Walden turned upon him.

“Very well then, I shall ask Miss Vancourt to set the police to watch her trees and take you into custody;” he said, coolly; “If you have sold the trees standing, to cover your gambling debts, you will have to UNsell them, that’s all!  They never were yours to dispose of;—­you can no more sell them than you can sell the Manor.  You have no permission to make money for yourself out of other people’s property.  That kind of thing is common thieving, though it may sometimes pass for Estate Agency business!”

Leach sprang forward, his whip uplifted,—­but before it could fall, with one unanimous yell, the young rustics rushed upon him and wrested it from his hand.  At this moment Bainton, who had been silently binding Spruce’s cut forehead with a red cotton handkerchief, so that the poor man presented the appearance of a melodramatic ‘stage’ warrior, suddenly looked up, uttered an exclamation, and gave a warning signal.

“Better not go on wi’ the hargyment jes’ now, Passon!” he said,—­ “’Ere comes the humpire!”

Even as he spoke, the quick gallop of hoofs echoed thuddingly on the velvety turf, and the group of disputants hastily scattered to right and left, as a magnificent mare, wild-eyed and glossy-coated, dashed into their centre and came to a swift halt, drawn up in an instant by the touch of her rider on the rein.  All eyes were turned to the slight woman’s figure in the saddle, that sat so easily, that swayed the reins so lightly, and that seemed as it were, throned high above them in queenly superiority—­a figure wholly unconventional, clad in a riding-skirt and jacket of a deep soft violet hue, and wearing no hat to shield the bright hair from the fresh wind that waved its fair ripples to and fro caressingly and tossed a shining curl loose from the carelessly twisted braid.  Murmurs of ‘The new Missis!’ ‘Th’ owld Squire’s darter!’—­ran from mouth to mouth, and John Walden, seized by a sudden embarrassment, withdrew as far as possible into the shadow of the trees in a kind of nervous hope to escape from the young lady’s decidedly haughty glance, which swept like a flash of light, round the assembled group and settled at last with chill scrutiny on the livid and breathless Oliver Leach.

“You are the agent here, I presume?”

Maryllia’s voice rang cold and clear,—­there was not a trace of the sweet and coaxing tone in it that had warmed the heart of old Josey Letherbarrow.

Leach looked up, lifting his cap half reluctantly.

“I am!”

“You have had my orders?”

Leach was silent.  The young rustics hustled one another forward, moved by strong excitement, all eager to see the feminine ‘Humpire’ who had descended upon them as suddenly as a vision falling from the skies, and all wondering what would happen next.

“You have had my orders?” repeated Maryllia;—­then, as no answer was vouchsafed to her, she looked round and perceived Bainton.  To him she at once addressed herself.