Again Wayne did not answer. He wanted no wayward riddles of the sort that women give a man; temptation pressed more and more on him at each of these chance meetings, and it was bitter hard to fight it down. Janet, misreading his silence, moved down the path; but Wayne did not follow, and soon she faltered in her walk. Angered and ashamed she was, but she could not forget the errand that had brought her here; if she left Ned now without the warning she had come to give, his death would lie at her door. He was harsh now, and would turn a deaf ear to any warning; well, she must humour him until his mood showed likelier.
"Canst tell me, Ned, where best to search for plovers' eggs?" she asked, turning about and touching the basket on her arm to show its purpose. "They are so fond of the eggs at Wildwater, thou know'st, and I have been seeking all across Ling Crag Moor for them."
Wayne smiled despite himself. So like a child she was on the sudden, so earnest touching a light matter; and yet awhile since she had tempted him with storm and subtlety and all her woman's weapons.
"Fond of them, are they, at Wildwater?" he cried. "My faith, Janet, 'tis a pretty reason to give a Wayne of Marsh.— Come, then, for as it chances I can help thee in thy search. The Hill House folk showed me their nesting place but yesterday, and it lies at a stone's-throw above us yonder." He did not wait for her, but turned to climb the slope as if he guided her unwillingly.
Janet followed him up the spur of moor that backed Hill House; and still she would not remember the Lean Man, nor what awaited her at Wildwater; her mind was set wholly upon winning Ned from this black mood of his, that he might hearken to her warning. The climb grew steeper, and Wayne, with tardy courtesy, took the girl's hand to help her up the slippery clumps of bilberry.
"What brings thee so near to a Wayne homestead?" he asked, pointing to the grim front of the house above.
"Why should I fear? Our men folk fight, but none ever heard of one of your name waging war upon a woman."
"That is a true word," muttered Wayne, and would have said more, but checked himself.
"But the Ratcliffes have no such good repute? Nay! I know what was on thy tongue, Ned." Her face grew clouded, and a sudden, bitter cry escaped her. "Would God, dear lad, that it were different!" she cried.
Wayne's grasp tightened on her hand as he drew her half toward him. "There's a quaking bog, Janet, lies 'twixt what a man would and what he will," he cried. "God's life, girl, why must we always look askance at happiness?"