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diff --git a/47674.txt b/47674.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 139aa04..0000000 --- a/47674.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16176 +0,0 @@ - SHAMELESS WAYNE - - - - -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 Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. 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. - - - -Title: Shameless Wayne - A Romance of the last Feud of Wayne and Ratcliffe -Author: Halliwell Sutcliffe -Release Date: December 15, 2014 [EBook #47674] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHAMELESS WAYNE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - [Illustration: Cover art] - - - - - [Illustration: Title page] - - - - *SHAMELESS - WAYNE* - - _A Romance_ of the last Feud of - WAYNE and RATCLIFFE - - - _By_ - - HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE - - _Author of_ "Ricroft of Withens," "A Man - of the Moors," _etc._ - - - - NEW YORK - DODD, MEAD & COMPANY - 1899 - - - - - Copyright 1899 - by - DODD, MEAD & COMPANY - - - - - *Contents* - -CHAPTER - - I. Once for a Death - II. And Twice for the Slayer's Shrift - III. The Lean Man of Wildwater - IV. On Bog-Hole Brink - V. A Love-tryst - VI. The Brown Dog's Step - VII. The Lean Man's Token - VIII. A Stormy Burial - IX. A Moorside Courtship - X. What Crossed the Garden-Path - XI. How the Ratcliffes Rode Out by Stealth - XII. How They Fared Back to Wildwater - XIII. April Snow - XIV. How Wayne and Ratcliffe Met at Hazel Brigg - XV. Mother-wit - XVI. How Wayne of Marsh Rode up to Bents - XVII. The Dog-dread - XVIII. The Feud-wind Freshens - XIX. How Wayne Kept the Pinfold - XX. How They Waited at the Boundary-Stone - XXI. What Chanced at Wildwater - XXII. And What Chanced at Marsh - XXIII. How Wayne Kept Faith - XXIV. How the Lean Man Fought With Shameless Wayne - XXV. And How He Drank With Him - XXVI. Mistress Wayne Fares up to Wildwater - XXVII. How the Lean Man Forgot the Feud - - - - - *Shameless Wayne* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *ONCE FOR A DEATH* - - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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----" - -She checked herself. Her passion died out, leaving her bitterly calm as -the graves she lingered by. - -"Nay, there is no mercy, nor shall be," said she. - -"No mercy--no mercy," yelled the wind, as it howled across the moor and -in through the kirkyard hedge. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Oh, 'tis ye, Mistress, is't?" she grumbled, soon as she saw it was no -ghost at all, but just Nell Wayne of Marsh. - -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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"Nay, for th' wind rapped hard at th' windows an' called ye out; ye war -iver th' storm's bairn," said Nanny, chuckling grimly. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"Better talk to a body, my dear; 'twill drive th' devils out," she said. - -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." - -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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -The girl winced. "Let him be Shameless Wayne to the gossips, Nanny; -is't thy place to judge him?" she flashed. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"Will it not serve?" went on Nell, slipping her hand from under her -cloak and conning the ringer's face eagerly. - -Nanny took the dagger, and ran her fingers along its edge, muttering to -herself in a curious key. "Who is't?" she asked. - -"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." - -"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. - -"Hush, nurse! Oh, hush! I must not think of--of the old days." - -"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." - -"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. - -"God willing," croaked the ringer, finishing a row of her knitting and -jerking a muffled note of remonstrance from the bell overhead. - -"'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." - -"'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?" - -"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?" - -"I've heard summat o' th' sort; ay, there's been part talk 'bout it up -an' dahn th' moor." - -"Dick Ratcliffe it was who dishonoured her. He----" - -She stopped and left holding Nanny's hands, and began to pace up and -down the floor. - -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. - -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. - -"'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----" - -"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?" - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"Hark!" whispered Nell Wayne, bending her ear toward the grating. -"Didst hear that voice in the wind, nurse?" - -"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." - -"'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. - -"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." - -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----" - -"Where are ye wending? There's naught to be done till morning dawns," -said the Sexton's wife. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Why, Rolf, is't thou?" cried Nell, standing off from him a little and -lifting a white face to the moonlight. - -"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. - -"I came to see that--that father was cared for.--Rolf, hast not heard -what chanced at Marsh this afternoon?" - -"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." - -He was minded to set his arms about her, but she put him away. "Not -to-night, I cannot bear it, dear," she pleaded. - -Loverlike, his face grew clouded. "I had thought to comfort thee a -little, Nell." - -"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." - -"Dick Ratcliffe? What is this talk of paying a price, child? Was't -Ratcliffe that did it?" - -"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." - -"'Tis my right, Nell," said Wayne of Cranshaw, gravely. - -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." - -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?" - -She did not answer, but drew her cloak about her, shivering. - -"How the bell shudders, Rolf," she said, as the deep note rang out again -and lost itself among the wind-beats. - -"Was it thy thought, or his wife's, to bid the bell be rung?" asked -Wayne. - -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!" - -"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." - -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. - -He gripped her arm roughly. "Thou shalt not; I forbid thee," he said. - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -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. - -The one thought leaped into the girl's mind and into Wayne's of -Cranshaw. - -"Rolf," she cried, "what if he be coming to us? What if Ratcliffe and -my stepmother have put off flight an hour too long?" - -"It may be so--ay, it may be so," muttered Wayne, as they moved over the -wet gravestones toward the tavern. - -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. - -"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." - -"Is there no doubt, think ye? Rolf, I feared we had lost the chance," -muttered Nell, clutching at her dagger. - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -"Ay, take it--but make no mistake, dear--clean through his heart--can I -trust thee?" - -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. - -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. - -"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. - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER'S SHRIFT* - - -Dick Ratcliffe passed through the kirkyard-gate, with Wayne's wife of -Marsh clinging close to his arm. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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----" - -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." - -"Will they be long in driving us to Saxilton?" - -"Nay, for the road is good and the cattle good. What a baby 'tis to -tremble so, just when we are free." - -A few steps forward she made, then stopped and seemed like to fall. "I -_dare_ not pass the vault," she whispered. - -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?" - -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. - -"Would we were safe in Saxilton," she wailed. "Hurry! Oh, let us -hurry--they will take thee, Dick----" - -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. - -"Good-even, Ratcliffe of Wildwater. Whither away?" said Rolf Wayne, -with bitter gaiety. - -"To a place that is free of Waynes, God curse them," answered Ratcliffe, -striving to put a bold face on the matter. - -"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." - -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. - -"When I fear you, you shall know of it," said Ratcliffe, drawing his own -blade, grudgingly. - -"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?" - -"Not I; but the time fits ill, and 'tis cold for Mistress Wayne here." - -"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." - -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." - -"Ay, Mistress, he will fight, since there is no chance of escape left -him. You will fight, Ratcliffe of Wildwater, will you not?" - -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. - -"You will fight?" repeated Wayne, anger fretting at his voice. - -"To the death, curse you," muttered Ratcliffe, and moved slowly up -toward the stone. - -"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." - -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. - -"God pity us! 'Tis Nell," she cried. - -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!" - -"'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. - -"How dare I?" she flashed. "Keep quiet, Mistress, lest I dwell -over-much on the wrong you did to father." - -"But, Helen, I am your mother. Let me go, child; let me go, I say. -They shall not fight." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"Mun I saddle your mare, Maister Wayne?" he said. - -"God, I'd clean forgotten the mare!" laughed Shameless Wayne. - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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?" - -"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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -And then the meaning took him full, and the anguish in his eyes was -strange and terrible to see. - -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. - -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. - -"Oh God, that I could claim the right!" muttered the lad, half drawing -his sword again. - -"Nell, save him! Your lover will listen to you--the night wears late -and dreary--we want to reach Saxilton," pleaded Mistress Wayne. - -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. - -"Remember!" cried the girl, as she saw her cousin give back a pace. - -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? - -"Save him, Nell!" wailed Mistress Wayne, like a child repeating a lesson -learned by rote. - -"Save him? See--see--he strikes--drive home, Rolf!--A brave stroke!" - -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. - -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." - -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. - -"Thou com'st in a late hour, Ned," she said coldly. - -"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." - -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." - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -"But all may name me fool," finished the lad quietly;--"Take Nell home, -Rolf. She'll suffer thy company better than mine just now." - -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." - -"Ay, will we--but not to-night, dear lass." - -"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." - -"Nay! 'Tis home and a quiet pillow for thee. Come, Nell! Thou know'st -thy strength will scarce carry thee to Marsh." - -Still she refused, though she was shivering as with ague. "No quarter. -Wilt not swear it, Rolf?" - -"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?" - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -But Shameless Wayne was down the passage and out into the stable-yard -behind. Jonas looked after him, and shook his head. - -"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." - -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. - -"Her father's lass--ay, ivery bone of her," she muttered. "Hes she -killed him by now--hes she struck----" - -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. - -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." - -"He is sleeping. Hush! You will waken him, and 'tis early yet to start -for Saxilton," said Mistress Wayne, lifting her childish face. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER* - - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"Not to-night, Mistress. Ye'd best wend home wi' me, an' search for him -to-morn," put in the Sexton's wife. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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? - -"Come wi' me," she muttered, putting an arm about Mistress Wayne and -hurrying her across the gravestones. - -"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?" - -"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----" - -"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!" - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -"An' welcome to ye, Mistress," said the Sexton quietly. "We've nowt so -mich to gi'e--but sich as 'tis, 'tis yourn." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -But Nanny would take no denial, and at length she coaxed her visitor to -break her fast. - -"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." - -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. - -"She slumbers like a year-old babby," said Nanny, coming down again, by -and by. - -"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. - -"Tha's heard nowt, I'm thinking, o' what chanced i' th' kirkyard?" - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -The Sexton roused himself, and his eyes lost their dreaminess. - -"Did they fight, lass?" he cried. - -"Hark to him! Give him a hint o' blood-letting, an' he's as wick as ony -scoprel." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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. - -"How should I tell thee? I see'd nowt o' th' fight, being thrang wi' -other wark." - -"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." - -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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -"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." - -"Tha'rt ower tender for this rough world. I allus telled thee so," -murmured the little old woman. - -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. - -"Good or bad, God keep the little body," he whispered in his sleep. - -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--_tick-tick_, _tick-tick_, 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. - -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." - -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. - -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? - -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." - -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. - -"If they should waken, they would never let me go," she murmured. "I -must tread softly--very softly." - -"'Tis th' death-tick, an' there'll be fight afore th' new moon's in her -cradle," muttered the Sexton in his sleep. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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?" - -"Oh, yes, I have a friend there who waits my coming. He'll be angry if I -fail him." - -"'Tis no good house to visit," said the shepherd, scratching his head in -dire perplexity. "Have a thowt, Mistress, o' them that live theer." - -"My lover dwells there. Is not that enough?" she answered gravely, and -went her way. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"Likely. 'Tis all the lad is good for, curse him! Dick was ever the -weakling of the breed." - -"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." - -"He starts well!" laughed one of the youngsters from the breakfast -board. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"There's one would speak with you, grandfather," said the girl, coming -to the elbow of his chair. - -"Then bid him enter. Any man can come into Wildwater--'tis for us to -say whether we let them out again." - -"Nay, but 'tis a--a woman, sir. I found her wandering up and down the -garden, plucking the daisies and singing to herself." - -"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." - -"But, sir--she bears a name that is not welcome here--and she talks so -wildly that I fear her wits are gone." - -"What name?" snarled the old man. - -"She is wife to Wayne of Marsh--and her clothes are dripping--and she -speaks all in riddles----" - -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." - -"There's something untoward in this," muttered Robert. "What should she -want at Wildwater, if Dick's plans had not miscarried?" - -"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. - -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. - -Nicholas Ratcliffe smiled cruelly upon her, and, "Mistress," said he, "I -fear the last night's storm has used you ill. _I_ am the Lean Man you -ask for. What would you?" - -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." - -"'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. - -"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----" - -"They've not buried him yet, Mistress," laughed one of the youngsters. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"To be sure," cried Nicholas. "The chaise is to carry you and Dick to -Saxilton. When will you be wedded, Mistress?" - -"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?" - -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. - -"Did not my lover bid you bring a chaise?" she said. - -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." - -"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." - -"Dick was slain yesternight, grandfather," said the horseman, with a -keen glance at Nicholas. - -"Slain, was he?" snarled the Lean Man, "whose hand went to the slaying?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"And the feud will be up again," growled Red Ratcliffe, with a glance at -Janet. - -"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!" - -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. - -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. - -Again Red Ratcliffe glanced at her. "Till the moor is cleaned of -Waynes," he echoed. - -"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." - -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. - -"But, sir," began Janet, "she is beside her wits; it were shame----" - -"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." - -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?" - -"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." - -"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!" - -"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. - -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. - -"Does he not know," murmured the girl, "that 'tis madness to deal -harshly with the fairy-kist? And she so pitiful, too, poor weakling." - -"I go a-hunting, lads, soon as dinner is off the board," said Nicholas, -stretching his legs before the peats. - -Janet forgot her care of Mistress Wayne; for she knew that tone of the -Lean Man's, and mistrusted it. - -"Do we ride with you, father?" asked Robert from across the hearth. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"And there'll be the grave to see to," said Red Ratcliffe, getting to -his feet. - -"More than one, haply," laughed the Lean Man. "They say that Sextons -love to see a Ratcliffe go a-hunting, and----" - -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." - -"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. - -"Go, child," he said curtly, pointing to the parlour door. - -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. - -"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. - -"Whatever I wished or did not wish, cousin, I lacked no speech of -thine," she answered, turning her head away. - -"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. - -She crossed impatiently to the door, and would have left him, but he -checked her with a rough laugh. - -"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?" - -"And if I were, sir, what is't to thee?" she flashed, turning round to -him. - -"What is't to me? Shall I tell thee again, girl, that I've sworn to wed -thee?" - -"And shall I answer again that I will wed thee when apple-trees -grow----?" - -"The Lean Man has bidden me prosper with my suit." - -"I shall persuade him otherwise." - -"Wilt thou?" he snarled. "Even if I tell him what gossip has to say of -thee and Shameless Wayne?" - -Her face took that firmness that mention of Wayne's name never failed to -bring there. "Thou _darest_ not tell him," she said; "for then thou -would'st be sure I would never look thy way again." - -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. - -"The Lean Man is right," he muttered, as he went out. "'Tis time that -this Wayne of Marsh was out of harm's way." