But he was young and human, and he was youthfully and humanly greedy to possess the good things of life for himself and for the one being he passionately loved.

It would, indeed, have been an enthusiast in virtue who could have blamed him for counting upon dead men's shoes.
And now the shoes were all but empty! He stood watching his uncle die! Having stayed almost motionless for several minutes, he glanced at the clock; then moved to the bed, taking a bottle and a medicine spoon from the dressing-table as he passed.
"Time for your medicine, uncle!" he said, in his quiet, level voice.
But the sick man did not seem to hear.
In a slightly louder tone John repeated his remark.

This time the vacant expression faded slowly from the large, pale eyes, and Andrew Henderson moved his head weakly.
Seeing the indication of consciousness, John carefully measured out a dose of medicine, and, stooping over the pillows, passed one arm under his uncle's neck.
Andrew Henderson submitted without objection, but as his head was raised and the medicine held to his lips, he seemed suddenly to realize the position, to comprehend that it was his nephew who leaned over him.

With a spasmodic movement he turned towards John, his lips twitching with some inward and newly aroused excitement.
"The Book, John!" he said, sharply--"the Book!" John remained quite composed.

With a steady hand he balanced the spoon of medicine that he still held.
"Your medicine first, uncle," he said, quietly.