard. -"There's thy mare here, kicking all to splinters because thou -wilt not mount her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Wayne was already out in the courtyard and had stepped -to the roan mare's head. The roan ceased pawing at sight of -him, and came and thrust her muzzle close against the -master's cheek; and Wayne with one clean vault was in the -saddle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But his step-mother had all the cunning of the fairy-kist. -Quick as himself she had followed him into the yard. The -flaring torch-light showed her Griff's boyish figure and eager, -laughing face on the outskirts of the throng.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Griff, I must ride with thee to Wildwater," she said, -laying a hand on his saddle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad started. He was a little afraid of his step-mother -in these latter days, as youngsters are of those they cannot -understand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Mistress?" he asked bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a whim of mine—nay, 'tis a crying need. Ask no -more, Griff; it is for thy brother's sake—and if thou wilt not -take me, I'll run beside thy stirrup till I drop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Puzzled, liking neither to take her nor to refuse a plea so -urgent, Griff stooped at last and swung her to his crupper. -"The Lord knows how it will fare with you at Wildwater," -he muttered, as his brother's call to start rang through the -courtyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In silence they went up the moor, a score and ten of them. -The wind, quiet for awhile, was gathering strength again, and -its breath was bitter cold. A blurred round of yellow marked -where the moon was fighting with the cloud-wrack over Dead -Lad's Rigg. The whole wide moor was dark, and lonely, -and afraid. The heather dripped beneath the keen lash of -the wind, and over Lostwithens Marsh the blue corpse-candles -fluttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are ye feared, Mistress?" said Griff, stooping to the ear -of Mistress Wayne when the journey was half over. His -voice was jaunty, but in truth his dread of moor-boggarts was -keener for the moment than his zest for the battle that was -waiting them up yonder on the stormy hill-crest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear the moor always, Griff; 'tis pitiless, like those red -folk who dwell at Wildwater," whispered Mistress Wayne, -clinging more tightly to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there'll be fewer of them by and by, so keep thy -courage warm with that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nearer and nearer they drew to Wildwater, while Janet -Ratcliffe was still kept prisoned in the narrow chamber that -overlooked the moor. She had wakened from her swoon in -time to hear the last preparations of her folk in the hall behind -her, and the Lean Man's voice was in her ears as she lifted -her aching head and heavy limbs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I fit this cursed bier?" he was saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like a gauntlet, sir," answered Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I look pale enough? Lord knows I need, for the -fight to keep old death at bay shows like to break me. Lads, -if only my right arm were whole! I'd take my turn with -you, 'od rot me, and have one merry sword-cut for my last. -What hour is't?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis close on ten of the clock. They should be here by now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tie up my chin, then, lest aught be wanting. Poor fools! -Poor, courteous fools! To think they come in innocence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Would the dread farce never end, thought Janet? Or -would a hand reach out of the moor—the moor that was her -friend—and strike the Lean Man in the midst of his -cool-ordered devilry? But still their voices sounded through her -prison-wall. She listened more intently now, for old Nicholas -was talking of herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When all is over, bring the girl into hall here—the girl -who mocked me and played the harlot with my foes. Spare -her no drop of agony; bring her to where Wayne of Marsh -lies bloody, and tell her that is the bridal I had set my heart -on. God, how deep my hate goes! And"—his voice faltered -by a hair's-breadth—"and once I loved her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He loved her still, thought Janet, and the half-confession -touched a strange chord in her. A moment since she had -burned with hate of her grandfather; yet now, with the -obstinacy of her race, a spark of the old love wakened for this -crafty rogue who had spent his last hours in working for her -misery. Nay, there was a touch of pride in him, because he -kept so staunch a spirit to the end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, time wags. Tie up my chin, I tell thee, Ratcliffe -the Red," said the Lean Man after a lengthy silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet could hear Red Ratcliffe start forward to do the old -man's bidding, could hear the awed laughter that followed. -Her fleeting love for him died out. She loathed his treachery, -and his impious trafficking with death. Sick at heart she got -to her feet and began to pace up and down the room. Had -Mistress Wayne carried the message to Marsh House? Or -had she faltered by the way? She was so slender a bridge to -safety that it seemed she must break down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind whistled through the shattered window, and with -it came a spit or two of rain. Janet, her