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Updated: June 18, 2025


"Do you know who the mother was?" "I wish I did! I should have got the money out of her long ago." Jervy stole a look at Phoebe. She had turned pale; she was listening, with her eyes riveted on Mrs. Sowler's ugly face. "How long ago was it?" Jervy went on. "Better than sixteen years." "Did Farnaby himself give you the child?" "With his own hands, over the garden-paling of a house at Ramsgate.

Jervy suddenly looked up. His soft insinuating manner had vanished; he spoke roughly and impatiently. "I want to know something. Has Farnaby's wife got money of her own?" Phoebe's mind was still disturbed by the change in her lover. "You speak as if you were angry with me," she said. Jervy recovered his insinuating tones, with some difficulty. "My dear girl, I love you!

"The money's my business," she remarked. "You tell me where he lives and I'll make him pay me." Jervy was equal to the occasion. "You won't do anything of the sort," he said. Mrs. Sowler laughed defiantly. "So you think, my fine fellow!" "I don't think at all, old lady I'm certain. In the first place, Farnaby don't owe you the debt by law, after seven years.

But how can I turn my back on an old friend?" "That's just what surprises me," Phoebe answered. "I don't understand such a person being a friend of yours." Always ready with the necessary lie, whenever the occasion called for it, Jervy invented a pathetic little story, in two short parts. First part: Mrs. Sowler, rich and respected; a widow inhabiting a villa-residence, and riding in her carriage.

Phoebe lifted her eyebrows with a look of contemptuous surprise, which was an answer in itself. "Fancy the great Mr. Farnaby going by an assumed name, and having his letters addressed to a public-house!" she said to Jervy. Mrs. Sowler asked no more questions. She relapsed into muttering to herself, under her breath.

Stating his business with her, as reservedly and as cunningly as usual, Jervy found, to his astonishment, that even this squalid old creature presumed to bargain with him. The two wretches were on the point of a quarrel which might have delayed the execution of the plot against Mrs. Farnaby, but for the vile self-control which made Jervy one of the most formidable criminals living.

I've seen a deal of the world, Phoebe; and my experience tells me there's something about that debt of Farnaby's which he doesn't want to have known. Why shouldn't we screw a few five-pound notes for ourselves out of the rich miser's fears?" Phoebe was cautious. "It's against the law ain't it?" she said. "Trust me to keep clear of the law," Jervy answered.

Phoebe was unable, or unwilling, to draw the obvious conclusion, even now. "But, what would you do," she said, "when Mrs. Farnaby insisted on seeing her daughter?" There was something in the girl's tone half fearful, half suspicious which warned Jervy that he was treading on dangerous ground. He knew perfectly well what he proposed to do, in the case that had been so plainly put him.

Loud cries from the sixpenny benches answered No; the ostler and the fiery-faced woman being the most vociferous of all. Here and there, certain dissentient individuals raised a little hiss led by Jervy, in the interests of "the Altar and the Throne." Amelius resumed.

"His whiskers have turned gray, to be sure but I know his eyes again; I'll take my oath to it, there's no mistaking his eyes!" She suddenly appealed to Jervy. "Is Mr. Farnaby rich?" she asked. "Rolling in riches!" was the answer. "Where does he live?" Jervy was cautious how he replied to that; he consulted Phoebe. "Shall I tell her?"

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