"Lord save us, says th' wench! As if there war Lord to hearken save th' God that fills th' storm's belly wi' thunder an' wi' leetning. Cannot tha hear, Martha, lass? 'Tis throb, throb—an' ivery cranny o' th' owd walls hes getten a voice to-neet.—Hark ye! Th' Maister hes gone out into th' courtyard! An' there's Wayne o' Cranshaw's rough-edged voice. Th' storm is gathering fast, I warrant."
Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, wandering out of doors to see if there were any sign of Nell's return, had found his cousin in the courtyard. Rolf had just ridden over from Cranshaw, and the four lads stood round his horse in an eager knot, telling him of the day's exploits and making off-hand mention of their wounds.
"Why, Ned, has the day borne hardly on thee? Thou look'st out of heart," cried Rolf, as Shameless Wayne came slowly across the courtyard.
Wayne tried to shake off his forebodings. "Nay, 'tis not the day's work troubles me," he said. "We trounced them bonnily, Rolf, and these four rascals would have chased them to the Pit had I not held them in. Griff yonder will be a better swordsman than his teacher before the year is out."
"Thou'rt wounded deepish, by the look of thee. Ned, I'd give a twelvemonth of my life to have fought beside thee at the washing-pools."
Shameless Wayne laughed soberly. "'Twas worth as much.—There, Rolf! Thou'lt have thy chance, I fancy, by and by."
"Then there's to be another battle?" cried Griff eagerly.
"Likely, thou man of blood," said Shameless Wayne, with a would-be lightness that sounded strangely heavy to Rolf's ears.
"What troubles thee?" he asked. "'Tis naught to do with the Ratcliffes, thou say'st?"
"With the Ratcliffes? I'm not so sure, lad. Nell has not come home since dinner, nor Mistress Wayne.—Ah, there's the little bairn at last; haply she can tell us what mad scamper Nell is bent on."