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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----" - -"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." - -"Janet is out of hearing. I saw her go down the garden-path just now." - -"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." - -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? - -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. - -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. - -"Come back!" she cried, running up the fields. "Come back! You cannot -cross the marshes out beyond there!" - -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. - -"You will not take me back, not take me back?" pleaded Mistress Wayne, -shrinking close against the wall. - -"I would see you safe to the lower ground, Mistress. Where would you -go?" - -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?" - -"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. - -"The road lies straight to Marshcotes," she said, stopping and pointing -down the highway. - -"Will you not come all the way with me?" pleaded Mistress Wayne, -nestling closer to the girl's side. - -"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." - -"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." - -"Fare ye well," said Janet, softly, with the tears close behind her -voice. "Go home to Marsh, Mistress, and God give you friends there." - -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. - -"'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." - -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. _But the one life to lose_--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. - -"Christ, how I hate him--how I hate him!" she cried between set teeth, -as she passed through the Wildwater gates. - -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. - -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. - -"Is Witherlee in the house?" cried Ratcliffe, catching sight of Nanny's -face between the window-plants. - -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. - -"Then where is he? I must have a word with him before I go back to -Wildwater." - -"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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -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." - -"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." - -"That's true, for I've noticed it myseln. Black hair for honest, says -I, an' red for a man that'll do owt." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -"'Tis an ill-starred day for a burial, but dead men cannot be choosers. -Oh, ay, I'll get th' grave digged reet enough." - -"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." - -"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. - -"Thy jests are dry, old Witherlee," snapped the other. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"To-morn." - -"About noon, will it be?" - -"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. - -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?" - -"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." - -"Thou'rt a thought witless, Sexton, as I've often heard folk say," -laughed Ratcliffe. - -"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." - -"'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." - -"Thankee, an' good-day. I'll none forget th' grave," said Witherlee, -holding the coin gingerly between a thumb and forefinger. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Well, did Red Ratcliffe find thee?" asked Nanny, soon as the Sexton -showed his face indoors. - -"So he's been here, and all, has he?" - -"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?" - -"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 _I_ 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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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. - -"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." - -"Ay, but it war Red Ratcliffe gav it me, an' tha knaws what ill money -breeds." - -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." - -"Not oft," said Witherlee, and fell to on the oven-cake which Nanny had -just set down before him. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *ON BOG-HOLE BRINK* - - -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. - -"There's no rest for me, Nell, indoors yonder," said the lad, turning -troubled eyes to the old house. - -"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." - -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?" - -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." - -"Yet thy tongue spoke truth, lass. I shall never be aught but Shameless -Wayne henceforth, thou said'st." - -"Nay, 'twas but a half truth," she said, eagerly. "There's life before -thee, Ned, and swift deeds----" - -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 _knew_ what had -chanced at Marsh?" - -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." - -"They did tell me," began Shameless Wayne. - -"Ah, God!" murmured Nell, confessing how she had clung to the last shred -of doubt. - -"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?" - -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?" - -"By the Dog, or by any oath that holds a man," he said, and she knew -that he spoke plain truth. - -"Why, then, 'twas thy ill fortune, dear, and we'll look clear ahead, -thou and I." - -"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." - -"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." - -Again he laughed mirthlessly. "Art so sure that I shall live sober -henceforth?" he said. - -"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." - -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." - -"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. - -"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." - -"But there's Hiram Hey. He has worked at Marsh ever since I remember -aught, and surely he will look to everything?" - -"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----" - -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." - -"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." - -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?" - -"'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." - -"Thou didst plead with her to come back to Marsh?" said Nell, her face -hardening. "What place has she at Marsh?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"'Twill be as safe now as ever it will; and who knows but a chance may -come to square last night's account?" - -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. - -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." - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"What art laking at, Hiram?" came a voice from behind. - -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. - -"Well?" answered Jose, the same shepherd who earlier in the morning had -directed Mistress Wayne to Wildwater. - -Neither broke the silence for awhile, for they were fast friends. "Been -shepherding like?" ventured Hiram Hey at length. - -"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. - -"I doubt it willun't," responded the other, with a critical glance at -the thin body and drooping hind-quarters. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"I doubt th' chap. Whin-bushes carry no cherries, Jose." - -"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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -The shepherd watched her disappear among the furrows of the heath, then -looked at Hiram. "What dost mak on 't', lad?" he asked. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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?" - -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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Well, Hiram, how goes the work?" said Shameless Wayne, stopping at the -fence. - -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." - -"The new master knows a sight less than the old one did, Hiram." - -"Ye're right, I reckon." - -"But he's willing to learn, and means to." - -"Oh, ay? I've heard that ye can train a sapling, but not at after it's -grown to a tree." - -"The same old Hiram Hey! Bitter as a dried sloe," growled Shameless -Wayne. - -"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." - -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." - -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?" - -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." - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Hev I learned to spread a field? Me that hes sarved at Marsh, man an' -boy, these forty years!" cried Hiram, open-mouthed now. - -"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." - -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. - -"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----" - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"Why, canst see who 'tis?" Nell whispered. - -"Ay--thou say'st him last with a sword-blade through his heart." - -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. - -"Good news or bad, Red Ratcliffe?" answered Wayne in an even voice. - -"Why, good. They clapped hands up yonder when I told them what -Shameless Wayne was doing while his cousin fought for him." - -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." - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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----" - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"Begow, but I've learned summat, Jose, sin' tha wert here," said Hiram -slowly. - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"Thou'rt ower fond o' th' young Maister; tha allus wert, Jose. What's -he getten to show for hisseln?" grumbled Hiram. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -Hiram let him move a little away; then, "Didst see Red Ratcliffe go -riding by to Wildwater a while back?" he called. - -"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. - -"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." - -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----" - -"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. - -"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." - -"We shall fratch," repeated Hiram Hey, and shouted a "gee-yup," to the -chestnut. - -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. - -"Where art going, Ned?" she asked. - -He paused awhile before replying; then, "I have a tryst to keep with -Janet Ratcliffe," he said, in a tone that challenged opposition. - -"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?" - -"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?" - -"Break tryst, Ned?" she pleaded eagerly. "'Tis unsafe, I tell thee, -and----" - -"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." - -"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?" - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *A LOVE-TRYST* - - -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. - -"Christ, how I hate him!" she repeated, and put a hand upon the latch, -and went quickly up the garden-path. - -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. - -"Where's Janet? Od's life, these wenches are always late for -trencher-service," he cried. - -"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. - -"Where hast been, girl?" he asked sharply. - -"I wearied of spinning and went out into the fields in search of -appetite." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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. - -"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----" - -"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. - -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. - -Dinner over, old Nicholas called for his horse and buckled his -sword-belt on. - -"Come, wish me God-speed," he laughed, threading his arm through -Janet's. - -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." - -"Come, Janet, hast no word? See the black mare, how eager she is to be -off. She winds the scent of chase, I doubt." - -The girl was silent until her grandfather had gathered the reins into -his hand. "Where--where do you ride, sir?" she stammered. - -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?" - -"What you please, sir, so long as it be well come by," she answered, -looking him hardily between the eyes. - -"It shall be well come by, lass," said the Lean Man, and cantered over -the hill-crest. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"He's a laggard--a laggard!" she cried. "Ah, if he knew what I am -keeping from him----" - -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. - -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. - -"So you've kept tryst, Janet? I scarce looked for it," he said gravely. - -"Is it my wont, Ned, to break tryst?" she answered. - -"Nay, but last night has changed all--for you and me." - -His coldness jarred on her, after her late eagerness toward him. - -"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 -_thou_ of friendship?" - -"Nay, but because the friendship is frost-nipped, Janet." - -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----" - -"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?" - -"I heard as much a while back. And what said I to my heart about it, -think'st thou?" - -"That it matched well with Shameless Wayne." - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -"Thou art thou, Ned, and I am I. Can kinship alter that?" - -"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----" - -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. - -"Hast not left me yet?" she said. "'Tis scarce seemly, is't, to pry -upon my shame?" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Nicholas swung round with a frown, and clapped a hand to the breast of -his tightly-buttoned coat. - -"What art doing here, lass?" he said roughly. - -"I--I have been walking----" - -"What, so soon after I bade thee keep so close to home?" said Nicholas, -wiping his hands furtively on the lappel of his coat. - -She answered nothing for awhile. Then, "How went the hunting?" she -asked, with a sudden glance at him. - -"Bonnily. I've brought home better flesh, Janet, than Wildwater has -seen this score years." - -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. - -"Where did you kill the quarry?" she whispered, and longed to take back -the question for fear of the answer she might get. - -"Where? Why, on Cranshaw Rigg--'tis on the Long Wayne's land, thou'lt -call to mind," chuckled the Lean Man. - -"Then--then 'twas not Wayne of Marsh?" - -He glanced at her curiously; but it was plain that he shared none of Red -Ratcliffe's suspicion touching her tenderness for Wayne. - -"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. - -"'Tis not Ned after all," murmured Janet. "Thank God he kept the tryst -with me." - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *THE BROWN DOG'S STEP* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"Open to me, Ned, open to me," she was crying. - -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. - -"You are cold, little bairn," he said, using the same half-tender, -half-scornful name he had given her at the vault-stone yesternight. - -"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----" - -"Well, never heed them. Haply 'twas Shameless Wayne you sought, and he -will see that none does you hurt." - -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?" - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Come away, little bairn. He has no word for you," said her step-son, -wearily. - -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?" - -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. - -"What brings this woman here?" she asked. - -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." - -"Ay, Mistress--to starve of cold and want, if I had my way," said Nell. - -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." - -"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. - -"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." - -"She shall not stay here! 'Tis pollution," cried Nell. - -"And I say the poor bairn shall bide here so long as she lacks a home; -and _I_ am master here, not thou." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"I am cold again, and very hungry. Send yond girl away," wailed the -little woman. - -"Does naught soften thee, lass?" said Wayne, glancing from his sister to -the shrinking figure that held so closely fast to him. - -"Naught," Nell answered, hard and cold. "The years will pass, and -sorrows age, may be--but I shall never lose my hate of her." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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. - -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." - -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." - -"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. - -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. - -Mistress Wayne stood in the middle of the room, fearful a little and -asking a mute question of her step-son. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -"It has taken you far, I warrant; for the sun has been down this -half-hour past." - -"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----" - -"What! Ye have been near Wildwater?" cried Shameless Wayne, his face -darkening on the sudden. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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?" - -"Ay, have we!" said Griff. "Such tales old Nanny Witherlee used to tell -us of----" - -"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." - -"Hawking will show tame after this," cried Griff, his eyes brightening. -"Shall I meet the Lean Man one day, think'st thou, Ned?" - -"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." - -"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. - -"Ay--and a Wayne who slew the murderer yesternight." - -"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?" - -Shameless Wayne grew hot, and the blood flushed red to brow and cheeks. -"Go seek your suppers, lads," he said, turning on his heel. - -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. - -"Th' young Maister 'ull noan deny it me, I tell thee," Nanny was saying. - -"Then ask him, Nanny, and he'll tell thee quickly whether or not he will -deny thee," said Shameless Wayne from the doorway. - -"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." - -"Thou'lt win it, likely, for I'm in a softish mood," said Wayne, half -sneering at himself. - -"'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." - -"That was to be my care, Nanny. Dost want me to let a second chance -slip by of honouring father?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -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." - -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. - -"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. - -"What! Mistress Wayne come back?" - -"Yes, mad as a marshland hare, with all her old pleading ways so -deepened that she has won Ned clean over to her side." - -"Fairy-kist, is she?" - -"Aye--though, to my thinking, she was always near to it." - -"Then, lass, there's no room for anger. Let her be; 'tis ill-luck -crossing such, and we have need----" - -"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?" - -"The night is over cold. Bide by a warm fireside, and talk thy troubles -out to one who cares for thee." - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"'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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"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----" - -"Ay, 'tis Barguest," said Nanny Witherlee, stepping soft across the -polished boards and resting one hand on the bier. - -"There's naught, save a wet wind sobbing through the firs," growled -Wayne of Cranshaw. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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'----" - -"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. - -"There'll be one to watch the bier till dawn?" she asked wearily, as he -bade her good-night. - -"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. - -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." - -"Where is the Master, Nanny?" asked Wayne of Cranshaw, cutting short her -musings. - -"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." - -"Then who will watch? I was for riding back to Cranshaw, but if there's -need of me----" - -"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." - -"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." - -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?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Is there aught I can get thee, Nanny, before I wend to bed?" said -Shameless Wayne, entering a half-hour later. - -"Nowt, an' thank ye. I've getten company, an' they'll keep me wake, I -warrant." - -"_They_, say'st thou? God's truth, Nanny, but thy eyes are fain of the -doorway yonder!" - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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." - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *THE LEAN MAN'S TOKEN* - - -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. - -"Didst hear Nicholas Ratcliffe's voice yesternight?" he said, coming -close to Nanny's elbow. - -"For sure I did." - -"And the tapping on the door? What was he at, think'st thou, Nanny?" - -"Oppen th' door, Maister, an' ye'll see. But doan't look to find owt -bonnie." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"Save Mistress Janet's," muttered the other, absently. - -"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." - -"Hold thy peace, Nanny! who said I cared for Mistress Ratcliffe?" - -"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." - -"Nay, they're an ill lot--but even the Lean Man would scruple to set on -mourners at a grave-side." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"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?" - -Shameless Wayne shook his head, smiling a little at the old woman's -fancy. "How should that be, nurse?" he said. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"The feud is up, lad! When I rode home last night they had slain one of -my folk on Cranshaw Rigg." - -"Ay, and the body lacked"--came the voice of Shameless Wayne. - -"God's pity! Wrench it down. 'Tis my brother's hand, Ned," broke in -the first speaker. - -"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?" - -"Niver heed 'em, bairn--they're nobbut----" - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Why did not Rolf stay?" asked Nell. - -"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?" - -"Abed yet--wearied with their hunting." - -"They must not come to the kirkyard. Bid them keep close to home till -we return." - -"But, Ned, why should they keep away?" the girl began. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Keep warm my hate, Lord God!" she cried. