Martin. The men you've driven desperate. The starving, ragged men with wives and children hunger-mad, with everything to win and nowt to lose. It's men like that that win. Men with the choice of fighting hard or dying slow. Men with a bitter hatred in their hearts and knowledge in their heads that machinery's the cause of all. Men fighting for themselves against the men that fight for money and for you. Your hired bullies won't last long. We know they're there, and know we'll see them run. Guy (_soberly_). You'll waste your blood. You may waste life. I've got men there. I don't deny it. And I ask you not to break yourselves against them. You're thinking me a coward, but it isn't that. Martin (_sneering_). Oh? What is it then? Guy. It's that I _know_. I won't be you and it won't be I who will win this fight. Joe. It must be one of us. Guy. No. We may have ups and downs, but the system will conquer us both. Martin. To-morrow night your factory will burn. We meet up on the moors, not tens or twenties of us, but every man of Barlow's and of Heppenstall's, and---- Guy. And we'll be glad to see you. Good night. Matthew (_to Ephraim_). Mr. Barlow---- Ephraim (_shaking his head_). My son speaks for me, Matt. (_Exeunt Martin, Henri, Joe, Matthew._) Guy. The blazing fools! To give away their meeting-place. John. The moors are wide. Guy. They meet beneath the quarry. I know their place. We'll get them there. One good surprise attack and we shall hear no more of meetings. Ruth. Guy, you're going into danger. Guy. Not I while there are redcoats to fight my battles for me. Ruth. Soldiers! Guy. What else are soldiers for? I ride to Blackburn barracks to-night. We'll teach these rioters a lesson that they'll not forget. Write me the summons to the barracks, father. You're a magistrate. Ephraim. It's a heavy responsibility, Guy. Guy. A flaming factory's the alternative. Ephraim. Pass me the paper. (_Sits at table and writes, John bending over him. Guy goes to fireplace, takes a pair of spurs from mantel and straps them on. Ruth follows him._) Ruth. Guy, must you ride yourself? Can't you send somebody you trust? Guy (_grimly_). I'm sending somebody I trust. Ruth. It's dangerous. Guy. Rioting's a dangerous pastime--for the rioters. Ruth (_appealingly_). But soldiers in the valley, Guy! You'll never be forgiven. It always will be war between you and the weavers if you bring soldiers here. They'll be revenged. Guy (_straightening his back and taking the second spur, bending to put it on_). Meantime, I've got to save the factory. Ruth. And I have got to save the factory and you. Guy. You! Ruth (_tensely_). Can I do nothing, Guy? Ephraim (_holding out the paper, without rising_). The summons, Guy. Guy (_replying to Ruth_). Yes. You can pass me the summons.