"Good-night, Tom."
"Good-night, miss."
He took the thin white hand she held out to him. She drew his face to hers and kissed him.
"Thank you, Tom! Oh, thank you!"
The tender light of the coming day shone upon his tear-stained face as he walked home to his humble bed.
CHAPTER XIX.
A VISIT TO DONCASTER AND ITS RESULTS.
The "system" which Jeremiah Pamflett, after infinite patience, had discovered of winning large sums of money upon the turf did not turn out the absolute certainty which his calculations upon paper had foreshadowed. At first all went well; he commenced with small amounts, and a peculiar run of wins in a certain direction favoured him. For three or four weeks his good fortune continued; every day's results showed a balance on the right, his lowest daily win being £3, his highest £62. At the end of that time he was the richer by £280. So far, so good.
He did not think so; he was mad with himself for winning so little. That was because he had ventured so little. "What an idiot I am!" he groaned, in the solitude of his bedchamber. "What an idiot! what an idiot! Had I multiplied my stakes by fifty I should have won £14,000. Where are my brains? Where is my pluck? Without courage, no one who was not born to riches has ever made a great fortune. And here am I wasting the precious time and letting my opportunities slip! £14,000 in four weeks. Forty racing weeks a year, £140,000. Five years of that, £7,000,000. Oh, Lord! seven million pounds! Seven millions! I could double it while I was making it. Fourteen million pounds! What could I do with fourteen millions? What could I do?" he screamed. "What couldn't I do? I could turn the world topsy-turvy! I could become anything I liked!—a Prince—a King—an Emperor! And all in five years from to-day—with a long life before me to enjoy my money! I'll do it—I'll do it—I'll do it!"