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Do nowt, my sakes! When my knees is dibble-double-ways wi' weariness," -cried Martha. - -"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?" - -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. - -"'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. - -Nanny turned quickly. "It willun't be ony brighter for thy coming, -Hiram Hey. We want no men-folk here," she cried. - -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. - -"Well, now, are ye winning forrard-like?" said Hiram, leaning against -the doorway in his idlest attitude. - -"Ay, an' no thanks to thee," snapped the Sexton's wife. - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"Hast been to th' fields this morn?" asked Martha. - -"Ay, iver sin' th' sun war up, lass." - -"Tha'll be dry, then, Hiram, at after thy morning's work." - -"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----" - -"Tha'd find a mouth to fit it? Well, an' shall, says I," cried Martha. - -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. - -"Drink, lad Hiram; what wi' work an' sadness, there's need for strong -liquor here at Marsh," she said. - -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. - -"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." - -He stopped and eyed the empty pewter; and Martha, reaching across the -settle-back, picked up the mug again. - -"Tha's getten too soft a heart, Hiram," she said. "Sup while ye can, -an' mak th' most on't." - -"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." - -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." - -"There's queer things bahn to happen," said Hiram presently. - -"By th' Heart, I thowt there'd been queer happenings enough of late!" - -"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." - -"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. - -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?" - -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. - -"'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." - -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. - -"Come in, Mistress, come in, an' warm yourseln a bit; ye're looking cold -and wan, like," cried Martha, recovering from her fright. - -"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?" - -"Ay, Mistress--ay, I'll come, choose what." - -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. - -"What dost mak of it?" said Hiram Hey at last. - -"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." - -A thought crossed Hiram's mind--no new thought, either, but one that -showed livelier than its wont now Martha was in such trouble. - -"Tha'd be fain to change dwellings, like?" he ventured, putting a hand -on her shoulder and half drawing her toward him. - -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. - -"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'----" - -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. - -"I have talked with my cousin, Nanny," came the Master's voice from the -door. - -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. - -"About th' burying, Maister?" she queried eagerly. - -"Aye. We are to go armed; the word has been sent round." - -"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. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *A STORMY BURIAL* - - -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. - -"'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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"How's trade, Sexton?" said the newcomer. - -"Brisk, Jonas, brisk." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"Ay, sure; he'll be ligged i' bed here all ship-shape, will th' owd -Maister, come a half hour after nooin." - -"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." - -"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." - -"What--fighting, dost think?" - -"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." - -"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?" - -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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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'." - -"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." - -"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. - -"He's getten a gooidish heart, hes th' lad, an' this may weel be th' -making of him." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Ay, there isn't much to choose when it comes to th' latter end." - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"Ay. All's ship-shape, an' as neat as a basket of eggs. We shall see a -big stir, I reckon." - -"A bigger stir nor ye think for, mebbe," said the other. "What dost -mean, lad?" - -"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." - -"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?" - -"Six or seven, so far as I could reckon 'em up." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Th' corpse is coming!" some one cried on the sudden. - -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. - -"Good sakes, they've getten swords an' pistols!" muttered one of the -onlookers, as the crowd made a clear lane to the kirk-porch. - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes," said the Parson, in the ringing voice -that seemed a challenge to grim Death himself. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"No quarter, Waynes! In at them, and rip from heel to crown!" - -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. - -"No quarter!" came Shameless Wayne's trumpet-note, as he chased them to -the nearest wicket. - -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. - -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. - -"Hold off! They're mine," cried Shameless Wayne, waving his folk aside. - -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. - -"I have them--" he began, and lifted his right arm. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Why do ye draw back, ye fools?" he cried. "Is it a time for -maidishness, or do ye want----" - -"Stay, lad! Thou'lt think better of it in a while," said Rolf Wayne of -Cranshaw, touching him on the shoulder. - -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. - -"'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." - -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. - -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. - -"What's to be done with these?" said Wayne of Cranshaw, after a long -silence, pointing to the vault. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"'Tis a drear day's work, Witherlee," said the Parson, lifting his eyes -at last. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Art full of vain superstition, Witherlee. The soul thou doubtest; but -ghosts, in which no God-fearing man need believe----" - -"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 _in_ it, as I've done--ye -hevn't learned th' _feel_ of a graveyard, or ye'd niver say nay to th' -soft-footed ghosties. Why, only last back-end, I mind, I see'd----" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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!" - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Could we but meet the lad alone in Marshcotes street here," he muttered -to his eldest-born. - -"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." - -"There are those who say that hawks breed cuckoos. Art thou weakening, -Robert, too, because he has won the first poor skirmish?" - -"Not I. If I find him in the road, I'll have at him--but meanwhile I am -free to think my own thoughts." - -"Well, and what are thy thoughts, sirrah?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"Hark to her, Robert!" he cried. "Free to strike her, am I? Gad, yes, -and with no permission asked, I warrant!" - -"An' as for mocking ye," went on Nanny, disregarding his interruption, -"what need hev I to step 'twixt ye an' Barguest?" - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -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." - -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?" - -"Ay, marry. What else should I mean?" said the little old woman. - -"'Tis a child's tale--a child's tale, I say," broke in Nicholas. - -"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." - -Nanny paused a moment, watching how the Lean Man took it. - -"Ay, and then?" said Nicholas. He would fain have sounded merry, but -his voice came dry and harsh. - -"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' _ye_ -war th' horseman, Nicholas Ratcliffe." - -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. - -"What ails thee, fool?" said Nicholas to his eldest-born. - -"Naught, sir--'twas not I who fled from a crook-backed beldame," sneered -the other. - -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?" - -"We have planned as much," said Robert slowly, "but----" - -"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." - -"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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -"It's warm," ventured Hiram, picking up a stone from the grass and -throwing it aside. - -"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." - -"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." - -"Tha'rt not so thrang as or'nary, seemingly?" said Martha, after a -pause. - -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." - -"To be sure--an' 'tis fearful hard, is head-work." - -"Ay, I oft say to shepherd Jose that th' humbler your station i' this -life, th' fewer frets ye hev." - -"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'." - -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." - -"Would'st hev hed me born a lad?" - -"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." - -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 _tha_ looks for i' a wench." - -"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." - -"It wod take a good un to be mate to thee." - -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?" - -"I wod tak a varry good un," repeated Martha. - -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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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.'" - -"I warrant they did," assented Hiram, "for I see'd 'em myseln." - -"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." - -"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." - -"How long ago war that, Hiram? I've heard tell o' th' owd feud, but it -mun hev been a long while back." - -"Longer nor ye can call to mind, lass. 'Twas a sight o' years back, -afore tha wert born or thought of." - -Another soft glance from Martha. "I shouldn't hev thought _tha'd_ 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." - -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----" - -"I set no store by youngness, Hiram. I allus did say a wise head war -th' best thing a man could hev." - -"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. - -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!" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"Sakes, lass, I wodn't hev thee go!" he cried. - -"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." - -"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----" - -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. - -"Nay, _I_ 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." - -"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?" - -"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. - -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. - -"Thou'rt tongue-tied, Hiram. Who's to say nay to me, I axed thee?" -laughed Martha. - -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." - -"If tha wert a lass, Hiram, tha'd die i' spinsterhood, I'm thinking." - -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. - -"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. - -"Oh, ay? Well, things war niver owt but queer," answered Hiram, -startled out of his abstraction. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"Tha'r a good un to flair folk, Hiram! Why would'st liefer see him -thrang?" - -"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?" - -"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." - -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?" - -"Nowt, nobbut mooning up an' down, as if i' search o' somebody." - -"Well, he war on Wayne land to start wi', an' that wears a queerish -look." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"An' should do, seeing he's what he is!" - -"Well, I wodn't be a bit surprised if he _war_ 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." - -"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." - -"Thinking of his sins, I reckon," growled Hiram. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"Flaired to be spoken to by honest folk," said Hiram. - -"Flaired o' thy sour face, more like," snapped Martha. - -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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -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." - -"Tak care o' thyseln, Hiram. There are some of us wod ill like to see -harm come to thee." - -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. - -"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!" - -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. - -"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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Dost think I need come here to learn any point of tillage?" laughed the -other angrily. - -"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." - -"If speech can earn thee a cracked crown, thou'lt not long go whole of -head," snapped Ratcliffe, beginning to move forward. - -"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?" - -Ratcliffe faced about. "Palsy take thee!" he cried. "Art thou a fool, -only, Hiram Hey, or dost think to jest with thy betters?" - -"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." - -"The finest lad in the moorside?" sneered Ratcliffe. "Since when did -Wayne the Shameless earn his new title?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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----" - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -He laughed at the humour of the invitation, and Red Ratcliffe followed -suit as he turned on his heel. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Would'st have company on the road, cousin?" he said lightly. - -"I had better company before thou cam'st," she answered lifting her -dainty brows. - -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. - -"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. - -"Art something less than civil, Janet, to one who loves thee." - -"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." - -"Thou'lt be wearier still before I've done with wooing thee. Hark, -Janet; 'tis no light fancy, this----" - -"Light or heavy, sir, 'tis all one to me. My thoughts lie off from -wedlock." - -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." - -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. - -"So it comes to this, Red Ratcliffe?" she said slowly. "The sorriest -fool at Wildwater dares to use force when I refuse him love?" - -"'Twas the thought thou might'st love elsewhere that stung me," he -muttered, cowed by her fury. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"And fifty more belike. What then, sir?" - -"This--that I'll have thee, girl, if every Ratcliffe of them all says -nay," he muttered savagely. - -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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"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?" - -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?" - -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." - -"There's enough, is there?" - -"And to spare. I've seen to the hemlock, too, and one of the lads is to -go----" - -"Hold thy peace!" cried Nicholas, chiding him roughly. "Here's Janet, -and she must guess naught of this; 'twould only fright her." - -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?" - -"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." - -"And what are they, grandfather?" she said, slipping a coaxing hand into -his. - -"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." - -"But that is an old tale, sir," she pouted, "and--and no harm has come -to me as yet." - -"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." - -"But, grandfather, I do not want to----" - -"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." - -"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. - -"Well, well, there are others. I gave him free leave to win thee if he -could, and he must do his own pleading now." - -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. - -"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?" - -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----" - -"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." - -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. - -"I've been thinking o' things, Martha, sin' I saw thee looking so -bonnie-like this morn," he said. - -"What sort o' things?" she asked, demurely sweeping the table free of -crumbs. - -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----" - -"Ay, what then, Hiram?" - -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. - -"Sakes, he's a slow un to move, is Hiram," muttered the girl, losing -patience at last. - -"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. - -"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----" - -"Nay, lass, nay! I wod liefer we didn't part fratching." - -"Well, hast getten owt to say?" she asked, facing him abruptly. - -"Say? Well, now, I'm backard i' coming forrard, as I telled thee--but -tha'rt as snod-set-up a wench as iver----" - -"Thanks for nowt. Good-day, Hiram. Tha'rt backard i' most things, I'm -thinking," said Martha, flouncing out into the yard. - -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." - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH* - - -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. - -"What ails thee, little bairn?" he said, slipping from the saddle and -coming close to her. - -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." - -"Never try. 'Tis over and done with long since; the grave is shut down -tight,--and all your ghosties with it, little one." - -"Is it over and done with?" she said. - -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. - -"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?" - -"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?" - -"Nay, I'll not leave thee, little one," began Wayne, and turned as a -footstep sounded close behind them. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"Some one has frightened you. Who was 't?" he said. - -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----" - -"What, Nicholas Ratcliffe?" - -"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." - -Wayne finished rubbing down his horse, then turned quietly. "What said -he?" he asked. - -"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." - -"There are matters that make a man hard, little bairn. Was Nicholas -Ratcliffe cruel to you?" - -"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----" - -"Aye--and then?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -Shameless Wayne laughed grimly. "Less than I have against him, bairn. -God, could he make sport of such as you?" - -"Shall you kill him, Ned?" she asked, looking up suddenly. - -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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"Shall I wake them, Ned?" she asked, looking gravely from the flowers to -his face. - -"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." - -"Nell does not shrink away from me as she did a little while ago," said -Mistress Wayne. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Ye'll need more fighting men at Marsh," said Rolf, gravely, and would -have said more, but checked himself. - -"Likely," said Shameless Wayne, glancing at his brothers. "How fares it -with the wounded up at Cranshaw?" - -"As well as might be. We took some deepish cuts a fortnight since, and -they'll take time to heal." - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -"But, bairn, you've eaten naught." - -"Why, how fond thou art! The fairies will not talk to me unless I seek -them fasting." - -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. - -"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?" - -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?" - -"'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. - -"Doubtless--but if Wildwater is in your minds, I shall keep you safe at -home." - -"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." - -"Ned, ought they to go," put in his sister. "'Tis late, and you never -know what cover hides a Ratcliffe." - -"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." - -"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." - -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?" - -"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." - -"How, at me? Has the Lean Man, then, vowed friendship with Cranshaw and -with Hill House?" - -"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." - -"How dost learn all this, Rolf?" - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"The dogs are poisoned, Ned," said Griff. - -"Poisoned? What, all of them?" - -"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." - -"Hemlock," muttered Ned. "'Twas grown on Wildwater soil, I'll warrant." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"'Tis but one more argument," said Rolf quietly. "Come to Cranshaw, -Ned; it is witless to forego a plain chance of safety." - -"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?" - -"That's done with, Ned; none doubts thee now, and thou'lt lose naught by -seeking a safer dwelling." - -"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?" - -"He stayed--as thou wilt do," said Nell, her pride undaunted by any ebb -and flow of danger. - -"But, Nell, 'tis stubbornness--'tis folly--" began Wayne of Cranshaw. