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."