f the vial, and poured out the
poison; it followed him a few steps, a black dribble of murder on the
snow, that the miller's dog smelt at and turned from in offence. That
night he could not sleep again; toward morning, when all the house was
snoring, he gave way to the sobs that were bursting his heart. He heard
the sleepers, men and dogs, start a little in their dreams; then they
were still, and he fell into a deep sleep.

They let him sleep late; and he had a dream of himself, which must have
been caused by the nascent consciousness of the going and coming around
him. People were talking of him, and one said how old he was; and
another looked at his long, white beard which flowed down over the
blanket as far as his waist. He told them that he wore it so that they
should not know him when he got home; and he showed them how he could
take it off and put it on at pleasure. He started awake, and found his
carriole driver standing over him.

"You got you' sleep hout, no?"

"What time is it?" said Northwick, stupidly, scanning the man to make
sure that it was he, and waiting for a full sense of the situation to
reach him.

"Nine o'clock," said the man, and he turned away.

Northwick got up, and found the place empty of the men and dogs. A
woman, who looked like a half-breed, brought him his breakfast of fried
venison and bean-coffee; her little one held by her skirt, and stared at
him. He thought of Elbridge's baby that he had seen die. It seemed ages
ago. He offered the child a shilling; it shyly turned its face into its
mother's dress. The driver said, "'E do'n' know what money is, yet," but
the mother seemed to know; she showed her teeth, and took it for the
child. Northwick sat a moment thinking what a strange thing it was not
to know what money was; it had never occurred to him before; he asked
himself a queer question, What was money? The idea of it seemed to go to
pieces, as a printed word does when you look steadily at it, and to have
no meaning. It affected him as droll, fantastic, like a piece of
childish make-believe, when the woman took some more money from him for
his meals and lodging. But that was the way the world was worked. You
could get anything done for money; it was the question of demand and
supply; nothing more. He tried to think where money came in when he went
out to see Elbridge's sick boy; when Elbridge left the dead child to
drive him to the station. It was something else that came in there;