“I have already told you, sir,” said Sir Charles, “that I intend to open a still shorter path, and to allow all the well-conducted work-people to pass through twice a day.  This will enable them to go to their work and return from it; and I will be at the cost of keeping the path in repair.”

“Thank you,” said Trefusis drily; “but why should we trouble you when we have a path of our own to use fifty times a day if we choose, without any man barring our way until our conduct happens to please him?  Besides, your next heir would probably shut the path up the moment he came into possession.”

“Offering them a path is just what makes them impudent,” said Lady Brandon to her husband.  “Why did you promise them anything?  They would not think it a hardship to walk a mile and a half, or twenty miles, to a public-house, but when they go to their work they think it dreadful to have to walk a yard.  Perhaps they would like us to lend them the wagonette to drive in?”

“I have no doubt they would,” said Trefusis, beaming at her.

“Pray leave me to manage here, Jane; this is no place for you.  Bring Erskine to the house.  He must be—­”

“Why don’t the police make them go away?” said Lady Brandon, too excited to listen to her husband.

“Hush, Jane, pray.  What can three men do against thirty or forty?”

“They ought to take up somebody as an example to the rest.”

“They have offered, in the handsomest manner, to arrest me if Sir Charles will give me in charge,” said Trefusis.

“There!” said Lady Jane, turning to her husband.  “Why don’t you give him—­or someone—­in charge?”

“You know nothing about it,” said Sir Charles, vexed by a sense that she was publicly making him ridiculous.

“If you don’t, I will,” she persisted.  “The idea of having our ground broken into and our new wall knocked down!  A nice state of things it would be if people were allowed to do as they liked with other peoples’ property.  I will give every one of them in charge.”

“Would you consign me to a dungeon?” said Trefusis, in melancholy tones.

“I don’t mean you exactly,” she said, relenting.  “But I will give that clergyman into charge, because he ought to know better.  He is the ringleader of the whole thing.”

“He will be delighted, Lady Brandon; he pines for martyrdom.  But will you really give him into custody?”

“I will,” she said vehemently, emphasizing the assurance by a plunge in the saddle that made the bay stagger.

“On what charge?” he said, patting the horse and looking up at her.

“I don’t care what charge,” she replied, conscious that she was being admired, and not displeased.  “Let them take him up, that’s all.”

Human beings on horseback are so far centaurs that liberties taken with their horses are almost as personal as liberties taken with themselves.  When Sir Charles saw Trefusis patting the bay he felt as much outraged as if Lady Brandon herself were being patted, and he felt bitterly towards her for permitting the familiarity.  He uas relieved by the arrival of the procession.  It halted as the leader came up to Trefusis, who said gravely: