And now on a sudden all was changed. The wind blew honest from the West, and even in shadowed corners it kept no knife in waiting for man and beast. The sun shone splendid out of a white-flecked, pearly sky. In the lower lands, blackbird and thrush, starling and wren and linnet, broke into one mighty chorus; and on the moors the grouse called less complainingly one to the other, the larks were boisterous, the eagles showed braver plumage to the sun, the very moor-tits added a twittering sort of gaiety to the day. A lusty, upstanding, joyous day, which brought old folk to their doors, to ask each other if there were not some churlish sport of March hid under all this bravery—which set the youngsters thinking of their sweethearts, and brought the sheep to lambing in many an upland pasture scarce free’d of winter snow. But the Lean Man had no eye for the beauty of the day, as he rode through Marshcotes street with Robert, his eldest-born, on the bridle-hand of him. For old Nicholas was thinking how Shameless Wayne, the lad whom he had laughed at and despised, had lately driven the Ratcliffes to hopeless flight. Both horsemen were fully armed, with swords on thigh and pistols in their holsters; and, as they rode, they kept a sharp regard to right and left, lest any of the Waynes should be hidden in ambush. Time and time the Lean Man clapped a hand to his left ear, as if by habit, and his face was no good sight to see as he felt the rounded lump which marked where Wayne’s sword-cut—a fortnight old by now—was healing tardily. "Could we but meet the lad alone in Marshcotes street here," he muttered to his eldest-born. "Ay, but fortune is no friend to us just now," growled Robert; "and there are those who say he’d match the two of us." "There are those who say that hawks breed cuckoos. Art thou weakening, Robert, too, because he has won the first poor skirmish?" "Not I. If I find him in the road, I’ll have at him—but meanwhile I am free to think my own thoughts." "Well, and what are thy thoughts, sirrah?" "That there’s witchery in his sword-arm. I saw him fight in the graveyard, and he was something ’twixt man and devil; ay, he fought as if he had the cursed Dog of Marsh to back him." The Lean Man gave a laugh—a laugh with little surety in it. "Thou’rt a maid, Robert, to fall soft at such a baby-tale as that," he sneered. "Yet you have heard of the Dog, sir, and now and then you own to a half belief in him," said Robert, meeting the other’s glance fairly. "We have had proof of it aforetime, and—see the woman yonder," he broke off, "moving at us from the corner of the lane. What ails her?"