His voice, his bearing, were softened strangely; and Wayne, seeing what weakness underlay his would-be gaiety, felt a touch of something that was almost pity.
"Spilled wine is hard to pick up, sir," he answered; "but if you come to ask for a fresh measure—why, there's none at Marsh will be so churlish as to grudge it you."
He was turning to fetch the cup when the Lean Man called him back. "I could scarce keep my seat for faintness—I'm weaker than I was, as you will guess perchance—and I am fain to rest my limbs. There's a matter to be talked of, too—would it irk you, lad, to let the Marsh roof shelter me a while?"
Still wondering, Wayne drew the bolts of the gate, then glanced to see if Nicholas held dagger or pistol in his hand. But he was unarmed, nor did he look like one who could use any sort of weapon. As in a dream the younger man helped his guest from the saddle, and noted that he had much ado to stand upright soon as his feet were on the ground.
"Times change," said Nicholas, smiling faintly. "Not long since I forswore your wine—and here I'm craving your arm to help me indoors that I may drink the same."
Wayne was gentler than his wont after his long brooding by the hearth, and again the other's weakness touched his pity. This guest of his, who leaned so heavy on his arm, was an old man, and he, who had brought the bitterness of defeat on him, was young. This guest of his, too, had been kind to Janet in his own rough way.
"Lie on the settle, sir," he said, busying himself after the Lean Man's comfort soon as they had got indoors.
"Well, I've hated this house of Marsh through life—but, sooth, I find its welcome pleasant now the ice is broken.—The wine, lad! Bring me the wine!—I thank you. Shall I give you a toast that will please us both?"
"If you can find such, sir."
"To Janet Ratcliffe, who rules at Marsh and Wildwater," said Nicholas, and drained the cup.