"'Tis no trick. Come, Mistress! Time slips by, and there's one awaiting me at Marsh who's worth fifty such as thou."
His gruffness pleased her, for it rang true; and so, without question or demur, she followed him down the passage and out into the courtyard. He lifted her to the saddle, mounted the big bay that always carried him, and together they rode out in silence across the moor. The moon glanced silver-black across the heather; the gullies were full of whispering winds, alive with the sob and fret of running water; and more than once the Lean Man shivered, as if the night's quiet eeriness weighed heavy on his fears.
"How comes all this?" asked Nell, as they drew near to Barguest Lane.
"Ask your folk that, Mistress. A message came through one of my hinds that Janet was held at Marsh; your safety was matched 'gainst hers; it is no good-will of mine that has brought you hither.—Yonder is Marsh," he broke off, pointing down the hill. "Lord God, how I hate the fair, quiet look of it!"
"We are honoured by such hate, sir," said Nell.—"Have a care! The road is sadly over-full of stones," she added, as the bay horse stumbled badly.
The dead Ratcliffe had been taken indoors, and neither Nicholas nor his companion had leisure to note the signs of bloodshed that lay this side the closed gate of the courtyard.
"A Ratcliffe! A Ratcliffe!" yelled the Lean Man, with a thought that the old cry would bring them quickly to the gate.
And soon, indeed, there was a rush of feet across the courtyard, a rattle of swords snatched hastily from the scabbard, the hum of many voices.
"Peste! The whole swarm has settled in the Marsh hive," muttered Nicholas, glancing doubtfully at Nell. "Was I a fool, then, to trust to the Wayne honour?"
"No man has ever repented such folly, sir. If you raise the feud-cry to win peaceable entry, can you grumble that they come out armed to welcome you?"