Week by week, as he saw the tide of
wealth flow as it were through his very house without being able to
divert the smallest rill to nourish his own fortunes, he became more
wolfish and more hungry-eyed. He spoke less of his own wrongs, but he
brooded more, and would stand for hours on Tamfield Hill looking down at
the great palace beneath, as a thirst-stricken man might gaze at the
desert mirage.
He had worked, and peeped, and pried, too, until there were points upon
which he knew more than either his son or his daughter.
"I suppose that you still don't know where your friend gets his money?"
he remarked to Robert one morning, as they walked together through the
village.
"No, father, I do not. I only know that he spends it very well."
"Well!" snarled the old man. "Yes, very well! He has helped every
tramp and slut and worthless vagabond over the countryside, but he will
not advance a pound, even on the best security, to help a respectable
business man to fight against misfortune."
"My dear father, I really cannot argue with you about it," said Robert.
"I have already told you more than once what I think. Mr. Haw's object
is to help those who are destitute. He looks upon us as his equals, and
would not presume to patronise us, or to act as if we could not help
ourselves.
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