way in the valley.

"This is where James Crockford's land commences," Segerson remarked,
riding up to his companion's side. "Look around you. I think you will
admit that I have not exaggerated."

She frowned thoughtfully. On every side were evidences of poor farming
and neglect. The untrimmed hedges had been broken down in many places
by cattle. A plough which seemed as though it had been embedded there
for ages, stood in the middle of a half-ploughed field. Several tracts
of land which seemed prepared for winter sowing were covered with
stones. The farmhouse yard, into which they presently passed, was dirty
and untidy. Segerson leaned down and knocked on the door with his whip.
After a short delay, a slatternly-looking woman, with tousled fair hair,
answered the summons.

"Mr. Crockford in?" Segerson asked.

"You'll find him in the living room," the woman answered curtly, with a
stare at Lady Jane. "Here's himself."

She retreated into the background. A man with flushed face, without
collar or tie, clad in trousers and shirt only, had stepped out of the
parlour. He stared at his visitors in embarrassment.

"I came over to have a word or two with you on business, Mr.
Crockford," Jane said coldly. "I rather expected to find you on the
land."

The man mumbled something and threw open the door of the sitting room.

"Won't you come in?" he invited. "There's just Mr. Pettigrew here--the
vet from Barnstaple. He's come over to look at one of my cows."

Mr. Pettigrew, also flushed, rose to his feet. Jane acknowledged his
greeting and glanced around the room. It was untidy, dirty and close,
smelling strongly of tobacco and beer. On the table was a bottle of
whisky, half empty, and two glasses.

"There is really no reason why I should disturb you," Jane said, turning
back upon the threshold. "A letter from Mr. Segerson will do."

Crockford, however, had pulled himself together. A premonition of his
impending fate had already produced a certain sullenness.

"Pettigrew," he directed, "you get out and have another look at the cow.
If you've any business word to say to me, your ladyship, I'm here."

Jane looked once more around the squalid room, watched the unsteady
figure of Pettigrew departing and looked back at her tenant.

"Your lease is up on March the twenty-fifth, Crockford," she reminded
him. "I have come to tell you that I shall not be prepared to renew
it."

The man simply blinked at her. His fuddled brain