“Quiet, mare, quiet,” said the Squire, totally unaware that he was the cause of her impatient movements, by the way he was perpetually tightening her reins; and also, perhaps, he unconsciously addressed the injunction to himself.

Neither of them saw Roger Hamley, who was approaching them with long, steady steps. He had seen his father from the door of old Silas’s cottage, and, as the poor fellow was still asleep, he was coming to speak to his father, and was near enough now to hear the next words.

“I don’t know who you are, but I’ve known land-agents who were gentlemen, and I’ve known some who were not. You belong to this last set, young man,” said the Squire, “that you do! I should like to try my horsewhip on you for your insolence.”

“Pray, Mr. Hamley,” replied Mr. Preston coolly, “curb your temper a little, and reflect. I really feel sorry to see a man of your age in such a passion:”—moving a little farther off, however, but really more with a desire to save the irritated man from carrying his threat into execution, out of a dislike to the slander and excitement it would cause, than from any personal dread. Just at this moment Roger Hamley came close up. He was panting a little, and his eyes were very stern and dark; but he spoke quietly enough.

“Mr. Preston, I can hardly understand what you mean by your last words. But, remember, my father is a gentleman of age and position, and not accustomed to receive advice as to the management of his temper from young men like you.”

“I desired him to keep his men off my land,” said the Squire to his son—his wish to stand well in Roger’s opinion restraining his temper a little; but, though his words might be a little calmer, there were all other signs of passion present—the discoloured complexion, the trembling hands, the fiery cloud in his eyes. “He refused, and doubted my word.”

Mr. Preston turned to Roger, as if appealing from Philip drunk to Philip sober, and spoke in a tone of cool explanation, which, though not insolent in words, was excessively irritating in manner.

“Your father has misunderstood me—perhaps it is no wonder,” trying to convey, by a look of intelligence at the son, his opinion that the father was in no state to hear reason. “I never refused to do what was just and right. I only required further evidence as to the past wrong-doing; your father took offence at this”—and then he shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his eyebrows in a manner he had formerly learnt in France.

“At any rate, sir, I can scarcely reconcile the manner and words to my father, which I heard you use when I first came up, with the deference you ought to have shown to a man of his age and position. As to the fact of the trespass”——

“They are pulling up all the gorse, Roger—there’ll be no cover whatever for game soon,” put in the Squire.

Roger bowed to his father, but took up his speech at the point it was at before the interruption.

“I will inquire into it myself at a cooler moment; and if I find that such trespass or damage has been committed, of course I shall expect that you will see it put a stop to. Come, father! I am going to see old Silas—perhaps you don’t know that he is very ill.” So he endeavoured to wile the Squire away to prevent further words. He was not entirely successful.

Mr. Preston was enraged by Roger’s calm and dignified manner, and threw after them this parting shaft, in the shape of a loud soliloquy—

“Position, indeed! What are we to think of the position of a man who begins works like these without counting the cost, and comes to a stand-still, and has to turn off his labourers just at the beginning of winter, leaving”——