"'Twill heal of itself; I would not trouble thee," he muttered. It was a nice, bewildering point of honour to Wayne of Marsh, this acceptance of aid from Ratcliffe hands, and he spoke with scant civility.
But Janet was back already with a handful of the warm red mould, and she bade him get down from saddle that she might the better fasten on the bandage.
"Now tell me. How didst come through it, Ned?" she asked, tying a second knot in the kerchief.
"That is what I cannot tell thee. They met me, four of them, where the road is narrow up by Dead Lad's Rigg."
"Ay, four of them. God give me shame," murmured Janet.
"I heard the Lean Man bid them stand aside and leave us to it, and after that I knew no more till he and I were lunging each at the other. He knocked my sword up at the last, and lifted his own blade to strike——"
"Yes, yes, go on. What then, Ned?"
"Nay, I told thee I could give no right answer. Just as I had given all up—with a thought, it may be, of one who had been forbidden—the Lean Man's arm dropped to his side, and he sprang back in the saddle, all but unseating himself."
"But, Ned, I cannot credit it. Didst thou make no movement to drive him back?"
"None, for 'twas all done in a flash, and he might have split my skull in two if he had brought down that great blade of his."