Jeremiah entered with his usual obsequiousness and deference. It afforded him inward satisfaction to note how ill the miser looked, but he did not allow the expression of this feeling to appear on his face. On the contrary, he said, "I am glad to see you looking so much better, sir." "Am I really looking better, Jeremiah?" asked Miser Farebrother, eager to seize the slenderest hope. "Really better?" "Indeed you are, sir. Be careful, and in a short time you'll be quite your old self again." "Never that; never that, I'm afraid," groaned Miser Farebrother. "It has gone too far--too far!" "Not at all, sir," said Jeremiah, with lugubrious cheerfulness. "You are frightening yourself unnecessarily. We all do when the least thing ails us. If my little finger aches, I think I am going to die." "It is hard, it is wicked, that a man should have to die. I have read of an elixir a few drops of which would make an old man young. If I only knew where it was to be obtained--where it was to be bought!" "I wish I knew where, sir," said Jeremiah. "I would get you a bottle." "And one for yourself, eh, Jeremiah?" "Yes, sir! I shouldn't object. The idea of death isn't pleasant." "Then don't let us think of it," said the miser, with a doleful shake of his head; and then, more briskly, "at all events, while I live I will do what I have set my mind to. I may live fifty years yet. There's old Parr: why shouldn't I be such another? Those people down-stairs, who are waiting and longing for me to go--it would drive them to frenzy if they thought there was any chance of my out-living them." "Miss Phoebe's friends, sir?" "Yes, my daughter's friends. I have sent for them here. Did you bring those flowers for her?" "Yes, sir." "Put them on the table. Take your seat there. Open the books, and seem as if you are doing the accounts. And speak no word till I give you the cue." Mrs. Pamflett, delaying longer than she was instructed to do, had allowed ample time for this conversation to take place. Ten or twelve minutes elapsed before she conducted Phoebe and her friends to Miser Farebrother's room. They were somewhat discomposed to discover Jeremiah Pamflett at the table; he took no notice of them, however, but with his head bent down, pretended to be very busy with his accounts. Undoubtedly there was a great change in Miser Farebrother's appearance. Traces of sickness and suffering were plainly visible in his cadaverous face; and Phoebe, whose heart was beating with love and hope and fear, glided to his side and put her lips to his. "Good child, good child!" he said, passing his arm round her, and holding her tight to him. "My only child, the only tie that binds me to life!" "Dear father!" exclaimed Phoebe, softly, embracing him again. His voice was so kind and so charged with pain that the fear which had troubled her that he might not approve of Fred vanished, and loving sympathy took its place. "You will not leave me, Phoebe?" "No, father."