He pointed up the path with a gesture that Wayne of Cranshaw understood. "I'll follow you in a while—leave me to it," he said.
"Poor lad! 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?" he said. "Well, we're both dishonoured, so there's none need grumble if I take you with me; shalt never lack shelter while Marsh House has a roof."
"Oh, I cannot come," said Mistress Wayne; "I have to get to Saxilton before dawn—I am waiting till the wound is healed and the blood stops dripping, dripping—oh, no, I shall not come with you—what would Dick say if he woke and found me gone?"
Entreaty the lad tried, and rough command; but naught would move her, and when at last he tried to carry her from the spot by force, she cried so that for pity's sake he had to let her be.
"Well, there's enough to be seen to as 'tis; may be she will come home of herself if I leave her to it," he muttered, and went quickly down to the tavern-door.
Jonas Feather was standing on the threshold, his head bent toward the graveyard. "What, Maister, is't you— What, lad, ye're sobered!" he cried, as Shameless Wayne pushed past him.
"Ay, I found somewhat up yonder that was like to sober me. I'm going to saddle the mare, Jonas—she will be needed soon, I fancy."
"Sit ye dahn, Maister, sit ye dahn. I'll see to th' mare.—There's been a fight, I'm thinking? I could hev liked to see't, that I could, but they'll tell ye what once chanced to a man 'at crossed a Wayne an' Ratcliffe at sich a time—an' I'm fain of a whole skin myseln."