“Do you know the value of money?” he said at length, looking piercingly at her.  “Do you know the wonderful life it has—­a life of its own?”

“If the want of can teach its value I ought to know,” she returned.

“You are wrong!  Poverty never teaches its worth.  You never hold it and study it when, the moment you touch it, you have to exchange it for commodities.  No! it is when you can spare some for a precious seed, and watch its growth, and see—­see its power of self-multiplication if it is let alone—­just let alone,” he repeated, with a touch of pathos in his voice.  “Now these few pence, thirteen and a half in all—­a boy with an accumulative nature and youth, early youth, on his side, might build a fortune on these.  Yes, he might, if he had not a grovelling love of food and comfort.”

“Do you think he really could?” asked Kate, interested in spite of herself in the theories of the old miser.

“Would you care to know?” said her uncle, fixing his keen dark eyes upon her.

“I should indeed.”  Her voice proved she was in earnest.

“Then I will tell you, step by step, but not to-night.  I am too weary.  You are different from the others—­your father and your brother.  You are—­yes, you are—­more like me.”

“God forbid!” was Katherine’s mental ejaculation.

Mr. Liddell slowly put the thirteenpence half penny back in his purse, drew forth his bunch of keys, looked at them, and restored them to his pocket; then, resting his head wearily against the chair, he said, “Give me something to take and I will go to bed.”

Katherine hastened to obey, and summoned the servant to assist him, as usual.

The next morning was cold and wet, with showers of sleet, and Mr. Liddell declared he had taken a chill, and refused to get up.  He was indisposed to eat, and did not show any interest in the newspaper.  About noon the doctor called.  Mr. Liddell answered his questions civilly enough, but did not respond to his attempts at conversation.

“Your uncle is in a very low condition,” said the doctor, when he came into the next room, where Katherine awaited him.  “You must do your best to make him take nourishment, and keep him as warm as possible.  I suppose Mr. Newton is always in town?”

“I think so; at least I never knew him to be absent since I came here.  I rather expect him to-day or to-morrow.  Do you think my uncle seriously ill?”

“He is not really ill, but he has an incurable complaint—­old age.  He ought not to be so weak as he is; still, he may last some time, with your good care.”

Katherine took her needle-work and settled herself to keep watch by the old man.  The doctor’s inquiry for Mr. Newton had startled her, but his subsequent words allayed her fears.  “He may last for some time,” conveyed to her mind the notion of an indefinite lease of life.

Mr. Liddell seemed to be slumbering peacefully, when, after a long silence, during which Katherine’s thoughts had traversed many a league of land and sea, he said suddenly, in stronger tones than usual, “Are you there?” He scarcely ever called her by her name.