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.