It went very hard with Haverford to be forced to realize that this destruction of his property, this spirit of unrest and rebellion, found its rise in sullen animosity to himself. At first, indeed, when he was told that there was a strong wave of bad feeling against himself he refused to believe it. The injustice of the ignorant is always hard to recognize and to accept. He had never wanted gratitude; he had only wanted comradeship. He had wanted to share his good fortune, not to buy a kingdom. He had been loyal to this old place, to these people, and his father before him had been loyal, even unto death. "They have bad memories," he said to one of his managers. "My father gave his life working among these people; for his sake they might have met me fairly." The other man shrugged his shoulders. "You have done too much, sir," he said. "These sort of folk want the whip, not benevolence." And Haverford said no more. To speak further of his great hopes now lost, his numerous schemes, his almost passionate intentions for helping the people among whom he had worked and lived so long was to touch on a dead and sacred subject. Yet he lingered in the north. He wanted to satisfy himself that he had made a mistake. He wanted to grow accustomed to his disappointment, to the humiliation of feeling that these people made a mockery of him and his generous intentions. Once he had grasped this in its fulness, and the matter would be closed. Henceforward they should have from him duty, nothing more. He knew perfectly well that the men who served him and who held posts of importance had long since regarded him as a crank. Well, there should be no more quixotic weakness, no more sentiment. He had bared his heart to these people, stretched out his hand and called them his brethren, and his reward had been a stone at his heart and an evil word, coupled with a curse. He did not go south till the lads who had been instrumental in trying to burn down his property had been caught and taken before the magistrate. "If I am wanted, send for me," he said to his head-manager the day he left, "and report as usual." He had telegraphed for his motor. He felt in need of a little spell of relief, of fresh influences, of something to divert his thoughts. "I will go abroad for Christmas," he said to himself. He dawdled on his way, putting up at various uninteresting places, where the chauffeur found the hours pass pretty slowly. But as he drew nearer to London he became nervous. It seemed to him that he could not get on enough speed to satisfy a certain restless excitement that urged him southward. When he finally reached town he found news of his mother. Mrs. Baynhurst had not written herself, but there was a letter from his half-brother. Cuthbert Baynhurst announced that he had brought their mother home, and added that if Rupert had any business he wished to discuss it would be desirable if that business should be held over for a little while.