He meant it—he meant it. The balance, held in God's hands, hung steady now.
"How much is it?" asked Keith; for he thought, "Perhaps he's only holding on to that share for my sake; and if he knew that I would give it up now, he might really—"
"Four thousand nine with th' interest," said Isaac.
"Do you think, Keith, it would have sold for five?"
"Well, yes, I think it very possibly might."
"Ah!" Isaac turned his face from his son. The sigh expressed a profound, an infinite repentance.
CHAPTER LXIII
On the twenty-fifth Isaac Rickman lay dead in his villa at Ilford. Two days after Keith's visit he had been seized by a second and more terrible paralytic stroke; and from it he did not recover. The wedding was now indefinitely postponed till such time as Keith could have succeeded in winding up his father's affairs.