Yet he would not hurry to the goal; for if the Ratcliffes thought to lull him into security by delay, the self-same logic taught him likewise to be patient. For Shameless Wayne was cool to-night; his aim was not victory alone, and if one Ratcliffe of them all escaped, he would count himself a beaten man.
A silence followed. The Ratcliffes were glancing sideways at each other, as if asking, "When?"—and one of them, stooping to Red Ratcliffe's ear, whispered, "The door! We have forgot to cut off their retreat."
"The night blows shrewd, friends. Let's shut it out," cried Red Ratcliffe boisterously.
He stopped half toward the door, and fetched an oath, then laughed aloud; for there on the threshold stood little Mistress Wayne, shivering from head to foot.
"By the Mass, we entertain a gentle member of your house, friend Wayne," he said. "Enter, Mistress; there's no peace-cup rightly drunk, they say, unless a woman's lips have touched it."
Wayne frowned on her as she stepped timidly into the room and crossed to where he stood. "How com'st thou here?" he asked.
"I could not leave thee—oh, Ned, I could not leave thee," she whispered. "Dear, thou'lt win with me here to watch thee—and—for Our Lady's sake, get done with it, for I'm sick with doubts and fears."
Red Ratcliffe had already shut the door and slipped the bolts into their staples. And Shameless Wayne looked on and nodded; for he, too, was wishful for closed doors. He had taken advantage of the little woman's entry to draw off the Long Waynes of Cranshaw, the Waynes of Hill House, and his four brothers, from the bier;—they had masked themselves, as if by chance, a little apart from the red-headed host of Ratcliffes, and either side looked for awhile at the other, each hiding their sense of the wild humour of the scene.
Red Ratcliffe was smooth and merry as one who dances at a rout. "Od's life," he cried, "what with the wind, and surety that the dead man's ghost walks cold among us, we need strong liquor. Wayne of Marsh, a bumper with you."
The Ratcliffes, following his lead, moved to the table and filled a brimming cup for each one of their guests. And after that they poured measures for themselves; and Janet, listening from the little room behind to all that passed, knew that the time had come for Waynes or Ratcliffes to go under once for all. The instincts of her fighting fathers rose in her; she felt her dagger-edge, there in the darkness of her prison, and yearned to take her part in what was next to chance. But little Mistress Wayne, affrighted by she knew not what, shrank back into the window-niche and prayed.