Roderick made no immediate answer; but at last he spoke in a different voice. “I came expressly to tell you that you need n’t trouble yourselves any longer to wait for something to turn up. Nothing will turn up! It ‘s all over! I said when I came here I would give it a chance. I have given it a chance. Have n’t I, eh? Have n’t I, Rowland? It ‘s no use; the thing ‘s a failure! Do with me now what you please. I recommend you to set me up there at the end of the garden and shoot me.” “I feel strongly inclined,” said Rowland gravely, “to go and get my revolver.” “Oh, mercy on us, what language!” cried Mrs. Hudson. “Why not?” Roderick went on. “This would be a lovely night for it, and I should be a lucky fellow to be buried in this garden. But bury me alive, if you prefer. Take me back to Northampton.” “Roderick, will you really come?” cried his mother. “Oh yes, I ‘ll go! I might as well be there as anywhere--reverting to idiocy and living upon alms. I can do nothing with all this; perhaps I should really like Northampton. If I ‘m to vegetate for the rest of my days, I can do it there better than here.” “Oh, come home, come home,” Mrs. Hudson said, “and we shall all be safe and quiet and happy. My dearest son, come home with your poor mother!” “Let us go, then, and go quickly!” Mrs. Hudson flung herself upon his neck for gratitude. “We ‘ll go to-morrow!” she cried. “The Lord is very good to me!” Mary Garland said nothing to this; but she looked at Rowland, and her eyes seemed to contain a kind of alarmed appeal. Rowland noted it with exultation, but even without it he would have broken into an eager protest. “Are you serious, Roderick?” he demanded. “Serious? of course not! How can a man with a crack in his brain be serious? how can a muddlehead reason? But I ‘m not jesting, either; I can no more make jokes than utter oracles!” “Are you willing to go home?” “Willing? God forbid! I am simply amenable to force; if my mother chooses to take me, I won’t resist. I can’t! I have come to that!” “Let me resist, then,” said Rowland. “Go home as you are now? I can’t stand by and see it.” It may have been true that Roderick had lost his sense of humor, but he scratched his head with a gesture that was almost comical in its effect. “You are a queer fellow! I should think I would disgust you horribly.” “Stay another year,” Rowland simply said. “Doing nothing?” “You shall do something. I am responsible for your doing something.” “To whom are you responsible?” Rowland, before replying, glanced at Miss Garland, and his glance made her speak quickly. “Not to me!” “I ‘m responsible to myself,” Rowland declared. “My poor, dear fellow!” said Roderick.