Ratcliffe of Wildwater laughed noisily, for his own spirits were yielding to the touch of time and circumstance, and he strove to lighten them. "Shalt never see the moor again, sweetheart, nor I either. ’Tis Saxilton first, and after that a swift ride to some nook of the valleys where they have never heard of Waynes and feud." "Will they be long in driving us to Saxilton?" "Nay, for the road is good and the cattle good. What a baby ’tis to tremble so, just when we are free." A few steps forward she made, then stopped and seemed like to fall. "I _dare_ not pass the vault," she whispered. He put his arm about her roughly and forced her lagging feet down the path. "The vault cannot kill," he growled, "but there are those waiting across the moor who carry more than women’s fancies in their hands. Will thy fears be less, thou fool, if I am set on by a half score of the Waynes and killed before thy eyes?" Weak as a bog-reed to catch the infection of each new wind, she bent to his own fear, and hurried on, and all but forgot the vault that stared at her from the corner of the path where the broken yew-trees shivered in the wind. "Would we were safe in Saxilton," she wailed. "Hurry! Oh, let us hurry—they will take thee, Dick——" She stopped on the sudden, for a brawny figure stood at the bend of the path, blocking the way. Mistress Wayne shrank back behind her lover, and her step-daughter crept further under the yew shadows, watching Dick Ratcliffe’s face go drawn and grey. "Good-even, Ratcliffe of Wildwater. Whither away?" said Rolf Wayne, with bitter gaiety. "To a place that is free of Waynes, God curse them," answered Ratcliffe, striving to put a bold face on the matter. "That is a true word, I warrant, for Hell holds none of our breed.—See you, Ratcliffe the thief, I could have killed you like an adder, as you slew a better man awhile since; but, being a Wayne, I have a trick of asking for fair fight. Ye may win to Saxilton, ye two, but ’twill be at the sword’s point." Dick Ratcliffe eyed his enemy this way and that, seeking occasion for a foul blow; but none showed itself, for Wayne’s sword was bare to the wind, and his eye never wandered from the other’s face. "When I fear you, you shall know of it," said Ratcliffe, drawing his own blade, grudgingly. "Come to yond vault-stone, then, for ’tis a right merry spot for such a fight as ours. You know whose body it will cover before the moon is old? What, faltering, Ratcliffe?" "Not I; but the time fits ill, and ’tis cold for Mistress Wayne here." "Your thoughts were ever kind toward women, but Mistress Wayne must wait one little moment longer. Not faltering? Well, then, I wronged you; ’twas your backward glance that put me in mind of a driven hare."