He threw himself full length upon the grass, clasping his hands beneath his head, his face turned upward to the vast clearness and depth above him. He had known it would come some day, but he never thought of its coming in this way. The man who slept under the earth at his side had begun with hope; he began as one who neither hoped nor feared, yielding only to a force stronger than himself. He lay in this manner looking up for nearly an hour. Then he arose and stood with bared head in the white light and stillness. "I shall not turn back," he said aloud at last, as if to some presence near him. "I shall not turn back, at least. Do not fear it." And he turned away. It was his mother who opened the door for him when he reached home. "Come in," he said to her, with a gesture toward the inner room. "I have something to say to you." She followed him in silence. Her expression was cold and fixed. It struck him that she, too, had lived past hope and dread. She did not sit down when she had closed the door, but stood upright, facing him. He spoke hoarsely. "I am going upstairs," he said. "I told you once that some day it would see the light again in spite of us both. You can guess what work I shall do to-night." "Yes," she answered, "I can guess. I gave up long ago." She looked at him steadily; her eyes dilated a little as if with slow-growing fear of him. "I knew it would end so," she went on. "I fought against my belief that it would, but it grew stronger every day--every hour. There was no other way." "No," he replied, "there was no other way." "I have seen it in your face," she said. "I have heard it in your voice. It has never been absent from your thoughts a moment--nor mine." He did not speak. "At first, when he died----" Her voice faltered and broke, and then rose in a cry almost shrill. "He did not die!" she cried. "He is not dead. He lives now--_here_! There is no death for him--not even death until it is done." She panted for breath; her thin chest rose and fell--and yet suddenly she checked herself and stood before him with her first strained calm. "Go," she said. "I cannot hold you. If there is an end to be reached, reach it for God's sake and let him rest." "Wish me God-speed," he said. "I--have more to bear than you think of." For answer she repeated steadily words which she had uttered before. "I do not believe in it; I have never believed for one hour." CHAPTER XXVI. A REVOLUTION. In a month's time the Broxton Bank was an established fact. It had sprung into existence in a manner which astonished even its originator. Haworth had come to him in cold blood and talked the matter over. He had listened to the expounding of his views, and without being apparently much moved by his eloquence, had still shown a disposition to weigh the plan, and having given a few days to deliberation, he had returned a favorable decision.