After that he sat for a time as if exhausted, suffering her embrace, and silent save when at rare intervals an oath broke from him, or, in a gust of passion, he struck his hand on the arm of his chair. Once, “My father would ha’ spurned you from the house,” he cried, “you jade.” She did not answer, and a new idea striking him, he sat up sharply. “But what—what the devil is all this about? What’s all this, if it’s over and—and done with?” His tone was almost jubilant. “If he’s off with it? Maybe, girl, I’ll forgive you, bad as you’ve been, if—if that’s so. Do you say it’s over?” “No, no!” she cried. “He came——” “You told me——” “He came to say good-bye to me, because——” And then in words the most moving that she could find, words sped from her heart, winged by her love, she explained Clement’s errand, the position at the bank, the crisis, the menace of ruin, the need of help. The Squire listened, his business instincts aroused, until he grasped her meaning. Then he struck his hand on the table. “And he thought that I should help them!” he cried, with grim satisfaction. “He thought that, did he?” And he would not listen to her protests that it was not Clement, that it was not Clement, it was she who—“He thought that? I see it now, I see it all! But the fool, the fool, to think that! Why, I wouldn’t stretch out my little finger to save his father from hell! And he thought that? He took me for as big a fool as the silly girl he had flattered and lured, and thought he could use, to save them from perdition! As if he had not done me harm enough! As if he hadn’t stolen my daughter from me, he’d steal my purse! Why, he must be the most d—d impudent, cunning thief that ever trod shoe leather. He must be a cock of a pretty hackle, indeed. He should go far, by G—d, with the nerve he has. Far, by G—d! My daughter first and my purse afterwards! This son of an upstart, whose grandfather would have sat in my servants’ hall, he’d steal my——” “No, no!” she protested. “Yes, yes! Yes, yes! But he’ll find that he’s not got a girl to deal with now! Help him? Save his bank? Pluck him from the debtors’ prison he’s due to rot in! Why, I’ll see him—in hell first!” She had risen and moved from him. She was standing on the other side of the table now. “He saved your life!” she cried. And she, too, was changed. She spoke with something of his passion. “He saved your life!” she repeated, and she stamped her foot on the floor. “Well, the devil thank him for it!” the Squire cried with zest. “And you,” with fresh anger, “do you begone, girl! Get out of my room before you try my patience too far!” He waved his stick at her. “Go, or I’ll call up Calamy and have you put out! Do you hear? Do you hear? You ungrateful, shameless slut! Go!”