CHAPTER XVIII

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*THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS*

It was high summer now on Marshcotes Moor. Everywhere the farm-folk were full of the busy idleness which comes when ploughing and sowing are over and the crops are not yet ready for the scythe or sickle. The lads found time to go a-courting in shaded lanes or up by the grey old kirk-stone; their elders did much leaning over three-barred gates, with snuff between a thumb and forefinger, while they talked of hay-harvest, of the swelling of corn-husks in the ear, of the feud which had been so hot in the spring and which now seemed like to die for want of fuel.

For a strange thing had chanced at Wildwater. The Lean Man, once dauntless, had grown full of some unnamed terror; and, though his arm seemed strong as ever and his body full of vigour, his brain was sapless and inert. His folk came to him with fresh plans for slaying Wayne of Marsh; and he turned a haunted eye on them, and said that naught could kill the lad. The cloud which had hung over Marsh House had settled now on Wildwater, and even the hot youngsters were chilled by a sense of doom. If the Lean Man had given up hope, they said, what chance had they of snaring Shameless Wayne?

And so the days went on, and the feud slumbered, and Janet was torn between sorrow for her grandfather and gladness that his malady left Wayne free from ambush or attack. Each day, indeed, seemed to bring fresh trouble in its train; for Red Ratcliffe, dumbfounded as he had been when their errand to Bents Farm had proved no wild-goose chase, was yet distrustful of his cousin. She had spoken a true word that day, and they had met Wayne; but there was some devilry hid under it, and haply she knew enough of the Black Art which had saved her lover to be sure no harm could come to him. Laugh at superstition as he might, Red Ratcliffe had not been cradled in the winds and reared among the grim wastes of heath for naught; he and his fellows were slow to acknowledge witchcraft and the boggarts that stepped in moorside tales, but the seed, once planted, found a rich soil and a deep in which to come to leaf. Little by little he was growing to believe that Janet was the cause of each discomfiture at Wayne's hands; and, while he let no chance pass of railing on her for a witch, he uttered many a scarce-veiled threat that soon he would throw all to the winds and hold her without leave of the Lean Man or the Parson.

As for Shameless Wayne, he had ceased to wonder that no fresh attack was made on him. He would die when Fate ordained, and nothing could alter that; but the farm-work, meanwhile, at which he laboured as distastefully and keenly as of old, was going grandly forward, and not sour Hiram Hey himself could say that the land had gone backward since he took the charge of it. Janet had been right when she named pride his strongest passion; and even his love for her, self-thwarted, could not rob him of a certain sober joy in raising crops in face of Ratcliffe sword-points and the keen-toothed winds. It was all uphill nowadays for Wayne of Marsh; and each new difficulty overcome gave him hard and sure content such as no wild frolic of his earlier days had brought.

Yet the summer bore hardly on him when he thought of Janet. No farm-hind but was free to couple with his mate; only the Master, it seemed, was doomed to go lonely through these spendthrift days of sun and warm south winds and ripening meadow-grass.

"Art gloomy, Ned, of late. Is it because the Ratcliffes scruple to come down and fight with thee?" said his sister, as they sat in hall one evening and watched the stir of bees among the roses that clambered up the window-panes.

"Nay, for I am always fighting one of them--and never more than after a week's idleness."

Her voice grew cold. "'Tis time thou didst turn from that--and time Marsh had a mistress. Are there no maids, save one, about the moorside?"

"None for me, nor ever will be. Besides, Marsh has its mistress; thou'rt not going to leave us, Nell?"

"By and by I must. Rolf is getting out of hand, and will take the old excuse no longer. Faith, I begin to think he loves me very dearly, for every day he thwarts me more and more."

"Thy place is with him, after all, and I'm a fool to think to keep thee here forever.--Where are the lads, Nell? Hunting still, I'll warrant."

"Ay. They are restless since they fought the Lean Man; each morning they seem to start earlier for the chase, and sundown rarely sees them home again."

"Well, it is making men of them. They are learning a shrewd turn of fence, too, and when their time comes they will know how to parry Ratcliffe cuts.--We wash the sheep to-morrow, Nell; wilt ride with me and watch the scene? If a red sunset be aught to go by, we shall have a cloudless day."

"To-morrow I cannot. 'Tis churning-day, Ned, and the butter is always streaked when I leave those want-wit maids alone with it."

"It is better that thou should'st not go," said Wayne, after a pause. "I was a fool to speak of it, Nell, for the washing-pools lie over close to Wildwater, and 'twould be unsafe for women-folk."

"Unsafe?" she echoed, with a quick glance at him. "Then 'tis unsafe for thee, Ned, and I'll not have thee go to the washing at all."

"That is folly, lass. I have a sword, and I carry less risks than a maid would.--A rare holiday the men would have, my faith, if I left them to wash the sheep at their own good pleasure."

"Take the lads with thee, then, if thou must go."

"I promised them they should go hawking until dinner-time, and after that they must come up; but why spoil a morning's pastime for them?"

"The old tales fret at times," she answered gravely, "and to-night I'm sad a little, Ned, like thee. The washing-pools lie near to Wildwater, as thou say'st, and thou know'st how Waynes and Ratcliffes first fell out."

"Tut! If I give heed to women's fancies, when shall I find an hour to move abroad in? The Ratcliffes have got their fill for a good while to come, and they'll keep well on the far side of the pools, I warrant. What, Mistress? Thy wanderings have brought thee supperless indoors," he broke off, as his step-mother opened the door softly and set down a basket of marsh-marigolds among the dishes and platters that cumbered the great dining-table.

Nell rose with no word of greeting and left them; and Mistress Wayne, glancing in troubled fashion after her, crossed to the window and leaned against it.

"I had better have stayed as I was, Ned," she said, smiling gravely. "Nell was growing kind--but that has passed now I have found my wits again."

He winced; for he knew that he, too, had felt less kindliness toward her since her helplessness had gone. Looking at her now, frail against the mullioned casement, he could not but remember that it was she, in her right mind as she was now, who had fouled the good fame of his house.

"Ay, and _thou_ hast a touch of her aloofness, too," she went on. "I can read it in thy face, Ned.--Listen. I've had in mind to tell thee something these days past, but have never found the words for it. I wronged thy father--but not as deeply as thou think'st. Ned! Canst not think what it meant to me--the dreariness, the cold, the hardness of this moorland life? And when Dick Ratcliffe came, and promised to take me out of it----"

"See, Mistress, there's naught to be gained by going over the old ground," he interrupted harshly.

"But, Ned, there is much to be gained. Am I so rich in friends that I can let one as staunch as thou go lightly? Thou'rt midway between hate and love of me, I know, and if--Ned, if I were to tell thee I was less to blame--" She stopped and eyed him wistfully.

It was not in Shameless Wayne to resist this sort of pleading from one who had shared with him the bitter months of disfavour and remorse. They had been comrades in adversity, he and she; and was he to turn on her now because she could no longer claim pity for her witlessness?

"Thou need'st tell me naught, little bairn," he said.

"Ah, but I need! I was dying, Ned--dying for lack of warmth. And Dick Ratcliffe promised to take me into shelter; and I clutched at the chance greedily, as a prisoner would if one came and offered him liberty. But the wrong that Wayne fancied of me, when he found us in the orchard, I had never thought to do--never, dear. I was a child, and loved Ratcliffe because he showed me a way out of trouble; and I meant to go away with him because--how shall I tell thee, so as to make thee credit it? I had not a thought of--Ned, I was not wicked, only tired--tired, till I had no eyes to see the straight road, nor heart to follow it. I was hungering for warmth; the ghosts were so busy all about Marsh House, and I wanted the happy valleys, out of reach of the curlew-cries and the shuddering midnight winds."

Wayne put an arm about her. "It was worth telling, bairn," he said quietly, "and father would lie quieter if he knew that his honour had not gone so far astray."

