His first thought was that he had wared L89 on his enemy's fine clothes, and James loved gold and hated foppish, extravagant dress; his next that he had saved Andrew Starkie L89, and he knew the old usurer was quietly laughing at his folly.

But worse than all was the alternative he saw as the result of his sinful purchase: if he used it to gratify his personal hatred, he deeply wounded, perhaps killed, his dearest love and his oldest friend.

Hour after hour he sat with the note before him.

His good angel stood at his side and wooed him to mercy.

There was a fire burning in the grate, and twice he held the paper over it, and twice turned away from his better self.
The watchman was calling "half-past two o'clock," when, cold and weary with his mental struggle, he rose and went to his desk.