Hence,—­though any disturbance of the daily equanimity of their agricultural life and pursuits was quite an exceptional circumstance, the news of the ‘layin’ low of the Five Sisters’ was sufficient cause, when once it became generally known, for visible signs of trouble.  In its gravity and importance it almost overtopped the advent of the new mistress of the Manor; and when on Tuesday it was whispered that ‘Passon Walden’ had himself been to expostulate with Oliver Leach concerning the meditated murder of the famous trees, and that his expostulations had been all in vain, clouded brows and ominous looks were to be seen at every corner where the men halted on their way to the fields, or where the women gathered to gossip in the pauses of their domestic labour.  Walden himself, pacing impatiently to and fro in his garden, was for once more disturbed in his mind than he cared to admit.  When he had been told early on Monday morning of the imminent destruction awaiting the five noble beeches which, in their venerable and broadly-branching beauty, were one of the many glories of the woods surrounding Abbot’s Manor, he was inclined to set it down to some capricious command issued by the home-coming mistress of the estate; and, in order to satisfy himself whether this was, or was not the case, he had done what was sorely against his own sense of dignity to do,—­he had gone at once to interview Oliver Leach personally on the subject.  But he had found that individual in the worst of all possible moods for argument, having been, as he stated, passed over’ by Miss Vancourt.  That lady had not, he said, written to inform him of her intended return, therefore,—­so he argued,—­it was not his business to be aware of it.

“Miss Vancourt hasn’t told me anything, and of course I don’t know anything,” he said carelessly, standing in his doorway and keeping his hat on in the minister’s presence; “My work is on the land, and when timber has to be felled it’s my affair and nobody else’s.  I’ve been agent on these estates since the Squire’s death, and I don’t want to be taught my duty by any man.”

“But surely your duty does not compel you to cut down five of the finest old trees in England,” said Walden, hotly,—­“They have been famous for centuries in this neighbourhood.  Have you any right to fell them without special orders?”

“Special orders?” echoed Leach with a sneer; “I’ve had no ’special order’ for ten years at least!  My employers trust me to do what I think best, and I’ve every right to act accordingly.  The trees will begin to rot in another eighteen months or so,—­just now they’re in good condition and will fetch a fair price.  You stick to your church, Parson Walden,—­you know all about that, no doubt!—­but don’t come preaching to me about the felling of timber.  That’s my business,—­not yours!”

Walden flushed, and bit his lip.  His blood grew warm with indignation, and he involuntarily clenched his fist.  But he suppressed his rising wrath with an effort.