"Thou'lt still keep a friend to me?" she whispered.

The gloom settled more heavily upon his face. "Thou talk'st as if I were thy judge," he said. "'Twas only in seeming thou didst the worst wrong to father--but what of me? Did I look so carefully to his honour? Or was it his own eldest-born who darkened his last days, who made his name a by-word up and down the country-side, who drank while a kinsman fought the vengeance-fight for him? Not if I work to my life's end to wipe off the stain, will it come clean."

"'Tis cleansed already, Ned, twice over cleansed--and there's one waiting who will give thee thanks for it. I met her not long since in the kirkyard, and I never saw love so plain on a maid's face." Her voice was eager, and the words came fast, as if she had given long thought to the matter.

"Mistress Ratcliffe, thou mean'st?" said Wayne, after a silence. "What ails thee, bairn, to be so hot for this unlikely wedding?"

"Because she is straight and strong, and full of care for thee; because, when an ill chance led me once to Wildwater, it was she who took pity on me and showed me a safe road to Marsh. Ned, she is the one wife in the world for thee; why wilt thou cling to the old troubles?"

He shook his head. "The troubles are new that stand 'twixt Janet and myself--and any day may bring forth more of them."

"Thy folk will be her folk, if thou'lt take her," she broke in eagerly. "She lives among rough men--there's danger every hour for her."

Mistress Wayne had struck the right note at last. Half willing as he was to be convinced, and imbued with the sense that the fairy-kist could give no wrong advice, he would yet have held obstinately to his old path. But he took fire at the suggestion that there was danger to the girl at Wildwater. Now and then a passing fear of it had crossed his own self-poised outlook on the situation; but a hint of it from another roused all his smouldering jealousy and passion.

"Danger? Of what?" he cried.

But Mistress Wayne had no time to answer; for the door opened on the sudden and the four lads came tumbling into hall, piling the fruits of their long day's sport in a heap against the wall.

"A rare day we've had, Ned!" cried Griff. "Ay, we're late for supper, but thou'lt not grudge it when thou see'st how many other suppers we've brought home to larder."

Wayne looked at the heap of grouse and snipe, conies and hares and moor-cock. "Well, fall to, lads," he laughed, "and I'll save my scolding till ye're primed against it.--Are ye still bent on hawking to-morrow, after this full day's sport?"

"Ay, are we!" cried Griff. "We're but the keener set to have another day of it."

"Then go; but mind ye come straight up to the washing-pool after dinner. 'Tis time ye learned the ways of farming."

The youngsters made wry faces at this as they settled themselves to the mutton-pasty.

"We met the Lean Man again to-day," said one presently, in between two goodly mouthfuls.

"And what said he to you?"

"Naught. He wore as broken a look as ever I saw, and when we rode at him with a shout----"

"Lads, lads, fight men less skilled at sword-play than the Lean Man," put in Shameless Wayne, smiling the while at their spirit.

"But he fled from us, Ned--minding the night, I warrant, when we took him in the back with yond stone ball. Yet they say he's always like that now; Nanny Witherlee tells me he sees the Dog at the side of every Wayne among us, and flees from that, not from us."

"Nanny is a fond old wife, with more tales on her tongue-tip than hairs on her thinning thatch."

"Yet--dost mind what I saw, too, that night in the garden?" said Mistress Wayne. "Brown, blunt-headed--I can see him yet, Ned, as he fawned against thy side."

Wayne did not answer, though he paled a little, and soon he made excuse to leave them.

"Where art going, Ned? We've fifty tales to tell thee of the day's sport," cried Griff.

"But have I idleness enough to listen, ye careless rascals?" laughed Wayne from the door. "I must see Hiram Hey and make all ready against to-morrow's work."

"Thou'lt not find him, for he was going into the Friendly Inn with shepherd Jose as we passed through Ling Crag."

