"I fear it, lass." "But, dear, I cannot bear to lose him! I cannot." "What, all thy bravery gone? There, hide thy face awhile—the tears will ease thee. There’s hope for the lad yet, Nell, for he means to live and he has a ready sword-arm." Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, had gone the round of the farm-buildings, railing at the wantonness which had bidden the Ratcliffes kill the best hounds in Marshcotes; but beyond the dogs’ stiffened bodies he had found no sign of mischief. Restless, and ill-at-ease about the lads’ safety, he wandered into the garden in search of the frail little woman who had gone thither to seek the fairies. He said nothing of his troubles nowadays to Nell or to any of his kinsfolk; but Mistress Wayne offered the trusty, unquestioning sympathy that a horse or any other dumb animal might give, and day by day he was growing more prone to drop into confidences when he found himself alone with her, half-smiling at his folly, yet gleaning a sort of consolation from the friendship. She was standing by the sun-dial when he found her to-night. The moonlight was soft in her neatly ordered hair and flower-like face, and Shameless Wayne thought that surely she was nearer kin to the other world of ghosts than to this workaday earth which had already proved too hard for her. "Well, were the fairies kind to you?" he asked, leaning against the dial and watching the moon-shadows play across her face. She pointed to a green ring traced in the blue-white dewdrops that gemmed the lawn. "Yes, they were kind," she said, "I’m friends with them, thou know’st, and they came and danced for me round yonder ring." "And what has come of them? Did I scare them all away, little bairn?" "Oh, no," she answered gravely. "They guessed, I think, that I was weary of them, and scampered off before thou camest. Wilt mock me, Ned, if I tell thee something?" He did not answer—only shook his head and put his arm more closely round her. "It is all so dark and strange. I seemed to fall asleep long, long ago, and then I woke to a new world—a world of mists and moonlight, Ned, where the human folk move like shadows and only the fairies and the ghosts are real. The fairies claimed me for their own, and I was content until I saw the wee birds nesting and the spring come in. But now I’m hungry, Ned, for something that the fairies cannot give." She stopped; then, "Didst meet thy lady-love to-day?" she asked. Wayne’s eyes went up toward the hills that cradled Wildwater. "Hast a queer touch, bairn, on a man’s hidden wounds," he said, after a silence. "Did I meet my lady-love? Nay, but I met one who is playing the will-o’-the-wisp to my feet—one whom I love or loathe. Who told thee, child, that I had seen her?" "I think it was Hiram Hey; he was telling Nanny when I went into the kitchen how he had seen you cross the moors with her." "Trust Hiram to pass on the tale!" muttered Wayne.