“Roy,” said Lionel Verner, in a quiet tone, “I have not, as you know, interfered actively in the management of things.  I have not opposed my opinion against my uncle’s, or much against yours; I have not come between you and him.  When I have given orders, they have been his orders, not mine.  But many things go on that I disapprove of; and I tell you very candidly that, were I to become master to-morrow, my first act would be to displace you, unless you could undertake to give up these nasty acts of petty oppression.”

“Unless some of ’em was oppressed and kept under, they’d be for riding roughshod over the whole of us,” retorted Roy.

“Nonsense!” said Lionel.  “Nothing breeds rebellion like oppression.  You are too fond of oppression, Roy, and Mr. Verner knows it.”

“They be a idle, poaching, good-for-nothing lot, them Dawsons,” pursued Roy.  “And now that they be behind-hand with their rent, it is a glorious opportunity to get rid of ’em.  I’d turn ’em into the road, without a bed to lie on, this very night!”

“How would you like to be turned into the road, without a bed to lie on?” demanded Lionel.

“Me!” returned Roy, in deep dudgeon.  “Do you compare me to that Dawson lot?  When I give cause to be turned out, then I hope I may be turned out, sir, that’s all.  Mr. Lionel,” he added, in a more conciliating tone, “I know better about out-door things than you, and I say it’s necessary to be shut of the Dawsons.  Give me power to act in this.”

“I will not,” said Lionel.  “I forbid you to act in it at all, until the circumstances shall have been inquired into.”

He sprung from his horse, flung the bridle to the groom, who was at that moment coming forward, and strode into the house with the air of a young chieftain.  Certainly Lionel Verner appeared fitted by nature to be the heir of Verner’s Pride.

Rachel Frost, meanwhile, gained the road and took the path to the left hand; which would lead her to the village.  Her thoughts were bent on many sources, not altogether pleasant, one of which was the annoyance she had experienced at finding her name coupled with that of the bailiff’s son, Luke Roy.  There was no foundation for it.  She had disliked Luke, rather than liked him, her repugnance to him no doubt arising from the very favour he felt disposed to show to her; and her account of past matters to the bailiff was in accordance with the facts.  As she walked along, pondering, she became aware that two people were advancing towards her in the dark twilight.  She knew them instantly, almost by intuition, but they were too much occupied with each other yet to have noticed her.  One was Frederick Massingbird, and the young lady on his arm was his cousin, Sibylla West, a girl young and fascinating as was Rachel.  Mr. Frederick Massingbird had been suspected of a liking, more than ordinary, for this young lady; but he had protested in Rachel’s hearing, as in that of others, that his was only cousin’s love.  Some impulse prompted Rachel to glide in at a field-gate which she was then passing, and stand behind the hedge until they should have gone by.  Possibly she did not care to be seen.