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"Hadst better have company," said Wayne of Cranshaw, moving to his feet. - -"Nay. The times are hard for love-making; take thy chance while thou -hast it, Rolf, or it may not come again." - -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. - -"'Tis well to love by kinship," she said. - -Rolf missed her meaning, being full of his own fears for her. - -"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?" - -"Not yet, Rolf. I cannot." Her voice was low; but he gleaned scant -hope even from its tenderness. - -"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." - -"Some day, Rolf--but not yet." - -"Thou hast scant love for me, or none at all," he flashed, pacing -moodily up and down the hall. - -"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?" - -"He would follow thee to Cranshaw--where I would have him be." - -"Nay, but he would not! If he stood alone, without a sword to his hand, -he would wait here for what might come." - -Still he pleaded with her, and still she held to her resolve. And at -last he gave up the struggle. - -"None knows what the end will be, but we must win through it somehow," -he said. - -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?" - -"I fear it, lass." - -"But, dear, I cannot bear to lose him! I cannot." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Well, were the fairies kind to you?" he asked, leaning against the dial -and watching the moon-shadows play across her face. - -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." - -"And what has come of them? Did I scare them all away, little bairn?" - -"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?" - -He did not answer--only shook his head and put his arm more closely -round her. - -"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. - -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?" - -"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." - -"Trust Hiram to pass on the tale!" muttered Wayne. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"See what? The shadows lengthening across your fairy-ring?" he said, -impatiently. - -"He crept behind thee--he's fawning to thy hand--shake him off, Ned, -shake him off! Such a great beast he is----" - -Shameless Wayne glanced sharp behind him. "By the Heart, 'tis Barguest -she sees!" he muttered. - -"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." - -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. - -"How if it be thou he comes to warn?" she whispered. - -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." - -"Hark, Ned, didst hear?" she broke in, as a low whistle sounded through -the leafing garden-trees. - -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." - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *HOW THE RATCLIFFES RODE OUT BY STEALTH* - - -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. - -"Ned will not leave the old place," said Griff, as they crossed the -first field. - -"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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -Griff halted and glanced wistfully at the surly crest of moor above. -"Nay; we gave our promise," he said, with manifest reluctance. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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----" - -"Thou'st little wit to be scared out of, Hiram," laughed Rob. - -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." - -"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." - -"Oh, that's it? Well, how if th' dogs are anot to be hed at ony lad's -beck an' call?" - -"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." - -"Let 'em crop for owt I care. What's comed to th' Marsh kennels that ye -mud needs go borrowing?" - -"Hemlock has come to them, and there's not one left alive." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"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. - -"Ned will have somewhat to say to this," laughed Rob; "but faith 'twas -worth all the scolding he can cram into a week." - -"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." - -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. - -"What is that moving yonder?" he whispered. - -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. - -"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. - -"There were three of them--what has come to the other two?" whispered -Rob. - -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." - -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?" - -"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. - -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. - -"'Tis done. Fools that we were to raise no cry," groaned Griff. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"As far as I can master kindness toward her. Wilt call me, Ned, if--if -ye need another arm to fight?" - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"Art right--yet still I would liefer have them behind stout walls at -this late hour." - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -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----" - -"Where's the little bairn? She must be looked to. Nell has wit enough -to save herself," said Shameless Wayne sleepily. - -Wayne of Cranshaw shook him to his feet. "They've fired the door! Get -out thy sword, Ned, and step warily." - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"A Wayne! A Wayne!" he cried, and after him his three brothers took up -the ringing call. - -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. - -"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. - -"Why, what's this?" said Red Ratcliffe, half halting. "Have these -sickling babes driven old Nicholas off?" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"To the mistals, lads. Bring buckets and fill them at the well-spring!" -he cried. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"What art thinking, Ned?" she asked, laying a timid hand on his sleeve. - -"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." - -"Lad, thou'rt fay!" cried Wayne of Cranshaw, as his cousin moved toward -the door. "Dost mean to seek the Lean Man out?" - -Shameless Wayne turned and smiled in curious fashion. "Nay, only to -leave a message for him on the road 'twixt this and Wildwater." - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -Griff came and stood before him, the others following slowly. "Yes, -Ned?" he asked, breaking a hard silence. - -"Ye were fools to stand up to Red Ratcliffe as I saw you do to-night. -They would never do the like." - -"Was't not well done, then?" said the lad, the corners of his mouth -drooping. - -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." - -He was gone without another word, and Nell looked at Wayne of Cranshaw -in search of guidance. - -Rolf shook his head. "As well dam Hazel Beck with straws as stop Ned -when the black mood is on him," he said. - -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. - -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. - -"Barguest was cold, poor beastie, so he lit a fire to warm himself. -Is't not a pretty sight?" she said. - -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. - -"Safe? Why, yes--he's kind to me; how should he come to harm?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *HOW THEY FARED BACK TO WILDWATER* - - -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. - -"It has been a hard night for us," said the younger man. The words came -dully, with terror unconcealed in them. - -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?" - -"Wayne leaped through the fire and cut Robert down; and I----" - -"Fled, I warrant. What, could ye not meet him two to one?" - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"Robert is dead, I take it?" said Nicholas, as they passed the -square-topped stone that marked one boundary of the Wildwater lands. - -"Dead? Ay, for the lad cleft his skull in two clean halves." - -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." - -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. - -"What is't?" cried his grandson. "See, sir, the water's trickling -through; there'll be none left unless you drink." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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----" - -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. - -Nicholas, hearing the creak of the casement above, glanced sharply up. -"Is't thou, Janet?" he called. - -"Ay, grandfather. Have ye--have ye been a-hunting again?" - -He fetched a hollow laugh. "Ay, down by Marsh; but the fox slipped -cover before we were aware." - -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?" - -"Thy Uncle Robert's. Get thee to bed, lass, and use thy woman's trick -of prayer." - -"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. - -"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----" - -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. - -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----" - -"Janet!" - -She looked down at Red Ratcliffe, standing close to the wall with face -upturned to her window. "What is't?" she said coldly. - -"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." - -"The wind blows cold. Canst find no time more fitting for -love-idleness?" she said, and shut the casement with a snap. - -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. - -"Come back, thou wanton!" he cried, so loudly that Nicholas heard him -from across the yard. - -"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." - -Red Ratcliffe moved away, sullenly, with a bridle in either hand, and -found his grandfather leaning heavily against the door-post of the -stable. - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"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?" - -All through the night her pity had been for those at Marsh; - -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." - -"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----" - -He paused, searching for some reward that should seem great enough and -Red Ratcliffe broke suddenly into the talk. - -"Shall have Janet there in marriage," he cried. - -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. - -"'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." - -"Is that a bargain, sir?" said Red Ratcliffe, stretching his hand across -the board. - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"I'll look any man between the eyes,--but not when a boggart sits upon -his shoulder and strikes for him," growled Red Ratcliffe. - -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. - -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. _To be wedded to him who kills Shameless Wayne_." - -She lifted her head suddenly, and it was strange to mark how once again -the Lean Man's hardiness showed plainly in her face. - -"Nay, but it needs two for any bargain," she cried, and cold steel, even -in a maid's hand, can always right a quarrel. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"I've sought thee all the morning," he said, standing across her path. - -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?" - -"Because there's a touchstone, cousin, that turns mockery to something -kindlier." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -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----" - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -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 _thee_ food for thought." - -"I had liefer walk beside thee, sweet, than follow any All-Fool's -chase." - -"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." - -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?" - -"'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." - -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. - -"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." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *APRIL SNOW* - - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"'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." - -"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?" - -"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!" - -"What does th' leech say, like?" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"I'll tak thy word for 't, Nanny, that I will; an' th' first chance I -get, I'll slip me dahn to Marsh." - -"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?" - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"They'll say owt i' Marshcotes. What should he be stopping here for, -think'st 'a, Bet?" - -Hiram ceased peering in at the window and opened the door as guardedly -as if he feared an ambush. - -"I've brought thee some peats fro' Marsh," he said, letting a stream of -cold air in with him. - -"Ay, an' tha's brought a mort o' cold air, an' all," cried Nanny. - -"Well, th' peats 'ull cure that, willun't they?" retorted Hiram. - -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----" - -"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." - -"They say it war Hiram Hey hisseln that telled Red Ratcliffe where to -find th' peats," put in the Sexton's wife. - -"Begow, who telled thee, Nanny? I thowt I'd kept a close mouth on 't." - -"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." - -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?" - -"I' th' cellar-hole, for sure. Where else?--But tha'd mebbe like a sup -o' home-brewed, Hiram, afore tha unloads 'em?" - -"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." - -Hiram was never gentle save with horses; but he covered the thick thewed -beast as carefully as if it were an ailing good-wife. - -"Tha daft owd fooil!" he muttered with rough tenderness. "'Twould niver -do to let thee catch Browntitus, wod it, now?" - -"'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." - -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." - -And then, having shot his bolt at the old enemy, he settled himself -placidly enough to his mug of home-brewed. - -"Well, tha'll be well fund i' peats, Nanny," said Bet the slattern -presently. - -"It's varry thowtful, like, o' th' Maister," repeated the Sexton's wife, -with another glance at the waiting cart. - -"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----" - -"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?" - -"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." - -"Where did he learn it all? He studied nowt save th' inside of a -pewter-pot afore th' trouble began," said Betsy. - -"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." - -"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. - -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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"I've heard as mich," said Bet. "They like as they saved th' owd place -t' other neet, so I war telled." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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----" - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"Now, Hiram--" began Bet. - -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." - -"A bonnie un tha art to talk," said Nanny. "What's this about thee an' -Martha?" - -Hiram fidgetted from one foot to the other. "What should there be?" he -said. - -"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." - -"Owd fooil! She's niver looked twice his way--no, nor will do while -Hiram Hey stands i' th' forefront of her een." - -"Oh, so there's summat in 't, then?" said Nanny sharply. - -Hiram, driven to bay, scratched his thinning crown and muttered that he -was "allus backard i' coming forrard." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"They bring luck, an' they bring healing," said the Sexton's wife with a -glance at her neighbour. - -"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." - -"Well, tha canst win forrard," said the Sexton's wife. "There's nobody -hindering thee, is there?" - -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. - -"What, Mistress!" he cried. "Ye're noan flaired o' wind an' weather, -seemingly." - -"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. - -"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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -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." - -The little woman shivered and put her hand more closely into his. "The -dead are rested, Sexton? Is't not so?" she whispered. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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'--" - -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. - -"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." - -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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"April snow," muttered Bet the slattern. "They say it means drear -happenings." - -"'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." - -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." - -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. - -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. - -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?" - -"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?" - -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." - -Old Nicholas could make nothing of the farm-man's stolid front. -"Cherish that belief, and teach it to thy Master," he said. - -"Nay, he needs no teaching. He knaws, weel as I can tell him, that a -Brown Dog ligs on th' threshold, an'----" - -The Lean Man loosed the curb on a sudden and rode into the snowstorm -that blew dusty up the lane. - -"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." - -Bet the slattern had moved to the cottage-door soon as she saw Mistress -Wayne come through the churchyard gate with Witherlee. - -"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." - -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. - -"If 'twill comfort the child, I'll come with thee and gladly," she said. - -"Ay, an' ye'll cure her, Mistress," put in Witherlee, with quiet -assurance. - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"Where is thy man Earnshaw? I want him," he said, frowning down on Bet. - -"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----" - -"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." - -"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. - -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." - -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. - -"He has never crossed mine, woman, so I'll be on the doubting side yet -awhile," he answered, after a silence. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Sakes, 'tis fearsome talk; I wish tha'd hod thy whisht, Nanny, that I -do," twittered Bet Earnshaw. - -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. - -"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." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET AT HAZEL BRIGG* - - -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. - -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. - -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?" - -"Ay, sir, he brought six as shiftless as himself," laughed Red -Ratcliffe. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"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?" - -"I know little of Marsh House, sir, and my way lies contrary across the -moor." - -"Why, then, thou wilt be glad of a companion. Say, shall I come with -thee, pretty Janet?" - -"If it pleases thee," she answered. - -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. - -"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." - -"Many thanks, cousin. Thou wooest, methinks, as a ploughboy would. -_Whoa_, he cries to his team, or _gee-up_, and being used to have his -horses obey him, he thinks women have as little wit." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -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?" - -"'Twould not be like grandfather to pass without such raillery. Ay, -sir, go on." - -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. - -"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?" - -"On what day does he come?" asked Janet softly. - -"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----" - -"They name thee cruel, cousin--but I think thou hast been very kind just -now," she interposed. - -"God's faith, art witless altogether?" he cried, dumbfounded by her -hardiness. - -"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." - -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. - -"Thou'lt not--not dare to warn him," he stammered. