"Thy needs are no great burden for a man’s back," he answered, in the old kindly tone that he kept for her alone.—"Does the company fright thee, bairn? Why, then, we’ll none of them. Come to the parlour and tell me all thou hast to say." She shook her head, and stood with one hand in his, and looked from one to another of the swart, sinewy men who kept so mute a watch on her. "There’s treason," she said simply, and stopped till she could gather the scattered items of her message. Wayne looked at Wayne, but none spoke. The silence that foreruns a storm held one and all of them. "I—I went to Wildwater—in search of Ned," went on the little woman. "He was long a-coming, and I feared for him." "Why, what could’st thou have done to help?" muttered Shameless Wayne. "I did not know—only, that Barguest had called me to thy aid. I crossed the moor, and it was very dreary, and I was frightened. But I saw the Dog go footing it up the lane before me, and I went on—on—until I reached the black house of the Ratcliffes." Still no word, not a murmur, from the listening group. All eyes were on the little figure by the table, but she stood with clasped hands and far-away regard, as if she were looking at some other scene. "I passed close to the one end of the house—the end that has a little window looking on the moor—and I grew lonely, so lonely, that I wished to turn and run back home to Marsh. And then I saw a hand beckoning me from behind the window—and there was a crash—and, when I had found my wits again, Janet Ratcliffe was whispering to me through the broken pane. A long tale she told me, and I learned it all by heart, and—nay, it has gone! There’s but one word in my ears—and it sings so loudly that I cannot hear the rest." "What is the word?" asked her step-son gently. "Treason—treason—treason. But there was more—some—some signal. Oh, what will Janet say when she knows I have forgotten my lesson!" The strain was over great for her; her face worked piteously, her hands clasped and unclasped each other in the effort to remember. And Shameless Wayne, dumbfounded as he was to know he had been the Lean Man’s dupe, knew well that they must humour this poor waif if they were to get her tale from her. "Come, little bairn," he said, "thou hast told enough. Rest thyself awhile, and never heed the finish of thy tale." "Oh, but I must! It touches thee so nearly, Ned." Her face cleared on the sudden. "I know now," she went on still with the same grave simplicity. "They have asked you to wake with them in token that the feud is healed. They will fill your goblets and their own, and lift them to the cry, ’In the name of the dead man, peace between Wayne and Ratcliffe.’ And then, while ye are drinking, they will kill you with their swords."