"Oh, ay? Well, she looked fair worn out ai’ weariness. What ails her?" answered Witherlee, filling his pipe afresh and watching Nanny’s shadow go creeping up the wall as she stepped in front of the rushlight burning on the table. "Tha’s heard nowt, I’m thinking, o’ what chanced i’ th’ kirkyard?" "Nay, I’ve heard nowt. I’ve been dozing, like, by th’ ingle, an’ niver a sound I heard save th’ death-bell tha wen ringing for Wayne o’ Marsh. Ay, it seemed i’ tune wi’ my thowts, did th’ bell, for I war thinking o’ th’ owd feud ’twixt Wayne an’ Ratcliffe. ’Tis mony a year sin’ that war staunched, lass, but I can see ’em fight fair as if ’twere yesterday." "Trust thee to doze! I wonder whiles what thou hast to show for thyseln, Luke Witherlee, that I do, while th’ wife is ringing her arm off," snapped Nanny, her temper sharpened by the long day’s work and sorrow. "Show for myseln?" said he, with a sort of weary patience. "Nowt—save that I can plank a grave better nor ony Sexton fro’ this to Lancashire. An’ that’s summat i’ these times, for we shall see what we shall see now Wayne o’ Marsh is killed. Ay, for sure; there’ll be need of a good grave-digger i’ Marshcotes parish.—What’s been agate, like, i’ th’ kirkyard? I knew there war summat bahn to happen for I heard th’ death-watch as plain as noonday." "Why, Dick Ratcliffe war for carrying off yond little Mistress Wayne—her as sleeps so shameless-peaceful aboon stairs—an’ Rolf Wayne o’ Cranshaw met them fair i’ th’ kirkyard." The Sexton roused himself, and his eyes lost their dreaminess. "Did they fight, lass?" he cried. "Hark to him! Give him a hint o’ blood-letting, an’ he’s as wick as ony scoprel." "It’s i’ th’ blood, lass, and ’twill out at th’ first taste o’ blows," said Witherlee, with a shamefaced glance at his wife. "I’m not mich of a man myseln, but I aye loved a fight, an’ that’s plain truth." "Well, tha’d hev seen one, I reckon, if tha’d been where Wayne o’ Cranshaw war to-neet," retorted Nanny grimly. "I missed it myseln, for I war ringing th’ bell; but when I came out into th’ graveyard, there war Dick Ratcliffe stretched on th’ vault-stone, an’ Mistress Wayne greeting aboon his body. An’ a rare job I had, my sakes, to get her safe within doors." "They fought at th’ vault-stone, did they?" murmured Witherlee. "Where did they stand, Nanny? An’ who strake first? An’ how did t’other counter?" His voice, smooth and gentle, was ill in keeping with the brightness of his eyes, the restless movement of his hands. "How should I tell thee? I see’d nowt o’ th’ fight, being thrang wi’ other wark." "That’s a pity, now. I allus like to hev th’ ins an’ outs of a fight fixed fair i’ my head, so I can go ower it all again when sitting by th’ hearthstone o’ nights. Well, well, we shall see summat, lass, afore so varry long."