At the stroke of twelve, the Sexton’s wife came down the belfry steps. Her right foot was numb with tolling the bell, and her fingers ached with the knitting; yet she had no thought of such matters as she stepped out into the moonlit burial place, for she was wondering how Nell Wayne had fared at Wildwater. "Her father’s lass—ay, ivery bone of her," she muttered. "Hes she killed him by now—hes she struck——" The sound of a cradle-song, chanted in a sweet, low voice, came from above. The little old woman stopped her mumbling, and shuffled up the path, and came to where Mistress Wayne sat, with her lover’s head on her lap and one baby hand pressed close against his breast. Nanny touched her on the shoulder. "A death for a death," said she; "yet, not with all your tears to help, will Dick Ratcliffe be a fit exchange for th’ Maister. ’Twill need a score sich as him, or ye, to pay th’ price." "He is sleeping. Hush! You will waken him, and ’tis early yet to start for Saxilton," said Mistress Wayne, lifting her childish face. The little old woman quailed, and crossed herself, as she saw the light in the other’s eyes. "She’s fairy-kist! God save us," she muttered, as she hobbled down the path. *CHAPTER III* *THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER* The Sexton’s wife was afraid of no man that stepped; but ghosts, and fairies, and the mad folk who shared communion with the spirits, touched a bare nerve of dread. And so she stopped midway down the graveyard path, and turned, and went back to where Mistress Wayne was cowering above her lover’s body. It was not that the Sexton’s wife had any wish to help this woman, who had smirched the honour of the Waynes, but that she feared the disaster which refusal of such help might bring. "She’s fairy-kist," she muttered for the twentieth time, looking down at the frail figure. "God or the devil looks to such, they say an’ I mun do th’ best for her, I reckon." "Ay, ’tis cold, ’tis bitter cold, and Dick will surely never come," said Mistress Wayne, getting to her feet and glancing fearfully across the kirkyard. "Not to-night, Mistress. Ye’d best wend home wi’ me, an’ search for him to-morn," put in the Sexton’s wife.