"’Tis just what thou’d’st have done, Janet; eh, lass? Methinks thou’lt pair with this hot wench from Marsh," said the Lean Man, laying a jesting hand on the girl’s shoulder. "We shall pair ill, I fear," she answered coldly,—"as for the dagger-stroke—I should have aimed nearer the heart, grandfather," she added, glancing hardily at Red Ratcliffe. "Thy aim for a man’s heart is always very sure," her cousin answered, meeting her glance good-humouredly. "Tut-tut! Thou’rt indifferent clumsy as a wooer, lad—but, by the Lord, thou hast a head for scheming. What, then? We’ve got the lass, and Wayne will follow." "That was my thought, sir. We’ll let him bide awhile—till sundown, say—and then, just as his anxiousness on Mistress Nell’s behalf is getting past bearing, we will send word that she is here, with a broad hint or so of what will chance to her before the dawn——" "Ay, ay," broke in the Lean Man, "and he’ll come, if I know him, as if his horse were shod with wind; and I’ll brace my stiffened sinews once again; and an old sore shall be cured for good and all." "Will the Brown Dog carry its master through this pass, think ye?" cried Red Ratcliffe boastfully. The Lean Man’s eagerness died swift as it had come. His hard lips shrank into senile curves. The dulness of a great terror clouded his hawk-bright eyes. "The Dog? The Dog?" he mumbled, at the end of a long silence. "Ay, thou fool, ’twill conquer as aforetime. Useless, useless, I tell thee! The girl is here—well, he will find a way to rescue her." "But, sir, this is folly! What can he do with a score men waiting here for him?" "What he did at Dead Lad’s Rigg—what he did to-day at the sheep-washing—what he and his cursed hound would do, if ye, and I, and fifty times our numbers, fenced him round with steel." "Go, cousins. Grandfather is—is faint again. The fit will pass if ye leave him to it," said Janet, jealous always lest they should guess the secret which only she and Nicholas shared. The younger men glanced meaningly one at the other as they moved off. "Old brains breed maggots," muttered one. "And so will Wayne before the month is old," answered Red Ratcliffe brutally, turning for a last malicious glance at Janet. He saw that the girl was following him with fearless, inscrutable eyes. A shadow of doubt crossed his triumph, and he cursed the boastfulness that had led him to tell his plans so openly in hearing of one who was well affected toward Shameless Wayne. The Lean Man sat on, his head between his hands, his feet working shiftlessly among the last year’s leaves that still cumbered the neglected garden. "Not by skill of sword, nor yet by guile," he was saying, over and over. "We must go with the stream now—’tis useless striving—yet, by the Red Heart, I shall turn nightly in my grave if Wayne goes quick above ground after I am dead."