Another man who was standing by them, near the park wall, looked to the Squire like Gregson, his ejected farmer.

And who was that black-coated fellow coming through the small wicket-gate beside the big one?
What the devil was he doing in the park?
There was a permanent grievance in the Squire's mind against the various rights-of-way through his estate.

Why shouldn't he be at liberty to shut out that man if he wanted to?
Of course by the mere locking and barricading of the gates, as they would be locked and barricaded on the morrow, he was flouting the law.

But that was a trifle.

The _gates_ were his own anyway.
The black-coated man, however, instead of proceeding along the road, had now approached the group of men standing under the wall, and was talking with them.