Guy. Come here, Ruth. I'll strike a bargain with you. (_He sits._) Ruth. A bargain? Guy. Yes, for your father's neck. We mustn't let our father hang, must we, my pretty? Ruth. If what you want is in my power to grant---- Guy. It's in your power. We'll have a straightening out of things, my girl. They've got askew, and this night's work of yours is just the last knot that you'll tie. You meddle, girl. You are come of weavers' stock and weavers tend to meddling. You used to ask me questions, you worried me about the factory. I stopped your asking, but I didn't change your ways. You kept them, saved them up for this fine piece of meddling of to-night. Now Ruth, it's this. You're my wife. You're Mrs Barlow, not Ruth Butterworth. Your thoughts should be of my making, not your father's. You will give up attending other people's business and attend your own. Maybe if you had done that earlier we should have seen by now some sign of what I'm looking for from you. You know what that is, lass. I want an heir. Give me obedience, my Ruth, bear me a son, and this night's work shall be forgotten. Ruth. And, my father? Guy. Your father shall escape the hangman, Ruth. What do you say to me? Ruth. I--I will be your slave. (_She sinks at his feet in utter surrender._) Guy. You will be my wife. You won't ask questions. You will know that what I do is good because I do it, and the sooner you bring me an heir the better I shall be pleased with you. Ruth. That is in God's hand, Guy. Guy. Aye, but meddling women make bad mothers, Ruth. Ruth. I will not meddle more. I'll be your--your wife. (_Enter Captain Lascelles. Ruth struggles up._) Captain. Oh, I--I beg your pardon--I---- Guy (_rising and pouring wine_). Come in, Captain, come in. (_Captain closes door and advances._) Captain, a loving cup. I apologize to the British Army and congratulate you on the round-up. (_Holding glass out._) Captain (_taking glass_). Why, thank you, Mr. Barlow. Here's your health, sir. To your eyes, madam. Guy (_drinking_). A very gallant piece of work, Captain. (_They sit at table. Ruth is by fire, looking into it._) Captain. Gallant? Nay, to my mind, sir, the policing of your valley is no work for a man of Wellington's. It is a sorry soldier who takes pleasure in the harrying of half-starved weavers. Guy. All work well done is good work, Captain. Captain. I do not share your pleasure in this night. And let me tell you, sir, your father's with me in the view I take. Guy. My father? Aye, old men resent a change, especially a change that is forced on them. But for myself, why, good out of evil, captain. A new factory, up to date in every detail with new machines to cut my wage list down, and---- Captain. Do you think it's safe to build again? Guy. Safe? Captain. Yes. Will they let you? Guy. The weavers? Man, they'll help. Captain. Will they now?