“Not he.”

“If he asks, will you tell him?”

“Not yet.  I—­hope never.”

“I wish they were in the fire.”

“Perhaps some day you may put them there.  You will have the right when I am gone.”

Then Steve silently kissed her, and went into the garden; and Ducie watched him through the window, and whispered to herself, “It is a bit hard, but it might be harder; and right always gets the over-hand at the long end.”

The first interview between the squire and Stephen after Barf Latrigg’s funeral was not a pleasanter one than this misunderstanding promised.  Sandal was walking on Sandal Scree-top one morning, and met Steve.  “Good-morning, Mr. Latrigg,” he said; “you are a statesman now, and we must give you your due respect.”  He did not say it unkindly; but Steve somehow felt the difference between Mr. Latrigg and Squire Sandal as he had never felt it when the greeting had only been, “Good-morning, Steve.  How do all at home do?”

Still, he was anxious to keep Sandal’s good-will, and he hastened to ask his opinion upon several matters relating to the estate which had just come into his hands.  Ordinarily this concession would have been a piece of subtle flattery quite irresistible to the elder man, but just at that time it was the most imprudent thing Steve could have done.

“I had an offer this morning from Squire Methley.  He wants to rent the Skelwith ‘walk’ from me.  What do you think of him, sir?”

“As how?”

“As a tenant.  I suppose he has money.  There are about a thousand sheep on it.”

“He lives on the other side of the range, and I know him not; but our sheep have mingled on the mountain for thirty years.  I count not after him, and he counts not after me;” and Sandal spoke coldly, like a man defending his own order.  “Are you going to rent your ‘walks’ so soon?  Eh?  What?”

“As soon as I can advantageously.”

“I bethink me.  At the last shearing you were all for spinning and weaving.  The Coppice Woods were to make your bobbins; Silver Force was to feed your engines; the little herd lads and lassies to mind your spinning-frames.  Well, well, Mr. Latrigg, such doings are not for me to join in!  I shall be sorry to see these lovely valleys turned into weaving-shops; but you belong to a new generation, and the young know every thing,—­or they think they do.”

“And you will soon join the new generation, squire.  You were always tolerant and wide awake.  I never knew your prejudices beyond reasoning with.”

“Mr. Latrigg, leave my prejudices, as you call them, alone.  To-day I am not in the humor either to defend them or repent of them.”