"The messenger has gone, sir," Red Ratcliffe was saying; "Wayne will be here before long—rouse yourself, for we're growing to lose heart at sight of you."
"Give me the key of the room where Mistress Nell is prisoned. I want to speak with her," said Janet, coming boldly up to them.
"A likely request, cousin! The key lies safe in my pocket, and there 'twill stay."
"When Janet asks aught, thou'lt give it her, thou cross-mannered whelp," put in the Lean Man sharply. A lack of courtesy toward his chosen one could rouse him even yet.
Red Ratcliffe hesitated, then gave way to the old habit of obedience; but, as Janet took the key and crossed to the passage leading to Nell's prison, he followed her.
"I'll stay this side the door while thou hast speech of her," he said, with an ugly smile.
"As it pleases thee," she answered, opening the door and closing it behind her.
She had meant to set the captive free, at any hazard to herself; but she was prepared to find her scheme thwarted in some such way, and she had a likelier plan ready framed against the failure of the first. It was not needful now to have speech at all of Nell; but lest suspicion should fall more darkly on her than it need she must go in.
The room was low and small, lighted by a single narrow window that showed a sweep of purpling moor. Nell Wayne was sitting at the casement, her eyes fixed hungrily on the freedom that was almost within touch of her hand; she sprang to her feet as the door opened, and turned at bay; and when she saw who stood before her the fierceness deepened in her eyes and straight-set figure.
For a moment they stood and looked at one another; and no Wayne had ever crossed sword more hotly with a Ratcliffe than these two women of either house crossed glances. For theirs was no chance feud, bred by a quarrel as to precedence in sheep-washing; it was the age-old feud that lies heart-deep between woman and woman, the feud that hisses into flame whenever love for the one man blows on the smouldering fire.