At tea time, Jeremiah having arrived, Miser Farebrother sent for his daughter. She sat at the table and poured out the tea. Dark rims were around her eyes, her lips were quivering; but there was no pity for her. They talked of business matters; according to Jeremiah, money was being made fast; profitable negotiations had been entered into that day, and the miser gloated as he jotted down figures and calculated interest. "Things are looking up, Jeremiah," he said, in a tone of exultation. "That they are, sir," said Jeremiah. "Everything is going on swimmingly." Could the thoughts which were harassing him have been read, could his mind have been laid bare, Miser Farebrother would have been aghast. Jeremiah was in a sea of difficulties; he had spread nets for others, they were closing around himself. The accounts he presented to his master were false; the negotiations he had entered into were inventions; the bills he exhibited were forged. There were only two roads of safety for him--one, his speedy marriage with Phoebe; the other, his master's death. His mother was filled with apprehension, for, having a better knowledge of his guilty nature than the others, she divined that he was in some deep trouble. After tea the miser said, "Jeremiah, you have something in your pocket for my daughter." Jeremiah produced it--a piece of silver tissue-paper, from which he took a ring. "It is an engagement ring," said Miser Farebrother. "Give it to Phoebe." He offered it to her, and she did not raise her hand. "Take it!" cried Miser Farebrother. Phoebe took it, and flung it away. Miser Farebrother rose slowly to his feet. One hand rested on the table, in the other he held his crutch stick. "Pick it up!" he said, sternly. Phoebe did not move. "Pick it up!" he cried again. Still Phoebe made no motion. Trembling with passion, he lifted his crutch stick and struck her across the neck. It was a cruel blow, and it left a long red streak upon the girl's fair flesh. She tottered, and almost fell to the ground, but she straightened herself, and uttered no word. "If I were dead," he said, "you could marry your gentleman lawyer." "If he would have me," Phoebe replied, in a low, firm tone. "I should then not be bound by my oath." "You hear!" he exclaimed, appealing to Mrs. Pamflett and Jeremiah. "She wishes for my death, and would bring it about if she could in order that she might be free to disgrace me!" They heard; but Phoebe did not. The pain of the blow was great, and she could scarcely bear it. Blinding tears rushed into her eyes. "Go from my sight!" said Miser Farebrother. "And bear this in mind: my word is law. You will marry the gentleman I have chosen for you, or my curse shall rest upon you till your dying day! My death alone shall accomplish your guilty desire."