Page:Henry Northcote (IA henrynorthcote00snairich).pdf/145

 did so the bank-note between his hands, that the future would be casting back to it perpetually as the tomb of his godhead, in which he put off those spiritual splendors in which his nature was once enveloped, those sanctified things which were native to himself, in order that he might embrace those other things that were the birthright and the measure of the meanest natures.

Through the open door came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. They were shuffling and uncertain, and belonged to an old woman, who wore a shawl and a faded black bonnet, and who crept into the room with little toddling steps.

"Hullo, Mrs. Brown," said Northcote, turning to confront her; "rather late, aren't you? It is a quarter-past eight."

"Yes, sir, I am," said the old woman, in a precise manner. "My youngest grandchild is dying."

"How old?"

"Five and a half, sir."

"Of what is she dying?"

"Diphtheria, sir," said the old woman humbly.

"And if the poor little kid dies that will reduce the number of small orphans in your family to four, will it not?"

"It will, sir."

Northcote stood looking at the old woman for a moment and then changed the subject abruptly.

"Mrs. Brown," he said, "I have had a windfall. For the time being I am a rich man; and I may say that one of these days I expect to be very much richer. And although your poor little grandchild is dying, I think we owe it to Providence to celebrate this occasion in a fitting manner.