*CHAPTER XXI* *WHAT CHANCED AT WILDWATER* The Lean Man was sunning himself in the garden at Wildwater, and Janet, sitting beside him, wondered afresh to see the dumb air he had, as of one who had crept from the trampling life of men and had no thought to return to it. "The old trouble has left you, sir, to-day. Is it not so?" she said gently, chafing his cold hands in hers. "Ay, it has left me, girl, for a little while. But the sun has no warmth in it, and the bees’ hum sounds dead and hollow. Look ye, Janet, this is not summer at all; ’tis like an old man stammering love-vows and wondering why they sound so cold.—Are our folk hunting to-day?" "Some of them have gone to wash the sheep. They said they would be home betimes, but the afternoon wears on." "If I were young again, lass! Sorrow of women, if only I were young again!" broke in the Lean Man. "To hunt the fox, and see the sheep come white and bleating from the pool, and feel the old gladness in it all." He fell back moodily into his seat. "A man has his day," he muttered, "and mine is over." He raised his eyes languidly as the garden gate opened and Red Ratcliffe and his two companions came laughing through. "We’ve news, sir, for you," cried Red Ratcliffe. The Lean Man looked them up and down, and smiled with something of his old keenness, as he saw the stains of fight on them. "Ay, I can believe it," he said. "Bonnie news, I fancy, of Wayne and of those who thought to crush him when Nicholas Ratcliffe had failed. A wounded bridle-arm, a matter of two bloody cheek-cuts, and thy right thigh, lad, dripping through the cloth. Ye make a gallant band." "’Tis true, sir, he worsted us in fight," said Red Ratcliffe, sulkily. The blood came back to Janet’s face. "Again he shows the stronger hand," she murmured. "Who says that Wayne of Marsh is unfit to have a maid’s heart in keeping?" "He worsted you," said the Lean Man to his grandsons; "is that why ye came with laughter in your throats, and mouths a-grin as if a man had ploughed a furrow ’cross them?" "Nay, but because we used our wits when swords failed us, and trapped Wayne’s sister; she is in the house now, safe under lock and key." The Lean Man roused himself. "A good stroke, lads!" he cried, slapping his thigh. "She’s in the house, ye say? Then take me to her." "You had best go armed to talk with her," laughed he whose cheek was cut; "shame will out, sir, and I took these wounds, not from Wayne, but from the she-devil I carried hither on my crupper." "Good lass!" chuckled old Nicholas. "I like that sort of temper. She carries a dagger, then, to help keep up the feud?" "She snatched my own from its sheath, and pricked me twice before I guessed her purpose. And all because I stooped my face to kiss her."