“I am very sorry—­I—­I beg your pardon, Madam!—­if you will give yourself a little time to consider, you will see I have done my duty on this property all the time I have been connected with it.  I hope you will not dismiss me for the first fault!—­I—­I—­admit I should not have struck Spruce,—­but—­I—­I was taken by surprise—­I—­I know my business,—­and I am not accustomed to be interfered with—­” Here his pent-up anger got the better of him and he again began to bluster.  “I have done my duty—­no man better!” he said in fierce accents.  “There’s not an acre of woodland here that isn’t in a better condition than it was ten years ago—­Ah!—­and bringing in more money too!—­and now I am to be turned off for a parcel of village idiots who hardly know a beech from an elm!  I’ll make a case of it!  Sir Morton Pippitt knows me—­I’ll speak to Sir Morton Pippitt—­”

“Sir Morton Pippitt!” echoed Maryllia disdainfully; “What has he to do with me or my property?” Here she suddenly spied Walden, who, in his eagerness to hear every word that passed had, unconsciously to himself, moved well out of the sheltering shadow of the trees—­“Are you Sir Morton Pippitt?”

A broad grin, deepening into a scarcely suppressed titter, Went the round of the gaping young rustics.  Walden himself smiled,—­and recognising that the time had now come to declare himself, he advanced a step or two and lifted his hat.

“I have not that pleasure!  I am the minister of this parish, and my name is John Walden.  I’m afraid I am rather a trespasser here!—­but I have loved these old trees for many years, and I came up this morning,—­having heard what your orders were from my gardener Bainton,—­to see that those orders were properly carried out,—­and also to save possible disturbance—­”

He broke off.  Maryllia, while he spoke, had eyed him somewhat critically, and now favoured him with a charming smile.

“Thank you very much!” she said sweetly; “It was most kind of you!  I wonder—­” And she paused, knitting her pretty brows in perplexity; “I wonder if you could get rid of everybody for me?”

He glanced up at her in a little wonderment.

“Could you?” she repeated.

He drew nearer.

“Get rid of everybody?—­you mean?—­”

She leaned confidentially from her saddle.

“Yes—­you know!  Send them all about their business!  Clergymen can always do that, can’t they?  There’s really nothing more to be said or done—­the trees shall not be touched,—­the matter is finished.  Tell all these big boys to go away—­and—­oh, you know!”

A twinkle of merriment danced in Walden’s eyes.  But he turned quite a set and serious face round on the magnetised lads of the village, who hung about, loth to lose a single glance or a single word of the wonderful ‘Missis’ who had the audacious courage to dismiss Leach.

“Now, boys!” he said peremptorily; “Clear away home and begin your day’s work!  You’re not wanted here any longer.  The trees are safe,—­ and you can tell everyone what Miss Vancourt says about them.  Bainton!  You take these fellows home,—­Spruce had better go with you.  Just call at the doctor’s on the way and get his wound attended to.  Come now, boys!—­sharp’s the word!”