d honour prevents me from giving him up. So I shall have hard
work enough, without any insults from you. It is a pity," said Phoebe,
with a sort of sympathetic regret for herself so badly used. "I could
have made a man of him. I could have backed him up to get on as well as
most men; but it will certainly be uphill work now."

She did not look at the furious father as she spoke. She was quite calm,
treating it reflectively, regretfully, as a thing past and over. Mr.
Copperhead tried to burst forth again in threats and objurgations; but
in spite of himself, and though she never said another word, the big,
rich, noisy man was silenced. He went away, threatening to appeal to her
father, which Phoebe, with a last effort, begged him smilingly to do. But
this was the last of which she was capable. When she had closed the door
after him, she rushed upstairs to her room, and cried bitterly.
Everything was very dark to her. If he did appeal to her father, the
appeal would spread confusion and dismay through the pastor's heart and
family; and what was to become of herself, with Clarence on her hands,
who could do nothing that was useful, and could earn neither his own
living nor hers? All this was very terrible to Phoebe, and for a moment
she contemplated the unheard of step of having a headache, and staying
upstairs. But she reflected that her poor old grandfather had done _his_
duty, at no small sacrifice, according to her bidding, yesterday; and
she bathed her eyes heroically, and collected her strength and went
down to breakfast as usual. It was her duty, which she must do.

As for Mr. Copperhead, he took a long walk, to reflect upon all the
circumstances, which were complicated enough to cause him much trouble.
He could not give up his cherished scheme, his Member of Parliament, his
crown of glory. It was what he had been looking forward to for years. He
tried to realize the failure of his hopes, and could not--nay, would
not, feeling it more than he could bear. No; without his gentleman son,
his University man, his costly, useless production, who was worth so
much money to him, yet brought in nothing, he felt that he must shrink
in the opinion of all his friends, even of his own sons, the "first
family," who had so envied, sneered at, undervalued Clarence, yet had
been forced to be civil to him, and respect their father's imperious
will as he chose that it should be respected. What a sorry figure he
should cut before all of