"He is beside me here— Nay, sheathe your swords; he asks no further service of you."
All crowded round, and Wayne of Marsh shaded his candle with one hand and held it low to the face of him who lay close without the door.
"Through the heart," he muttered; "to think the lass should rob me.—Nay, then, the stroke was good; need I grudge it her?"
An arm was laid on his. "Ned, I am sick; take me out of sight of all these men," said Janet.
One last look he gave at Red Ratcliffe. "All—all—dead Wayne of Marsh need never cry again for vengeance," he muttered.
He put an arm about the girl, and led her down the passage, through the knot of kinsmen who were pressing forward for a sight of Red Ratcliffe's body, and through the scattered Waynes who still were searching for the runaway, not knowing he was dead. These last turned wonderingly at seeing Ned no longer in pursuit, and stopped to wipe the sweat of battle from their faces.
"Hast overta'en him, Ned?" they asked.
"Ay, his sleep is sound," answered Shameless Wayne.—"Get ye across to Cranshaw, friends, and tell my sister that her goodman and myself are safe. And tell her—that I've kept the oath she wots of."
They glanced once at the face of Ned's companion, proud yet for all its weariness; and then they got them out into the courtyard. And after Ned had watched them go, he turned to find Janet leaning faint against the wall.
He touched her on the shoulder. "Courage, lass," he muttered roughly.