She was dazed yet from the shock; the wall against which she leaned seemed to turn round and round her; love, faith and honour, so sure a moment since, were empty phantoms now; nothing was real, save these two evil voices, of the youngster she had hated and the old man she had loved. "And they’ll be fondling one another," cried Red Ratcliffe, after a silence, "and saying how all is made straight for them at last.—Look ye, sir," he broke off fiercely. "I claim Janet after this night’s bloody work is done." "And shalt have her, Red-pate, if for no other reason than that she loathes the sight of thee. Ay, she shall learn the price a Ratcliffe asks when he is thwarted." The colour was returning to Janet’s face. She had been stunned by the first shock of discovery; but now that they threatened—threatened death to Wayne, and worse than death to her whom Wayne had mastered—her face went hard of purpose as the Lean Man’s own. She rallied quickly, stood for a moment with one ear turned toward the door, then moved on tip-toe to the stairs. "What’s that?" she heard Red Ratcliffe say. "Didst hear a footfall on the landing, sir?" "Not I. Tush, lad, I begin to think thou’rt feared of what’s to come." "I’m feared of naught, save treachery." "Then why dost grow pale because a puff of wind sets doorways creaking? As for treachery—Janet is at Marsh, I tell thee; she cannot have got there and back by now." Janet held her breath and started down the steps, slowly, with a thief’s tread. One step, two—all was well. But the stones were slippery with the wet mud that Red Ratcliffe had brought up with him from the stable-yard, and at the third step she slipped and would have fallen but for the oaken rail that protected the stairway from the well. There was a pause and then she heard the sound of heavy feet crossing the floor above. "’Tis Janet, I say! Who else would be spying up and down the steps?" cried Red Ratcliffe, running to the stairhead. Janet, reckless of another fall, sped down the steps, and on along the gloomy passage. Red Ratcliffe, heedless likewise of his neck, leaped after her. She reached the side-door leading to the orchard, and wrenched the bolts back; but the wood was swollen by the rain, and she could not move it. Red Ratcliffe was close behind her now; she tugged at the heavy door, but still it would not yield, though her fingers bled and the nails were broken half-way down. "Not again, pretty one!" laughed Red Ratcliffe, as he caught her by the arms. "Let me go. I—I will not have thee hurt me so." "Thou’lt have what I think good for thee in future," he answered, tightening his grip until she screamed for pain. "Thou didst hear, doubtless, that the Lean Man gave thee to me just now? Well, ’tis best to show who is master at the start." "Master!" she cried. "Thou dar’st to call thyself my master?"