As Elinor predicted, the miser slowly recovered, and for a few months
his severe illness had a salutary effect upon his mind and temper. He
was even inclined to treat his wife with more respect; and when informed
by Dr. Moore of the birth of his son, he received the intelligence with
less impatience than she had anticipated. But this gleam of sunshine did
not last long. With returning strength his old monomania returned; and
he began loudly to complain of the expense which his long illness had
incurred, and to rave at the extortion of doctors and nurses; declaring
the necessity of making every possible retrenchment, in order to replace
the money so lost. Elinor did not live long enough to endure these fresh
privations. She sunk into a lingering decline, and before her little boy
could lisp her name, the friendly turf had closed over his heart-broken
mother.

Small was the grief expressed by the miser for the death of his gentle
partner. To avoid all unnecessary expense, she was buried in the
churchyard, instead of occupying a place in the family vault; and no
stone was erected during the life of the squire, to her memory.

It was a matter of surprise to the whole neighborhood that the young
child survived his mother. His father left Nature to supply her place,
and, but for the doting affection of Ruth, who came every night and
morning to wash and feed him, out of pure affection to her dear
mistress, the little Anthony would soon have occupied a place by his
ill-fated mother.

The Squire never cast a thought upon his half-clad half-famished babe
without bitterly cursing him as an additional and useless expense.