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."