care.  We need scarcely say, that there was a great deal of contrast in the gaze she received from Phil and our friend Solomon.  That of Phil was the gross, impudent stare of a libertine and fool—­a stare, which, in the eye of a virtuous woman, soon receives its own withering rebuke of scorn and indignation.  That of Solomon, on the other hand, was a look in which there lurked a vast deal of cunning, regulated and sharpened by experience, and disguised by hypocrisy into something that absolutely resembled the open, ardent admiration of a child, or of some innocent man that had hardly ever been in the world.  There was, however, a villainous dropping of the corners of the mouth, with an almost irrepressible tendency to lick the lips, accompanied with an exudation of internal moisture from the glands—­vulgarly termed a watering of the teeth—­which, to a close observer, would have betrayed him at once, and which were evident from the involuntary workings of his whole face.

“Mrs. Tyrrell,” said Val, “I am glad to hear that you are making considerable improvements on your farm.”

“Improvements, sir,” replied the widow in amazement; “I don’t know who could have told you that, sir.  Didn’t my potato crop fail altogether with me, and my flax, where I had it spread on the holme below, was all swept away by the flood.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Mrs. Tyrrell;—­we are very hard up for money here, and the landlord doesn’t know on what hand to turn; I must raise a large sum for him forthwith:—­indeed to tell you the truth, I have received instructions that are not at all pleasant to myself—­I am to let no one pass, he says, and if I cannot get the rent otherwise, I am to enforce it.  Now this is very unpleasant, Mrs. Tyrrell, inasmuch as it compels me to take steps that I shall feel very painful.

“God help me, then,” replied the poor young woman, “for, as to rent, sir, I have it not; and, indeed, Mr. M’Clutchy, what brought me here to-day, was to ask a little time, just till I get my butter made up and sold.

“Yes, but what can I do, Mrs. Tyrrell?  I have no power to let any one off, even where I feel inclined, as I do in your case.  It really is not in my power; Lord Cumber took care to leave me no discretion in the business at all.”

“But surely, sir, you don’t mean to say, that unless I pay the rent, you will seize upon my property.’

“This,” said Val, as if to himself, “is really very distressing—­ unfortunately, Mrs. Tyrrell, I must indeed, unless you can raise the money in some way; wouldn’t your friends, for instance, stand by you, until your butter is made up?”

“I have no such friends,” replied the poor woman, “them that would, arn’t able; and them that are able, won’t; and, that’s only the way of the world, sir.”

“It’s too true, indeed, Mrs. Tyrrell; I am very sorry, exceedingly sorry, for what must be done.  It is such circumstances as these that make me wish I never had become an agent.”