He raised his eyes languidly as the garden gate opened and Red Ratcliffe and his two companions came laughing through.
"We've news, sir, for you," cried Red Ratcliffe.
The Lean Man looked them up and down, and smiled with something of his old keenness, as he saw the stains of fight on them. "Ay, I can believe it," he said. "Bonnie news, I fancy, of Wayne and of those who thought to crush him when Nicholas Ratcliffe had failed. A wounded bridle-arm, a matter of two bloody cheek-cuts, and thy right thigh, lad, dripping through the cloth. Ye make a gallant band."
"'Tis true, sir, he worsted us in fight," said Red Ratcliffe, sulkily.
The blood came back to Janet's face. "Again he shows the stronger hand," she murmured. "Who says that Wayne of Marsh is unfit to have a maid's heart in keeping?"
"He worsted you," said the Lean Man to his grandsons; "is that why ye came with laughter in your throats, and mouths a-grin as if a man had ploughed a furrow 'cross them?"
"Nay, but because we used our wits when swords failed us, and trapped Wayne's sister; she is in the house now, safe under lock and key."
The Lean Man roused himself. "A good stroke, lads!" he cried, slapping his thigh. "She's in the house, ye say? Then take me to her."
"You had best go armed to talk with her," laughed he whose cheek was cut; "shame will out, sir, and I took these wounds, not from Wayne, but from the she-devil I carried hither on my crupper."
"Good lass!" chuckled old Nicholas. "I like that sort of temper. She carries a dagger, then, to help keep up the feud?"