At first this had only amused Bertha, but the most brilliant jest, constantly repeated, may lose its savour. More than once she had to speak sharply to a gardener who hesitated to do as he was bid, because his orders were not from the master. Her pride reviving with the decline of love, Bertha began to find the position intolerable; her mind was now very susceptible to affront, and she was desirous of an opportunity to show that after all she was still the mistress of Court Leys. It soon came. For it chanced that some ancient lover of trees, unpractical as the Leys had ever been, had planted six beeches in a hedgerow, and these in course of time had grown into stately trees, the admiration of all beholders. But one day as Bertha walked along, a hideous gap caught her eye--one of the six beeches had disappeared. There had been no storm, it could not have fallen of itself. She went up, and found it cut down, and the men who had done the deed were already starting on another: a ladder was leaning against it, upon which stood a labourer attaching a line. No sight is more pathetic than an old tree levelled with the ground; and the space which it filled suddenly stands out with an unsightly emptiness. But Bertha was more angry than pained. “What are you doing, Hodgkins? Who gave you orders to cut down this tree?” “The squire, mum.” “Oh, it must be a mistake. Mr. Craddock never meant anything of the sort.” “‘E told us positive to take down this one and them others yonder. You can see his mark, mum.” “Nonsense. I’ll talk to Mr. Craddock about it. Take that rope off and come down from the ladder. I forbid you to touch another tree.” The man on the ladder looked at her, but made no attempt to do as he was bid. “The squire said most particular that we was to cut that tree down to-day.” “Will you have the goodness to do as I tell you?” said Bertha, reddening with anger. “Tell that man to unfasten the rope and come down. I forbid you to touch the tree.” The man Hodgkins repeated Bertha’s order in a surly voice, and they all looked at her suspiciously, wishing to disobey but not daring--in case the squire should be angry. “Well, I’ll take no responsibility for it.” “Please hold your tongue and do what I tell you as quickly as possible.” She waited till the men had gathered up their various belongings and trooped off. Chapter XXI Bertha went home, fuming, knowing perfectly well that Edward had really given the orders which she had countermanded, but glad of the chance to have a final settlement of rights. She did not see him for several hours. “I say, Bertha,” he said, when he came in, “why on earth did you stop those men cutting down the beeches on Carter’s field? You’ve lost a whole half-day’s work. I wanted to set them on something else to-morrow, now I shall have to leave it over till Thursday.”