This restriction became a legacy of hate. The brothers were only half-brothers and William having suffered unforgettably at the hands of his step-mother had old scores to pay off. Quite comfortably prosperous on his own rich farm, and quite satisfied with the excellent shooting and the congenial life, he had not the slightest desire to increase his wealth. He had the old dour, peasant-like instinct to cling to the house and the land of his forefathers. From this position no argument moved him. In the meanwhile, on the other side of the new boundary fence, Frank senior was growing poorer year by year. To his periodical entreaties that William would agree to shafts being sunk on High Barn he received an emphatic "Never in my time!" The poor man argued, besought, threatened and swore; the prosperous one shook his head and grinned. Carrados did not need to hear the local saying: "Half brothers: whole haters; like the Whitmarshes," to read the situation. "Of course I do not really understand the business part of it," said Madeline, "and many people blamed poor papa, especially when Uncle Frank drank himself to death. But I know that it was not mere obstinacy. He loved the undisturbed, peaceful land just as it was, and his father had wished it to remain the same. Collieries would bring swarms of strange men into the neighbourhood, poachers and trespassers, he said. The smoke and dust would ruin the land for miles round and drive away the game, and in the end, if the work did not turn out profitable, we should all be much worse off than before." "Does the restriction lapse now; will Mr Frank junior be able to mine?" "It will now lie with Frank and my brother William, just as it did before with their fathers. I should expect Willie to be quite favourable. He is more--modern." "You have not spoken of your brother." "I have two. Bob, the younger, is in Mexico," she explained; "and Willie in Canada with an engineering firm. They did not get on very well with papa and they went away." It did not require preternatural observation to deduce that the late William Whitmarsh had been "a little difficult." "When Uncle Frank died, less than six months ago, Frank came back to High Barn from South Africa. He had been away about two years." "Possibly he did not get on well with his father?" Madeline smiled sadly. "I am afraid that no two Whitmarsh men ever did get on well together," she admitted. "Your father and young Frank, for instance?" "Their lands adjoin; there were always quarrels and disputes," she replied. "Then Frank had his father's grievance over again." "He wished to mine?" "Yes. He told me that he had had experience of coal in Natal." "There was no absolute ostracism between you then? You were to some extent friends?" "Scarcely." She appeared to reflect. "Acquaintances.... We met occasionally, of course, at people's houses." "You did not visit High Barn?" "Oh no." "But there was no particular reason why you should not?"