That's it.

My only comfort is--that something might happen," and he paused.
Porson fidgeted about on the edge of the leather sofa and turned red.

In his heart he was wondering whether he dared offer to pay off the debts.
This he was quite able to do; more, he was willing to do, since to him, good simple man, the welfare of the ancient house of Monk, of which his only sister had married the head, was a far more important thing than parting with a certain number of thousands of pounds.

For birth and station, in his plebeian humility, John Porson had a reverence which was almost superstitious.

Moreover, he had loved his dead sister dearly, and, in his way, he loved her son also.