"Was he?" growled the other. "Hiram is a poor drinker by his own showing, and a man with no spare time on his hands--but he has worn many a tavern threshold bare, I'll warrant, since he first learned to set lips to pewter."

And, indeed, Hiram wore a leisurely air enough at the moment. Stretched at his ease on the wide lang-settle of the Friendly Inn, he was handling a mug of home-brewed and watching the crumbling faces in the peat-fire, while shepherd Jose talked idly to him from the window.

"There's somebody got four gooid legs under him," said Jose, as the racket of horse-hoofs came up the road.

"Ay, by th' sound. Who is't, Jose?" answered Hiram lazily.

"Why, Mistress Janet fro' Wildwater. She's a tidy seat i' th' saddle, hes th' lass," said the shepherd, pressing his face closer to the glass to see the last of her.

"A wench can hev a tidy seat i' th' saddle, an' yet be leet as thistle-down."

"Ay, but she hes a snod way wi' her, an' all. I've thowt, whiles, she hed more o' th' free, stand-up look o' th' Waynes about her nor her breed warrants."

"Well, there's some say that, if wishes war doings, she'd hev a Wayne name to her back," said Hiram, shifting to an easier posture.

"Nowt o' th' sort!" put in the shepherd warmly. "Th' young Maister may hev been a wild-rake, an' he may be wilful i' farming-matters an' sich--but he'd niver foul th' owd name by gi'eing it to a Ratcliffe."

"That's as may be. But young blood's young blood, an' she's winsome to look at, as nawther thee nor me can deny."

"There war summat betwixt 'em, now I call to mind, afore this last brew o' trouble war malted. I've heard tell o' their meeting i' th' owd days up by th' kirk-stone when they thowt nobody war looking. But that's owered wi'. Tha doesn't fancy there could be owt o' th' sort now, Hiram?--Theer, get thy mug filled up, lad, for tha needs a sup o' strong drink to brace thee for th' long day's sheep-weshing to-morn."

"I'll hev my mug filled, Jose, lad--though I'm no drinker--an' I'll keep my thowts about th' Maister an' th' Wildwater lass to myseln. But I've seen what I've seen--ay, not a three week sin'--an' if iver tha hears 'at two folk are courting on th' sly, doan't thee say I didn't tell thee on 't, that's all."

"What didst see, like, a three week sin'?" asked Jose the shepherd, his head tilted gossip-wise to one side.

"Nay, I war niver one to spread tales abroad, not I. But it warn't a mile fro' where I'm sitting now, on th' varry road 'at runs past th' tavern here, that I happened on two folk standing fair i' th' middle o' th' highway. An' one war fearful like the Maister, an' t' other warn't so different fro' Mistress Ratcliffe; an' they war hugging one another summat fearful."

"Now, come, Hiram! Gossip's gossip, but I'll noan believe that sort o' talk about th' Maister."

"That's as it pleases thee, lad. I nobbut said 'at th' couple I saw war like as two peas to him an' Mistress Janet. Ay, an' they'd getten dahn fro' their hosses, an' she war crying like a gooid un i' his arms. Well, 'tis as Nanny Witherlee is allus saying, I fear me--if a blackberry's nobbut out o' reach, ye'll find all th' lads i' th' parish itching for 't."

"Well, I mun tak thy word for owt to do wi' courting," said the shepherd drily. "Tha'rt framing to learn nowadays thyseln, so they tell me."

"An' what about thee?" cried Hiram, roused from the tranquil gaiety which his bit of gossip afforded him. "I'd think shame, if my hair war as white as thine, Jose, to turn sheep's eyes on a young wench like Martha."

Jose chuckled, as if he could tell much but would not, and Hiram Hey grew more and more disquieted as he wondered if, after all, he had gone too slow with the first and last great courtship of his life.

While Hiram sat nursing his mug, and while the shepherd kept a quizzing eye upon his moodiness, the inn door was thrown open and three rough-headed fellows stamped noisily into the bar. "It smells foul," said one, stopping at sight of Hiram and the shepherd, and holding his nostrils between a dirt-stained thumb and forefinger.

