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“You must have thought it very odd of me, Mr Ullman, not thanking you for so bravely rescuing my poor cat; but the truth is I never heard of it till to-day. I can’t say how grateful I am. I should have loved to see you doing it.”

“Is Goldie your cat?” he feebly inquired.

“Why, of course?” she said. “Didn’t you know? Of course you did! Goldie always belonged to me. Grandpa bought him for me. But I couldn’t do with him in London, so I always leave him here for them to take care of. He adores me. He never forgets me. He’ll come to me before anyone. You must have noticed that. I can’t say how grateful I am! It was perfectly marvellous of you! I can’t help laughing, though, whenever I think what a state mother and auntie must have been in that night!”

Strictly speaking, they hadn’t a cent between them, except his hundred a year. But he married her hair and she married his melancholy eyes; and she was content to settle in Oldcastle, where there are almost no slums. And her stepmother was forced by Edith to make the hundred up to four hundred. This was rather hard on Mrs Ebag. Thus it fell out that Mrs Ebag remained a widow, and that Miss Ebag continues a flower uncalled. However, gossip was stifled.

In his appointed time, and in the fulness of years, Goldie died, and was mourned. And by none was he more sincerely mourned than by the aged bedridden Caiaphas.

“I miss my cat, I can tell ye!” said old Caiaphas pettishly to Carl, who was sitting by his couch. “He knew his master, Goldie did! Edith did her best to steal him from me when you married and set up house. A nice thing considering I bought him and he never belonged to anybody but me! Ay! I shall never have another cat like that cat.”

And this is the whole truth of the affair.