"I saw you come in at the wicket, and I knew you," said the other presently. "It is so strange, girl; all has come back to me in a wave, and I remember faces—dead faces, some of them; and some again are living, and beautiful like yours. I want to talk with you of Ned—him they call Shameless Wayne." Janet glanced at her in surprise. A faint colour crept over her brow. "You—you know, then?" she murmured. "Yes, I know. Often—in the days when I could only half understand—Ned talked of you to me; and I recall now that, before the troubles came, you used to meet him up by the kirk-stone. Dear, I cannot let you both go into the pitiless marshes, as I have done. He loves you——" "Ay, a little less than he loves his pride," said Janet bitterly. "Some day he will love you more." She clutched the girl’s arm eagerly. "None knows but I how bitter the struggle has been for him. He is mad, mad, to let good love slip from him while he grasps at shadows. _I_ had a man’s love once, girl, and I threw it aside, and—God pity all who let the gift go by." Tears were crowding thick to the eyes of Mistress Wayne—warm, heart-healing tears which had been denied her until now. A sudden compassion seized Janet, and under the pity a gladness that Wayne of Marsh had found the struggle bitter as she could have wished it. "He loves me, say you? Say it again, Mistress; ’tis the pleasantest speech I’ve heard these long days past," cried the girl. "He is wearying for you—wearying for you. Hark ye, dear! I cannot let you drift apart. Come with me back to Marsh, and I’ll make all smooth between you—ay, though Ned strives with all his might against us." Janet smiled and shook her head. "That is a little more, methinks, than the most love-sick maid would do. Bring him to me, and I will welcome him——" "Nay, life is so short, so very short. See, I’m but a child yet, and impatient, and all my heart is set on giving Ned his happiness, because he cared for me when there was none else to befriend me. I’m sure ’twill all come right: Ned has gone riding up the moor, but he’ll be home by now, and we can——" "Up the moor, say ye?" cried Janet, with sudden misgiving. "Which road took he, Mistress?" "To Bents Farm, I think he said. He was to have gone yesterday, but was hindered." Janet sprang to her feet and stood looking down on Mistress Wayne. This, then, was the end of her wise scheme; this was the fruit of all her care for him. And in her recklessness she had bidden the Lean Man take three other Ratcliffes to meet him by the way. "What is’t?" asked Mistress Wayne, wonderingly. "What is’t?" cried Janet, with a hard laugh. "Naught, Mistress—save that I’ve murdered one who was dearer to me than my own body."