Nanny stood looking at him all this while—trying to read his face, but baulked by the shadows that clustered thick beyond the fringe of candle-light.
"Well, Maister?" she said softly, as still he did not speak.
"Well, nurse? Dost think I'm still unbreeked, and ready as of old to shiver at thy tales?"
"Then there's nowt wrang at Marsh?"
"What should be wrong?"
"If all goes weel, why do ye stand so quiet there, Maister? An' why do ye hide your face when Nanny talks to ye?"
Wayne forced a laugh as he moved down the passage. "Hunger puts strange fancies in a man," he said, "and 'tis long since I had bite or sup."
Nanny did not follow him, but turned to Martha, who had listened with dismay to all that passed.
"Proud—allus proud," she said. "He niver wod own to feeling flaired, wodn't th' Maister. But I tell thee, lass, there's bahn to be sich happenings as nawther thee nor me hes seen th' like on."
"We've hed happenings enough, Nanny—Lord save us fro' owt but peace, say I."