There was a silence. He trusted she might be gone. Turning round, he
faced her; the light of the candle throwing her pale visage into ghostly
relief.

"Where is sleep for you if you part us?"

Mr. Pole flung up his arms. "I insist upon your going to bed. Why
shouldn't I sleep? Child's folly!"

Though he spoke so, his brain was in strings to his timorous ticking
nerves; and he thought that it would be well to propitiate her and get
her to utter some words that would not haunt his pillow.

"My dear girl! it's not my doing. I like you. I wish you well and
happy. Very fond of you;--blame circumstances, not me." Then he
murmured: "Are black spots on the eyelids a bad sign? I see big flakes
of soot falling in a dark room."

Emilia's mated look fleeted. "You come between us, sir, because I have
no money?"

"I tell you it's the boy's only chance to make his hit now." Mr. Pole
stamped his foot angrily.

"And you make my Cornelia marry, though she loves another, as Wilfrid
loves me, and if they do not obey you they are to be beggars! Is it you
who can pray? Can you ever have good dreams? I saved my father from the
sin, by leaving him. He wished to sell me. But my poor father had no
money at all, and I can pardon him. Money was a bright thing to him:
like other things to us. Mr. Pole! What will any one say for you!"