But the mind requires not even the material husk, it lives on better food than that, and in his case mind had triumphed over body, and borne it triumphantly to a safe, if not as yet to a victorious, goal.
Yet Wynter, the spendthrift, the erstwhile master of him who now could be _his_ master, has died, leaving behind him a fortune.

What was the sum?
He glances back to the sheet in his hand and verifies his thought.

Yes--eighty thousand pounds! A good fortune even in these luxurious days.

He has died worth ｣80,000, of which his daughter is sole heiress! Before the professor's eyes rises a vision of old Wynter.

They used to call him "old," those boys who attended his classes, though he was as light-hearted as the best of them, and as handsome as a dissipated Apollo.