He found her sitting by the window, her hands lying idle in her lap as she watched the promise of a moon scarce risen steal through the dimness of the summer’s night. "What art thinking, Janet?" he asked. "Thinking? Why, that the doubts were all on thy side once—and now they seem all on mine. I, too, have kin to wrong, Ned, and when I think of meeting the Lean Man with guile——" "He has cared well for thee," said Wayne bitterly. "Small wonder thou think’st kindly of him." "Ah, but thou know’st naught of the kindly side of him. He has loved me as if—there, Ned! I would not have it otherwise, and I’ll not vex thee with the aftermath of self-disdain there’ll be." They could hear the horsemen massing in the courtyard without. They glanced toward the door, then at each other, and Wayne drew the girl closer to him. "Once more, Janet—wilt let us ride up to Wildwater, and carry it by storm?" he cried. "Nay! Bring thy folk into hall here, and bide—bide, Ned, I tell thee; ’tis wit, not swords, to-night.—Go! They are knocking at the door. Tell me where the parlour lies, dear lad, and I’ll wait there till Nell comes back to take my place." "To take thy place?" echoed Wayne, and tried still to hold her, though the knocking from without grew more peremptory. But she slipped from him, and crossed to the further door, and found Nanny Witherlee standing on the threshold. It was plain from the little old woman’s face that she had watched the scene, and she made way for Janet with a half curtsey that had a world of mockery in it. The girl went by without a word; but her cheeks tingled with a shame she could not hide. If such as Nanny Witherlee could cry out on her love for Wayne, how would she fare with his own kinsfolk? "So, Maister—’tis sweet an’ hot, belike," said Nanny, meeting Wayne’s eyes across the hall. "Ay, but ’tis a downhill road, for all that, and an unchancy." Wayne answered nothing, but went to the great main door and flung it wide, letting in a stream of light from the moon new risen over Worm’s Hill. A trampling crowd of horses, backed by wide-shouldered fellows, filled the courtyard. Griff’s voice could be heard, shrill and clear, and Wayne of Cranshaw was stooping to batter on the oak again just as his cousin opened to him. "We’re ready, Ned. Why dost hold back, lad, and keep us shivering here?" cried Rolf. "Because there’s to be no attack just yet. Get down from saddle, friends, and drink a measure with me here in hall." *CHAPTER XXIII* *HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH*