"And the tapping on the door? What was he at, think'st thou, Nanny?"
"Oppen th' door, Maister, an' ye'll see. But doan't look to find owt bonnie."
She watched him as he pulled down the latch and stepped into the rainy April dawn. The sun was red above Worm's Hill and its light fell straight upon a man's hand fixed to the upper cross-bar of the door. A broken stone, lying beside the lintel, showed how the Lean Man had driven his nail into the wood. Shameless Wayne fell back a pace or two, his eyes on the grisly token, while Nanny hobbled to the door.
"Ay, I guessed as mich," she said, looking once at the hand and thence to the young Master's face. "Twenty year gone by it war th' same, an' I've heard tell that, long afore I war born or thowt on, th' Lean Man's grandfather rade down to Marsh one neet an' fixed a Wayne's hand to th' door. Do ye mind th' tale, Maister? I telled it when ye war no higher nor my knee."
"I had forgotten it, nurse. Yond is the badge of feud, then? So be it. There'll be sword-play, Nanny, soon as father is well laid to rest."
"Afore, I warrant," said Nanny sharply. "Willun't ye hearken to me, lad, when I tell ye that a devil sits snug behind ivery Ratcliffe muzzle?"
"Save Mistress Janet's," muttered the other, absently.
"Oh, th' wind blows that road, does it? I've thowt as mich, time an' time. Maister, I war aye fond o' ye, an' that ye knaw—gi'e no heed to th' lass, for all her bonnie ways. Ye cannot grow taties i' mucky soil, anor father a right sort o' love on a Ratcliffe."
"Hold thy peace, Nanny! who said I cared for Mistress Ratcliffe?"
"Your face, lad, said it. Theer! I've angered ye, an' ye've enough as 'tis to put up wi'.—I war saying, Maister, that ye'll niver bottom th' meanness of a Ratcliffe, as I can do; an' when ye think 'at they'll respect a dead man ony more nor a wick un, ye're sore mista'en."