senses sharpened -by anxiety, heard the least under-sound that came from the -hall, the moor, the moaning chimney-stacks. She started on -the sudden and put her ear to the casement. Up the path -that skirted the house-side came the faint </span><em class="italics">slush-slush</em><span> of -horse-hoofs striking sodden earth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are coming!" she muttered, racked with fear lest -her warning had miscarried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon she could see thick shadows crossing the window-space—shadows -of men on shadows of horses, outlined against -the lesser blackness of the sky beyond. Something struck the -ground at her feet; she groped for it and her fingers closed -upon a dagger with a curving blade. She knew then that -Wayne of Marsh was forewarned—knew, too, the meaning -of his quiet message to her. If he should fall he had given -her a refuge from dishonour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her courage returned. At worst she could die with him; -and Wayne's luck in battle did not let her fear the worst. -She stood straight in the darkness of her prison, and heard the -horsemen turn the corner of the house, and waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Marsh, meanwhile, led his folk straight in at the -Wildwater gates, which stood wide-open in proof that they -were welcome guests.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Mistress, what am I to do with you?" whispered -Griff to his step-mother as he pulled up his horse and lifted -his frail burden to the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mistress Wayne, not answering him, slipped from his -side and lost herself amid the darkness. Nor did she know -what purpose was in her mind—only, that where Ned was, -there must she be also.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne sprang from the saddle and knocked -sharply on the door with a cry of "Ratcliffes, ho! Ratcliffes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door was flung wide. "Welcome, all Waynes who -come in peace," cried Red Ratcliffe from the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We come to secure peace," said Wayne, and turned in -the darkness of the courtyard and whispered, "</span><em class="italics">kill</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hall was aglow with light as they entered. Candles -stood in all the sconces of the walls, on the mantel-shelf, on -the great dining-table which was pushed close against the -outer wall; and, at the head and foot of the Lean Man's bier, -a double row of flames shone yellow on the burial-trappings. -Over the mantel were the rude letters of the Ratcliffe motto, -</span><em class="italics">We strike, we kill</em><span>; and Wayne of Marsh smiled as his eyes -fell on the device which he and his had ridden hither to -disprove.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe caught the direction of his glance, and touched -him lightly on the shoulder. "'Tis but an outworn saying, -yond," he cried. "We neither strike nor kill, now that the -dead has bequeathed us fairer days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He beckoned toward the bier, and Wayne and all his folk -drew round it in a ring, looking down upon the closed eyes -and wax-white face of their old enemy. Until now they had -doubted whether the Lean Man were really dead; but doubts -vanished as they saw the still look of him and marked how -death had lent its own nobility to the scarred weasel-face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His last prayer was for an end to our long feud," said Red -Ratcliffe, smooth and grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, was it—and he wept that he had not lived to see us -friends," cried one of his fellows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne kept his eyes on the dead man, for fear -his scorn of all this honeyed speech should show too soon; -and he thought, as Red Ratcliffe spoke, that a tremour like the -first waking of a smile ran up from the cloth that bound the -Lean Man's jaws. But he could not tell; the candle-flames -were slanting now in the wind that rustled through the open -door, and the fantastic shadows thrown by them across the -bier might trick the keenest sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas wondrous how quiet an end he had—the old hate -clean forgotten," went on Red Ratcliffe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May all his kinsfolk have as quiet an end," said Wayne, -and sighed impatiently, wondering when the signal for the -onset would free him from all this give-and-take of idle talk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet he would not hurry to the goal; for if the Ratcliffes -thought to lull him into security by delay, the self-same logic -taught him likewise to be patient. For Shameless Wayne was -cool to-night; his aim was not victory alone, and if one -Ratcliffe of them all escaped, he would count himself a beaten -man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silence followed. The Ratcliffes were glancing sideways -at each other, as if asking, "When?"—and one of them, -stooping to Red Ratcliffe's ear, whispered, "The door! We -have forgot to cut off their retreat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The night blows shrewd, friends. Let's shut it out," -cried Red Ratcliffe boisterously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped half toward the door, and fetched an oath, then -laughed aloud; for there on the threshold stood little Mistress -Wayne, shivering from head to foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Mass, we entertain a gentle member of your -house, friend Wayne," he said. "Enter, Mistress; there's -no peace-cup rightly drunk, they say, unless a woman's lips -have touched it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne frowned on her as she stepped timidly into the -room and crossed to where he stood. "How com'st thou -here?