So, going out on the street, he tested his own nature by this trifle in his old fashion.

"The ruling passion strong in death," eh?
It had not been self-love; something deeper: an instinct rather than reason.

Was he glad to think this of himself?
He looked out more watchful of the face which the coming Christmas bore.
The air was cold and pungent.

The crowded city seemed wakening to some keen enjoyment; even his own weak, deliberate step rang on the icy pavement as if it wished to rejoice with the rest.

I said it was a trading city: so it was, but the very trade to-day had a jolly Christmas face on; the surly old banks and pawnbrokers' shops had grown ashamed of their doings, and shut their doors, and covered their windows with frosty trees, and cathedrals, and castles; the shops opened their inmost hearts; some child's angel had touched them, and they flushed out into a magic splendour of Christmas trees, and lights, and toys; Santa Claus might have made his head-quarters in any one of them.