He had made them move the bed to the window, from which his eyes could range to the far hill-spaces of the heath; and he lay there this morning, listening to the storm and counting the hours that he had yet to live. As the wind raved out of the north, he could see it plough its green-black furrows across the dripping murk that hugged the ling from sky-line to sky-line; and the sight seemed good to him. "It fits, it fits!" he murmured. "Lord God, how sweet the storm-song is!" He was dying hard, undaunted to the last. He had feared naught save Barguest through his sixty years of life; and even the dog-dread now was gone—it had as little terror for him as the grave which showed so close ahead. Nay, a grim sort of smile wrinkled his lips as he lay on his side, and gasped for breath, and heard the wild wind drive the Horses of the North across the waste; for he counted his hours, and he thought they would lengthen till dawn of the next day—or may be noon. "And by then we shall have made peace with Wayne of Marsh, and with his kin," he muttered; "ay, peace—’tis a fair word after all, methinks, though once I cared so little for it." His eyes were on the open doorway, and they brightened as Janet crossed the stair-head. "Janet!" he called. "I’ve a word for that pretty ear of thine; come to the bedside, lass." The girl came softly across the floor and put a hand on his wet forehead. "Can I do aught?" she asked. "Ay, thou canst do much, girl. Dost recall how I railed at thee when first I heard of thy love for Wayne? And then how I softened to thy pleading? Od’s life, I think thou hast bewitched me; for now I’m keener set on peace than ever I was on blows. Hearken, Janet! I rode down to Marsh not long since, as I told thee." "Ay, sir—and didst drink a cup of wine with Wayne in token that the feud was killed." "In token that the feud was killed," he echoed, with a sideways glance at her. "And now I cannot die till I have seen the peace fairly sealed, here by my bedside. Would Shameless Wayne bring his folk here to Wildwater, think’st thou, if I made thee my messenger?" Janet caught his hands in hers. "Would he bring them? Why, sir, he would ask naught better," she cried. "Let me ride down to Marsh forthwith." "Young blood, young blood!" said the Lean Man, with a laugh that brought the colour to her face. "I warrant the sight of Wayne is worth more to thee than fifty truces, for thou’rt eager as a hind in spring to seek this new-made lover of thine." "Nay, grandfather," said Janet gravely; "I would do for peace sake all that I would do for love. Peace means life—life to Wayne—is that so slight a matter that I should scruple to ride down to him?" "Wayne’s life is no slight matter," said the other softly. "Get thee down to Marsh, Janet." The girl grew very tender on the sudden. She had dealt amiss with her grandfather in times past, and he was rewarding her by kindness not to be believed.