But Rolf was already on his road to Cranshaw, and Shameless Wayne, knowing that any other plan was madness, curbed his hot mood as best he might. He would have ridden to Hill House himself, but the lads pleaded so hard to go, and he had such crying need for food to brace him for the coming struggle, that he agreed at last.
"Be off, then, lads," he said. "'Tis a short ride, with no danger by the way, if ye'll promise not to turn aside for any sort of frolic."
They scampered off to the stables to re-saddle their horses; and Wayne, as he watched them go, sighed for the boyish heedlessness which had been his not a twelvemonth ago. Griff's thoughts were all of danger, the thrill and rush of battle; and his sister's capture, it was plain, was no more to him than a fresh fight, in which the Ratcliffes would again go down before them.
"Ay, if it meant no more!" mused Shameless Wayne, and turned as his step-mother came timidly to his side.
"Come in to supper, dear. Thou need'st it, as Wayne of Cranshaw said," she pleaded, threading her arm through his and coaxing him indoors.
The board was ready spread; but the brave show of pewter, the meats and pasties and piled heaps of haverbread, served only to make the wide, empty hall look drearier, and Wayne would not glance at the slender, high-backed chair which marked Nell's wonted seat at table.
Hunger was killed in him; but he forced himself to eat, since food meant strength to fight Nell's battle by and by. And while he ate, the little woman sat close beside him, watching his every movement, and wishful, so it seemed, to speak of something that lay near her heart.
"Ned," she whispered, finding courage at last, "it was I who sent Nell across the moor to-day; and what she said to me was true—I have brought nothing but disaster on your house since first I came to Marsh. The man who lies outside there, Ned—the man whom your cousin slew—I was feared just now, seeing him dead. But need I be? God knows I would fain lie where he lies now, for then—then, dear, I should bring no more trouble upon those I love. Naught but disaster I've brought——"
"That is not true, bairn," said Wayne gently. "Many a time thou hast brought rest to me when none else could—no, not Nell herself.—Ay, once thou gav'st me hope that there was no such crying shame in loving awry," he added, with sudden bitterness. "What of thy wisdom now, bairn? Shall I woo Mistress Janet while I help tear Wildwater stone from stone?"
"It was no fault of hers, dear. How if she sorrows for Nell as much as thou, or I, or any of us?"