"Wayne of Marsh?" she whispered, glancing over her shoulder and into every corner of the room. "Is he here, then? Here, too, when I thought I had got away from those great, staring eyes of his!" "He’s close behind you, Mistress. Run, lest he hold you by the throat!" laughed one of the youngsters, throwing wide the door for her. A panic seized her, and without word or backward glance she ran out into the courtyard. Janet made as if to follow, for pity’s sake, but the Lean Man called her back peremptorily. "Does he not know," murmured the girl, "that ’tis madness to deal harshly with the fairy-kist? And she so pitiful, too, poor weakling." "I go a-hunting, lads, soon as dinner is off the board," said Nicholas, stretching his legs before the peats. Janet forgot her care of Mistress Wayne; for she knew that tone of the Lean Man’s, and mistrusted it. "Do we ride with you, father?" asked Robert from across the hearth. "Not one of you. By the Dog, do ye think I would let any younger man rob me of the first blow? Ride in when that is struck, and welcome—but pest take whichever of you tries to tap Wayne blood before to-morrow." "And what of the dead man, sir?" put in Red Ratcliffe. "Dick’s body lies in the Bull tavern at Marshcotes, so they told me." "Go thou to Marshcotes, lad, and see that he’s brought up to Wildwater. Ay, ride off at once; ’tis unmeet that even the weakling of our folk should lie stark within a wayside tavern." "And there’ll be the grave to see to," said Red Ratcliffe, getting to his feet. "More than one, haply," laughed the Lean Man. "They say that Sextons love to see a Ratcliffe go a-hunting, and——" He stopped, remembering Janet, and stole a glance at her. "There, lass," he said, with rough tenderness, "’tis men’s talk, this, and it whitens thy bonnie cheek. Go to thy spinning-wheel till dinner-time." "We are short of flax, grandfather. I—I—I cannot spin," she faltered, not moving from the elbow of his chair. For his threats touched Shameless Wayne, and she was loth to go out of ear-shot while he was in mood to tell them what his purpose was. "Go, child," he said curtly, pointing to the parlour door. She went reluctantly, and Red Ratcliffe followed her a moment later, on pretext of fetching some matter that was needful to his ride to Marshcotes. "So, Janet, thou didst want to hear the Lean Man’s purpose?" he said, closing the door behind him and leaning carelessly against its panels. "Whatever I wished or did not wish, cousin, I lacked no speech of thine," she answered, turning her head away. "Neither dost thou lack flax, though thou wast ready to swear as much awhile since," said Red Ratcliffe drily, pointing to where her spinning-wheel stood in the window-niche, the flax hanging loose on the distaff. She crossed impatiently to the door, and would have left him, but he checked her with a rough laugh.