He rode to the Towers, learnt the particulars from the Squire’s lips, and, having coldly expressed his sympathy, went on. As he came to the Dower House it occurred to him to see John Trevanion, whom he had met often of late, and ask him to use his efforts to put down the persecution. Trevanion’s attitude was admirably correct. He acknowledged that he was on bad terms with the Squire; deplored the breach, which was not of his making; and promised to let it be known in the village that he disapproved of such violent measures as the people had recently taken. That was as much as he could do. Sir Bevil went away feeling that John Trevanion was an excellent fellow, and regarding his own errand even more in the light of a troublesome duty than he had done before. From the Dower House he went straight to the inn, which was the focus of the village life, and the place from which his views would radiate with every man who left it after drinking his ale, cider, or brandy. Reining up at the door, he called Doubledick forth. "Good mornin’, yer honour," said the innkeeper, rubbing his hands deferentially as he obeyed the great man’s command. "Look here, Doubledick," said Sir Bevil bluntly, "I’ve heard of what went on at the Towers last night. That sort of thing won’t do, you know; it must be stopped, and you can tell your customers I say so. Free-trading is all very well, but arson is an ugly word and a hanging matter; and, egad! if any man is caught playing such low tricks, and brought before me, he’ll get no mercy, I promise you. Make that clear, will you?" "Iss sure, Sir Bevil," replied the innkeeper. "’Twas a cruel deed, the Squire bein’ so cast down and all. I’ll tell the folks yer very words, sir, that I will." "That’s right. I saw Mr. John Trevanion on the way down, and he agreed with me, so there will be an eye on the village nearer than mine." "Oh, if you seed Maister John, Sir Bevil, ’tis as good as seein’ the Lord High Constable o’ the county, I warrant ’ee. Folks think a deal o’ Maister John, they do." A keener observer than Sir Bevil might have detected a spice of irony in Doubledick’s remark. But the baronet was satisfied, and after yielding to the innkeeper’s invitation to take a glass to help him on his homeward journey, he rode off with the comfortable sense of having done his duty. When Dick went to the Parsonage that afternoon for his usual lesson, he told Mr. Carlyon all that had happened. On the next Sunday the vicar preached an excellent sermon from the text, "Cursed be he that removeth his neighbour’s landmark," which the women listened to without understanding, the men going to sleep as usual.