"Is there not? What say ye to that, Mistress? Ye an’ me know Barguest when we hear him, an’ ’tis as I said to th’ young Maister awhile back. There’s sorrow brewing thick, an’ th’ Brown Dog hes come to bid ye look to pistol-primings an’ th’ like. He knaws, poor beast, an’ he’s scratting at th’ door this minute to ease his mind by telling ye." "Get to bed, Nell," said Wayne of Cranshaw quietly; "when Nanny falls to boggart-talk, and the maid who listens is half mad with sorrow——" "Tales is tales, Maister Wayne," broke in Nanny, "an’ I wod scare no poor less wi’ lies at sich a time—but Barguest is more nor a tale, an’ I should know, seeing th’ years I’ve bided here at Marsh. I mind th’ neet when Mistress Nell’s mother war ta’en, ten year agone, it war just th’ same—th’ Brown Dog came pattering right up to th’ door-stun, an’——" "God rest thee for the daftest fool in Marshcotes," cried Wayne of Cranshaw, as he saw Nell go ashen-grey and all but fall. And then he led the girl out, and helped her to the stair-top. "There’ll be one to watch the bier till dawn?" she asked wearily, as he bade her good-night. "Trust me to see to that. Never heed old wives’ tales, Nell, and keep up heart as best thou canst," he answered, and went down again into the hall. Nanny was fingering the shroud softly, and scarce glanced up as Wayne approached. "Gooid linen, ivery yard on ’t," she muttered, "though I says it as shouldn’t. Ay, an’ bonnily hemmed a’ all. Wayne o’ Marsh may lig proud, that he may, an’ I war allus sartin sure ’at a man gets a likelier welcome up aboon if he’s buried i’ gooid linen.—Begow, but his face is none so quiet as I should hev liked to see it; there’s summat wick i’ th’ set on ’t, as if he wod right weel like to be up an’ cracking Ratcliffe skulls." "Where is the Master, Nanny?" asked Wayne of Cranshaw, cutting short her musings. "He war dahnstairs a while back, for I met him as I war coming in here. But mad Mistress Wayne began to call out his name, an’ he thinks nowt too mich to do for her nowadays. He’ll be gi’eing her another bite an’ sup, belike." "Then who will watch? I was for riding back to Cranshaw, but if there’s need of me——" "Who’ll wake? Why, who should wake save Nanny Witherlee? Th’ Maister promised I should, for I axed him a while back; so ye needn’t fash yourseln about that, Maister." "Then good-night to thee, Nanny—and—have a care of Mistress Nell, for she is in strange mood to-night. Barguest is well enough for a fireside gossip, nurse, but such talk comes ill when a maid’s spirits are low." Nanny laughed softly, and pointed a lean finger at him as he stood halting near the door. "Ye do weel to mock at Guytrash, Maister, an’ ye do weel to give advice to one that’s known more sorrow nor ye—but why doan’t ye cross th’ threshold?" Wayne of Cranshaw was ashamed to feel the sweat-drops trickling down his face; but he could not kill the fear that brought them there.