"Ned, ’tis a drear world, and thou’rt not right to make it harder," said the little woman, turning suddenly to him. "Somewhere, in a far-away land, I once met love and scomed him; and I have lacked him ever since, dear." He bent toward her eagerly; so grave and full of wit she seemed, and haply she was a better riddle-reader than he during these brief moments when she slipped into touch again with the things of substance. But the light was already pale in her childish eyes, and soon she was laughing carelessly as she traced the moon’s shadow on the dial with one slender forefinger. "See, Ned!" she cried. "It points to mid-day, when all the while we know ’tis long past gloaming. I wouldn’t keep so false a time-piece if I were thou; the dandelions make better clocks at seeding-time." The night was warm, and the moon-shadows of the gable-ends scarce flickered on the grass; but on the sudden a little puff of icy wind came downward from the moors and whimpered dolefully. "The night wears shrewd, bairn, and we’ve talked moon-nonsense long enough," said Wayne sharply, turning to go indoors. He was sore that she had lost the thread of reason just when he most needed guidance. But Mistress Wayne was shivering under a keener wind than ever was bred in the hollow of the sky, and her face was piteous as she followed her companion with her eyes. "Ned, canst not see it?" she stammered. "See what? The shadows lengthening across your fairy-ring?" he said, impatiently. "He crept behind thee—he’s fawning to thy hand—shake him off, Ned, shake him off! Such a great beast he is——" Shameless Wayne glanced sharp behind him. "By the Heart, ’tis Barguest she sees!" he muttered. "Thou canst not help but see him—his coat is brown against thy darker wear—he’s pressed close against thee, now, as if he fears for thee." He could see naught, but there were those who had the second sight, he knew, and the old dreads crept cold about his heart. "Would God the lads were safe indoors," he muttered. "How if it be thou he comes to warn?" she whispered. He laughed harshly. "I’ve over many loads on my shoulders, bairn, to slip them off so lightly; but the lads are young to life yet, and full of heart—’twould be like one of Fortune’s twists to send them across the Lean Man’s path." "Hark, Ned, didst hear?" she broke in, as a low whistle sounded through the leafing garden-trees. Shameless Wayne could not find his manhood all at once; but at last he shook himself free of dread a little. "Ay, I heard some poor hound whimpering—it has crept away to die, belike, after eating what those cursed Ratcliffes dropped. Come, child! There’s naught save ague to be gained by staying among the night dews here." *CHAPTER XI* *HOW THE RATCLIFFES RODE OUT BY STEALTH*