He bethought him of a small iron box he had at home, which contained some private papers of his own. He could spare this box without inconvenience to himself, and he promised to bring it to her--and so, with sincere words of consolation, he left her.
In the course of an hour he returned. Mr. Gordon had consented to the condition she imposed.
"Should I be thankful or not?" she asked wistfully.
"You should be thankful," he replied. "Your child, rest assured, will have a comfortable and happy home. Here is the box and the key. It is a patent lock--no other key will unlock it. I will show you how to use it. Yes, that is the way." He paused a moment, his hand in his pocket. "You will be ready to meet Mr. Gordon at three to-morrow?"
"And my child?" she asked, with tears in her voice. "When will that be taken from me?"
"At twelve." His hand was still fumbling in his pocket, and he suddenly shook his head, as if indignant with himself. "You may want to purchase one or two little things in the morning. Here are a few shillings. Pray accept them."
He laid on the table the money with which he had intended to pay his fare to London.
"Heaven reward you," said the grateful woman, "and make your life bright and prosperous!"
Her tears bedewed his hand as she kissed it humbly, and Dr. Spenlove walked wearily home once more, penniless, but not unhappy.