And Janet watched him, with the dead man’s bulk between them—watched him, and sought for a shaft of hope to cross the gloomy hardness of his face. Shameless Wayne lifted his head by and by and moved to the door to rid him of the spell. "Come where the wind blows cool, girl. There’s a taint in every breath we draw," he cried. In silence she followed him to the threshold of the great main floor and looked with him across the lone reaches of the wilderness. Dark, wide and wet it stretched. The rains seethed earthward from a shrouded sky. There was no wail of moor-birds, no voice save the sob of the failing wind among the ling. "Is this our wedding-cheer?" said Janet, meeting his glance at last. "And those in hall there—are they the bridal-guests?" Wayne answered nothing for a space. And then he gave a cry, and took her to him, so close he seemed to dare each whispering ghost of feud to snatch her from him. "We never sought the thing that’s ended yonder," he whispered hoarsely. "We’ll shut it out—we’ll—Janet, hast no word for me?" But the Lean Man, quiet on the bier where he had gibed at death, paid little heed to them. The feud was stanched between Wayne and Ratcliffe; yet he had never a word to say, of protest or of sorrow. The feud was stanched; yet Mistress Wayne, while she plucked at the dead man’s shroud as if to claim his notice, was sobbing piteously. "My lover waits me at the kirkyard gate," she faltered; "but I dare not pass the vault-stone. Sir, it drips crimson as the sun that lately set behind Wildwater Pool. And hark! There’s Barguest whining down the wind." The rain still fell without. The clouds came thickening up above the house of Wildwater. And far off across the moor a whining, comfortless and long-drawn-out, fluttered on the brink of silence. THE END