er
to keep out of active politics. It would be easier and better to put
Harold into the running, to have him sent to the Legislature from the
Dulwich district, then to the national House, then to the Senate. Why
not? The Weightman interests were large enough to need a direct
representative and guardian at Washington.

But to-night all these plans came back to him with dust upon them.
They were dry and crumbling like forsaken habitations. The son upon
whom his complacent ambition had rested had turned his back upon the
mansion of his father's hopes. The break might not be final; and in
any event there would be much to live for; the fortunes of the family
would be secure. But the zest of it all would be gone if John
Weightman had to give up the assurance of perpetuating his name and
his principles in his son. It was a bitter disappointment, and he felt
that he had not deserved it.

He rose from the chair and paced the room with leaden feet. For the
first time in his life his age was visibly upon him. His head was
heavy and hot, and the thoughts that rolled in it were confused and
depressing. Could it be that he had made a mistake in the principles
of his existence? There was no argument in what Harold had said, it
was almost childish, and yet it had shaken the elder man more deeply
than he cared to show. It held a silent attack which touched him more
than open criticism.

Suppose the end of his life were nearer than he thought--the end must
come sometime--what if it were now? Had he not founded his house upon
a rock? Had he not kept the Commandments? Was he not, "touching the
law, blameless"? And beyond this, even if there were some faults in
his character--and all men are sinners--yet he surely believed in the
saving doctrines of religion--the forgiveness of sins, the
resurrection of the body, the life everlasting. Yes, that was the true
source of comfort, after all. He would read a bit in the Bible, as he
did every night, and go to bed and to sleep.

He went back to his chair at the library table. A strange weight of
weariness rested upon him, but he opened the book at a familiar place,
and his eyes fell upon the verse at the bottom of the page.

"_Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth._"

That had been the text of the sermon a few weeks before. Sleepily,
heavily, he tried to fix his mind upon it and recall it. What was it
that Doctor Snodgrass had said? Ah, yes--that it was a mistake to
pause here