At length Willy got up and put on his hat.  He would go down the lonnin to where it joined the road, and meet Ralph on the way.  He would have done so before, but the horror of walking under the shadow of the trees where last night his father fell had restrained him.  Conquering his fear, he sallied out.

The late moon had risen, and was shining at full.  With a beating heart he passed the dreaded spot, and reached the highway beyond.  He could hear nothing of a horse’s canter.  There were steps approaching, and he went on towards whence they came.  Two men passed close beside him, but neither of them was Ralph.  They did not respond to his greeting when, in accordance with the custom of the country, he bade them “Good night.”  They were strangers, and they looked closely—­he thought suspiciously—­at him as they went by.

Willy walked a little farther, and then returned.  As he got back to the lane that led to the house, the two men passed him again.  Once more they looked closely into his face.  His fear prompted him to speak, but again they went on in silence.  As Willy turned up towards home, the truth flashed upon him that these men were the cause of Ralph’s absence.  He knew enough of what was going on in the world to realize the bare possibility that his brother’s early Parliamentarian campaign might bring him into difficulties even yet.  It seemed certain that the lord of Wythburn Manor would be executed.  Only Ralph’s obscurity could save him.

When Willy got back into the kitchen, the impression that Ralph was being pursued and dogged was written on his face.  His mother understood no more of his trouble than that his brother had not returned; she looked from his face back to the fire, that now died slowly on the hearth.  Rotha was quicker to catch the significance of Willy’s nervous expression and fitful words.  To her the situation now appeared hardly less than tragic.  With the old father lying dead in the loft above, what would come to this household if the one strong hand in it was removed?  Then she thought of her own father.  What would become of him?  Where was he this night?  The sense of impending disaster gave strength to her, however.  She rose and put her hand on Willy’s arm as he walked to and fro across the earthen floor.  She was the more drawn to him from some scarce explicable sense of his weakness.

“Some one coming now,” he said in eager tones—­his ears were awake with a feverish sensitiveness—­“some one at the back.”  It was Ralph at last.  He had come down the side of the ghyll, and had entered the house from behind.  All breathed freely.

“God bless thee!” said Mrs. Ray.

“You’ve been anxious.  It was bad to keep you so,” he said, with an obvious effort to assume his ordinary manner.

“I reckon thou couldst not have helped it, my lad,” said Mrs. Ray.  Relieved and cheerful, she was bustling about to get Ralph’s supper on the table.