“ Can we lie soft in wedlock, girl, when every dawn will rouse me to the feud? Can we lock arms and kiss, when slain men come from their graves to curse the treachery?"
"Thou art thou, Ned, and I am I. Can kinship alter that?"
"Ay, can it," he cried bitterly, for her stubbornness angered him when he looked for help from her at this hottest of the fight. "The one part of me is sick for thee, Mistress Janet, while the other loathes thee—ay, loathes thee—because thou art a Ratcliffe.—There, child, forgive me! ”

“ This morning there had been Red Ratcliffe's threats, now there were the Lean Man's. Both aimed against Shameless Wayne, she guessed, for of old their hate had been deeper against the Waynes of Marsh than against any other of their kin. Above the moor-edge a little cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, seemed to have come up—the cloud of feud, which one day, the girl knew, would grow to a red thunder-track that covered the whole sky. Yet her step grew freer, her eyes brightened, as she went out and out across the moor, over the gaunt, waste land of peat and bog and green marsh grasses ”

“ Then Wayne was touched on the neck, and again on the side, just as Red Ratcliffe roused himself to leap on Hiram Hey.
Shameless Wayne in front, and Hiram, with whom he had waged many a stubborn contest, on the far side of the pinfold—it seemed that master and man would go out of life together, each dauntless, each proud in his own hard way, each ready, doubtless, to turn on the further shore of Death and take up some interrupted quarrel touching farm-matters—yet each dying because he had stayed to save the other when flight had been full easy. ”

“ It was not needful now to have speech at all of Nell; but lest suspicion should fall more darkly on her than it need she must go in.
The room was low and small, lighted by a single narrow window that showed a sweep of purpling moor. Nell Wayne was sitting at the casement, her eyes fixed hungrily on the freedom that was almost within touch of her hand; she sprang to her feet as the door opened, and turned at bay; and when she saw who stood before her the fierceness deepened in her eyes and straight-set figure. ”

“ The Lean Man was failing, body and mind, in some strange way which the girl could not understand: for a day or two he would be hard and keen as ever, and then, suddenly as if he had been stricken by some unseen blade, the life would go out of him, and he would watch his own shadow fearfully, shunning the eyes of his kin until the fit had passed. Janet was fond of her grandfather, so far as she could reconcile such fondness with her love for Shameless Wayne, and it added the last touch of disquiet to see him under the spell of what she could not but name witchcraft. ”

“ Your sister is cruel, and she has well-nigh killed me with those slender hands of hers—but you will be kinder, Ned, and I want you to staunch the bleeding—see how the vault-stone reddens—hurry, dear, for if the blood once drips into the vault, the stain can never be washed out—never, never be washed out."
"You are right, Mistress," said Shameless Wayne, smiling queerly at her from across the stone. "Though one kills every other Ratcliffe that fouls the air, the stain will never be washed clean."
Wayne of Cranshaw put a kindly hand on him. "Take heart, lad," he muttered. ”

“ Janet caught his hands in hers. "Would he bring them? Why, sir, he would ask naught better," she cried. "Let me ride down to Marsh forthwith."
"Young blood, young blood!" said the Lean Man, with a laugh that brought the colour to her face. "I warrant the sight of Wayne is worth more to thee than fifty truces, for thou'rt eager as a hind in spring to seek this new-made lover of thine."
"Nay, grandfather," said Janet gravely; "I would do for peace sake all that I would do for love. Peace means life—life to Wayne—is that so slight a matter that I should scruple to ride down to him?" ”

“ Her voice, sharp-edged with agony, struck like a sword-thrust into the fight. The Ratcliffes were sweeping all before them; but they stopped for one half moment. Barguest had carried disaster to them always; there was not one of them but dreaded the Brown Hound; and the woman's cry that he was in the room here plucked all the vigour from their sword-arms. The battle was lost and won in that half-moment's pause; for what had daunted the Red Folk had put fresh heart into the Waynes and driven them to the onset with resistless fury. ”

