"Where are ye wending? There’s naught to be done till morning dawns," said the Sexton’s wife. "Is there not? Straight to Dick Ratcliffe’s I’m going, nurse—he will open the door to me—and I shall look him in the face, Nanny, and strike while he is mocking at my helplessness—and there will be father’s dead strength behind the blow, because he trusted me to right the quarrel." She drew her cloak close about her, stayed to bid Lucy ring the bell till midnight, then went swiftly down the stair, heedless of the smooth worn steps that threatened to spoil her errand before she had well started. The wind, whistling keen through the graveyard trees, drove new life into her; she quickened her steps as the moor showed white through the hedge at the top, for she was thinking of Dick Ratcliffe, and of the short three miles that lay between them. The moon was out again, scudding fast as the wind itself behind a tattered trail of clouds. At the turn of the path she all but ran against a brawny, straight-shouldered fellow, who was crossing the graveyard from the Cranshaw side. "Why, Rolf, is’t thou?" cried Nell, standing off from him a little and lifting a white face to the moonlight. "Ay, Nell. What in God’s name art doing here on a wild night like this?" Wayne of Cranshaw spoke harshly, but his eyes, as they roved about his cousin’s face, were full of tenderness. "I came to see that—that father was cared for.—Rolf, hast not heard what chanced at Marsh this afternoon?" "I have heard of it, a half hour since, and was coming to see if I could aid thee in aught. Nell, lass, ’tis a rough blow for thee, this." He was minded to set his arms about her, but she put him away. "Not to-night, I cannot bear it, dear," she pleaded. Loverlike, his face grew clouded. "I had thought to comfort thee a little, Nell." "Nay, Rolf, I would not have thee take it hardly," she whispered, laying a quick hand on his sleeve. "Thou know’st I loved thee—yesterday. To-morrow I shall love thee; but to-night is father’s. When Dick Ratcliffe of Wildwater has paid his price, come to me, for I shall need thee, dear." "Dick Ratcliffe? What is this talk of paying a price, child? Was’t Ratcliffe that did it?" "Ay, and from behind. And they will say ’twas done for the feud’s sake; and ’twill be the blackest lie that ever a Ratcliffe told. ’Twas done for fear, Rolf. The woman that father brought home a year agone, the woman I tried to call mother, could not keep true for one poor twelve-month; she met Dick Ratcliffe by stealth in the orchard, and father chanced on them there, and Ratcliffe fled like a hare across the pasture-field, leaving the woman to brave it out. Father swore to kill him, the first fair chance of fight that offered; and he knew it; and he saved himself by a treacherous sword-cut." "’Tis my right, Nell," said Wayne of Cranshaw, gravely.