Night after night he took books and papers into his own private room,and sate up there long after the family were gone to bed. He thoughtthat no one knew of this occupation of the hours he should have spent insleep. One morning, when daylight was stealing in through the crevices of his shutters, and he had never been in bed, and, in hopelessindifference of mind, was thinking that he could do without the hour ortwo of rest, which was all that he should be able to take before the stirof daily labour began again, the door of his room opened, and hismother stood there, dressed as she had been the day before. She hadnever laid herself down to slumber any more than he. Their eyes met.
Their faces were cold and rigid, and wan, from long watching.
"Mother! why are not you in bed?"
"Son John," said she, "do you think I can sleep with an easy mind, whileyou keep awake full of care? You have not told me what your troubleis; but sore trouble you have had these many days past."
"Trade is bad."
"And you dread----"
"I dread nothing," replied he, drawing up his head, and holding it erect. "Iknow now that no man will suffer by me. That was my anxiety."
"But how do you stand? Shall you--will it be a failure?" her steady voicetrembling in an unwonted manner.
"Not a failure. I must give up business, but I pay all men. I mightredeem myself--I am sorely tempted--"