“My dear young lady, both your servant and I have done what we could to revive him, and I fear—­I believe he has passed away.  The start and the triumph of finding himself the last survivor of the Tontine association were too much for his weak heart.  I would not go in if I were you:  death is appalling to the young.”

Katherine stopped, half frightened, yet ashamed of her fear.  “Oh yes; I must satisfy myself that I can do nothing more for him.  Can it be possible that he will never speak again—­never search for news of that other poor old man?” She went softly into the next room, followed by Newton, and approaching the bed, laid her hand gently on his brow.  “How awfully cold!” she whispered, shrinking back in spite of herself at the unutterable chill of death.  “But he looks so peaceful, so different from what he did in life!” She stood gazing at him, silent, awe-struck.

“Come away,” said Newton, kindly.  “The doctor will be here, I trust, in a few minutes, and will be able to give a certificate which will save the worry of an inquest.”

Katherine obeyed his gesture of entreaty, and went slowly into the front room, where she sat down, leaning her elbows on the table and covering her face with her hands, while Mr. Newton closed the door.

It was all over, then, her hopes and fears; the poor wasted life, as much wasted and useless as if spent in the wildest and most extravagant follies, was finished.  What had it left behind?  Nothing of good to any human being; no blessing of loving-kindness, of help and sympathy, to any suffering brother wayfarer on life’s high-road; nothing but hard, naked gold—­gold which, from what she had heard, would go to one already abundantly provided.  Ah, she must not think of that gold so sorely needed, or bad, unseemly ideas would master her!

But Mr. Newton was speaking.  “It is fortunate I was here to be some stay to you,” he said; “the shock must be very great, and—­” He interrupted himself hastily to exclaim, “Here is the doctor!  I shall go with him into our poor friend’s room; let me find you here when I come back.”  Katherine bent her head, and remained in the same attitude, thinking, thinking.

How long it was before the kind lawyer returned she did not know; but he came and stood by her, the doctor behind him.

“It is as I supposed,” said Newton, in a low tone.  “Life is quite extinct.”  Katherine rose and confronted them, looking very white.

“Yes,” added the doctor; “death must have been instantaneous.  Your uncle was in a condition which made him liable to succumb under the slightest shock.  Can you give me paper and ink?  I will write a certificate at once.  Then, Miss Liddell, I shall look to you.”

Katherine placed the writing materials before him silently, and watched him trace the lines; then he handed the paper to Mr. Newton, saying, “You will see to what is necessary I presume,” and rising he took Katherine’s hand and felt her pulse.  “Very unsteady indeed; I would recommend a glass of wine now, and at night a composing draught, which I will send.  If I can do nothing more I must go on my rounds.  I shall be at home again about six, should you require my services in any way.”