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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----" - -"Well, now?" he said, in a hard voice. - -"I have heard that not long since thou wast with her on the moor, -stooping more closely to her ear than friendship alone warranted." - -"'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." - -"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----" - -"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?" - -"Yet thou lov'st her," she said, with the keen glance of jealousy. - -"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?" - -"'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." - -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." - -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----" - -"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. - -"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?" - -"I have told thee," he said, and left her without another word. - -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----" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"I give thee good-day," she faltered, chilled by his silence. "Wilt not -tell me, Ned, that 'tis well-met by Hazel Brigg?" - -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. - -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. - -"What ails thee, Ned?" she asked, after they had looked each at the -other across the stream. - -"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----" - -"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----" - -"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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"Thou didst not bid him come--nor I wish him God-speed on his errand," -said Janet, with a last effort to persuade him. - -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. - -"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. - -"He's heartless," she repeated, and set one foot on the narrow bridge. - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"What brings thee so near to a Wayne homestead?" he asked, pointing to -the grim front of the house above. - -"Why should I fear? Our men folk fight, but none ever heard of one of -your name waging war upon a woman." - -"That is a true word," muttered Wayne, and would have said more, but -checked himself. - -"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. - -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?" - -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. - -"_We_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -"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----" - -He freed her on the sudden; his eyes went out far across the moor, and -into them there leaped a fierceness and a dread. - -"Ned, what is't?" she cried. - -"What is't? I saw dead Wayne of Marsh come up the slope, with blood on -his wearing-gear and sorrow on his face." - -"Hush, for Our Lady's sake! Hush----" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Wilt take this basket to the Lean Man, Janet, and say that Shameless -Wayne sends greeting with it?" he said. - -"'Twould be a fairer token than thy last." - -"Why, what dost thou know of tokens? They did not tell thee, surely?" - -"I was the first to chance on it--the hand that lay on the -boundary-stone, with thy greeting scrawled beside it." - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -Wayne tried to check her but she did not heed him. - -"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." - -"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." - -She was silent awhile, thinking of what Red Ratcliffe had confessed to -her this morning. _The pitcher goes once too oft to the well_--ay, -there was truth in the hard old proverb. - -"Ned," she cried, looking up on the sudden, "do not go to Bents Farm -this week." - -"Not go to Bent's? How didst learn I meant to ride up there at all?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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----" - -"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." - -"Then thou'lt not be warned?" - -"I shall ride to Bents Farm on Thursday, as I had in mind to." - -"And wilt thou take none with thee?" - -"I meant to take none, and I'll not shift from my path by a -hair's-breadth." - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"What is't?" he asked, eyeing her curiously. - -"'Twould not advantage thee to know.--And so farewell, Ned, and God give -thee a better wit." - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -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? - -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. - -"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. _To lie_? 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." - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - *MOTHER-WIT* - - -The Lean Man and Red Ratcliffe were standing in the courtyard at -Wildwater, and Nicholas was regarding his grandson with cold -displeasure. - -"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 _them_ by stealth? By the Heart, if thou -hast let jealousy----" - -"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." - -"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." - -"Haply she is with Wayne of Marsh, sir," said the other softly. - -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." - -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. - -"Here are the eggs, sir. Have I not done well?" she said. - -"Put them down, girl," said Nicholas, and paused, afraid to ask the -question which might kill his love for her. - -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?" - -A foreboding seized the younger man; for her glance said plainly that -she had no fear of what he might have told his grandfather. - -"Whom, lass? Come, tell me quick," said Nicholas. - -"Why, Shameless Wayne--and learned somewhat from him which he little -thought might prove of service to you." - -"Shameless Wayne? What led thee to Shameless Wayne?" cried Nicholas. - -"Nay, what led _him_ 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." - -Nicholas shot a glance of triumph at Red Ratcliffe, and one of doubt at -Janet. "Thou should'st have passed him by," he said. - -"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----" - -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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"'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." - -"Then, sir, you would liefer see her wedded to Wayne of Marsh than to -me?" broke in the other hotly. "They call _him_ 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----" - -"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?" - -"I said the tale went lame," muttered Nicholas; "ay, I knew there could -be naught in 't." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"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. _He_ 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." - -"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?" - -"That he was going to Bents Farm, to see that some repairs were rightly -done." - -"Ay, it tallies," murmured Nicholas.--"Go on, Janet; we knew as much as -that." - -"But did you know, sir, that Wayne had somehow learned your purpose? He -was to have gone on Thursday----" - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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? - -"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." - -"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?" - -"And he could not fight at all, sir, after the shearing was done. 'Tis -a good fable," laughed Janet. - -"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. - -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." - -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." - -"What, dost not believe my story?" she answered, with demure wonder. -"Well, go on Thursday, then, if thou doubtest----" - -"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." - -"The Lean Man will not wait with you, save on the Friday." - -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. - -Janet halted on the threshold before following Nicholas indoors. - -"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----" - -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. - -"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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - *HOW WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS* - - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -A crackling of twigs came from up the Dene, and turning affrightedly she -saw Shameless Wayne striding along the narrow path. - -"Why, little bairn, what art doing here?" he cried, as she ran to him -with hands outstretched in welcome. - -"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." - -"Bide awhile, bairn," he said kindly; "thy thoughts will come tame to -hand one day, never fear." - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"Thou'lt not forget to walk with me after dinner?" she said. - -"Not I.--The stream's over-wide for thee, is't? Well, that is soon -reckoned with." - -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. - -"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." - -The Lean Man, standing in the Wildwater courtyard, was likewise looking -toward the south, as he rated three of his kinsfolk into the saddle. - -"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." - -"'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." - -"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." - -"I doubt for reasons that I'll tell you afterward," said the other, -nettled by his comrades' laughter. - -"What, when I return with Wayne's head at my saddle-flap?" - -"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. - -"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." - -Janet watched them move up into the moor, their figures, riding one -behind the other, dark against the white, wind-hurried clouds. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"'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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Art thou never afraid of them, Sexton?" asked Mistress Wayne, her wide, -questioning eyes on his. - -"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." - -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?" - -"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." - -"Once thou said'st 'twas only the unwed lassies walked. Is it so, -Sexton?" - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -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, - -"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. - -"'Tis ower an' done wi' long sin'," murmured the Sexton; "ower an' done -wi,' Mistress." - -"'Twill never be over and done with. Dick was killed--but I--I was not -given death, only a merciful little spell of sleep." - -"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." - -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. - -"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----" - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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 -_tha_'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." - -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. - -"Blowing rain, I fancy," said Earnshaw, standing square across the path. - -"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." - -"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?" - -The Sexton's wife could not resist that simple query. "News? What's -agate?" she said, half turning about. - -"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?" - -"Tha wert up at Wildwater thyseln awhile back?" said the Sexton, still -with one eye on his wife. - -"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----" - -"I'll warrant tha doesn't. He'd nearly as lief wark as fight, wod -slack-back Earnshaw," put in Nanny. - -"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. - -"He will win, Sexton," she answered quietly. "Dost doubt it?" - -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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"'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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Earnshaw, I want thee to come and doctor that roan mare of mine," said -Janet. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"Come hither, Mistress. I have somewhat to say to thee," she cried, -motioning the girl to the seat beside her. - -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. - -"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." - -Janet glanced at her in surprise. A faint colour crept over her brow. -"You--you know, then?" she murmured. - -"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----" - -"Ay, a little less than he loves his pride," said Janet bitterly. - -"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. _I_ had -a man's love once, girl, and I threw it aside, and--God pity all who let -the gift go by." - -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. - -"He loves me, say you? Say it again, Mistress; 'tis the pleasantest -speech I've heard these long days past," cried the girl. - -"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." - -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----" - -"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----" - -"Up the moor, say ye?" cried Janet, with sudden misgiving. "Which road -took he, Mistress?" - -"To Bents Farm, I think he said. He was to have gone yesterday, but was -hindered." - -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. - -"What is't?" asked Mistress Wayne, wonderingly. - -"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." - -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. - -_Gallop_. 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. _Gallop_. There was yet time. - -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. - -"Ned, Ned, art safe?" she cried, reining in close beside him. - -Wayne of Marsh eyed her soberly. "Safe? Ay. Wilt sorrow or be glad of -it, Mistress Janet?" - -"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!" - -"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----" - -"Stoop, Ned. Thou hast tied it ill, and my fingers are better at the -work." - -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. - -"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." - -"'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. - -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. - -"Now tell me. How didst come through it, Ned?" she asked, tying a -second knot in the kerchief. - -"That is what I cannot tell thee. They met me, four of them, where the -road is narrow up by Dead Lad's Rigg." - -"Ay, four of them. God give me shame," murmured Janet. - -"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----" - -"Yes, yes, go on. What then, Ned?" - -"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." - -"But, Ned, I cannot credit it. Didst thou make no movement to drive him -back?" - -"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." - -"Was there naught, then, to occasion it?" - -"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." - -"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. - -"I did not," answered Wayne grimly--"for the reason that he fled." - -Again she stared at him. "_Fled_? Grandfather fled, say'st thou?" - -"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----" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. _With a thought of one who had been forbidden_. Who was it, -Ned?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"Red Ratcliffe, at a venture." - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"What in the Dog's name art doing here, Hiram?" cried his Master, -starting guiltily away from Mistress Janet. - -"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." - -"Thy ears are big, Hiram, but my hands will cover them." - -"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." - -Janet waited for no more, but beckoned Wayne to lift her to the saddle -and touched the roan mare with her whip. - -"Is there danger for thee at Wildwater?" he whispered, clutching her -bridle. "If there be--I tell thee I'll not let thee go." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -Wayne stood looking up the highway long after she had gone, and turned -at last to find Hiram's quiet grey eyes upon him. - -"Well, Hiram? What art thinking of?" he said, with something between -wrath and grudging laughter in his voice. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - *THE DOG-DREAD* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"The night wears late, grandfather. Will you not come home to -Wildwater?" said a low voice at his side. - -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. - -"Janet, what brings thee here?" he said hoarsely. - -"Care for you, sir. You have been out of health, and I feared to leave -you so late on the moor lest sickness----" - -He laughed brokenly. "Sickness--ay. I have been--not well. 'Twas -rightly spoken, girl." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"Not that tale to-night, grandfather--any tale save that," pleaded the -girl. - -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." - -"Hush, grandfather! I cannot bear it. Hark to the rushes yonder--and -the curlews--they've heard your tale, methinks." - -"'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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"And that is Barguest, grandfather," said Janet, creeping closer to him. - -"That, lass, is Barguest. That is why the Marsh folk take _Wayne and -the Dog_ 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. - -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. - -"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." - -"I have guessed," she answered softly, "and have grieved for you more -than ever I told you of." - -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." - -"Sir, 'twas your fancy! I tell you, it was fancy," cried Janet wildly. -"Did Wayne see it, or Red Ratcliffe, or----" - -"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." - -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. - -"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----" - -"Have any of the Wildwater dogs turned on you of late?" she asked, with -a sudden glance at him. - -"Nay, lass! There's no key to the trouble there." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"God willing, sir," she murmured, as she turned to walk beside him. - -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. - -"Canst--canst see the teeth-marks there?" he whispered. - -"'Tis smooth, sir, without a scratch on 't." - -"Pass thy hand over--lightly. I can feel the deep wound burn and -sting--surely thy fingers can feel the pit." - -"There is no wound, grandfather--no wound at all." - -He drew his breath again, and laughed, and, "Tell me again, dear lass," -he said, "that it is fancy--naught but fancy." - -"It is altogether fancy," she answered. - -"Art tricking me?" he said with sudden suspicion. "Let me see thy -fingers, lass--the fingers that touched my throat." - -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. - -"Why, no," he whispered; "no stain at all. And yet----" - -And after that they spoke no word until Wildwater gates showed dark in -front of them. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - *THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS* - - -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. - -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? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"Nay, for I am always fighting one of them--and never more than after a -week's idleness." - -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?" - -"None for me, nor ever will be. Besides, Marsh has its mistress; -thou'rt not going to leave us, Nell?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"To-morrow I cannot. 'Tis churning-day, Ned, and the butter is always -streaked when I leave those want-wit maids alone with it." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"Take the lads with thee, then, if thou must go." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Ay, and _thou_ 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----" - -"See, Mistress, there's naught to be gained by going over the old -ground," he interrupted harshly. - -"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. - -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? - -"Thou need'st tell me naught, little bairn," he said. - -"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." - -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." - -"Thou'lt still keep a friend to me?" she whispered. - -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." - -"'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. - -"Mistress Ratcliffe, thou mean'st?" said Wayne, after a silence. "What -ails thee, bairn, to be so hot for this unlikely wedding?" - -"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?" - -He shook his head. "The troubles are new that stand 'twixt Janet and -myself--and any day may bring forth more of them." - -"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." - -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. - -"Danger? Of what?" he cried. - -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. - -"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." - -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?" - -"Ay, are we!" cried Griff. "We're but the keener set to have another -day of it." - -"Then go; but mind ye come straight up to the washing-pool after dinner. -'Tis time ye learned the ways of farming." - -The youngsters made wry faces at this as they settled themselves to the -mutton-pasty. - -"We met the Lean Man again to-day," said one presently, in between two -goodly mouthfuls. - -"And what said he to you?" - -"Naught. He wore as broken a look as ever I saw, and when we rode at -him with a shout----" - -"Lads, lads, fight men less skilled at sword-play than the Lean Man," -put in Shameless Wayne, smiling the while at their spirit. - -"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." - -"Nanny is a fond old wife, with more tales on her tongue-tip than hairs -on her thinning thatch." - -"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." - -Wayne did not answer, though he paled a little, and soon he made excuse -to leave them. - -"Where art going, Ned? We've fifty tales to tell thee of the day's -sport," cried Griff. - -"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." - -"Thou'lt not find him, for he was going into the Friendly Inn with -shepherd Jose as we passed through Ling Crag." - -"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." - -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. - -"There's somebody got four gooid legs under him," said Jose, as the -racket of horse-hoofs came up the road. - -"Ay, by th' sound. Who is't, Jose?" answered Hiram lazily. - -"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. - -"A wench can hev a tidy seat i' th' saddle, an' yet be leet as -thistle-down." - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"What didst see, like, a three week sin'?" asked Jose the shepherd, his -head tilted gossip-wise to one side. - -"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." - -"Now, come, Hiram! Gossip's gossip, but I'll noan believe that sort o' -talk about th' Maister." