"It is true, Jeremiah," said Mrs. Pamflett, her thin lips set, but slightly parted, and her eyes glittering like cold steel. "If you're in danger, you must get out of it. If I can help you to get out of it, you have only to show me the way. You don't know what a woman like me--what a mother like me--is capable of. I will show you. A scoundrel has ruined you, and something must be done to save you. I understand; I understand. Whatever it is, if it is for me to do it, I am ready. I have never spoken one false word to you, and I won't say one word to you now to reproach you for not having confided in me before to-day. If you had made your fortune I was to share it. You are in trouble now, and I will share it. Give me a kiss, and say you love me!" "I should be a beast if I didn't," said Jeremiah, kissing her. "You're something like a mother!" "Jeremiah, if that venomous wretch Phoebe Farebrother had married you, would you be in danger now?" "No; there would be nothing to trouble me if she hadn't rounded on me. I shouldn't have been compelled to do what I have done." "Ah! She called you a reptile, and I am your mother. Oh, to be even with her--to be even with her!" Half an hour afterward Jeremiah Pamflett was in the presence of Miser Farebrother. The miser received his managing clerk with more than graciousness; there was even cordiality in his manner, and had Jeremiah's usually clear mind not been unbalanced by the threatening clouds which hung above him, this apparently favourable demeanour would have rendered him suspicious, and put him on his guard. Experience had taught him that there was always mischief in the wind when Miser Farebrother's words were smooth and fair. "I sent a telegram for you, Jeremiah," said Miser Farebrother. "Yes, sir," said Jeremiah; "my mother told me so. Fortunately I was on my way to you." "You have brought the books with you?" "Here they are, sir." "You anticipate my wishes, Jeremiah. What master was ever served as I am served by you--so conscientiously, so faithfully! Is the bank-book here? Yes, yes; I see it is. We will go into the accounts presently. Before I sent for you, Jeremiah, I was in great pain, and feared I had not long to live. That kind of feeling makes a man sad--it unsettles him, and he is apt to repine at the hard fate which seems determined to snatch him from all the joys of life. I have not had many of them, and the consolation I had looked forward to in your contemplated union with my ungrateful child has been denied me. You look tired, Jeremiah. Doubtless you have been up late at night, attending to correspondence connected with the business, and running through the accounts." "I have been working very hard," said Jeremiah.