Behind him he could hear the Waynes calling one to another as they blundered out in search of him; some went up the main stairway; others moved cautiously toward him and called to their fellows in hall to bring them candles. He waited for no more, but crept down the narrowed passage, and felt for the door, and had his hand already on the hasp when he remembered Janet. It was his last chance of safety, this, he knew; but, like the greybeard who had schemed his last behind in hall there, he had a desperate courage of his own, and a like remorselessness. Was he to leave Wayne of Marsh to make merry with the maid for whom he had hungered these twelve months past? Nay, for she should share his flight; and Wayne should find the dregs of victory less welcome than he looked for. His pursuers were moving all about the house; but their thoughts were all of the main doors and plainer ways of escape, and in their hurry they neglected the narrow belt of darkness that marked the opening of the side-passage. Red Ratcliffe laughed softly to himself as he ran to Janet’s room; for there was time, and he could yet plant a mortal thrust in Wayne of Marsh. Janet, with the ring of Wayne’s last triumph-shout in her ears, heard steps without her door, and cried, half between tears and laughter, that Ned had come to free her—Ned, who had fought a righteous quarrel to the last bitter end; Ned, who was her master, and the master of her enemies. Ah, God! If he had not saved her from Red Ratcliffe! The key was turned softly in the lock—too softly, she thought, for an impetuous lover. She put her hands out, felt them prisoned, and with a "Thank Our Lady, Ned, thou’rt safe!" she yielded herself to a hot embrace. "Ned, take me to the light! I want to see thy face. Is there blood on thee, dear lad? Nay, I care not, so it be not thine own." Red Ratcliffe’s voice came to her through the darkness. "Ay, there’s blood on me, cousin—Wayne blood, that it shall be thy work to cleanse. Meanwhile, the hunt is up— Canst not hear them running hot-foot up and down the house? Come with me, girl, or I’ll set thumb and finger to thy throat and drop thee where thou stand’st." She was helpless in his grasp. Bewildered, not knowing where Ned was, nor why Red Ratcliffe was here unharmed, she let herself be carried down the passage, far as the low door that creaked and groaned as Ratcliffe opened it. The cold wind blew on her from without, and on the sudden her senses cleared. This fool whose love she had laughed at thrice a day had trapped her after all. A few more strides, and they would be free of the moor, and Wayne might seek till morning light and never find her. A few more strides, and it would matter little that Wayne of Marsh had fought his way to the very threshold of possession. The dawn was yet far off, and the moon was hid, or its light might have shown Red Ratcliffe the smile that played about his cousin’s face, as her hand slipped to her breast and returned.