"Ay," said another, "it's th' Wayne smell--ye can wind 'em like foxes wheriver ye leet on their trail."

"Yond's Wildwater talk," said Hiram to the shepherd, not shifting his position on the settle. "They're reared on wind up yonder, an' it gets into their tongues, like."

"Thee shut thy mouth, Hiram Hey; tha'rt ower owd to gi'e lip-sauce to lusty folk," said the foremost of the Wildwater trio, coming to the back of the settle and leaning threateningly over the old man.

Hiram lifted himself slowly into a sitting-posture. "There's _breed_ i' us owd uns," he said; "th' race weakened by th' time it got to sich as thee."

"We'll see about that," said his assailant, and stooped quickly, his hands toward Hiram's throat.

But Hiram shot out his arms with unlooked-for vigour, and gripped his man under the arm-pits, and pulled him like a kitten over the high back of the lang-settle. Then he got to his feet, still hugging the other close, and gave a steady swing, and landed him clean over his left shoulder on to the sanded floor-stones.

"If awther o' ye others hes owt to say, I'm noan stalled yet," said Hiram, dropping to his seat again.

The fallen man did not move for a space; and then he clapped a hand to one knee with an oath. "There's summat broken," he groaned.

"Likely," put in Hiram Hey. "I've hed chaps mell on me afore, an' it mostly ends th' same way."

The two who were still unhurt helped their comrade to the door, and turned for a sour look at Hiram. "Turn an' turn about," said one; "there's summat i' bottle for all ye Wayne chaps, an' I'll look to thee myseln, Hiram Hey, when th' chance comes."

"Summat i' bottle, is there?" said the shepherd, after they had gone. "Th' Lean Man hes been fearful quiet lately; I feared he war hatching weasel-eggs. Ay, an' his men hev been quiet, an' all; 'tis mony a week sin' we hed ony sort o' moil wi' 'em."

"Well, I'm stalled o' wondering what's to happen next," said Hiram, yawning with great content. "I war all a-shiver when th' feud first broke out, an' ivery day I looked to be shotten at th' least, if not sliced up wi' a sword at after. But th' days jog on somehow, an' there's nowt mich comes to cross th' farm-wark."

"Yond war a shrewd lift o' thine, Hiram," said the shepherd presently, seating himself at the other side of the hearth.

"I learned to lift, lad, when I war a young un; an' ye doan't loss that sort o' trick so easy. 'Tis weel enough for these lads to be all for fighting wi' their fists--but let me get to grips wi' a man when he means mischief, say I, an' he'll noan do me mich harm.--Now, Jose, art bahn to get another mug-full? I'm fain o' laziness to-neet, an' I could weel sup another quart, though I'm nowt mich at drinking myseln."

Janet, meanwhile, had ridden straight home to Wildwater after passing the window of the Friendly Inn, and had encountered Red Ratcliffe as she led her horse round to stable.

"Dost ride from Marsh?" he sneered, blocking the stable-door.

"From seeing a better man than thou? Nay. I have no dealings with Wayne of Marsh."

"Thou'lt have no chance of such dealings by and by."

"Indeed?" Lifting her brows a little, but disdaining to ask his leave to pass the door. "Indeed, Ratcliffe the Red? I thought--it might have been but fancy--that somehow thou didst shirk talk with Wayne of Marsh?"

"The Lean Man does--but there's younger blood than his to carry on the feud. We're sick of waiting for the call that never comes, and soon we mean to show Nicholas that what he has not wit to compass, we can."

"So eager to clinch the bargain?" she mocked. "Should I make thee a good wife, think'st thou?--There, take him to stall thyself," she added, putting the bridle into his hand. "I _know_ thou canst stable a horse, if thou hast scant knowledge of how to woo a maid."

"'Tis a knowledge I may gather by and by--and thou shall teach me," he answered, meeting her eye with more than his accustomed boldness.

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