"Nay, Luke, muffle thy tongue, an’ axe no questions," said Nanny, in a tone that showed who was master of the Sexton’s household. "This poor body wants a lodging, an’ so we mun lie hard, me an’ thee, for this one neet. What, ye’re minded to make friends, are ye, Mistress?" she broke off, surprised to see her guest, after a doubtful glance at Witherlee, go up to him and lay her slim hand in his own earth-crusted palm. "An’ welcome to ye, Mistress," said the Sexton quietly. "We’ve nowt so mich to gi’e—but sich as ’tis, ’tis yourn." Mistress Wayne forgot her terror now that the stout walls of the cottage shut out the whimpering goblins of the moor. She sat her down by the Sexton’s side, and looked into his face, and saw a something there—something friendly, quiet and tender—which soothed her mood. And he, for his part, seemed full at home with her, though he fought shy at most times of the gently-born. "Good-hap," muttered Nanny, "to think there should be fellowship ’twixt Witherlee and her! Well, I allus did say Witherlee war ower full o’ dreams to be a proper man, an’ happen they understand one t’ other, being both on th’ edge o’ t’ other world, i’ a way o’ speaking." Nanny stood open-mouthed awhile, regarding the strange pair; then hobbled to the three-cornered cupboard that stood in the far corner of the kitchen, and reached down cheese and butter and a loaf of oaten bread. To and fro she went, restless and alert as when she sat in the belfry-tower and sent Wayne’s death-dirge shuddering out across the moor. Mistress Wayne was talking with the Sexton now—childish talk, that simmed the old man’s eyes a little—and Nanny as she went from cupboard to table and back again, laying the rude supper, kept glancing at them with a wonderment that was half disdain. "Will ye be pleased to sup, Mistress," she said, when all was ready. "Th’ fare is like yond moor that frights ye so, rough and wholesome; but I doubt ye’re sadly faint for lack o’ belly-timber, and poor meat is better nor none at all, they say." Mistress Wayne shook her head, with a bairn’s impatience, and tightened her hold of the Sexton’s hand. "I’m not hungry, I thank thee—not hungry at all," she murmured. But Nanny would take no denial, and at length she coaxed her visitor to break her fast. "That’s likelier," growled the little old woman, as she threw fresh peats on the fire. "Victuals is a rare stay-by when sorrow’s to be met. Now, Mistress, warm yourseln a bit, an’ then I’ll see ye safe between sheets." The peat-warmth, following her long exposure to the wind, set Mistress Wayne a-nodding; and the Sexton, seeing how closely sleep had bound her in his web, took her in his arms with a strength of gentleness that was all his own, and carried her to the bed-chamber above, and left her safe in Nanny’s care. "She slumbers like a year-old babby," said Nanny, coming down again, by and by.