And then his mind revolted from such thoughts, and a clear picture came to him of Janet—Janet, as she had stood yonder in the window-niche and named him master. Dead Wayne of Marsh had his claims, and he had looked well to them; but had the living no claims likewise? He had pledged his word to Janet, no less than to his father; and if a chance offered, he would cry peace with the Ratcliffes and be glad. A deep, pitying tenderness for the girl swept over him; he would be good to her—God knew he would be good to her. He was roused by a sharp call from without, a call that was thrice repeated before he got to his feet and opened the main door. "Gate, ye Marsh folk, gate!" came a thin, high voice from the far side of the courtyard. Wayne looked across the moonlit yard and saw Nicholas Ratcliffe, whom he thought to be dying, seated astride his big bay horse and lifting his hand to beat afresh upon the gate. Too startled to feel anger, if anger had been possible after the plight in which he had left his foe at their last meeting, Wayne crossed the yard. "Your errand?" he asked. "To drink the wine I spilled on my last visit here," said the Lean Man. His voice, his bearing, were softened strangely; and Wayne, seeing what weakness underlay his would-be gaiety, felt a touch of something that was almost pity. "Spilled wine is hard to pick up, sir," he answered; "but if you come to ask for a fresh measure—why, there’s none at Marsh will be so churlish as to grudge it you." He was turning to fetch the cup when the Lean Man called him back. "I could scarce keep my seat for faintness—I’m weaker than I was, as you will guess perchance—and I am fain to rest my limbs. There’s a matter to be talked of, too—would it irk you, lad, to let the Marsh roof shelter me a while?" Still wondering, Wayne drew the bolts of the gate, then glanced to see if Nicholas held dagger or pistol in his hand. But he was unarmed, nor did he look like one who could use any sort of weapon. As in a dream the younger man helped his guest from the saddle, and noted that he had much ado to stand upright soon as his feet were on the ground. "Times change," said Nicholas, smiling faintly. "Not long since I forswore your wine—and here I’m craving your arm to help me indoors that I may drink the same." Wayne was gentler than his wont after his long brooding by the hearth, and again the other’s weakness touched his pity. This guest of his, who leaned so heavy on his arm, was an old man, and he, who had brought the bitterness of defeat on him, was young. This guest of his, too, had been kind to Janet in his own rough way. "Lie on the settle, sir," he said, busying himself after the Lean Man’s comfort soon as they had got indoors. "Well, I’ve hated this house of Marsh through life—but, sooth, I find its welcome pleasant now the ice is broken.—The wine, lad! Bring me the wine!—I thank you. Shall I give you a toast that will please us both?" "If you can find such, sir."