“It had to be, sir! It’s bad, but it might have been worse. If the Lugg hadn’t given, the whole of the top marsh would ha’ went, and that would have settled a deal more folk than just two. There wasn’t room for a tide such as yon. Why, it was like to have taken the whole Wythe valley! It wasn’t anybody’s blame. Who would have looked for such a flood, and that sharp like? The Lugg had been a smart bit of framing, and had done its best. There were volcanoes and such-like abroad, ready to brast up any minute, but that didn’t stop folk building nigh ’em. With luck, the Lugg might have stood another fifty year. It was nobody’s blame.” And not one of the well-meant words lifted the load an atom, or carried a shade of comfort home. It had been his choice, and he had chosen wrong; his team, and he had pulled the wrong rein. This thing had happened in his time, this record would be written against his name. The cheering words went with the wind. And as he turned for the last time to look behind, seeing always the faces of the newly dead, there came over him a hard rage against the man who had tied his hands with his plans and his pride. He cursed his father as he stood on the wrecked shore, and in that loss of faith fathomed the darkest depths of all. His circumambulatory journey took him past Thweng, and, done though he was, a sharp impulse turned him to its door. Within, he found Brack and Denny, and, seated at the kitchen table, Bluecaster. For more than a dozen hours he had forgotten Bluecaster completely. They had lost each other in the dark, and had gone to help, one at one farm, the other at another. He had thought of the whole matter as his own, and wondered at himself now even while he clung to the thought, for here was the real master. Yet, had Bluecaster ever been master? Again, as at Ladyford, he recognised that always the leader paid. “You _knew_?” Denny was saying, half-fearful, but resentful and distressed. “Nay, you’re just getting at us! You _couldn’t_ know.” “I _did_ know!” Brack answered wearily. “Guess I might as well tell the table, though, for all the understanding I’d get. I played myself out trying to make you see square, but there was no getting past that bleat of yours about the Lancasters. Well, I reckon you’ve got your head in your hands, this time! Keep to your bleating and see what you’ll get, next. Seems to me folks that don’t bleat aren’t wanted any on Bluecaster--folks with their eyes skinned ahead. For I knew--that’s sure!” He paused suddenly. “And his lordship knew!” he added. “No,” said Bluecaster. Brack swung round with a piercing look and opened his lips, but Bluecaster kept his eyes steady with an effort. Lanty stepped into the room. “I thought you’d have been gone long since, my lord! They’ll be getting anxious at the House. Can you drive us home, Thomas?” Denny turned with quick gladness on his poor, troubled face.