Gone was the only living man who had stood to him for kith and kin.

He was left alone in the world; utterly alone.

That was the selfishness of his sorrow--the consideration of Sir Richard's death as it concerned himself.
Presently an alloy of consolation was supplied by the reflection of Sir Richard's own case--as Sir Richard himself had stated it upon his deathbed.

His life had not been happy; it had been poisoned by a monomania, which, like a worm in the bud, had consumed the sweetness of his existence.

Sir Richard was at rest.