"The messenger is not slain that we know of; he may be drinking in some wayside tavern, for unless he were a very fool his horsemanship would carry him free of Wayne after he had shouted his message, as I bade him, from the lane." "Well, he comes not back. And you, sir? Is your life of such little moment to us——" "Thou’rt a babe," broke in the Lean Man. "Some things a Wayne will do for the feud’s sake, and some he could not do. He has promised safe conduct, and if I go down with the lass, I shall return in safety. The Waynes—plague rot them!—keep faith, whatever else they do or leave undone." At a loss still to comprehend the meaning of it, Nell was conscious of a flush of pride. Even their foes, it seemed, gave her folk credit for scrupulous observance of their word—ay, the Lean Man admitted it, steeped as he was in subtlety and lies. But how came this about? Had Janet, in trying to save her been captured by Shameless Wayne? It must be so. A quick thought came to her then, that Ned could not love the girl so madly, after all, if he were willing to make her a cat’s-paw with which to outwit his adversaries. She was still turning the thought over, well pleased with it, when the voices in the passage ceased disputing; the key grated in the lock, and the door moved slowly open. "Come with me, Mistress Wayne; there’s a horse ready saddled to take you down to Marsh," said the Lean Man. "Sir, am I free? Or is this a fresh trick, to make my case seem harder for a sight of freedom?" "’Tis no trick. Come, Mistress! Time slips by, and there’s one awaiting me at Marsh who’s worth fifty such as thou." His gruffness pleased her, for it rang true; and so, without question or demur, she followed him down the passage and out into the courtyard. He lifted her to the saddle, mounted the big bay that always carried him, and together they rode out in silence across the moor. The moon glanced silver-black across the heather; the gullies were full of whispering winds, alive with the sob and fret of running water; and more than once the Lean Man shivered, as if the night’s quiet eeriness weighed heavy on his fears. "How comes all this?" asked Nell, as they drew near to Barguest Lane. "Ask your folk that, Mistress. A message came through one of my hinds that Janet was held at Marsh; your safety was matched ’gainst hers; it is no good-will of mine that has brought you hither.—Yonder is Marsh," he broke off, pointing down the hill. "Lord God, how I hate the fair, quiet look of it!" "We are honoured by such hate, sir," said Nell.—"Have a care! The road is sadly over-full of stones," she added, as the bay horse stumbled badly. The dead Ratcliffe had been taken indoors, and neither Nicholas nor his companion had leisure to note the signs of bloodshed that lay this side the closed gate of the courtyard. "A Ratcliffe! A Ratcliffe!" yelled the Lean Man, with a thought that the old cry would bring them quickly to the gate.