“We may as well have a talk about things, Arthur,” he said. “I suppose you don’t care about going out? I have given up my sittings in Queen-street. I used to do a great deal for the place, as you know; but latterly they had a man whom I could not get on with. He insulted me, and I don’t take an insult twice from the same person. He told me that I did not subscribe enough money, and I was not going to stand such impertinence from anybody. I always thought the Nonconformist places of worship were maintained on the voluntary principle, but I don’t call it voluntary when a man tries to bully you out of your money.” “No, indeed. I wish the question of money had not to come so much to the front.” “I have saved the money that religion used to cost me, that is all.” “Could you not have gone to some other church?” asked Arthur, gravely. He could not answer his father’s chuckle with a laugh. “Of course I could! There were enough to choose from; but I know they are all alike in one respect—they are all greedy and grasping for money.” “It seems that nothing can be carried on without it.” “Then let those who like such things pay for them.” Arthur was amazed. His father was indeed changed since those old Sundays which he remembered so well, when he had been taken to prayer-meeting, Sunday-school, and service from early morning until late at night. He wondered curiously how many orthodox sermons his father must have heard, and what had been the good of them all to him. “Trade is bad,” said the old man, after a pause. “Is it? I am sorry to hear that.” “I hope it will not give out just yet, because I have not done all upon which I have set my heart. I have had some heavy losses, too, and these are the things that eat into a man’s life. But, still, I have not done badly after all, and I may as well tell you at once.” Here he stopped, as if he would arouse his son’s curiosity; but Arthur only waited in courteous deference until his father chose to say the next thing. And it was rather long in coming. “Arthur!” “Yes, father?” “I am almost a millionaire!” “Father!” “Really and truly, if I am spared a few years longer, and a kind Providence smiles on me still, I should not wonder if you prove to be the heir to a million of money.” Arthur stared at his father, who had spoken the last words, as indeed they deserved to be spoken, in tones that were as solemn as they were triumphant. “A million?” he echoed. “That is between ourselves, of course. Nobody else knows exactly, and most people would scarcely believe me if I were to tell them.” And Mr. Knight leaned back in his chair, and laughed softly. Arthur did not laugh; and presently his father glanced keenly at him. “Well, my son, what do you think of that?” “I think it is an enormous fortune, and that great responsibility attaches to it.”