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could not leave thee—oh, Ned, I could not leave thee," -she whispered. "Dear, thou'lt win with me here to watch -thee—and—for Our Lady's sake, get done with it, for I'm sick -with doubts and fears."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe had already shut the door and slipped the -bolts into their staples. And Shameless Wayne looked on -and nodded; for he, too, was wishful for closed doors. He -had taken advantage of the little woman's entry to draw off -the Long Waynes of Cranshaw, the Waynes of Hill House, -and his four brothers, from the bier;—they had masked themselves, -as if by chance, a little apart from the red-headed host -of Ratcliffes, and either side looked for awhile at the other, -each hiding their sense of the wild humour of the scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe was smooth and merry as one who dances at -a rout. "Od's life," he cried, "what with the wind, and -surety that the dead man's ghost walks cold among us, we -need strong liquor. Wayne of Marsh, a bumper with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Ratcliffes, following his lead, moved to the table and -filled a brimming cup for each one of their guests. And after -that they poured measures for themselves; and Janet, listening -from the little room behind to all that passed, knew that the -time had come for Waynes or Ratcliffes to go under once for -all. The instincts of her fighting fathers rose in her; she felt -her dagger-edge, there in the darkness of her prison, and -yearned to take her part in what was next to chance. But -little Mistress Wayne, affrighted by she knew not what, shrank -back into the window-niche and prayed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drink, Waynes!" cried Red Ratcliffe on the sudden. -"In the name of the dead man, peace between Wayne and -Ratcliffe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Waynes lifted their goblets high, and ran headlong -forward, and dashed them in the faces of the Ratcliffes while -yet their blades were only half free of the scabbards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne and the Dog!" the cry rang out, and before the -red-heads could wipe the wine-stains and the blood from mouth -and eyes, the Waynes were on them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fight seemed long to Janet, fingering her dagger and -longing for a share in it; but it was swift as the moor-wind -screaming round the house of Wildwater. The wind was a -tempest now; yet its voice was drowned in the blustering yell -of "Wayne! Wayne and the Dog!"—-the cry that had -driven the Ratcliffes from many a well-fought field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had no chance. Surprised, outwitted, blinded by the -wine-cups, they struck at random. But the Waynes aimed -true and hard. One by one the Ratcliffes dropped, and still -Shameless Wayne lifted the feud-cry of his house. Neither -courteous nor soft of heart was Wayne of Marsh this -night—nor would be till the work was done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ten of the foe were down, and the score and five still left -were fighting with their backs against the wall. A lad's laugh -broke now and then across the groans, the feud-cries, the hiss -of leaping steel; for Griff was young to battle, and the two -lives he had claimed had maddened him. Shameless Wayne -said naught at all; but </span><em class="italics">kill</em><span> was graven on his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The din of battle had wakened even the dead, it seemed; -for on a sudden the Lean Man sat him upright on the bier and -watched the fight. A flame was in his eyes, and with one -shaking hand he strove to wrench the jaw-cloth loose, and -could not. His lips moved with a voiceless cry, as if he -would fain have cheered his folk to the attack; but speech and -body-strength had failed, and only the brain, the quick, -scheming brain, was live in him. Yet none marked his -agony, none moved to unwrap the grave-cloth from his jaws.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Ratcliffes, desperate now, made a last sudden effort -just as the Waynes were surest of their victory. With one -deep-throated yell they leaped to the attack, and drove the foe -back with a rush, and rained in their blows as only men do -when the grave is hungry for them. Two of the long Waynes -of Cranshaw dropped, and one of the Hill House men. It -seemed the Wildwater folk might conquer yet by very fury -of the forlorn hope they were leading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A Ratcliffe! A Ratcliffe!" roared the on-sweeping band.