"And the feud will be up again," growled Red Ratcliffe, with a glance at Janet.
"Ay, they all but cut us off once, these Waynes, but kindness bade them let us breed; and now our turn has come; and Marsh House, that used to grow so thick with them, holds only four tender lads and a half-man who sinks his wits deeper every day in the wine-barrel. By the Heart, we shall live healthier at Wildwater when yonder sword is fleshed again and the moor is cleared of Waynes!"
He pointed to a great two-handled sword that hung above the mantel—a weapon, too heavy for these lighter-armed days, which had hung idle since the quarrel between Wayne and Ratcliffe was last healed.
Janet, who had been listening pale and woe-begone from the door, went still of face when Shameless Wayne was spoken of. "Poor Ned! He will take it hard," she murmured.
Again Red Ratcliffe glanced at her. "Till the moor is cleaned of Waynes," he echoed.
"Cleaned?" echoed the mad woman, turning from the window suddenly and facing the Lean Man. "Nay, 'twill never be cleaned, for it dripped down, right down to the vault-floor underneath."
Nicholas, weary of mocking her, pointed a forefinger at the door. "Get ye gone, Mistress; there is neither room nor welcome for you here," he said.
"But, sir," began Janet, "she is beside her wits; it were shame——"
"Peace, child! If ever I hear one of my house pleading for a Wayne, by God, they shall feel the rough side of my hand."
Mistress Wayne stood halting in childish perplexity. "What would you, sir? I cannot go till Dick wakes up. What if he woke and found that I had gone?"