They didn't speak for a time, but walked together in silence. At length the mother began again. "John," she said, as they turned at the end of the porch, "I suppose you are saying that you have your money--that it is material--solid, substantial, and undeniable. But is it? Isn't it all a myth? Leave it where it is--in the shape of securities and stocks and credits--what will it do? Will it bring Jane back? Will it give Jeanette her heart's desire, and make her happy all her life? You know, dear, that it will only make me miserable. Has it made you happy, John? Turn it into gold and pile it up in the front yard--and what will it buy that poor Phil Ward has not had all of his life--good food, good clothing--good enough, at least--a happy family, useful children, and a good name? A good name, John, is rather to be chosen than great riches--than all your money, my son--rather to be chosen than all your money. Can you buy that with your millions piled on millions?" They were walking slowly as she spoke, and they turned into the terrace. There they stood looking at the livid moon sinking behind the great house. "Is there more joy in this house than in any other house in town, John--answer me squarely, son--answer me," she cried. He shook his head sadly and sighed. "A mother, whose heart bleeds every hour as she sees her son torturing himself with footless remorse; that is one. A heart-broken, motherless girl, whose lover has been torn away from her by her father's vanity and her own pride, and whose mother has been taken as a pawn in the game her father played with no motive, no benefit, nothing but to win his point in a miserable little game of politics; that is number two. And a man who should be young for twenty years yet, who should have been useful for thirty years--and now what is he? powerless, useless, wretched, lonely, who spends his time walking about fighting against God, that he may prove his own wisdom and nothing more." "Mother," cried Barclay, petulantly, "I can't stand this--that you should turn on me--now." He broke away from her, and stood alone. "When I need you most, you reproach me. When I need sympathy, you scorn all that I have done. You can't prove your God. Why should I accept Him?"