"Thee hod thy whisht, Nanny," Earnshaw interposed. "If there's a horse to be physicked, Mistress Ratcliffe hes come to th' right man, choose who hears me say 't."
"There's them as says tha wert born i' a stable, Earnshaw, an' I can weel believe it; bred an' born, I reckon, for tha'd walk further to see a horse nor to sup a quart of ale—an' that's saying a deal. Now, Witherlee, art coming, or shall I hev to sweep thee indoors wi' a besom?"
Nanny, her temper no wise improved on learning that Janet's errand promised so little mystery, carried off Witherlee without more ado. Earnshaw could find no good excuse to linger after he had discussed the roan mare's ailments with Janet; and he, too, passed up the graveyard and out at the top gate. The girl was about to follow him and ride home again, when Mistress Wayne called to her.
"Come hither, Mistress. I have somewhat to say to thee," she cried, motioning the girl to the seat beside her.
Janet, who had last seen her, a wind-driven waif, come wailing into the Wildwater hall, was startled by the change in her—by the wild grief in her blue eyes, and the resolution in her baby face. Without a word she took the proffered seat, wondering what Mistress Wayne could find to say to her.
"I saw you come in at the wicket, and I knew you," said the other presently. "It is so strange, girl; all has come back to me in a wave, and I remember faces—dead faces, some of them; and some again are living, and beautiful like yours. I want to talk with you of Ned—him they call Shameless Wayne."
Janet glanced at her in surprise. A faint colour crept over her brow. "You—you know, then?" she murmured.
"Yes, I know. Often—in the days when I could only half understand—Ned talked of you to me; and I recall now that, before the troubles came, you used to meet him up by the kirk-stone. Dear, I cannot let you both go into the pitiless marshes, as I have done. He loves you——"
"Ay, a little less than he loves his pride," said Janet bitterly.
"Some day he will love you more." She clutched the girl's arm eagerly. "None knows but I how bitter the struggle has been for him. 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."