“No more about it, uncle,” faltered George; “what does it matter now?”

Susan Merton came out of the house; she had caught her father’s conciliatory words; she seemed composed, but pale; she threw her arms round her father’s neck.

“Oh! father,” said she imploringly, “I thought it was a dream, but he is going, he is really going.  Oh! don’t let him go from us; speak him fair, father, his spirit is so high!”

“Susan!” replied the old farmer, “mayhap the lad thinks me his enemy, but I’m not.  My daughter shall not marry a bankrupt farmer, but you bring home a thousand pounds—­just one thousand pounds—­to show me you are not a fool, and you shall have my daughter and she shall have my blessing.”

Meadows exulted.

“Your hand on that, uncle,” cried George, with ardor; “your hand on that before Heaven and all present.”

The old farmer gave George his hand upon it.

“But, father,” cried Susan, “your words are sending him away from me.”

“Susan!” said George sorrowfully but firmly, “I am to go, but don’t forget it is for your sake I leave you, my darling Susan—­to be a better man for your sake.  Uncle, since your last words there is no ill-will; but (bluntly) I can’t speak my heart before you.”

“I’ll go, George, I’ll go; shan’t be said my sister’s son hadn’t leave to speak his mind to letbe who atool,* at such a time.”

Let be who it will.  Cui libet.

Merton turned to leave them, but ere he had taken two steps a most unlooked-for interruption chained him to the spot.  An old man, with a long beard and a glittering eye, was among them before they were aware of him; he fixed his eye upon Meadows, and spoke a single word—­but that word fell like a sledge-hammer.

“No!!” said Isaac Levi in the midst.  “No!!” repeated he to John Meadows.

Meadows understood perfectly what “No” meant; a veto upon all his plans, hopes and wishes.

“Young man,” said Isaac to George, “you shall not wander forth from the home of your fathers.  These old eyes see deeper than yours (and he sent an eye-stab at Meadows); you are honest—­all men say so—­I will lend you the money for your rent, and one who loves you (and he gave another eye-stab at Meadows) will bless me.”

“Oh! yes, I bless you,” cried Susan innocently.

The late exulting Meadows was benumbed at this.

“Surely Heaven sends you to me,” cried Susan.  “It is Mr. Levi, of Farnborough.”

Here was a diversion.  Meadows cursed the intruder, and his own evil star that had raised him up so malignant an enemy.

“All my web undone in a moment,” thought he, and despair began to take possession of him.

Susan, on the other hand, was all joy and hope; William more or less despondent.

The old Jew glanced from one to another, read them all, and enjoyed his triumph.

But when his eye returned to George Fielding he met with something he had not reckoned upon.