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doesn’t it? And Shawbury rents it? Well, I gather that he is not the only one of your brother’s tenants who realised that he was not the sort of man who could brook opposition. In other words, a Windygates bull carried off the cup year after year because there was no serious competition.”
    “Mr. Saxilby!” Miss Ravensdale gasped.
    “I know. Not pretty, is it? But I didn’t leave it there. I looked up records. The last time another farmer had the prize-winning bull was in 1946. A man named Heriot. His farm is now in the hands of a man named Williams. Heriot left the district within a year of the show. It seems that one disaster after another befell him. His ricks were burned, his hens refused to lay, his pigs sickened and died. He left the district practically a ruined man!”
    “But you are not suggesting ”
    Charles rubbed his chin meditatively.
    “People don’t talk nowadays about the evil eye,” he said thoughtfully. “But I suspect they still believe in it! But leaving superstition out of it, there are quite a lot of people about here who feel that they owed your brother a grudge. Doubtless they came to lay every catastrophe at his door, but—there must have been some foundation to it. I want to know—how much?”
    Miss Ravensdale hesitated.
    “Quite a lot, I am afraid. You—and they—are quite right. He could not bear to be opposed, and defeat simply infuriated him. Of course, witchcraft is sheer nonsense! But I remember the occasion. I remember hearing my brother say that Heriot must be taught his place! Of course, what chiefly annoyed him was that Heriot really was a bad farmer. Lazy and ignorant. That bull was sheer luck! His disasters were due to his own carelessness and mismanagement. But—they all have had sufficient reason for some complaint. An incident like Heriot’s farm adds fuel to the fire.”
    “Yes,” Charles agreed. “Now, Miss Ravensdale, is it any use telling Judith this?”
    In their absorption, neither of them noticed his use of Judith’s Christian name. Miss Ravensdale pondered.
    “What are you afraid of?” she asked.
    “I’ve come to the conclusion,” he said slowly, “that the feeling against Judith is not entirely because she is a girl. Rather it is that, though some of them at least had a grudge against her father, he was too strong a man for them to hit back at. But it is a different story now. Judith is genuinely competent where farming is concerned. Her opinions are well worth listening to. But in the nature of things, she cannot dominate them as a man could do. And yet she behaves as though she could. Do you understand, Miss Ravensdale?”
    She leaned forward, her face strained and white.
    “Just what is it you are afraid of, Mr. Saxilby?” she asked again in a whisper.
    “I am afraid,” he said deliberately, “that sooner or later someone will pay off to Judith the grudges they owe her father. And that is why I say, is it any good telling her?”
    “No!” her aunt said decisively. “Not yet! Even if it is a risk, you must wait until you have more proof! She would just not listen!”
    Charles got up, a dim, looming shadow in the twilight.
    “I was afraid you would say that,” he admitted. “Certain, in fact, after tonight. Well, I’ll just have to keep my eyes skinned, that’s all!” He kicked a stone moodily with his shoe. “By the way, there is just one other thing. I wonder if your brother ever realised how lucky he was to have a daughter and not a son!”
    "Lucky!”
    “Yes. Don’t you see—no rivalry! If Judith had been a boy, there would have come a time when your brother would have realised that his son was quicker-witted, more virile than he. I doubt if he would have liked it! Inevitably, there would have been clashes—the more so if the son had been like his father! As it was, a girl could be made to feel that she was inferior clay! And her adoration for her father tended to keep her young. That sort of unreasoning love does, you