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Ay," said another, "it's th' Wayne smell--ye can wind 'em like foxes -wheriver ye leet on their trail." - -"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." - -"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. - -Hiram lifted himself slowly into a sitting-posture. "There's _breed_ i' -us owd uns," he said; "th' race weakened by th' time it got to sich as -thee." - -"We'll see about that," said his assailant, and stooped quickly, his -hands toward Hiram's throat. - -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. - -"If awther o' ye others hes owt to say, I'm noan stalled yet," said -Hiram, dropping to his seat again. - -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. - -"Likely," put in Hiram Hey. "I've hed chaps mell on me afore, an' it -mostly ends th' same way." - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"Yond war a shrewd lift o' thine, Hiram," said the shepherd presently, -seating himself at the other side of the hearth. - -"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." - -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. - -"Dost ride from Marsh?" he sneered, blocking the stable-door. - -"From seeing a better man than thou? Nay. I have no dealings with -Wayne of Marsh." - -"Thou'lt have no chance of such dealings by and by." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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 _know_ thou canst stable a horse, -if thou hast scant knowledge of how to woo a maid." - -"'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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - *HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Well, Hiram, hast getten owt to say agen th' weather?" said Jose, -splashing into the pool. - -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. - -"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. - -"'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." - -"Poor, are we, say'st 'a?" snapped the shepherd who was working -alongside Jose in the pool. - -"Ay, poor as rattens," answered Hiram. "I allus did say a sheep war th' -gaumless-est thing 'at iver went on four legs." - -"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----" - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"Will th' young Maister be coming up, think ye?" asked a farm-hand by -and by. - -"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." - -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. - -"We mun hev a bit o' dinner i' a while," said Jose at last; "I'm as dry -as a peck o' hay-seeds." - -"I'll warrant," growled Hiram, and for sheer contrariness went off to -see that a new flock was penned ready for the washing. - -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." - -"What's agate ower yonder, Hiram?" called one of the shepherds. "Tha's -getten thy een on summat, by th' look on ye." - -"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. - -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. - -"By th' Heart!" cried one. "They're Wildwater sheep, yond; I can see -th' red owning-mark on their backs." - -"Ay. Lonks they are, if my een's gooid for owt," said Hiram. - -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. - -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. - -"'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." - -"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. - -"Nay, if there's aught poor in breed, father it on a Wayne," said the -other. - -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. - -"We want to wash our sheep," said Ratcliffe. - -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. - -"Six of the afternoon? 'Tis easy to be seen, sirrah, that thou hast a -taste for jesting," said Red Ratcliffe. - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Clear the pens of yond murrain-rotted ewes; we've some whole-bodied -sheep to wash," he said peremptorily. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"Begow, that's th' first we've heard on 't fro' owd Hiram," muttered -Jose the shepherd, chuckling soberly as he dipped another ewe. - -"Ay," went on Hiram placidly, "there's none denies 'at th' Wayne -farm-folk can best ony others i' th' moorside." - -"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. - -"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." - -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." - -"Where is your Master?" snapped the other. "'Tis a poor farmer lies -abed while his hinds play." - -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." - -"Has he? And what might that be?" said Red Ratcliffe softly. - -"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. - -"Cutting grass at this time of year?" - -"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." - -"So he'll not come to the sheep-washing?" broke in Red Ratcliffe, with a -glance at his fellows. - -"I've telled ye so," said Hiram, "an' telling ye twice willun't better a -straight tale." - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"'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. - -"I give you good-day, Wayne of Marsh," called Red Ratcliffe. - -"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. - -"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.'" - -Shameless Wayne would never stoop to the Ratcliffe frippery of speech. -"My courtesy takes no account of such as ye," he answered bluntly. - -"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." - -"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. - -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." - -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." - -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. - -"Where is the Lean Man to-day? 'Tis strange he comes not to the -sheep-washing," said Wayne of Marsh, as still they halted. - -"He would not trouble," snarled Red Ratcliffe. "'Twas butchery, he -said, for a man of his years to fight with such a callow strippling." - -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?" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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 _Ratcliffe!_ they closed in a ring about him. - -"Five to one now. Come, the odds lessen fast," cried Wayne, as he -pulled up and seemed to wait their onset. - -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. - -"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. - -"Is he a Jack-o'-Lanthorn, this fool from Marsh?" growled Red Ratcliffe, -foiled a second time. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"My breath will fail," thought Wayne, and redoubled the swiftness of his -blows, and cut his man deep through the rib-bones. - -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. - -"'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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"And, by Wayne's cursed Dog, the third time shall pay for all," snapped -the other, making a second effort to stand upright. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Begow, I shall niver be wedded now to Martha," he thought; "a chap -_can_ 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." - -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. - -"He gives, he gives!" cried one of the two horsemen who were left to -take their turn. - -"Does he give?" panted Wayne, and made the quick cross-cut, following a -straight lunge, which his father had taught him long ago. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"In time--by th' Heart, in time!" he cried. - -As if in answer to him, a swift, clear shout came up the moor, over the -sun-bright sweep of ling. - -"_Wayne and the Dog_. Hold to it, Ned! Hold to it." - -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. - -"Begow, that's a let-off, an' proper," said Hiram Hey, scarce -comprehending yet that he was safe. - -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. - -"On to them; they'll break at the first onset," muttered Red Ratcliffe, -and galloped down to meet them. - -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. - -"Wayne and the Dog!" cried Griff, as he made at the foremost Ratcliffe. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - *HOW THEY WAITED AT THE BOUNDARY-STONE* - - -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. - -"There'll be a queer welcome for us from the Lean Man," said one. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -They nodded eagerly. "We shall save our credit yet. By the Heart, not -Nicholas himself could have hatched a bonnier plot," they cried. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"'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." - -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. - -"Well, pretty light-of-love? What wast gazing at so earnestly when we -came up?" he asked. - -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." - -"A right fear, too. There _has_ been trouble, and your friends have -just learned a bloody lesson from us, Mistress," said Red Ratcliffe, for -mere zest in seeing her wince. - -"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. - -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." - -"Yes, yes, I will go to him. At the boundary-stone, you said----" - -"'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." - -She passed a hand across her eyes, while Ratcliffe's fellows glanced at -him with frank amazement. - -"'Twas Nell, not I, he asked for?" she said. "Are you sure, sir, that -my name did not pass his lips?" - -"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." - -She halted a moment, then went with slow steps down the highway. And he -who rode on Ratcliffe's left turned questioningly to him. - -"What fool's game is this?" he asked. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"What, not a scratch on you?" he asked in wonder. - -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. - -And then his brothers, not to be outdone, showed many a trivial scar, -which they had gleaned amid the give-and-take of blows. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Let me kill him, Ned--let me kill him!" cried Griff, in a voice that -was like a man's for depth. - -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. - -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." - -"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. - -"Ay," said the Master grimly, "and 'twill be work till sundown, Hiram, -if we're to make up for time lost." - -Hiram opened his mouth wide. "What? Ye mean to get forrard wi' th' -sheep-weshing? At after what we've gone through?" - -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?" - -"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. - -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." - -"Lord, Lord, I may be no drinker--but I could sup two quarts of ale, an' -niver tak two breaths," said Hiram Hey forlornly. - -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." - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"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--" - -"Nell, spare me! Do I not know, do I not know?" - -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." - -The girl rose, and would have gone out, but her step-mother stood in -front of her, lifting up her hands in piteous entreaty. - -"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." - -"_You_ want to go with me? My faith, I'll seek other company, or go -alone," flashed Nell, and left her there. - -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. - -"I have brought disaster to them; yes, 'tis very true," she mused all -along the bare white road. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"I--brought--disaster," she murmured, and let her head fall back among -the heather. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - *WHAT CHANCED AT WILDWATER* - - -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. - -"The old trouble has left you, sir, to-day. Is it not so?" she said -gently, chafing his cold hands in hers. - -"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?" - -"Some of them have gone to wash the sheep. They said they would be home -betimes, but the afternoon wears on." - -"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." - -He raised his eyes languidly as the garden gate opened and Red Ratcliffe -and his two companions came laughing through. - -"We've news, sir, for you," cried Red Ratcliffe. - -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." - -"'Tis true, sir, he worsted us in fight," said Red Ratcliffe, sulkily. - -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?" - -"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?" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"Good lass!" chuckled old Nicholas. "I like that sort of temper. She -carries a dagger, then, to help keep up the feud?" - -"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." - -"'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. - -"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. - -"Thy aim for a man's heart is always very sure," her cousin answered, -meeting her glance good-humouredly. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"Will the Brown Dog carry its master through this pass, think ye?" cried -Red Ratcliffe boastfully. - -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. - -"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." - -"But, sir, this is folly! What can he do with a score men waiting here -for him?" - -"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." - -"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. - -The younger men glanced meaningly one at the other as they moved off. -"Old brains breed maggots," muttered one. - -"And so will Wayne before the month is old," answered Red Ratcliffe -brutally, turning for a last malicious glance at Janet. - -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. - -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." - -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? - -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. - -Nicholas and Red Ratcliffe were in hall together, the younger man full -of talk, the other taciturn and hopeless. - -"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." - -"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. - -"A likely request, cousin! The key lies safe in my pocket, and there -'twill stay." - -"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. - -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. - -"I'll stay this side the door while thou hast speech of her," he said, -with an ugly smile. - -"As it pleases thee," she answered, opening the door and closing it -behind her. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"You come to mock me, doubtless," said Nell at last. - -"_That_ would be to mock my own pride, Mistress. I came with quite -other thoughts." - -"I am honoured that the lady of the house sees fit--in a late hour, -perchance--to give welcome to her guest." - -"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." - -"How, you? I do not understand--I----" - -"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." - -Nell lost a little of her upright carriage. "Is that why they brought -me here?" she asked slowly. - -"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?" - -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." - -"And _I_ 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." - -"Go, go! Say I wronged you--say anything, so only you keep Ned out of -danger." - -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. - -"None, save that Ned will knock at the gates while you stand dallying -here." - -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." - -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----" - -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." - -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. - -"Well?" he said, putting the key into his pocket and laying a rough hand -on Janet as she tried to pass him. - -"My answer is to grandfather, sir. What I have said or not said is for -wiser ears than thine." - -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." - -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." - -"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. - -"Where I list, cousin, without leave asked of thee or granted." - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"Wayne will win free--_must_ win free--there's naught can pierce that -armour," said the Lean Man, stirring in his sleep again. - -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." - -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. - -"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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - *AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH* - - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"Where is the Mistress? I can find her nowhere," he said, leaning -against the doorway. - -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. - -"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." - -Wayne nodded curtly to Martha and turned on his heel, cutting short her -expectation of a pleasant round of doubt and fear and surmise. - -"I would they were safe back again," he muttered. "Nell must be fey, to -go wandering abroad at this late hour." - -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. - -"Good-even, Maister. Is there owt wrang at Marsh?" said the Sexton's -wife. - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Well, Maister?" she said softly, as still he did not speak. - -"Well, nurse? Dost think I'm still unbreeked, and ready as of old to -shiver at thy tales?" - -"Then there's nowt wrang at Marsh?" - -"What should be wrong?" - -"If all goes weel, why do ye stand so quiet there, Maister? An' why do -ye hide your face when Nanny talks to ye?" - -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." - -Nanny did not follow him, but turned to Martha, who had listened with -dismay to all that passed. - -"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." - -"We've hed happenings enough, Nanny--Lord save us fro' owt but peace, -say I." - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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." - -"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." - -Shameless Wayne laughed soberly. "'Twas worth as much.--There, Rolf! -Thou'lt have thy chance, I fancy, by and by." - -"Then there's to be another battle?" cried Griff eagerly. - -"Likely, thou man of blood," said Shameless Wayne, with a would-be -lightness that sounded strangely heavy to Rolf's ears. - -"What troubles thee?" he asked. "'Tis naught to do with the Ratcliffes, -thou say'st?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Well, what is it, bairn?" he asked. - -"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!" - -"_They said_. Who troubled to tell lies to thee?" cried Wayne, sore -perplexed. - -"Three of the Ratcliffes who met me on the moor." - -Wayne of Cranshaw looked at his cousin. "Trickery," he muttered. - -"Ay, there's trickery somewhere.--Tell us more, bairn, about this -ill-timed meeting." - -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. - -"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." - -"I am riding to Wildwater, Ned. Who comes with me?" said Wayne of -Cranshaw brusquely. - -"All of us," broke in the four lads, with a gaiety ill-matching the -occasion. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"God's life the fool is venturesome," muttered Wayne. "What should he -want at Marsh?" - -"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. - -"A message, have ye?" said Wayne. "Your news is known already. Ride -back, you lean-ribbed hound, before we whip you on the road." - -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----" - -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. - -Rolf steadied his horse, then was silent for awhile as he wiped his -blade with unhurried carefulness. - -"Dost see the plot, Ned?" he asked grimly, with another glance at the -fallen horseman. - -"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." - -"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! _She shall lie soft -to-night_--how the foul words stick----" - -"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. - -"Get thee within-doors, bairn; 'tis no fit place for thee." - -"Not unless thou'lt come, too. Ned, I'll not have thee ride to -Wildwater--keep within shelter while thou canst----" - -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?" - -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." - -"Nay, we'll not wait--" began Ned. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Ay, if it meant no more!" mused Shameless Wayne, and turned as his -step-mother came timidly to his side. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"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----" - -"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?" - -"It was no fault of hers, dear. How if she sorrows for Nell as much as -thou, or I, or any of us?" - -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?" - -"Ay, I heard it opened--and there's a footstep on the paving-stones." - -"Bairn, help me to buckle my sword-belt on again. I know there's luck -goes where thy hand has rested." - -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. - -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. - -"I have come to our dearest enemy. Make me your captive, Wayne of -Marsh," she said. - -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. - -"You have chosen your time well, Mistress, if a jest is in your mind," -said Wayne. - -"Nothing further, sir. Your sister is in dire peril; would less have -brought me to one who has spurned my warnings oft aforetime?" - -He waited, frowning, till she should tell him more. - -"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." - -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. - -"Nay, for the honour of a woman who had little deserved the infamy they -planned for her." - -"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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -"There is always danger for me there," she said, her voice deepening; -"but that should not vex thee, surely, Wayne of Marsh?" - -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. - -"Janet," he said quietly, not moving nearer to her yet, "dost think I -care naught what chances to thee?" - -"'Twould seem so, Ned. Twice I have told thee of the bargain made -between the Lean Man and my cousins----" - -"Nay, only hinted at it. What was this bargain, Janet?" - -Lower still her voice dropped. "That I should be given to the one who -slew thee," she said. - -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. - -"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----" - -A dozen feints of speech she would have tried to keep him at -arm's-length, but Wayne would none of them. - -"There's one wound, lass, of thy own giving, that matters more than all -the rest," he said. - -"Hush! I'll not listen. There's work to be done--'twill not wait--it -is no fit hour, I tell thee." - -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. - -But Wayne was not to be held in check. He wooed like a storm-wind, and -like a reed she bent to him. - -"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. - -"Told thee what, Ned?" she asked, not knowing whether her unwillingness -were real or feigned. - -"That thou'rt mine altogether--that thy thoughts are mine, and thy body, -and thy pride--ay, that I've mastered thee." - -Wayne kept her face tight prisoned. She could feel his touch gain -fierceness; his voice had a note in it not to be gainsaid. - -"Ned, I will not say it--will not--" she faltered. