"Treason—treason—treason. But there was more—some—some signal. Oh, what will Janet say when she knows I have forgotten my lesson!"
The strain was over great for her; her face worked piteously, her hands clasped and unclasped each other in the effort to remember. And Shameless Wayne, dumbfounded as he was to know he had been the Lean Man's dupe, knew well that they must humour this poor waif if they were to get her tale from her.
"Come, little bairn," he said, "thou hast told enough. Rest thyself awhile, and never heed the finish of thy tale."
"Oh, but I must! It touches thee so nearly, Ned." Her face cleared on the sudden. "I know now," she went on still with the same grave simplicity. "They have asked you to wake with them in token that the feud is healed. They will fill your goblets and their own, and lift them to the cry, 'In the name of the dead man, peace between Wayne and Ratcliffe.' And then, while ye are drinking, they will kill you with their swords."
The storm was let loose now. The Long Waynes of Cranshaw had their say, and the Waynes of Hill House; Griff and his brothers watched from their corner, with eager faces that showed how they were spoiling for a fight. The Lean Man's name flew hither and thither through the clamour; none doubted that the plot was his, and they cursed him by the Brown Dog of Marsh.
Shameless Wayne stood aloof from all until the din had lessened; and when at last he spoke his voice was rough and hard.
"Waynes, are ye ready for the lyke-wake? 'Tis time we got to saddle," he said.
"Art mad?" cried one. "Is the warning to go for naught, that we should put our necks into so trim a noose?"
"Let be, Ned. Wildwater is no good drinking-house for us," said another.
"Would'st ride thy luck till it floundered?" snarled a third.