in this half-hour, sir."

"All right. I feared they might wait. What's the matter, Rachel? You've
been making your eyes red."

"The matter! There's nothing the matter with me, Mr. Lionel," was
Rachel's reply, her tone betraying a touch of annoyance. And she turned
and walked swiftly along the terrace, beyond reach of the glare of the
gas-lamp.

Up stole a man at this moment, who must have been hidden amid the
pillars of the portico, watching the transient meeting, watching for an
opportunity to speak. It was Roy, the bailiff; and he accosted the
gentleman with the same complaint, touching the ill-doings of the
Dawsons and the village in general, that had previously been carried to
Mr. Verner by Frederick Massingbird.

"I was told to wait and take my orders from you, sir," he wound up with.
"The master don't like to be troubled, and he wouldn't give none."

"Neither shall I give any," was the answer, "until I know more about
it."

"They ought to be got out to-night, Mr. Lionel!" exclaimed the man,
striking his hand fiercely against the air. "They sow all manner of
incendiarisms in the place, with their bad example."

"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 conci