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.
"He is wearying for you—wearying for you. Hark ye, dear! I cannot let you drift apart. Come with me back to Marsh, and I'll make all smooth between you—ay, though Ned strives with all his might against us."
Janet smiled and shook her head. "That is a little more, methinks, than the most love-sick maid would do. Bring him to me, and I will welcome him——"
"Nay, life is so short, so very short. See, I'm but a child yet, and impatient, and all my heart is set on giving Ned his happiness, because he cared for me when there was none else to befriend me. I'm sure 'twill all come right: Ned has gone riding up the moor, but he'll be home by now, and we can——"
"Up the moor, say ye?" cried Janet, with sudden misgiving. "Which road took he, Mistress?"
"To Bents Farm, I think he said. He was to have gone yesterday, but was hindered."
Janet sprang to her feet and stood looking down on Mistress Wayne. This, then, was the end of her wise scheme; this was the fruit of all her care for him. And in her recklessness she had bidden the Lean Man take three other Ratcliffes to meet him by the way.
"What is't?" asked Mistress Wayne, wonderingly.
"What is't?" cried Janet, with a hard laugh. "Naught, Mistress—save that I've murdered one who was dearer to me than my own body."