"I’ll come with thee, cousin, never fear," she whispered softly, and lifted Wayne’s dagger in the gloom. "Lights! Where are your lights, ye fools?" came Wayne’s voice from near at hand. "’Twill be gall and madness to me if this worst ruffian of the band escape." "There’s a darksome passage here. Does it lead to a secret way, think ye?" answered Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw. "Likely; the wind blows shrewdly down it. Quick with the candles there! And keep your blades drawn, for by the Dog I’ll kill the one who lets Red Ratcliffe through." They gained the open door, and on the threshold Janet Ratcliffe stood, with lips half-parted in a smile, and in her eyes the first tremulous self-loathing that comes to women after they have done man’s work. "Do ye seek Red Ratcliffe, sirs?" she asked. "Ay, show him me—show him me, I say!" roared Shameless Wayne, too hot for any tenderness toward his mistress. "He is beside me here— Nay, sheathe your swords; he asks no further service of you." All crowded round, and Wayne of Marsh shaded his candle with one hand and held it low to the face of him who lay close without the door. "Through the heart," he muttered; "to think the lass should rob me.—Nay, then, the stroke was good; need I grudge it her?" An arm was laid on his. "Ned, I am sick; take me out of sight of all these men," said Janet. One last look he gave at Red Ratcliffe. "All—all—dead Wayne of Marsh need never cry again for vengeance," he muttered. He put an arm about the girl, and led her down the passage, through the knot of kinsmen who were pressing forward for a sight of Red Ratcliffe’s body, and through the scattered Waynes who still were searching for the runaway, not knowing he was dead. These last turned wonderingly at seeing Ned no longer in pursuit, and stopped to wipe the sweat of battle from their faces. "Hast overta’en him, Ned?" they asked. "Ay, his sleep is sound," answered Shameless Wayne.—"Get ye across to Cranshaw, friends, and tell my sister that her goodman and myself are safe. And tell her—that I’ve kept the oath she wots of." They glanced once at the face of Ned’s companion, proud yet for all its weariness; and then they got them out into the courtyard. And after Ned had watched them go, he turned to find Janet leaning faint against the wall. He touched her on the shoulder. "Courage, lass," he muttered roughly. Comfort he would have given her, such comfort as a man at such a time may give the maid who loves him; but he dared not let his heart go out to her as yet, for there was that in the wide hall to right of them which overmastered love. She straightened herself at his touch. "Ned," she cried with sudden fierceness, "’twas for thee I killed him; he meant to take my right in thee." "I know, lass, I know. But would God I had saved thee the stroke." "Leave me awhile," she whispered, after a silence. "I must go to the moor—the moor is big, and friendly, and it will understand."