But Shameless Wayne was down the passage and out into the stable-yard behind. Jonas looked after him, and shook his head.
"I nobbut once see'd drink so leave a chap all i' a minute," he said, "an' it takes a bigger shock nor sich a young 'un as yond hes shoulder-width to stand. There's ill days i' store for th' lad, I sadly fear."
At the stroke of twelve, the Sexton's wife came down the belfry steps. Her right foot was numb with tolling the bell, and her fingers ached with the knitting; yet she had no thought of such matters as she stepped out into the moonlit burial place, for she was wondering how Nell Wayne had fared at Wildwater.
"Her father's lass—ay, ivery bone of her," she muttered. "Hes she killed him by now—hes she struck——"
The sound of a cradle-song, chanted in a sweet, low voice, came from above. The little old woman stopped her mumbling, and shuffled up the path, and came to where Mistress Wayne sat, with her lover's head on her lap and one baby hand pressed close against his breast.
Nanny touched her on the shoulder. "A death for a death," said she; "yet, not with all your tears to help, will Dick Ratcliffe be a fit exchange for th' Maister. 'Twill need a score sich as him, or ye, to pay th' price."
"He is sleeping. Hush! You will waken him, and 'tis early yet to start for Saxilton," said Mistress Wayne, lifting her childish face.
The little old woman quailed, and crossed herself, as she saw the light in the other's eyes. "She's fairy-kist! God save us," she muttered, as she hobbled down the path.
CHAPTER III
THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER