"I have missed you sadly, my child! You see how ill I am. I need your care and help--you can do so much for me. My own child! All others are strangers." "I will do what lies in my power, father." "You put new life into me. Don't stir from my side. Your arm round my neck like this; it strengthens me, gives me courage, infuses vigour into my weak frame." Had she wished to move away from him she could not have done so, he held her so tight. All this time he had taken no notice of Aunt Leth or Fred Cornwall; he had purposely prolonged the little scene out of pure maliciousness toward them. But now he looked up and fixed his eye upon them. "Sister-in-law, it is kind and unselfish of you to bring my daughter back to me. Had you known I was ill you would have brought her home earlier." "Certainly I should," said Aunt Leth, gently. "Suffering as I am, sister-in-law, this is my daughter's proper place." "Yes." But her heart sank as she spoke the word. "You are the happy mother of children," continued Miser Farebrother, "and should be able to set me right--if by chance I should happen to be wrong--in the views I have formed of certain matters. I rely upon your judgment. What is a daughter's first duty to her parents?" "Love." "Good! Thus love becomes a duty--a duty to be performed even though it clash with other feelings. You hear, Phoebe. You are ready to perform a daughter's duty?" "I love you, father," said Phoebe; but her voice was troubled; a vague fear oppressed her once more--a fear she could not define or explain. "Dear child! I have no doubt of that. Your sainted mother lives again in you. Sister-in-law, there is another duty which a daughter owes to her parents." "There are many others," responded Aunt Leth. "But one especially, which I will name, in case it may not occur to you. Obedience." "Yes," said Aunt Leth, faintly; "obedience." "These duties, which are your due from your children, are not neglected by them?" "No, they are not." "What a happy home must yours be!" exclaimed Miser Farebrother, with enthusiasm. "And how glad I am to think that my child has learned from you the lessons which you have taught your own bright children. You hear what your aunt says, Phoebe? Love and obedience are a child's first duties to her parents. Your sainted mother, from celestial spheres"--there was a subtle mockery in his voice and eyes as he raised the latter to the ceiling--"looks down and approves. And now, sir," he said, turning to Fred Cornwall, "to what am I indebted for the favour of a visit from you? It is the second time you have paid me the unsolicited honour." "I wish to have a few minutes' private conversation with you, sir," said Fred. Hope was slipping from him, but he was prepared to play a manly part. "I cannot give you a private interview," said Miser Farebrother. "If you have anything to say to me, you can say it now and here. I'll wager you will not be in want of words."