Mistress Wayne was walking down the lane as if she could scarce trail one foot behind the other; but she glanced up as she came through the gate, and her weariness left her on the sudden. One startled cry she gave at sight of her step-son, and then she ran to him with outstretched hands. "Well, what is it, bairn?" he asked. "They said thou wast dying, Ned, and I never thought to doubt them. Tell me it is no dream; thou’rt living, dear—yes, yes, thy grasp feels warm and real. Ah, God be thanked!" "_They said_. Who troubled to tell lies to thee?" cried Wayne, sore perplexed. "Three of the Ratcliffes who met me on the moor." Wayne of Cranshaw looked at his cousin. "Trickery," he muttered. "Ay, there’s trickery somewhere.—Tell us more, bairn, about this ill-timed meeting." Little by little they drew the whole tale from Mistress Wayne—how they had bidden her bring Nell to the boundary-stone, how Nell had gone, she following; how she had seen her last on the hill-top, and then had found an empty road. "I swooned, Ned, then," she finished, "and lay so for a long while. And when I came out of it I had no strength to move at first, and I thought the journey down to Marsh would never end." "I am riding to Wildwater, Ned. Who comes with me?" said Wayne of Cranshaw brusquely. "All of us," broke in the four lads, with a gaiety ill-matching the occasion. "Nay, youngsters, ye’ve done enough for the one day," said Shameless Wayne.—"Let’s start forthwith, then, Rolf, and rattle their cursed house about their ears." "What, two against them all?" cried the little woman, aghast. "Ned, ’twould be throwing thy life away—ride up to Hill House and to Cranshaw first, and get thy folk about thee." "Mistress Wayne is right," said Rolf, after a pause. "We shall but throw our lives away if we go up alone—and what will chance then to Nell?" Still Wayne would not yield; the speed of his last battle was in his veins still, and he could not brook delay. And while they stood there, halting between the two courses, a red-headed horseman came at a wary trot down Barguest Lane. The summer dusk was enough to show that he glanced guardedly from side to side and kept a light hold of the reins as if to turn at the first hint of danger. Seeing the gate fast closed, however, he drew rein at the far side of it and peered over into the courtyard. He glanced at the men’s belts first, and saw that they were empty of pistols; then turned his horse in readiness for flight. "God’s life the fool is venturesome," muttered Wayne. "What should he want at Marsh?" "I’ve a message for thee, Wayne of Marsh," cried the horseman, still fingering the reins uneasily and striving to cover his mistrust with a laugh. For he had liked this mission ill, and only the Lean Man’s command had forced him to it. "A message, have ye?" said Wayne. "Your news is known already. Ride back, you lean-ribbed hound, before we whip you on the road."