He dwelt on the last words, repeating them with a vehemence half grim, half childish. And then he pointed to the door, and not till Janet’s footfall sounded on the stair did he break silence. "The lad has thwarted me, and I forgive him," said the Lean Man slowly. "Janet has played me false, and I make her the messenger of peace. ’Tis fitting; the old hatred was an ill comrade for grey hairs." And then he lay back, listening to the _spit-spit_ of the rain, the falling cadence of the wind. And a smile, as of hardly-won content, played round about his hollow face. Red Ratcliffe was waiting at the stair-foot when Janet came down into the hall. "How goes it with the dotard?" he cried. She made no answer, but brushed past him toward the door. "Ay, go where thou wilt," sneered Ratcliffe, watching her put on cloak and hood; "so long as the Lean Man lives, I’ll lay no finger on thee, for there’s a devil in him that only the grave can kill. But what after that?" "After that, Ratcliffe the Red," she cried, turning suddenly to face him, "after that I shall put my safety in the keeping of one thou know’st." "Wayne of Marsh, I take it? Shameless Wayne, who drank his own father’s quarrel away, who——" "Who goes abroad with a cry of _Wayne and the Dog_. Hast ever heard the cry, Red Ratcliffe?" He winced, remembering how often he had fled panic-stricken with the cry behind him; and Janet, turning from him in disdain, crossed to the stables through the misty drizzle that was scattered from the skirts of the late storm. It might be a half-hour later, as she dipped down the Ling Crag hill, that she met Shameless Wayne galloping hard up the stiff rise. He checked on seeing her and brought his mare on to her haunches. "I was riding to thee, Janet. What brings thee here? No ill news, is’t?" he cried. "Nay, Ned—save that grandfather is not like to live the day through." "There’s no danger threatens thee?" "Never less, Ned. Whither wast galloping so hard, and why dost look so tempest-driven?" "What hast done to me, Janet?" he cried. "I’m full of dreads since winning thee; and just because Mistress Wayne saw thee last night in a vision, I needs must come helter-skelter to learn if thou wast safe." "If the vision foretold disaster, Ned, methinks it erred—and, by that token, it is well we met, for I have a message to thee." "What, from Wildwater?" "Ay. Grandfather, like thee, is full of doubts—but his are a sick man’s terrors. His fury I know, and his tenderness—ay, I have seen him panic-stricken, too—but I cannot tell what ails him now. His talk is all of peace between our houses; and yet, when he speaks of my wedding thee, he scarce knows whether to jest or scowl." "I was a youngster, and chance gave me the better of the fight," said Wayne quietly. "Canst wonder he grudges it a little?"