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wayne and the Dog!" came the answer—but feebler now -and less assured, for three more Waynes were lying face to -the ceiling-timbers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then a dread thing chanced. For Mistress Wayne, -shrinking close into the window-niche and watching the red -pathway of the fight, heard a new note cleave through the -uproar. The wind was raving overhead; the cries were loud as -ever; but deeper than them all was the low whine that -sounded from the courtyard door. She saw no sword-play -now, no forward leap or downward crash of men; her gaze -was rooted trance-like on the door, and round about her -played an ice-cold wind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up the long chamber, through the reeking press, a brown and -shaggy-coated beast stepped softly—stepped till he reached the -Lean Man's bier. But only Mistress Wayne had marked his -passing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw the Lean Man cease struggling with the jaw-cloth—saw -him turn a haunted face toward the left hand of the -bier, while terror glazed his eyes—saw the rough-coated hound -set back his shadowy haunches for the spring, and leap, and -clutch the Lean Man by the throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's pity, 'tis the Dog—'tis Barguest!" cried Mistress -Wayne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice, sharp-edged with agony, struck like a -sword-thrust into the fight. The Ratcliffes were sweeping all before -them; but they stopped for one half moment. Barguest had -carried disaster to them always; there was not one of them -but dreaded the Brown Hound; and the woman's cry that he -was in the room here plucked all the vigour from their -sword-arms. The battle was lost and won in that half-moment's -pause; for what had daunted the Red Folk had put fresh -heart into the Waynes and driven them to the onset with -resistless fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a carnage then. Five Ratcliffes dropped at the first -shock, ten at the next onslaught. The rest fled headlong -toward the great main door, and tried to open it; but Red -Ratcliffe had made the bolts too sure, and they were caught in -their own trap. Snarling, they turned at bay, and showed a -serried line of faces, lean, vindictive, bright-eyed as the -weasel's whom tradition named their ancestor. Those who -fell writhed upward from the floor and tried to drive their -blades home; and the Waynes, with low, hoarse cries, put -each a foot on the skulls of the fallen, and fought on in this -wise least the dying, weasel-like to the end, should prove twice -as dangerous as those whose limbs were whole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet had followed the battle as best she could. She had -heard the feud-calls swell, and weaken, and grow loud again; -had heard Mistress Wayne's shrill cry of Barguest. And then -her lover's voice rose swift in victory above the growling hum -of "Ratcliffe! A Ratcliffe!" And she knew that Wayne of -Marsh had wiped his shame clean out at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe and two others were all who stood upright -now, and they were fighting behind a bank of fallen comrades.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quarter!" gasped Ratcliffe, full of a fresh stratagem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not again," laughed Wayne. "We courteous fools are -out of mood to-night, Red Ratcliffe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quarter! We're defenceless, Wayne. Would'st butcher us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, would I," answered Wayne of Marsh, and cut at -Ratcliffe's head-guard, and grazed his scalp as his own blade -slid down the other's steel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'st made a priest of him!" roared Griff, beside himself -with the reek of slaughter. "Look at his bloody tonsure, -Ned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe flung his sword in the lad's face, and picked -up a dying Ratcliffe in his arms. Fury lent sinew to despair; -a moment he staggered under the body, then hurled it full at -Shameless Wayne and drove him blundering half across the -floor. And then he raced down the pathway he had made, -and gained the hinder door, forgotten until now, and clashed -it to behind him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The passage was pitch-dark, with a sharp turn and three -unlooked-for steps half down it; and his first thought was to -pick off the Waynes who followed as they stumbled in the -darkness, and afterward to make good his escape in such -rough-ready fashion as the ensuing uproar might suggest. He -halted awhile, waiting their coming, while his breath came -and went in hard-won sobs; then, as his brain cooled, he -bethought him of the narrow, winding passage that branched oft -from the one in which he stood and led at one end to a rarely -opened door that backed the orchard, at the other to the room -where his Cousin Janet lay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind him he could hear the Waynes calling one to -another as they blundered out in search of him; some went up -the main stairway; others moved cautiously toward him and -called to their fellows in hall to bring them candles. He -waited for no more, but crept down the narrowed passage, -and felt for the door, and had his hand already on the hasp -when he remembered Janet. It was his last chance of safety, -this, he knew; but, like the greybeard who had schemed his -last behind in hall there, he had a desperate courage of his -own, and a like remorselessness. Was he to leave Wayne of -Marsh to make merry with the maid for whom he had -hungered these twelve months past? Nay, for she should share -his flight; and Wayne should find the dregs of victory less -welcome than he looked for.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His pursuers were moving all about the house; but their -thoughts were all of the main doors and plainer ways of -escape, and in their hurry they neglected the narrow belt of -darkness that marked the opening of the side-passage. Red -Ratcliffe laughed softly to himself as he ran to Janet's room; -for there was time, and he could yet plant a mortal thrust in -Wayne of Marsh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Janet, with the ring of Wayne's last triumph-shout in her -ears, heard steps without her door, and cried, half between -tears and laughter, that Ned had come to free her—Ned, who -had fought a righteous quarrel to the last bitter end; Ned, -who was her master, and the master of her enemies. Ah, -God! If he had not saved her from Red Ratcliffe!