‘Son John,’ said she, ’do you think I can sleep with an easy mind, while you keep awake full of care?  You have not told me what your trouble is; but sore trouble you have had these many days past.’

‘Trade is bad.’

‘And you dread——­’

‘I dread nothing,’ replied he, drawing up his head, and holding it erect.  ’I know now that no man will suffer by me.  That was my anxiety.’

‘But how do you stand?  Shall you—­will it be a failure?’ her steady voice trembling in an unwonted manner.

’Not a failure.  I must give up business, but I pay all men.  I might redeem myself—­I am sorely tempted—­’

’How?  Oh, John! keep up your name—­try all risks for that.  How redeem it?’

’By a speculation offered to me, full of risk; but, if successful, placing me high above water-mark, so that no one need ever know the strait I am in.  Still, if it fails—­’

‘And if it fails,’ said she, advancing, and laying her hand on his arm, her eyes full of eager light.  She held her breath to hear the end of his speech.

‘Honest men are ruined by a rogue,’ said he gloomily.  ’As I stand now, my creditors, money is safe—­every farthing of it; but I don’t know where to find my own—­it may be all gone, and I penniless at this moment.  Therefore, it is my creditors’ money that I should risk.’

’But if it succeeded, they need never know.  Is it so desperate a speculation?  I am sure it is not, or you would never have thought of it.  If it succeeded—­’

’I should be a rich man, and my peace of conscience would be gone!’

‘Why!  You would have injured no one.’

’No; but I should have run the risk of ruining many for my own paltry aggrandisement.  Mother, I have decided!  You won’t much grieve over our leaving this house, shall you, dear mother?’

’No! but to have you other than what you are will break my heart.  What can you do?’

’Be always the same John Thornton in whatever circumstances; endeavouring to do right, and making great blunders; and then trying to be brave in setting to afresh.  But it is hard, mother.  I have so worked and planned.  I have discovered new powers in my situation too late—­and now all is over.  I am too old to begin again with the same heart.  It is hard, mother.’

He turned away from her, and covered his face with his hands.

‘I can’t think,’ said she, with gloomy defiance in her tone, ’how it comes about.  Here is my boy—­good son, just man, tender heart—­and he fails in all he sets his mind upon:  he finds a woman to love, and she cares no more for his affection than if he had been any common man; he labours, and his labour comes to nought.  Other people prosper and grow rich, and hold their paltry names high and dry above shame.’

‘Shame never touched me,’ said he, in a low tone:  but she went on.

’I sometimes have wondered where justice was gone to, and now I don’t believe there is such a thing in the world,—­now you are come to this; you, my own John Thornton, though you and I may be beggars together—­my own dear son!’