Janet hung her head, as if for shame of being found out. "Suppose I am?" she murmured.—"Yet, cousin, I had liefer thou hadst guessed naught of it."
"Trick a weasel, and then look to hoodwink Red Ratcliffe," cried the other, pleased with his own discernment.—"Where art going, Janet?" he broke off, as she turned to the side-door leading to the fields.
"Where I list, cousin, without leave asked of thee or granted."
"Nay, but I think thou'lt not go out of doors! To hate the sister is one thing—but thou'lt foil us with the brother if once we let thee out of doors."
She thought of slipping past him first, but his bulk filled three parts of the narrow passage; so, curbing her tongue, she made him a little curtsey.
"Thou dost honour me to think I take sides against my folk," she said. "As it chances, I care not so much, after all, to go out, and grandfather will need me. Have I thy permission to go into hall and seek him?"
"One day I'll cut out that little tongue of thine, Janet, and clean it of its mockery. Go and welcome—and may the Lean Man have joy of thee."
He followed her a pace or two, remembering that there were more doors than one which opened on the moor; then stopped with a shrug. He was no match, he knew, for Janet and her grandfather together, and if the girl were bent on going out, she was sure of winning the old man's consent. Besides, Nell Wayne was here, and it would take more than Janet's beauty, if he knew aught, more than her wit and quick resourcefulness, to keep Wayne of Marsh from galloping to the rescue.
Janet found the Lean Man half-sitting, half-lying on the lang-settle, his eyes closed, his head resting in the hollow of one arm. She came and leant over the high back of the settle, and watched him with infinite sadness in her eyes. She knew the meaning of these spells of daytime sleep which were more akin to stupors than to healthy slumber; he had passed a night of terror, wrestling hour by hour with the Brown Dog of Marsh, and now weariness had followed, giving him uneasy dreams in place of fevered wakefulness.
"The Dog—flames of the Pit, he holds me—beat him off, there! Cannot ye see I'm helpless—beat him off, I say—his teeth are in my throat," muttered Nicholas, with closed eyes and tight-clenched lips.