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Janet turned in Ned's arms and glanced toward the door. "What is't, -Ned?" she whispered. - -"The Waynes are here," he cried--"and I'll take a lighter heart to -Wildwater, Janet, for knowing----" - -"But, Ned, thou didst promise not to go," she cried. - -"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?" - -"Yes, yes! I tell thee, there's no danger but what I have faced before, -and can meet again." - -"We were over-happy just now, girl; fate grudges that. Thou shalt not -go, I say." - -"There! I knew 'twas folly to name thee _master_. Hark how thou usest -the whip at the first chance! Is every wish of mine to be thwarted now, -to prove thy sovereignty?" - -"Nay, for it's sure. But when I hear thee ask to fight my battles----" - -"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----" - -"But what of Nell meanwhile? Each moment lost----" - -"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." - -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. - -"Thou shalt go," he said, and went out into the courtyard, wondering how -best to send a message up to Wildwater. - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -Hiram, no whit abashed to find the Master standing so unexpectedly at -his elbow, thrust his hands still deeper into his pockets. - -"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." - -"Get to the kitchen, all of you, and tell the maids I sent you," cried -the Maister, disregarding Hiram's snarls. - -"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." - -"Broach a fresh barrel, then," snapped Wayne, "and put thy mouth to the -bung-hole if it pleases thee." - -"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." - -Shameless Wayne looked up the road to see if his kinsfolk were in sight; -then at the retreating backs of the farm-men. - -"Hiram! I want a word with thee," he called, following a sudden -thought. - -"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." - -"Canst keep a still tongue when 'tis needful?" said Wayne abruptly. - -"As weel as most, Maister." - -"The Mistress is taken by the Ratcliffes--taken while we were at the -washing-pools." - -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. - -"And _I_ have snatched the Lean Man's grand-daughter in return." - -"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?" - -"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----" - -"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." - -"I'll ride across, then, and see him; thank thee for the news, Hiram," -said the Master briskly. - -"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?" - -"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?" - -"I'll try--ay, I'll try." - -"Then get thee gone, and make the message curt as if it were a -sword-thrust." - -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. - -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. - -"What art thinking, Janet?" he asked. - -"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----" - -"He has cared well for thee," said Wayne bitterly. "Small wonder thou -think'st kindly of him." - -"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." - -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. - -"Once more, Janet--wilt let us ride up to Wildwater, and carry it by -storm?" he cried. - -"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." - -"To take thy place?" echoed Wayne, and tried still to hold her, though -the knocking from without grew more peremptory. - -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? - -"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." - -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. - -"We're ready, Ned. Why dost hold back, lad, and keep us shivering -here?" cried Rolf. - -"Because there's to be no attack just yet. Get down from saddle, -friends, and drink a measure with me here in hall." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - *HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH* - - -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. - -"'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." - -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. - -"'Tis a vampire," she whispered, crossing herself. "They say the pool -breeds such. What if it should break through----" - -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. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"And useless it is like to be if we meet him always in this spirit." - -"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." - -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? - -"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?" - -"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." - -"Well, he comes not back. And you, sir? Is your life of such little -moment to us----" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"Come with me, Mistress Wayne; there's a horse ready saddled to take you -down to Marsh," said the Lean Man. - -"Sir, am I free? Or is this a fresh trick, to make my case seem harder -for a sight of freedom?" - -"'Tis no trick. Come, Mistress! Time slips by, and there's one -awaiting me at Marsh who's worth fifty such as thou." - -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. - -"How comes all this?" asked Nell, as they drew near to Barguest Lane. - -"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!" - -"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. - -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. - -"A Ratcliffe! A Ratcliffe!" yelled the Lean Man, with a thought that -the old cry would bring them quickly to the gate. - -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. - -"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?" - -"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?" - -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. - -"Do you come in peace?" he asked. - -"I come in peace," answered the Lean Man bitterly. "Give me your -captive, Wayne of Marsh, and take your sister." - -"Was this your doing, Nicholas Ratcliffe?" went on the other. "Was it -you who carried Mistress Nell to Wildwater?" - -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. - -"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." - -"And if Ned fails, then I'll take on the hunt," cried Rolf Wayne of -Cranshaw, stepping forward. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"I have a word for Mistress Janet's ear," he said. - -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. - -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. - -"Thou--must go, Janet," he said, touching her on the arm. - -"Yes," she answered dully. - -"The Lean man is at the gate; he has brought Nell with him." - -"Yes, Ned." - -"God, lass, how _dare_ I let thee out of sight!" he cried, his studied -coldness breaking down. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Is that thy wish, girl?" he asked hoarsely. - -"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." - -As they gained the hall he stopped, and held his arms wide for her. -"Once again, Janet--_thy master_," he muttered. - -"_My master_--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." - -She slipped from his grasp and ran quickly out, brushing against Nell -Wayne as she crossed to the gate. - -"Good even to you, Mistress. Shall I offer thanks for the night's work -you've done?" said Nell. - -"I should accept none," answered the other, in the same hard voice. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"And 'twill be the last, belike, for another score; so drink deep, sir, -while you have the chance." - -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." - -They set off, he and Janet, and once only the girl turned for a last -look at Wayne. - -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. - -He stood idly in the courtyard while they got to horse, and Nell, seeing -him apart from the rest, came to his side. - -"So thou hast let all else go--all save Janet?" she said. - -"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." - -"'Tis carrying thankfulness a far way, Ned.--And what of our kin? Will -they smile on the match, think ye?" - -"They may smile or frown, as best pleases them." - -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." - -"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?" - -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. - -"There's no place for me now at Marsh," she said; "I'll go with thee, -Rolf, at thy own good time." - -"No place for thee at Marsh?" he echoed. - -"None. Ned is to marry Mistress Ratcliffe by and by, and----" - -"Is this true, Ned?" said Wayne of Cranshaw sharply. - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Wheer's th' Maister, like? I could right weel like to set een on him," -said Jose the shepherd, breaking a long silence. - -"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." - -Hiram filled his pewter and all but emptied it before he spoke. - -"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." - -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. - -"Oh, ay?" put in one of the wenches. "What dost mean, Hiram? Tha'rt -allus so darksome i' thy speech." - -"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." - -"Tha'rt bitter, Hiram," cried Martha. "An' thee to hev fought for him -nobbut a few hours gone by!" - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"Good hap, my very dogs will turn next and look askance at me," muttered -Wayne. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Martha, 'tis a drear house, this, I'm thinking," said Hiram. - -"Ay, but it's all the roof I've getten." - -"'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." - -"Well, Hiram?" - -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. - -"Yond's a likelier spot, an' quieter, for a wench," he said. - -"Sakes, Hiram! Tha'rt noan so backard-like i' coming forrard, when -all's said." - -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. - -"An' then," put in Martha softly, "there's even a quieter spot nor yond -that mud varry weel be mine for th' axing." - -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?" - -"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." - -"That sattles it. Wilt wed me afore th' corn ripens, lass, an' come to -yond snug bigging dahn i' th' hollow?" - -"I reckon I will, lad. Why didst not axe me plain afore?" - -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. - -"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." - -Hiram took the stroke staunchly, knowing it was the return-thrust for -many a home-blow he had given Wayne. - -"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." - -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. - -"Janet, girl, 'tis good to know thou'rt safe again," he said. "What -would Wildwater be without thee?" - -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. - -"I had forgotten it," he muttered.--"Didst hear aught in the wind, -Janet?" - -"I heard a moor-bird calling, sir, and the rustle of dry -heather-stalks." - -"Naught else? No sound, say, of a hound baying down the lane?" - -"There's a farm-dog barking at the moon; that is all." - -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?" - -"So long as there's a moon to cast it, sir." - -Another silence, while a mile of heath slipped underneath their hoofs. - -"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." - -"Grandfather, it--it hurts me to hear you praise me so." - -"Why, what ails thee? Cannot I praise the one thing on God's earth that -I love, without hurting thee?" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - *HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT WITH SHAMELESS WAYNE* - - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Oh, tha'rt theer, art 'a?" put in Nanny's voice at his elbow. - -"Begow, tha made me jump! What is't, Nanny?" - -"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?" - -The Sexton rose with his old habit of obedience, and went to the corner -where the rosemary grew, and brought her both hands full. - -"'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." - -"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." - -"Ay, he's better for th' fighting," put in Witherlee, with something of -his wonted zest. - -"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." - -"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!" - -"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." - -"Did he say owt to thee, Nanny? He's noan just friendly to thee, -an'----" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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!" - -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?" - -"Nay, I'll step indoors by an' by, for I'm fain of a crack wi' th' -little Mistress at all times." - -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. - -"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." - -"Nay, I'll noan stay long, lass--noan stay long," he murmured. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"'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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"Hev ye set een on th' Dog?" asked Witherlee sharply. - -"Nay, I have but heard him, and felt his touch." - -"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." - -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. - -"I am frightened, Sexton. Let us go," murmured Mistress Wayne. - -"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." - -Beyond the kirkyard hedge a horseman passed, fast riding at the trot. - -"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." - -"He must be hastening from the rain. See, Sexton, he rides as if -pursued." - -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -"The clouds blow up against the wind. There'll be thunder, Witherlee," -said Wayne, and would have passed on. - -"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----" - -Wayne swung his horse round sharply. "The Lean Man! Hast seen him, -then?" he cried. - -"Not ten minutes agone. He crossed up aboon there at a gooidish trot." - -"What, by the moor-track?" - -"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." - -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." - -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?" - -"Wi' that mare's belly betwixt your legs, Maister, ye'd catch him six -times ower." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"Gallop, thou laggard, gallop!" muttered Wayne to his mare, as Ling Crag -village swirled by and the rough track to Wildwater stretched clear -ahead. - -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. - -"Wayne, 'tis Shameless Wayne. Who but him carries Judgment-fire i' his -hoss's heels?" they said. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -The Lean Man checked when he heard the cry, and looked behind; and Wayne -lessened by the half the distance between horse and mare. - -"Who calls?" yelled Nicholas Ratcliffe. - -"Wayne of Marsh. Who else? There are old debts between us, Ratcliffe -the Lean." - -"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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"'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?" - -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. - -"God's life, shall we never get to blows!" roared the Lean Man. "Down, -lad, and we'll fight it out on foot." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"I have thee, Wayne!" yelled Nicholas, as he cut down the other's guard -and aimed at his left side. - -"Nay," answered Wayne, and leaped aside so swiftly that the stroke -scarce drew blood. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -"'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." - -"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." - -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?" - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"Nay," answered Wayne, gravely, "for the blow was mine, and you know -it." - -And so they parted. And the storm howled ravening over the tortured -waste. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - *AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM* - - -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. - -"Well, lass, I have brought thee a wedding-gift of the choicest," said -Wayne, as they neared Marshcotes village. - -"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. - -"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." - -The light came back to her eyes. "Didst kill him?" she asked eagerly. - -"Nay, for the storm robbed me. I had him, Nell, and just was striking -when the lightning snatched my blow." - -"'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." - -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." - -"Thou--didst--let him go?" Nell had come to a sudden halt, and her -voice was low and passionate. - -"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?" - -"Thou should'st have killed him," she answered, and went slowly forward. - -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." - -"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!" - -"Nor would do, if I had my chance again," he answered, meeting her eye -to eye. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -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." - -"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." - -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. _Till -death do us part_--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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"She is in thy care now, Rolf," he said. "Od's life, Marsh will seem -cold without its mistress." - -"'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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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? - -"God grant it may," muttered Wayne. - -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. - -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. - -"Why, bairn, I thought thou wast asleep," said Wayne, starting from his -reverie. - -"I could not sleep, Ned. Each time I closed my eyes the dreams flocked -round me." - -He took her hands in his and drew her gently down. "Dreams? Come tell -them to me, little one," he said. - -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." - -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. - -"Let the dream rest there, bairn," he said. - -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." - -"Never heed such dreams," he whispered soothingly. "Thou'rt over-weary, -that is all." - -"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?" - -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. - -"And what said he--what said the dead man on the bier?" he queried -eagerly. - -"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 _Wayne and the Dog_, so clear that it was -ringing in my ears when I awoke." - -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. - -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. - -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." - -"And then we heed them not; but mine to-night are played all upon the -one string, Ned. What should it mean?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Tell me, Ned," she said, looking up on the sudden; "had any of thy folk -so strange a wooing as thine?" - -"Ay, three generations back. But that tale has a drear ending, bairn, -and I'll not tell it thee." - -"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." - -"Of a truth, little one, thou'rt minded to have me sad to-night," he -muttered. - -"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." - -"Over her kinsfolk's bodies? Ay, it may be so," said Wayne bitterly. - -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. - -"Poor bairn!" he said. "She's sadly overwrought; I'll take her to her -room again before she wakes." - -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. _He_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -"Gate, ye Marsh folk, gate!" came a thin, high voice from the far side -of the courtyard. - -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. - -"Your errand?" he asked. - -"To drink the wine I spilled on my last visit here," said the Lean Man. - -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. - -"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." - -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?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Lie on the settle, sir," he said, busying himself after the Lean Man's -comfort soon as they had got indoors. - -"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?" - -"If you can find such, sir." - -"To Janet Ratcliffe, who rules at Marsh and Wildwater," said Nicholas, -and drained the cup. - -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. - -"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." - -"After--after we fought together, sir?" - -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----" - -"Hold, sir! What is past, is past, and I will not hearken." - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"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. - -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. - -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." - -"As mine is, too," said Wayne in a low voice. - -"Is that a true word?" cried the other. "Is't courtesy only bids you -say it, or----" - -"As I live, I have lost my hate for you. Ay, I could welcome peace if -it were offered." - -"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?" - -Wayne warmed to the downright sturdiness of the man. "I must leave that -to shape itself," he answered.