"Father!" whispered Phoebe, entreatingly, but he purposely ignored her. Fred Cornwall pointed to Jeremiah Pamflett. "As it is your wish, sir, I will say what I have to say before your daughter and her aunt. Perhaps you will ask this gentleman to retire." "Perhaps I will do nothing of the kind. This young gentleman, Mr. Jeremiah Pamflett, is an old and trusted friend; you are neither one nor the other. Proceed to your business at once, or leave me." "Let me beg of you--" said Aunt Leth. He interrupted her with a touch of his caustic humour. "Do not beg of me, sister-in-law; it will be useless; I have nothing to give. Do you intend to speak, sir? You perceive I am not in a fit state to be harassed." "You leave me no choice, sir. I love your daughter, and she--" "Stop!" cried Miser Farebrother. "My daughter will speak for herself when she and I are alone. I will not allow you to refer to her." "But it is necessary, sir," said Fred, respectfully and firmly, "because I am here with her permission." "Necessary or not, according to your thinking--which is not mine--I will not allow you to refer to her. My house is my own, and I am master in it; let me remind you of that." "I will do as you wish, sir," said Fred, not daring to look at Phoebe, whose head, bowed upon her breast, was an indication of the agony she was suffering. "I love your daughter, and I come to ask you for her hand. I will do all that a man--" "Yes, yes," interrupted the miser, testily, "we know all that: the old formula. Is that all you have come here for?" "Is not that enough, sir?" "Too much. My daughter has other views--I also. I forbid you to speak, Phoebe. Remember the oath you swore upon your dead mother's Bible! Mr. Cornwall, I refuse what you ask. With my permission you will never marry my daughter. Without it, she well knows such an event is impossible, unless she commits perjury. You have not a deep acquaintance with me, sir; but the knowledge of human nature you must have gained as a lawyer will convince you that nothing can turn me from a resolution I have formed, more especially from a resolution in which vital interests are involved--_my_ vital interests! My daughter's hand is promised to my manager, Mr. Jeremiah Pamflett." "Oh, Phoebe!" cried Aunt Leth, with quivering lips and overbrimming eyes. "My poor, poor Phoebe!" "Spare your heroics," said Miser Farebrother; "we know the value of them. My daughter will give me what she owes me--love and obedience." He rang the bell, and Mrs. Pamflett instantly appeared. "Show these people the door," he said to her; "and if they venture to present themselves here again, send for a policeman and have them locked up. Jeremiah, give my daughter your love-offering." With a face of triumph Jeremiah started from his chair, and advanced toward Phoebe, holding the flowers for her acceptance. "Look up, Phoebe," said Miser Farebrother, sternly.