“ Janet shuddered to hear her grandfather talk of Wayne's death, as of a fact already well accomplished; glancing at the Lean Man's height and wiry frame, remembering the skill he had in wielding that dread two-handled sword of his, she felt that Wayne of Marsh, for all his lusty youth, would find a match in Nicholas Ratcliffe. And then she laughed her fears away; for was she not sending the slayers on the veriest Jack-o'-lanthorn errand that ever led men into the bogs?
"Take the men with you, sir, for Wayne can be tricky as yourself," she said gravely. ”

“ The Ratcliffe men-folk lusted after the feud, and their hate was single-minded; Janet, with a man's vigour in her blood and only a maid's way of outlet, had never learned of sun or wind or tempest, that the plain force of passion was created only to be checked. Shame, and halting by the way, were her woman's birthright; but these had lacked a foster-mother, and the resistless teaching of the solitude had made her love for Wayne of Marsh a swift, and terrible, and god-like thing. ”

“ Janet still lingered at the casement, watching the moonlight fade away among the grey hollows of the moor. "I will pray," she murmured—"pray that the Waynes may win a rightful quarrel—pray that love may one day conquer kinship, and——"
"Janet!"
She looked down at Red Ratcliffe, standing close to the wall with face upturned to her window. "What is't?" she said coldly.
"Thou know'st as well as I. The times are perilous, and when a man loves he cannot wait.—Listen, Janet! I'm sick with longing for thee."
"The wind blows cold. Canst find no time more fitting for love-idleness?" ”

“ Often and often in the happier years she had wondered, as a girl will, how the way of it would be if the quarrel broke out afresh: there had been deeds of high courage and glamour of sword-thrust to make her almost love the feud and count it noble; but now that it was on them, now that it hugged the very threshold, naked, terrible and brutish, she understood the reality and lost her dream-visions of the splendour and the majesty of fight. Fight meant gaping wounds, and blood upon the floor, and men going into the shadowy places when they were at the topmost of their strength. ”

“ Over the mantel were the rude letters of the Ratcliffe motto, We strike, we kill; and Wayne of Marsh smiled as his eyes fell on the device which he and his had ridden hither to disprove.
Red Ratcliffe caught the direction of his glance, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "'Tis but an outworn saying, yond," he cried. "We neither strike nor kill, now that the dead has bequeathed us fairer days."
He beckoned toward the bier, and Wayne and all his folk drew round it in a ring, looking down upon the closed eyes and wax-white face of their old enemy. ”

“ The Lean Man, once dauntless, had grown full of some unnamed terror; and, though his arm seemed strong as ever and his body full of vigour, his brain was sapless and inert. His folk came to him with fresh plans for slaying Wayne of Marsh; and he turned a haunted eye on them, and said that naught could kill the lad. The cloud which had hung over Marsh House had settled now on Wildwater, and even the hot youngsters were chilled by a sense of doom. If the Lean Man had given up hope, they said, what chance had they of snaring Shameless Wayne? ”

“ For remorse never slept so sound with Wayne of Marsh but that the lightest touch could wake it.
"And later, when Rolf pleaded hard with me to wed him—he quarrelled with me but yesterday about it—I would not go, because thou hadst need of me at Marsh. See, Ned, I've been sorry and glad with thee—I've given up more, to keep thee out of wildness, than I shall ever tell. Is all to go for naught, because a woman beckons lightly to thee from across the moor?" ”

“ And Shameless Wayne turned then and scanned her up and down; yet, startled as he was to see her in this plight, he asked her no question, but filled a wine-cup to the brim and set it to her lips.
"Wast ever kind to me, Ned," she whispered brokenly. "None knows, I think, how thou hast watched to give me my least need."
"Thy needs are no great burden for a man's back," he answered, in the old kindly tone that he kept for her alone.—"Does the company fright thee, bairn? Why, then, we'll none of them. Come to the parlour and tell me all thou hast to say." ”

“ Peste, man, thou sittest so grey and still that I mistook thee for one of thy own gravestones," said Ratcliffe's voice at his elbow.
The Sexton came slowly out of his dreams. "Good-day to ye, Maister. Th' wind blows warm at after last neet's bluster," he said.
"It will blow cold again—after what was done here last night," answered Ratcliffe sourly. "Thou hast heard, I take it, that my brother was done to death here? I am come to bid thee dig a grave for him, the burying will be on Monday, likely."
"'Tis an ill-starred day for a burial, but dead men cannot be choosers. ”

