Shameless Wayne shook his head, smiling a little at the old woman’s fancy. "How should that be, nurse?" he said. "Barguest war carred on th’ door-stun, fair as if he’d been ony mortal dog; an’ while th’ Lean Man war agate wi’ hammering his nail in, I heard th’ hound whimper fit to mak ye cry for pity of him. But Nicholas Ratcliffe niver heard th’ poor beast, not he; an’ I hugged myseln to think ’at ivery stroke on th’ nail-head war a stroke to his own coffin. Ye’ve getten your chance, Maister, an’ I willun’t let ye loss it for a lack of a bit o’ forethowt." Insensibly Wayne yielded to the old beliefs; reason might chide him, but he knew in his heart, from that time forward, that he would be even with the Lean Man before the end. What tales had Nanny not told him in childhood, of Barguest and his ways? What musty traditions were not grafted on his growing manhood, of the certain disaster that waited any foeman of the Waynes who crossed the Spectre Hound? Ay, he believed, and his eyes shone clear with the first light of hope that had touched them since he returned two nights ago to the Bull tavern, a sobered and heart-stricken man. "There’s Nell!" cried Wayne on the sudden, pushing Nanny roughly into the house. "For God’s sake keep her within-doors, nurse, till I have plucked down yonder trophy." "Sorrow’s a rare un to get folk up betimes; how oft is Mistress Nell astir wi’ th’ dawn, I wonder?" muttered Nanny, as she returned to the hall, closing the door behind her. "Good-morrow, nurse," said the girl, crossing the hall and laying her two cold hands in Nanny’s. "Art weary, belike, with the long watch?" The Sexton’s wife looked at Nell’s white face and red-rimmed eyes, and she could find no heart to answer; she just took the lass in her arms, and kissed her, and comforted her with such little wordless tendernesses as she had used when Nell had been frightened as a bairn. While they stood thus, still with no speech between them, a horse pulled up at the door, and they could hear the rider’s voice strike, deadened a little but clear, through the stout oaken planks. "The feud is up, lad! When I rode home last night they had slain one of my folk on Cranshaw Rigg." "Ay, and the body lacked"—came the voice of Shameless Wayne. "God’s pity! Wrench it down. ’Tis my brother’s hand, Ned," broke in the first speaker. "What is’t?" cried Nell, freeing herself from Nanny’s arms and turning sharply. "That was Rolf’s voice—and Ned is with him—what are they doing, nurse?" "Niver heed ’em, bairn—they’re nobbut——" "Ay, but thou canst not blind me, Nanny! I know! I dreamed of it the night through—’tis the old token father told me of so oft—’tis a Wayne’s hand, nurse! Did I not tell thee Barguest went pad-footed down the lane beside me?"