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!"