‘But——’ the girl hesitated, ‘what I have to say is very particular, and I would not be overheard on any account.’ ‘Ah! ah!’ he giggled, ‘I’ll have no games played with me. I’m no longer susceptible to fascination, and I ain’t worth it; on my sacred word I’m not. I’m very poor, very poor now. You can see it for yourself. Is this house kept up, and the garden? Does the hall look like a lap of luxury? I’m too poor to be a catch, so you may go away.’ Barbara would have laughed had not the nature of her visit been so serious. ‘I am Miss Jordan,’ she said, ‘daughter of Mr. Jordan of Morwell, from whom you borrowed money seventeen years ago.’ ‘Oh!’ he gave a start of surprise. ‘Ah, well, I have sent back as much as I could spare. Some was stolen. It is not convenient to me after this reverse to find all now.’ ‘My father has received nothing. What you sent was lost or stolen on the way.’ The old man’s jaw fell, and he stared blankly at her. ‘It is as I say. My father has received nothing.’ ‘I sent it by my son.’ ‘He has lost it.’ ‘It is false. He has stolen it.’ ‘What is to be done?’ ‘Oh, that is for your father to decide. When my son robbed me, I locked him up. Now let your father see to it. I have done my duty, my conscience is clear.’ Barbara looked steadily, with some curiosity, into his face. The face was repulsive. The strongly marked features which might have been handsome in youth, were exaggerated by age. His white hair was matted and uncombed. He had run his fingers through it whilst engaged on his accounts, and had divided it into rat’s-tails. His chin and jaws were frouzy with coarse white bristles. In his black eyes was a keen twinkle of avarice and cunning. Old age and the snows of the winter of life soften a harsh face, if there be any love in it; but in this there was none. If a fire had burnt on the hearth of the old man’s heart, not a spark remained alive, the hearth was choked with grey ashes. Barbara traced a resemblance between the old man and his son. From his father, Jasper had derived his aquiline nose, and the shape of mouth and chin. But the expression of the faces was different. That of Jasper was noble, that of his father mean. The eyes of the son were gentle, those of Mr. Babb hard as pebbles that had been polished. As Barbara talked with and observed the old man she recalled what Jasper had said of ill-treatment and lack of love. There was no tenderness to be got out of such a man as that before her.