"You have always been my true comforter, Arthur," she wrote, "and often of late, I have been tempted to let you know how things have gone from bad to worse. But when your hopeful letters came, and I felt how necessary it was for my dear boy's mind to be clear from harassing thoughts, in order to ensure success after all these years of mental labour, I refrained from seeking relief for my own overburdened heart by telling what must grieve and trouble you. Now that your success is an accomplished fact, and your position a more assured one, you can better bear the tidings which I can no longer withhold. There is only One who knows what a trial it is to me to damp your well-earned triumph by bad news from home." The tale which these words prefaced was sad enough. The father, Worsley Glyn, was doing nothing, and of income there was literally none. Those who had given him opportunities of retrieving his position, more for his family's sake than for his own, would trust him no longer. All available resources had been tried, and were exhausted. Of house debts there were few as yet; at Mr. Glyn's personal liabilities, his wife was afraid to hazard a guess. For herself, she said, she would rather starve than incur debts which she had no means to discharge. Arthur knew that his mother had strained every nerve to give a thorough education to his young sisters, Hilda and Gertrude. Under her careful training they had grown-up into a lovely girlhood, tender, true, modest, refined, and well-informed, but in the way of accomplishments she could do little more. The services of good masters were needed in order to fit the girls for earning their bread as teachers, and such were too costly to be thought of for a moment. Then there was another cause for anxiety. The life insurance which Mr. Glyn had been induced to effect in better days would fall through unless the premium were immediately paid. This was the more important as his health was beginning to fail, and the sum insured was the only semblance of a provision for mother and girls, as well as to meet Mr. Glyn's debts. No wonder if the joyous light faded from Arthur's eyes, and the flush of gladness from his cheek, as he read his mother's letter. The long-hoped for, well-earned holiday must be given up. The sum hoarded and husbanded at the cost of much self-denial, in order to purchase change of scene and a brief rest to fit him the better for renewed labour, must be otherwise devoted. It would pay the all-important insurance premium, and leave a very narrow margin for immediate necessities, and that was all. Arthur Glyn was a brave young fellow. Not with the courage that makes a country ring with applause, because of some daring deed, entered upon, perhaps, in obedience to a momentary impulse, and with little thought of consequences. Yet many a hero in public life has proved himself a coward when called upon to exercise self-denial, or to battle with the petty cares and anxieties of daily life.