Part 24

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.