"Trust me to see to that. Never heed old wives' tales, Nell, and keep up heart as best thou canst," he answered, and went down again into the hall.
Nanny was fingering the shroud softly, and scarce glanced up as Wayne approached. "Gooid linen, ivery yard on 't," she muttered, "though I says it as shouldn't. Ay, an' bonnily hemmed a' all. Wayne o' Marsh may lig proud, that he may, an' I war allus sartin sure 'at a man gets a likelier welcome up aboon if he's buried i' gooid linen.—Begow, but his face is none so quiet as I should hev liked to see it; there's summat wick i' th' set on 't, as if he wod right weel like to be up an' cracking Ratcliffe skulls."
"Where is the Master, Nanny?" asked Wayne of Cranshaw, cutting short her musings.
"He war dahnstairs a while back, for I met him as I war coming in here. But mad Mistress Wayne began to call out his name, an' he thinks nowt too mich to do for her nowadays. He'll be gi'eing her another bite an' sup, belike."
"Then who will watch? I was for riding back to Cranshaw, but if there's need of me——"
"Who'll wake? Why, who should wake save Nanny Witherlee? Th' Maister promised I should, for I axed him a while back; so ye needn't fash yourseln about that, Maister."
"Then good-night to thee, Nanny—and—have a care of Mistress Nell, for she is in strange mood to-night. Barguest is well enough for a fireside gossip, nurse, but such talk comes ill when a maid's spirits are low."
Nanny laughed softly, and pointed a lean finger at him as he stood halting near the door. "Ye do weel to mock at Guytrash, Maister, an' ye do weel to give advice to one that's known more sorrow nor ye—but why doan't ye cross th' threshold?"
Wayne of Cranshaw was ashamed to feel the sweat-drops trickling down his face; but he could not kill the fear that brought them there.
"They say a Cranshaw Wayne fears nowt, man nor devil," went on the Sexton's wife—"but there's one thing 'at maks his heart beat like th' clapper of a bell—an' ye dursn't cross what ligs on th' door-stun."