He had been well acquainted with the place from boyhood though since the squire's marriage he had ceased to enter it unannounced. Before his appointment to the village school, he had acted for a time as the squire's secretary; but it had never been more than a temporary arrangement and it had come to a speedy end when Mrs. Fielding became mistress of the Court. Between her and her husband's protege, as she scornfully called him, there had always existed a very decided antipathy. She resented his presence in the house at any time, and though the squire made it abundantly clear that he would permit no open insolence on her part, she did not find it difficult to convey her feelings on the subject to the man himself. He accepted the situation with a shrug and a smile, and though he did not discontinue his visits on her account, they became less frequent than formerly; and now generally he came and went again without seeing her. The room he entered was empty. He passed through it without a pause and found himself in the great entrance hall. He crossed this to a door on the other side and, knocking briefly, opened it without waiting for a reply. "Hullo!" said the squire's voice. "You, is it? How did you get here? Were you caught in the storm?" "No, sir, I took shelter." Green shut the door, and came forward. Mr. Fielding was seated in a leather arm-chair with a newspaper. He looked at his visitor over it with anything but a favourable eye. "What have you come for?" he said. Green halted in front of him. "I've come to make a very humble apology," he said, "for my boy Robin's misdemeanour." "Have you?" growled Fielding. He sat motionless, still looking up at Green from under heavily scowling brows. "Do you think I'm going to be satisfied with just an apology?" "May I sit down, please?" said Green, pulling forward a chair. "Oh yes, sit down! Sit down and argue!" said the squire irritably. "You're always ready with some plausible excuse for that half-witted young scoundrel. I'll tell you what it is, Dick. If you don't get rid of him after this, there'll be a split between us. I'm not going to countenance your infernal obstinacy any longer. The boy is unsafe and he must go." Green sat, leaning forward, courteously attentive, his eyes unwavering fixed upon his patron's irate countenance. He did not immediately reply to the mandate, and the squire's frown deepened. "You hear me, Dick?" he said. Green nodded. "Yes, sir." "Well?" Fielding's hand clenched upon the paper in exasperation. Dick's eyes very bright, wholly undismayed, continued to meet his with unvarying steadiness. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said. "The answer is the same as usual. I can't." "Won't--you mean!" There was a sound in the squire's voice like the muffled roar of an angry animal. Dick's black brows travelled swiftly upward and came down again. "He's my boy, sir," he said. "I'll be responsible for all he does."