Mrs Ogilvy opened her lips to speak, but said no word. She was perhaps tempted to suggest that it was her house, her money, her life and comfort, of which these two men were disposing so calmly; but she did not. After all, she said to herself, it was not hers, but Robbie’s; everything that was hers was his. She had saved the money which he might have been spending had he been at home--which he might have been extravagant with, who could tell?--for him. And should she grudge him the use of it now? If he was right, if all was safe, if there was no need for alarm, why, then---- Her peace was gone; but had she not all these years been ready to sacrifice peace, comfort, life itself--everything in the world--for Robbie’s sake? And now that he had been brought back to her as if it were out of the grave,--“this thy son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found,”--what was there more to say? That father who ran out to meet his son, who fell upon his neck, and clothed him in the best garment, and would not even listen to his confession and penitence--perhaps when the prodigal had settled back again into the monotony of home, was not so happy in him as he had hoped to be. CHAPTER XV. There followed after this a period which was the most terrible of Mrs Ogilvy’s life. It had not the anguish of that previous time when Robert had disappeared from his home; but in pain and active distress, and the horrors of fear and anxiety, it was sometimes almost as bad--sometimes worse than that. When she looked back on it after, it seemed to her like a nightmare, the dream of a long fever too dreadful to be true. The happiness of having her son under her own roof was turned into torture, though still remaining in its way a kind of terrible happiness; for did not she see him day by day falling into all that was to her mind most appalling--the habits of such a life as was odious and terrible to the poor lady, with all her traditions of decent living, all her prejudices and delicacies? His very voice had changed; it was more gay and lively at times than she had ever known, and this gave her a pang of pleasure often in the midst of her trouble. Indeed there were times when even the noise of the two young men in the house affected her mind with a certain pleasure and elation, and gratitude to God that she was there to make their life possible, to make it comfortable, to give them occasion for the light-heartedness, though she could not understand it, which they showed. But these were evanescent moments, and her life day by day was a kind of horror to her, as if she were herself affected by the careless ways, the profane words, the self-indulgence, and disregard of everything lovely and honest and of good report, which she seemed to be encouraging and keeping up while she looked on and suffered.