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The key was turned softly in the lock—too softly, she -thought, for an impetuous lover. She put her hands out, felt -them prisoned, and with a "Thank Our Lady, Ned, thou'rt -safe!" she yielded herself to a hot embrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ned, take me to the light! I want to see thy face. Is -there blood on thee, dear lad? Nay, I care not, so it be not -thine own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Red Ratcliffe's voice came to her through the darkness. -"Ay, there's blood on me, cousin—Wayne blood, that it shall -be thy work to cleanse. Meanwhile, the hunt is up— Canst -not hear them running hot-foot up and down the house? -Come with me, girl, or I'll set thumb and finger to thy throat -and drop thee where thou stand'st."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was helpless in his grasp. Bewildered, not knowing -where Ned was, nor why Red Ratcliffe was here unharmed, -she let herself be carried down the passage, far as the low -door that creaked and groaned as Ratcliffe opened it. The -cold wind blew on her from without, and on the sudden her -senses cleared. This fool whose love she had laughed at thrice -a day had trapped her after all. A few more strides, and they -would be free of the moor, and Wayne might seek till -morning light and never find her. A few more strides, and it -would matter little that Wayne of Marsh had fought his way -to the very threshold of possession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dawn was yet far off, and the moon was hid, or its -light might have shown Red Ratcliffe the smile that played -about his cousin's face, as her hand slipped to her breast and -returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come with thee, cousin, never fear," she whispered -softly, and lifted Wayne's dagger in the gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lights! Where are your lights, ye fools?" came -Wayne's voice from near at hand. "'Twill be gall and -madness to me if this worst ruffian of the band escape."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a darksome passage here. Does it lead to a secret -way, think ye?" answered Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Likely; the wind blows shrewdly down it. Quick with -the candles there! And keep your blades drawn, for by the -Dog I'll kill the one who lets Red Ratcliffe through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They gained the open door, and on the threshold Janet -Ratcliffe stood, with lips half-parted in a smile, and in her eyes -the first tremulous self-loathing that comes to women after -they have done man's work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do ye seek Red Ratcliffe, sirs?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, show him me—show him me, I say!" roared Shameless -Wayne, too hot for any tenderness toward his mistress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is beside me here— Nay, sheathe your swords; he -asks no further service of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All crowded round, and Wayne of Marsh shaded his candle -with one hand and held it low to the face of him who lay -close without the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Through the heart," he muttered; "to think the lass -should rob me.—Nay, then, the stroke was good; need I -grudge it her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An arm was laid on his. "Ned, I am sick; take me out -of sight of all these men," said Janet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One last look he gave at Red Ratcliffe. "All—all—dead -Wayne of Marsh need never cry again for vengeance," he -muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put an arm about the girl, and led her down the passage, -through the knot of kinsmen who were pressing forward for a -sight of Red Ratcliffe's body, and through the scattered -Waynes who still were searching for the runaway, not -knowing he was dead. These last turned wonderingly at seeing -Ned no longer in pursuit, and stopped to wipe the sweat of -battle from their faces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast overta'en him, Ned?" they asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, his sleep is sound," answered Shameless Wayne.—"Get -ye across to Cranshaw, friends, and tell my sister that -her goodman and myself are safe. And tell her—that I've -kept the oath she wots of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They glanced once at the face of Ned's companion, proud -yet for all its weariness; and then they got them out into the -courtyard. And after Ned had watched them go, he turned to -find Janet leaning faint against the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He touched her on the shoulder. "Courage, lass," he -muttered roughly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Comfort he would have given her, such comfort as a man -at such a time may give the maid who loves him; but he dared -not let his heart go out to her as yet, for there was that in the -wide hall to right of them which overmastered love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She straightened herself at his touch. "Ned," she cried -with sudden fierceness, "'twas for thee I killed him; he meant -to take my right in thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, lass, I know. But would God I had saved thee -the stroke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave me awhile," she whispered, after a silence. "I must -go to the moor—the moor is big, and friendly, and it will -understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He