mily the latter watched his fingers stumble over their rude
translation of Every's last words....

"So there you are. Colonel Winchester's gone. Major Lyveden's too ill
to ever come back. Without the authority of one of these two, not
another penny can be spent on this estate. Obviously the work's got to
stop. I know you don't want wages, but you've got to live.... And
I've come, as Major Lyveden's friend, to tell you this before the Law
steps in--as it will--and does it more bluntly.

"I know it's rough on you, and I'm devilish sorry, but it's got to be
faced.... And, as I say, I'm commissioned to offer you all your
passage to Canada and fifty pounds apiece to tide you over there till
you can get going.

"You chaps think it over.

"I'm staying at _The Rose_ at Girdle, and those who want to accept,
report to me there to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. Then I'll tell
you the details and fix everything up. Right."

Leaning against the trunk of a fallen beech, Every watched his little
audience wade through the weathered fringe of bracken and turn on to
the rough brown road that dipped and curled into the heart of Gramarye.

The droop of their shoulders, the heaviness of their steps, the silence
in which they went, trumpeted misery. Anything, however, was better
than the dull sightless stares with which the news that their work was
over had been received. Every, who was no coward, had been prepared
for suspicion, defiance, violence. Instead, his service of the warrant
had been accepted without a word. He had no shred of authority, but
not the slightest attempt had been made to call his bluff. It had
been, in fact, a painful walk-over. The seven labourers seemed to
expect a death-blow. When it fell, they met it with the apathy of
despair. Every felt as though he were sentencing a bunch of forest
ponies to the pits, and the dumb hopelessness of their demeanour
plucked at his young heart-strings....

For two or three minutes after the little group had passed out of sight
the young man stood motionless. Presently his eyes wandered from the
trail up a rude bank, all starred with primroses, through the dim
breathless magic of a pinewood on to a peering screen of new-born
leaves, pale-faced and trembling. After a moment's rest, they turned
southward to where the lean brown road went paving a deep corridor,
straight, silent, its black walls towering. Distance and gloom lent
these a grim symmetry, suggesti