Then something happened, which rescued him for awhile from this haunting self.  One night, just at closing time—­a night of wild wind and driven rain—­Mrs. Hopper came rushing into the shop, her face a tale of woe.  Warburton learnt that her sister “Liza,” the ailing girl whom he had befriended in his comfortable days, had been seized with lung hemorrhage, and lay in a lamentable state; the help of Mrs. Allchin was called for, and any other that might be forthcoming.  Two years ago Will would have responded to such an appeal as this with lavish generosity; now, though the impulse of compassion blinded him for a moment to his changed circumstances, he soon remembered that his charity must be that of a poor man, of a debtor.  He paid for a cab, that the two women might speed to their sister through the stormy night as quickly as possible, and he promised to think of what could be done for the invalid—­with the result that he lost a night’s sleep in calculating what sum he might spare.  On the morrow came the news he had expected; the doctor suggested Brompton Hospital, if admission could be obtained; home treatment at this time of the year, and in the patient’s circumstances, was not likely to be of any good.  Warburton took the matter in hand, went about making inquiries, found that there must necessarily be delay.  Right or wrong, he put his hand in his pocket, and Mrs. Hopper was enabled to nurse her sister in a way otherwise impossible.  He visited the sick-room, and for half an hour managed to talk as of old, in the note of gallant sympathy and encouragement.  Let there be no stint of fire, of food, of anything the doctor might advise.  Meanwhile, he would ask about other hospitals—­do everything in his power.  As indeed he did, with the result that in a fortnight’s time, the sufferer was admitted to an institution to which, for the nonce, Warburton had become a subscriber.

He saw her doctor.  “Not much chance, I’m afraid.  Of course, if she were able to change climate—­that kind of thing.  But, under the circumstances—­”

And through a whole Sunday morning Will paced about his little sitting-room, not caring to go forth, nor caring to read, caring for nothing at all in a world so full of needless misery.  “Of course, if she were able to change climate—­” Yes, the accident of possessing money; a life to depend upon that!  In another station—­though, as likely as not, with no moral superiority to justify the privilege—­ the sick woman would be guarded, soothed, fortified by every expedient of science, every resource of humanity.  Chance to be poor, and not only must you die when you need not, but must die with the minimum of comfort, the extreme of bodily and mental distress.  This commonplace struck so forcibly upon Will’s imagination, that it was as a new discovery to him.  He stood amazed, bewildered—­as men of any thinking power are wont to do when experience makes real to them the truisms of life.  A few coins, or pieces of printed paper to signify all that!  An explosion of angry laughter broke the mood.