“ He is mad, mad, to let good love slip from him while he grasps at shadows. I had a man's love once, girl, and I threw it aside, and—God pity all who let the gift go by."
Tears were crowding thick to the eyes of Mistress Wayne—warm, heart-healing tears which had been denied her until now. A sudden compassion seized Janet, and under the pity a gladness that Wayne of Marsh had found the struggle bitter as she could have wished it.
"He loves me, say you? Say it again, Mistress; 'tis the pleasantest speech I've heard these long days past," cried the girl. ”

“ There's a taint in every breath we draw," he cried.
In silence she followed him to the threshold of the great main floor and looked with him across the lone reaches of the wilderness. Dark, wide and wet it stretched. The rains seethed earthward from a shrouded sky. There was no wail of moor-birds, no voice save the sob of the failing wind among the ling.
"Is this our wedding-cheer?" said Janet, meeting his glance at last. "And those in hall there—are they the bridal-guests?"
Wayne answered nothing for a space. ”

“ Besides, Nell Wayne was here, and it would take more than Janet's beauty, if he knew aught, more than her wit and quick resourcefulness, to keep Wayne of Marsh from galloping to the rescue.
Janet found the Lean Man half-sitting, half-lying on the lang-settle, his eyes closed, his head resting in the hollow of one arm. She came and leant over the high back of the settle, and watched him with infinite sadness in her eyes. She knew the meaning of these spells of daytime sleep which were more akin to stupors than to healthy slumber ”

“ He'll take it hardly, I fear," said Rolf, as he and Nell went through the graveyard wicket and out into the moor, where the hail nestled white beneath the heather and the far hills touched the cloud-banks.
Shameless Wayne stood looking down at his step-mother, who still sat fondling her lover's body. There was no hatred of her in his face, though yesterday he would have railed upon her for a wanton; nay, there was a sort of pity in his glance, when at last he drew near to her and touched her arm.
"Life has been over-strong for you, eh, little bairn?" ”

“ Wayne of Marsh was righted now, and his kinsman wiped his blade at leisure on his coat-sleeve. Nell came to him and drew down his rough head and kissed him on the mouth; the little wisp of a woman knelt by her lover's side, and tried to stop the blood with a dainty cambric kerchief, and talked to Ratcliffe of Wildwater as if her word were greater than God's own, to bring a dead man back to life. ”

“ The pride of her race, its pitiless sternness when wronged, seemed gathered from the long-dead generations who had fought the Wayne and Ratcliffe fight aforetime; and the hate of the fathers woke again to splendour and to savagery in the slender-supple body of this last daughter of the line.
She could sit still no longer, but got to her feet and crossed to the garden-door. The house-air stifled her; men fought under the open sky, and for that cause there was friendship in wind and sun and drifting clouds. ”

“ I thought a sword sat better in thy hand," laughed Nicholas, as Wayne brought his mare round once more to the attack.
The Lean Man had found his youth again, and in his heart, too, the storm-wind was singing shrill. Fear of the Dog slipped from him. He warmed to the old joy of hardened muscles and of crafty hand.
"'Tis thou and I now, thou bantling," he cried, plucking the curb as his beast reared its fore-feet to the sweltering sky. "Does the Dog fear the storm, that it comes not up with thee to fight?" ”

“ Near must all men come, once in their lifetime, to that deep horror of brain and heart when they stand, less and greater than their manhood, at the gulf-edge which lies between them and the space that fathered them. The Lean Man was peering over the gulf to-night, and the soul of him was naked to the moor-wind. No groan, no little muttered protest escaped him; for throat and lips were powerless, and the body that they served stood far off from Nicholas Ratcliffe.
"The night wears late, grandfather. Will you not come home to Wildwater?" ”

“ And while they stood there, halting between the two courses, a red-headed horseman came at a wary trot down Barguest Lane. The summer dusk was enough to show that he glanced guardedly from side to side and kept a light hold of the reins as if to turn at the first hint of danger. Seeing the gate fast closed, however, he drew rein at the far side of it and peered over into the courtyard. He glanced at the men's belts first, and saw that they were empty of pistols; then turned his horse in readiness for flight.
"God's life the fool is venturesome," muttered Wayne. "What should he want at Marsh?" ”