--"But, Janet, sir? What of her?" - -"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." - -"And you consented? You----" - -"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." - -Shameless Wayne held out his hand, and the Lean Man gripped it with his -left; and they looked deep into each other's eyes. - -"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." - -"But, sir, there's no need to talk of death as yet!" cried Wayne, eager -to soothe the old man's trouble. - -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?" - -"I promise gladly, sir--and trust that the need to keep it lies far -off." - -"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." - -Their hands met again when Nicholas had mounted and was ready to start. -A grim humour was twitching at the corners of his mouth. - -"What is it, sir?" asked Wayne. - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"The last effort--save one," he added when he gained the top of Barguest -Lane. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVI* - - *MISTRESS WAYNE FARES UP TO WILDWATER* - - -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. - -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. - -"I'm a child, to sway so to a capful of cold wind--eh, little bairn?" he -said. - -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. - -"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?" - -"Nay, for it lifted when I was heaviest, and now that the tangles show -like to be unravelled--see, the sky scowls on me." - -"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." - -"'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----" - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"Naught; she did but wring her hands, and bid them hasten.--Ned, Ned, -where art going?" - -"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?" - -"'Twas no more than a dream, Ned," she stammered, trying to block his -way. "I never thought 'twould drive thee up to Wildwater." - -"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." - -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!" - -"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." - -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. - -"God guide him safe," she whispered, and held her breath as the wind -rose suddenly and set the hall-door creaking on its hinges. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"It fits, it fits!" he murmured. "Lord God, how sweet the storm-song -is!" - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -The girl came softly across the floor and put a hand on his wet -forehead. "Can I do aught?" she asked. - -"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." - -"Ay, sir--and didst drink a cup of wine with Wayne in token that the -feud was killed." - -"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?" - -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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"Wayne's life is no slight matter," said the other softly. "Get thee -down to Marsh, Janet." - -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. - -"We shall thank you all our lives for this--all our lives," she cried. - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"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. - -"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." - -"I promise it beforehand--but it must not be the last. You will live, -grandfather----" - -"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." - -"Grandfather----" - -"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?" - -"I will do it gladly, sir." - -"It may be to-night, Janet. Art prepared?--Yet, Lord, I doubt they will -not come! Girl, will they come, think'st thou?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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----" - -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. - -"I will persuade him, grandfather, have never a fear of that," said -Janet, as she went to do his bidding. - -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. - -"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. - -"Come back," whispered the Lean Man, beckoning feebly to her.--"Thou -hast loved me well, Janet," he went on, as she stooped above him. - -"I have loved you well, grandfather--better than ever you knew of." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -And then he lay back, listening to the _spit-spit_ of the rain, the -falling cadence of the wind. And a smile, as of hardly-won content, -played round about his hollow face. - -Red Ratcliffe was waiting at the stair-foot when Janet came down into -the hall. - -"How goes it with the dotard?" he cried. - -She made no answer, but brushed past him toward the door. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"Wayne of Marsh, I take it? Shameless Wayne, who drank his own father's -quarrel away, who----" - -"Who goes abroad with a cry of _Wayne and the Dog_. Hast ever heard the -cry, Red Ratcliffe?" - -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. - -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. - -"I was riding to thee, Janet. What brings thee here? No ill news, -is't?" he cried. - -"Nay, Ned--save that grandfather is not like to live the day through." - -"There's no danger threatens thee?" - -"Never less, Ned. Whither wast galloping so hard, and why dost look so -tempest-driven?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"What, from Wildwater?" - -"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." - -"I was a youngster, and chance gave me the better of the fight," said -Wayne quietly. "Canst wonder he grudges it a little?" - -"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." - -"I promised him as much a week since, and I'll keep faith, dear -lass--for thy sake, if for no other." - -"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." - -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." - -"Ned! 'Twill be--'twill be to-night, I think. To look at him, he -cannot live through the day." - -"Then to-night shall find us ready.--Why, child, what is't?" - -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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"We have followed it far enough," he answered. "Has wedlock taught thee -so little, Nell, that peace shows not worth the gaining?" - -"As I told thee,--neither wedlock nor aught else can wipe one picture -out." - -"Well, I for one, Nell, am fain to see the end of all this -blood-letting," cried her husband. - -"And art thou fain," she answered bitterly, "to see him wedded to this -Ratcliffe girl?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"So thou'lt marry this daughter of the Ratcliffes?" said Nell, as she -stood at the gate and watched her brother get to horse. - -"God willing, Nell--and one day thou wilt love her near as much as I." - -"Nay, I have done with loving. Ride on, Ned, and if they tell thee I -have cared for thee--why, say they lie." - -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. -_I have done with loving_, she had said; and dimly he understood that -even her husband had no place beside him in her heart. - -"Od's life, these women! Who framed them at the start?" he muttered, as -he gained the steep down-hill that led to Marsh. - -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. - -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-- - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVII* - - *HOW THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD* - - -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. - -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----" - -"Dead? The fight will die, lad, when I do," chuckled the Lean Man. -"Tell me, is it not bravely planned?" - -Janet crept close to the door, her eyes wide-open with dismay. - -"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?" - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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!" - -"And Janet was your messenger? A bonnie stroke, to make the stock-dove -lure the wild goose into bowshot." - -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!" - -"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?" - -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." - -"Christ pity me! It was I who sent him for his kinsfolk," murmured -Janet. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"What's that?" she heard Red Ratcliffe say. "Didst hear a footfall on -the landing, sir?" - -"Not I. Tush, lad, I begin to think thou'rt feared of what's to come." - -"I'm feared of naught, save treachery." - -"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." - -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. - -"'Tis Janet, I say! Who else would be spying up and down the steps?" -cried Red Ratcliffe, running to the stairhead. - -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. - -"Not again, pretty one!" laughed Red Ratcliffe, as he caught her by the -arms. - -"Let me go. I--I will not have thee hurt me so." - -"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." - -"Master!" she cried. "Thou dar'st to call thyself my master?" - -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. - -"Cousin," she said, "thou wast wont to prate of thy love for me." - -"I'll prove it by and by." - -"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." - -"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?" - -"Wayne is not at Marsh," she broke in. "Why should I want to go there?" - -"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?" - -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. - -"Cousin, let me have speech of grandfather," she said, making a last -effort. "I--I can explain all to him----" - -"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." - -"I will not follow thee," she answered stubbornly. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -"Room and to spare, sir," answered Red Ratcliffe. "God rest the builder -of the hall for giving it such width." - -"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." - -A subdued hum of laughter followed, broken by the Lean Man's voice. - -"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!" - -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." - -"A messenger has gone to bid the Ryecollar Ratcliffes to the wake," said -another voice presently. - -"'Tis well. And Wayne of Marsh?" - -"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----" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"'Tis I--Janet Ratcliffe--Ned's sweetheart--do you not know me, -Mistress?" cried Janet, feverishly. - -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. - -"Mary Mother, must our safety rest with such a want-wit babe as this," -muttered Janet.--"Come closer, Mistress!" she went on peremptorily. - -Mistress Wayne obeyed the stronger will, though still she was afraid of -she knew not what. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"Wast ever kind to me, Ned," she whispered brokenly. "None knows, I -think, how thou hast watched to give me my least need." - -"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." - -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. - -"There's treason," she said simply, and stopped till she could gather -the scattered items of her message. - -Wayne looked at Wayne, but none spoke. The silence that foreruns a -storm held one and all of them. - -"I--I went to Wildwater--in search of Ned," went on the little woman. -"He was long a-coming, and I feared for him." - -"Why, what could'st thou have done to help?" muttered Shameless Wayne. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"What is the word?" asked her step-son gently. - -"Treason--treason--treason. But there was more--some--some signal. Oh, -what will Janet say when she knows I have forgotten my lesson!" - -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. - -"Come, little bairn," he said, "thou hast told enough. Rest thyself -awhile, and never heed the finish of thy tale." - -"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." - -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. - -Shameless Wayne stood aloof from all until the din had lessened; and -when at last he spoke his voice was rough and hard. - -"Waynes, are ye ready for the lyke-wake? 'Tis time we got to saddle," -he said. - -"Art mad?" cried one. "Is the warning to go for naught, that we should -put our necks into so trim a noose?" - -"Let be, Ned. Wildwater is no good drinking-house for us," said -another. - -"Would'st ride thy luck till it floundered?" snarled a third. - -Shameless Wayne beckoned to his four brothers. "Come hither, lads," he -said quietly. - -They came and ranged themselves about him, facing the noisy throng. - -"Will ye ride with me to Wildwater?" he asked. - -"Ay, if thou mean'st to fight," answered Griff. And, "Ay, will we!" -cried the rest. - -"Then saddle.--Who goes with us?" he went on, turning to his kinsfolk. - -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? - -"Think twice about it, Ned, and keep thy strength to meet them in the -open," said one of the Long Waynes of Cranshaw. - -"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?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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. _Kill_." - -"By the Mass, we shall see fair sport at last!" cried Griff, his face -afire with eagerness. - -Mistress Wayne laid a hand on Ned's arm as he was following the rest. -"I--I want to come with thee," she faltered. - -"To come with me?" he cried impatiently. "Thou look'st fitter for thy -bed, foolish one." - -"Say it is fancy--only take me. I'll not fear the bloodshed--I'll not -give one cry--take me, Ned!" - -"But, bairn, what should I do with thee?" - -"Hast heard what they say in Marshcotes--that I am thy luck, Ned? -Thou'lt win to-night if I am near at hand." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Ned, I never yet asked aught of thee and was refused," she pleaded. - -"Hold thy peace, child! I cannot take thee--and I will not." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"I could show it to thee if thou would'st take me," she said, with a -child's subtlety. - -"Wilt make me curse thee, bairn? Where is the room, I say?" - -"It--it lies fair on the bridle-way. 'Tis the only chamber on that side -the house." - -"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." - -"Ned! Where art thou?" cried Rolf from the courtyard. "There's thy mare -here, kicking all to splinters because thou wilt not mount her." - -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. - -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. - -"Griff, I must ride with thee to Wildwater," she said, laying a hand on -his saddle. - -The lad started. He was a little afraid of his step-mother in these -latter days, as youngsters are of those they cannot understand. - -"Why, Mistress?" he asked bluntly. - -"'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." - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"I fear the moor always, Griff; 'tis pitiless, like those red folk who -dwell at Wildwater," whispered Mistress Wayne, clinging more tightly to -him. - -"Well, there'll be fewer of them by and by, so keep thy courage warm -with that." - -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. - -"Do I fit this cursed bier?" he was saying. - -"Like a gauntlet, sir," answered Red Ratcliffe. - -"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?" - -"'Tis close on ten of the clock. They should be here by now." - -"Tie up my chin, then, lest aught be wanting. Poor fools! Poor, -courteous fools! To think they come in innocence." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Well, time wags. Tie up my chin, I tell thee, Ratcliffe the Red," said -the Lean Man after a lengthy silence. - -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. - -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 -_slush-slush_ of horse-hoofs striking sodden earth. - -"They are coming!" she muttered, racked with fear lest her warning had -miscarried. - -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. - -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. - -Wayne of Marsh, meanwhile, led his folk straight in at the Wildwater -gates, which stood wide-open in proof that they were welcome guests. - -"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. - -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. - -Shameless Wayne sprang from the saddle and knocked sharply on the door -with a cry of "Ratcliffes, ho! Ratcliffes!" - -The door was flung wide. "Welcome, all Waynes who come in peace," cried -Red Ratcliffe from the threshold. - -"We come to secure peace," said Wayne, and turned in the darkness of the -courtyard and whispered, "_kill_." - -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, _We strike, we kill_; and Wayne of Marsh smiled as his eyes fell -on the device which he and his had ridden hither to disprove. - -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." - -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. - -"His last prayer was for an end to our long feud," said Red Ratcliffe, -smooth and grave. - -"Ay, was it--and he wept that he had not lived to see us friends," cried -one of his fellows. - -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. - -"'Twas wondrous how quiet an end he had--the old hate clean forgotten," -went on Red Ratcliffe. - -"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. - -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. - -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." - -"The night blows shrewd, friends. Let's shut it out," cried Red -Ratcliffe boisterously. - -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. - -"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." - -Wayne frowned on her as she stepped timidly into the room and crossed to -where he stood. "How com'st thou here?" he asked. - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -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. - -"Drink, Waynes!" cried Red Ratcliffe on the sudden. "In the name of the -dead man, peace between Wayne and Ratcliffe." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _kill_ was graven on his -face. - -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. - -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. - -"A Ratcliffe! A Ratcliffe!" roared the on-sweeping band. - -"Wayne and the Dog!" came the answer--but feebler now and less assured, -for three more Waynes were lying face to the ceiling-timbers. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"God's pity, 'tis the Dog--'tis Barguest!" cried Mistress Wayne. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Red Ratcliffe and two others were all who stood upright now, and they -were fighting behind a bank of fallen comrades. - -"Quarter!" gasped Ratcliffe, full of a fresh stratagem. - -"Not again," laughed Wayne. "We courteous fools are out of mood -to-night, Red Ratcliffe." - -"Quarter! We're defenceless, Wayne. Would'st butcher us?" - -"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. - -"Thou'st made a priest of him!" roared Griff, beside himself with the -reek of slaughter. "Look at his bloody tonsure, Ned." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"I'll come with thee, cousin, never fear," she whispered softly, and -lifted Wayne's dagger in the gloom. - -"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." - -"There's a darksome passage here. Does it lead to a secret way, think -ye?" answered Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw. - -"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." - -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. - -"Do ye seek Red Ratcliffe, sirs?" she asked. - -"Ay, show him me--show him me, I say!" roared Shameless Wayne, too hot -for any tenderness toward his mistress. - -"He is beside me here-- Nay, sheathe your swords; he asks no further -service of you." - -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. - -"Through the heart," he muttered; "to think the lass should rob -me.--Nay, then, the stroke was good; need I grudge it her?" - -An arm was laid on his. "Ned, I am sick; take me out of sight of all -these men," said Janet. - -One last look he gave at Red Ratcliffe. "All--all--dead Wayne of Marsh -need never cry again for vengeance," he muttered. - -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. - -"Hast overta'en him, Ned?" they asked. - -"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." - -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. - -He touched her on the shoulder. "Courage, lass," he muttered roughly. - -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. - -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." - -"I know, lass, I know. But would God I had saved thee the stroke." - -"Leave me awhile," she whispered, after a silence. "I must go to the -moor--the moor is big, and friendly, and it will understand." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Is this our wedding-cheer?" said Janet, meeting his glance at last. -"And those in hall there--are they the bridal-guests?" - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - - - - - THE END - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHAMELESS WAYNE *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47674 - -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(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be -used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific -permission. 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