knew her better than to thwart her mood at such a time, -and let her go; but while she was crossing to the door, a frail -little woman came out from the hall and moved to meet them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, bairn!" said Wayne gently. "We've fought our -troubles through together, thou and I; and there'll be none -can break our friendship now, I warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blood, blood—see how it drips—oh, hurry, hurry! The -stain can never be washed out if once it reaches Wayne of -Marsh—he lies under the vault-stone yonder—he stares at me -with cruel, unrelenting eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Wayne knew that she had fallen back to the witlessness -of that long-buried night when he had watched his cousin -fight above the vault-stone. The crash of blows, the bloodshed -and the tumult, had touched the hidden spring in her and -made her one again with those piteous-happy folk whom -Marshcotes gossips called the fairy-kist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great awe fell upon him as he watched the milk-soft face -under its loosened cloud of hair, as he hearkened over and -over to the happenings of a night that was scarce less terrible -than this. That was the night which had re-opened the old -feud of Wayne and Ratcliffe but this had killed it once for all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will my lover ever come, think'st thou?" said Mistress -Wayne. "The post-chaise has been waiting long—the horses -fret—the postillion says we shall never gain Saxilton unless -Dick Ratcliffe hastens." She paused, and her mind seemed -for a space to grapple with the present. "Didst see Barguest -steal into the hall?" she whispered. "He came and couched -at the bier-side—and then he sprang—come see the -teeth-marks in the Lean Man's throat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She beckoned them so imperiously that they were drawn -against their will into the reeking chamber, and between the -still heaps of the slain, and up to the bier whereon Nicholas -Ratcliffe lay with death stamped livid on his face. Quietly as -if it were a usual office, the little woman turned down the -shroud and pointed to the sinewy throat; and Janet's eyes -met Wayne's across the body of their foe, while they -whispered one to the other that Mistress Wayne saw -something here which was denied to any save the fairy-kist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne of Cranshaw came striding into hall, and after him -Griff and his brothers, with a press of Hill House folk behind. -But Rolf silenced them when he saw the figures by the bier, -and led them quiet out into the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Best leave them to it," he muttered to a kinsman. "'Tis -an ill knot to unravel, and God knows how 'twill fare with -yond sad pair of lovers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stayed there for awhile, Wayne and Janet. The -battle-heat went from him; passion was stilled; he stood and -went over, one by one, the turmoils that were past—stood, and -watched the hate of feud shrink, mean and shamed, into the -darkness that had bred it—stood, and wondered to what bitter -harvesting the aftermath of feud must come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Janet watched him, with the dead man's bulk between -them—watched him, and sought for a shaft of hope to cross -the gloomy hardness of his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shameless Wayne lifted his head by and by and moved to -the door to rid him of the spell. "Come where the wind -blows cool, girl. There's a taint in every breath we draw," -he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In silence she followed him to the threshold of the great -main floor and looked with him across the lone reaches of the -wilderness. Dark, wide and wet it stretched. The rains -seethed earthward from a shrouded sky. There was no wail -of moor-birds, no voice save the sob of the failing wind among -the ling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this our wedding-cheer?" said Janet, meeting his -glance at last. "And those in hall there—are they the -bridal-guests?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wayne answered nothing for a space. And then he gave a -cry, and took her to him, so close he seemed to dare each -whispering ghost of feud to snatch her from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We never sought the thing that's ended yonder," he -whispered hoarsely. "We'll shut it out—we'll—Janet, hast -no word for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Lean Man, quiet on the bier where he had gibed at -death, paid little heed to them. The feud was stanched -between Wayne and Ratcliffe; yet he had never a word to say, -of protest or of sorrow. The feud was stanched; yet -Mistress Wayne, while she plucked at the dead man's shroud as -if to claim his notice, was sobbing piteously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My lover waits me at the kirkyard gate," she faltered; -"but I dare not pass the vault-stone. Sir, it drips crimson as -the sun that lately set behind Wildwater Pool. And hark! -There's Barguest whining down the wind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rain still fell without. The clouds came thickening -up above the house of Wildwater. And far off across the -moor a whining, comfortless and long-drawn-out, fluttered on -the brink of silence.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>SHAMELESS WAYNE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47674"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47674</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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