Part 18

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."