A second figure, and a third, came shadowy-vague through the low doorway of the shed, and Griff could see now that each man carried an armful of peats, or ling, or bracken—he could not tell which. Fetching a compass up the field-side, the four of them turned and crept under shelter of the house, and so on tip-toe across the courtyard till the hall-door showed in front of them. The light was clearer here, though they were hidden altogether in the shadows, and they could see a tall fellow piling a last armful on the heap of ling and bracken that already mounted to the doorway-top. "They mean to fire the house!" muttered Griff, and felt for his brothers in the dark and drew them about him in a narrow ring. "There were three of them—what has come to the other two?" whispered Rob. Griff drew in his breath and nipped the other’s arm till he all but cried out with pain. "There are three doors to the house, likewise. Dost not see the plan? They have us housed safe as rattens in a gin, they think, and they mean to block up every door with flames. Hush! Yond lean-bodied rogue is turning his head this way." The man at the door had finished making his heap, and had turned sideways as if listening for some signal. Griff thought that he had heard them, but a second glance showed him that the man’s regard was away from their corner—showed him, too, a lean face, cropped level where the right ear should have been. "’Tis the Lean Man himself!" said Griff. "God, why did we leave our swords indoors—we can do naught—saw ye his pistols and his sword-hilt glinting when he turned?" "We’ve got our wish, and by the Heart, we’ll lilt at the Lean Man, armed or not armed," answered Rob, his voice threatening to rise above a whisper for very gaiety. A low call sounded from behind the house; a second answered from the side toward the orchard. The Lean Man whipped flint and steel from his pocket, and struck a quick shower of sparks, and on the instant a roaring stream of fire shot upward from the bracken to the ling, and from the ling to the dark pile of peats. "’Tis done. Fools that we were to raise no cry," groaned Griff. Time had been hanging heavily meanwhile with Wayne of Cranshaw and his cousin. Shameless Wayne, when he came in from the garden with his step-mother, found Rolf fixed in his resolve to spend the night at Marsh. "After what chanced to the dogs," he said, "they may strike to-night as well as any other—and strike they mean to, soon or late. There’s no need for me at Cranshaw, and one arm the more here is worth something to thee, Ned, as thy numbers go." "Yes, stay," said Nell, her eyes dancing bright now that danger showed close at hand—"and if they come, we’ll give them a brisker welcome than they look for."