"I'll ride across, then, and see him; thank thee for the news, Hiram," said the Master briskly.
"Leave that to me, Maister. Kind to kind, an' th' gentry is poor hands at trafficking wi' sich as us. I'll say more to yond chap i' five minutes nor ye'd say i' a twelvemonth—an' he'll tak a straight tale, too, if I knaw owt. What's he to say, like?"
"That we hold Mistress Janet. That if my sister is not here by midnight, we'll pay coin for coin. That they can trust our honour better than we can trust theirs, and the moment Mistress Nell sets foot on the Marsh threshold, my prisoner shall go free likewise. Canst carry all that, Hiram?"
"I'll try—ay, I'll try."
"Then get thee gone, and make the message curt as if it were a sword-thrust."
Hiram had scarce taken the field-track to Marshcotes, when again the clatter of hoofs came down Barguest Lane—hoof-beats, and the ring of many voices. Wayne could hear his Cousin Rolf's voice loud above the rest, and he ran into hall for one last word with Janet before the coming of his folk denied him further speech of her.
He found her sitting by the window, her hands lying idle in her lap as she watched the promise of a moon scarce risen steal through the dimness of the summer's night.
"What art thinking, Janet?" he asked.
"Thinking? Why, that the doubts were all on thy side once—and now they seem all on mine. I, too, have kin to wrong, Ned, and when I think of meeting the Lean Man with guile——"
"He has cared well for thee," said Wayne bitterly. "Small wonder thou think'st kindly of him."