The Squire's self-pity rose upon him like a flood. Just at the worst, he heard a knock at the library door. Before he could say 'Come in,' it was hurriedly opened, and his two married daughters confronted him--Pamela, too, behind them. 'Father!' cried Mrs. Gaddesden, 'you must please let us come and speak to you!' What on earth was wrong with them? Alice--for whom her father had more contempt than affection--looked merely frightened; but Margaret's eyes were angry, and Pamela's reproachful. The Squire braced himself to endurance. 'What do you want with me?' '_Father_!--we never thought you meant it seriously! And now Forest says all the gates are closed, and that the village is up in arms. The labourers declare that if the County plough is turned back to-morrow, they'll break them down themselves. And when we're all likely to be starving in six months!' 'You really can't expect working-folk to stand quietly by and see such a thing!' said Margaret in her intensest voice. 'Do, father, let me send Forest at once to tell the gardeners to open all the gates.' The Squire defied her to do any such thing. What was all the silly fuss about? The County people could open the gates in half-an-hour if they wanted. It was a demonstration--a protest--a case to go to the Courts on. He had principles--if no one else had. And if they weren't other people's principles, what did it matter? He was ready to stand by them, to go to prison for them. He folded his arms magnificently. Pamela laughed excitedly, and shook her head. 'Oh, no, father, you won't be a hero--only a laughing-stock! That's what Desmond minds so much. They won't send you to prison. Some tiresome old Judge will give you a talking-to in Court, and you won't be able to answer him back. And then they'll fine you--and we shall be a little more boycotted than we were before! That's all that'll happen!' '"Boycotted"?--what do you mean?' said the Squire haughtily. 'Oh, father, can't you _feel_ it?' cried Pamela. 'As if one man could pit himself against a nation!' said Mrs. Strang, in that manner of controlled emotion which the Squire detested. He rarely felt emotion, but when he did, he let it go. Peremptorily he turned them all out, giving strict orders that nothing he had done should be interfered with. Then he attempted to go on with some work of his own, but he could not bring his mind to bear. Finally he seized his hat and went out into the park to see if the populace were really rising. It was a cold October evening, with a waxing moon, and a wind that was rapidly bringing the dead leaves to earth. Not a soul was to be seen! Only once the Squire thought he heard the sound of distant guns; and two aeroplanes crossed rapidly overhead sailing into the western sky. Everywhere the war!--the cursed, cursed obsession of it!