She beckoned them so imperiously that they were drawn against their will into the reeking chamber, and between the still heaps of the slain, and up to the bier whereon Nicholas Ratcliffe lay with death stamped livid on his face. Quietly as if it were a usual office, the little woman turned down the shroud and pointed to the sinewy throat; and Janet's eyes met Wayne's across the body of their foe, while they whispered one to the other that Mistress Wayne saw something here which was denied to any save the fairy-kist.
Wayne of Cranshaw came striding into hall, and after him Griff and his brothers, with a press of Hill House folk behind. But Rolf silenced them when he saw the figures by the bier, and led them quiet out into the night.
"Best leave them to it," he muttered to a kinsman. "'Tis an ill knot to unravel, and God knows how 'twill fare with yond sad pair of lovers."
They stayed there for awhile, Wayne and Janet. The battle-heat went from him; passion was stilled; he stood and went over, one by one, the turmoils that were past—stood, and watched the hate of feud shrink, mean and shamed, into the darkness that had bred it—stood, and wondered to what bitter harvesting the aftermath of feud must come.
And Janet watched him, with the dead man's bulk between them—watched him, and sought for a shaft of hope to cross the gloomy hardness of his face.
Shameless Wayne lifted his head by and by and moved to the door to rid him of the spell. "Come where the wind blows cool, girl. There's a taint in every breath we draw," he cried.
In silence she followed him to the threshold of the great main floor and looked with him across the lone reaches of the wilderness. Dark, wide and wet it stretched. The rains seethed earthward from a shrouded sky. There was no wail of moor-birds, no voice save the sob of the failing wind among the ling.
"Is this our wedding-cheer?" said Janet, meeting his glance at last. "And those in hall there—are they the bridal-guests?"
Wayne answered nothing for a space. And then he gave a cry, and took her to him, so close he seemed to dare each whispering ghost of feud to snatch her from him.
"We never sought the thing that's ended yonder," he whispered hoarsely. "We'll shut it out—we'll—Janet, hast no word for me?"