"Well, if ye will have it so; but I doubt there’ll be no attack to-night," muttered Shameless Wayne. "They move slowly, the Ratcliffes, and strike when ye least expect them.—A pest to those lads. Do they mean to scour the fields till daybreak?—Nell, get to bed, and see that the little bairn is cared for. She’s in one of her eerie moods to-night; thou’lt treat her kindly?" "As far as I can master kindness toward her. Wilt call me, Ned, if—if ye need another arm to fight?" "Tut, lass! There’ll be no fight. Pay no heed to Rolf when he tries to scare thee. There! Good-night. Give the bairn somewhat to stay her fast, for she ate naught at supper." "What has Mistress Wayne ever done that Ned’s first thought should always be for her? Ah, but I hate her still, though God knows I cannot altogether kill my pity," said Nell to herself as she went up the stair in search of her unwelcome charge. The two men drew close about the fire after Nell had left them. A flagon of wine stood between them, and an open snuff-box; but the wine stayed untasted, and the box was scarce passed from hand to hand as they stared into the fire, each busy with his own thoughts. "I fear for those lads, curse them. How if I ride down to the low pastures to make sure that naught has happened to them and to bring them home?" said Shameless Wayne, breaking a long silence. "What, and leave the house? The lads are safe enough, Ned; ’tis thou, not they, the Lean Man aims at, and if he comes, ’twill be to Marsh." "Art right—yet still I would liefer have them behind stout walls at this late hour." Again they fell into silence. Both had had a long day, the one on foot, the other in the saddle, and presently Rolf was nodding drowsily. Shameless Wayne, glancing at him, wished that he could follow suit; but each time he dozed for a moment some memory came and stirred him into restlessness. He thought of Barguest creeping close beside him in the garden; he wondered what thread of subtle wit ran through the tangled skein of the mad woman’s talk; he remembered what she had said to him of his love for Janet Ratcliffe. "Take love while thou hast it; why make the world a sourer place than ’tis already?—Was not that what she said to me?" he murmured. "Well, she is fairy-kist, and they say that when such give advice ’tis ever safe to follow it. Christ, if I could but take love tight in both my hands, and laugh at kinship.—Nay, though! Like a deep bog it stands ’twixt her and me; and who shall cross so foul a marsh as that?" He could not rid himself of the feverish round of thought, till at last Janet’s face came and smiled at him from every glooming corner of the hall. He got to his feet, and paced the floor; and once he stopped at the wine-flagon and reached out a hand for it.