The next morning, when the meager breakfast which Mr. Leeson and his
daughter enjoyed together had come to an end, Sylvia ran off to find
Jasper. She had stayed with her father during most of the preceding
evening, and although she had gone as usual to drink her chocolate and
eat her bread before going to bed, she had said very little to Jasper.
But she wanted to speak to her this morning, for she had thoughts in the
night, and those thoughts were driving her to decisive action. Jasper
was standing in the kitchen. She had made up the fire with the smokeless
coal, and it was burning slowly but steadily. A little, plump chicken
lay on the table; a small piece of bacon was close at hand. There was
also a pile of large and mealy-looking potatoes and some green
vegetables.
"Our dinner for to-day," said Jasper briefly.
"Oh Jasper!" answered the girl--"oh, if only father could have some of
that chicken! Do you know, I do not think he is at all well; he looked
so cold and feeble last night. He really is starving himself--very much
as I starved myself before you came; but he is old and cannot bear it
quite so well. What am I to do to keep him alive?"
Jasper looked full at Sylvia.
"Do!" she said. "How can a fool be cured of his folly? That is the
question I ask myself. If he denies himself the necessaries of life, how
are you to give them to him?"
"Well," said Sylvia, "I manage as best I can by hardly ever eating in
his presence; he does not notice, particularly at breakfast. He enjoyed
his egg and toast this morning, and really said nothing about my
unwonted extravagance."
"I have a plan in my head," said Jasper, "which may or may not come to
anything. You know those few miserable barn-door fowls which your father
keeps just by the shrubbery in that old hen-house?"
"Yes," replied Sylvia.
"Do they ever lay any eggs?"
"No."
"I thought not. I wonder a prudent, careful man like Mr. Leeson should
keep them eating their heads off, so to speak."
"Oh, they don't eat much," replied Sylvia. "I got them when father spoke
so much about the wasted potato-skins. I bought them from a gipsy. I did
not know they were so old."
"We must get rid of those fowls," said Jasper. "You must tell your
father that it is a great waste of money to keep them; and, my dear, we
will give him fowl to eat for his dinner as long as the old fowls in the
shrubbery last. There are ten of them. I shall sell them--very little
indeed we shall get for them--and he will imagine he is eating them when
he really is consuming a delicate little bird like the one you and I are
going to enjoy for our dinner to-day."
"What fun!" said Sylvia, the color coming into her cheeks and her eyes
sparkling. "You do not think it is wrong to deceive him, do you?"
"Wrong! Bless you! no," replied Jasper. "And now, my dear, what is the
matter with you? You look----"
"How?" replied Sylvia.
"Just as if you were bursting to tell me something."
"I am--I am," answered Sylvia. "Oh Jasper, you must help me!"
"Of course I will, dear."
"I have resolved to accept your most kind offer. I will pay you somehow,
in some fashion, but if you could make just one of Evelyn's frocks fit
for me to wear!"
"Ah!" replied Jasper. "Now, I am as pleased about this as I could be
about anything. We will have more than one, my pretty young miss. But
what do you want it for?"
"I am going to do a great, big, dangerous thing," replied Sylvia. "If
father discovers, things will be very bad, I am sure; but perhaps he
will not discover. Anyhow, I am not proof against temptation. I met Lady
Frances Wynford."
"And how does her ladyship look?" asked Jasper--"as proud as ever?"
"She was not proud to me, Jasper; she was quite nice. She asked me to
take a drive with her."
"You took a drive with her ladyship!"
"I did indeed; you must treat me with great respect after this."
Jasper put her arms akimbo and burst into a loud laugh.
"I guess," she said after a pause, "you looked just as fine and
aristocratic as her ladyship's own self."
"I drove in a luxurious carriage, and had a lovely fur cloak wrapped
round me," replied the girl; "and Lady Frances was very, very kind, and
she has asked me to spend Saturday at the Castle."
"Saturday! Why, that is to-morrow."
"Yes, I know it is."
"You are going?"
"Yes, I am going."
"You will see my little Eve to-morrow?"
"Yes, Jasper."
Jasper's black eyes grew suspiciously bright; she raised her hand to
dash away something which seemed to dim them for a second, then she said
in a brisk tone:
"We have our work cut out for us, for you shall not go shabby, my
pretty, pretty maid. I will soon have the dinner in order, and----"
"But what have you got for father's dinner?"
"A little soup. You can tell him that you boiled his chop in it. It is
really good, and I am putting in lots of pearl barley and rice and
potatoes. He will be ever so pleased, for he will think it cost next to
nothing; but there is a good piece of solid meat boiled down in that
soup, nevertheless."
"Oh, thank you, Jasper; you are a comfort to me."
"Well," replied Jasper, "I always like to do my best for those who are
brave and young and put upon. You are a very silly girl in some ways,
Miss Sylvia; but you have been good to me, and I mean to be good to you.
Now then, dinner is well forward, and we will go and search out the
dress."
The rest of the day passed quickly, and with intense enjoyment as far as
Sylvia was concerned. She had sufficiently good taste to choose the
least remarkable of Evelyn's many costumes. There was a rich dark-brown
costume, trimmed with velvet of the same shade, which could be
lengthened in the skirt and let out in the bodice, and which the young
girl would look very nice in. A brown velvet hat accompanied the
costume, with a little tuft of ostrich feathers placed on one side, and
a pearl buckle to keep all in place. There were muffs and furs in
quantities to choose from. Sylvia would for once in her life be richly
appareled. Jasper exerted herself to the utmost, and the pretty dress
was all in order by the time night came.
It was quite late evening when Sylvia sought the room where her father
lived. A very plain but at the same time nourishing supper had been
provided for Mr. Leeson. Sylvia's own supper she would take as usual
with Jasper. Sylvia dashed into her father's room, her eyes bright and
her cheeks glowing. She was surprised and distressed to see the room
empty. She wondered if her father had gone to his bedroom. Quickly she
rushed up-stairs and knocked at the door; there was no response. She
opened the door softly and went in. All was cold and icy desolation
within the large, badly furnished room. Sylvia shivered slightly, and
rushed down-stairs again. She peeped out of the window. The snow was
falling heavily in great big flakes.
"Oh, I hope it will not snow too much to-night!" thought the young girl.
"But no matter; however deep it is, I shall find my way to Castle
Wynford to-morrow."
She wondered if her father would miss her, if he would grow restless and
anxious; but nevertheless she was determined to enjoy her pleasure.
Still, where was he now? She glanced at the fire in the big grate; she
ventured to put on some more coals and to tidy up the hearth; then she
drew down the blinds of the windows, pulled her father's armchair in
front of the fire, sat down herself by the hearth, and waited. She
waited for over half an hour. During that time the warmth of the fire
made her drowsy. She found herself nodding. Suddenly she sat up wide
awake. A queer sense of uneasiness stole over her; she must go and seek
her father. Where could he be? How she longed to call Jasper to her aid!
But that, she knew, would be impossible. She wrapped a threadbare cloak,
which hung on a peg in the hall, round her shoulders, slipped her feet
into goloshes, and set out into the wintry night. She had not gone a
dozen yards before she saw the object of her search. Mr. Leeson was
lying full length on the snow; he was not moving. Sylvia had a wild
horror that he was dead; she bent over him.
"Father! father!" she cried.
There was no answer. She touched his face with her lips; it was icy
cold. Oh, was he dead? Oh, terror! oh, horror! All her accustomed
prudence flew to the winds. Get succor for him at once she must. She
dashed into the kitchen. Jasper was standing by the fire.
"Come at once, Jasper!" she said. "Bring brandy, and come at once."
"What has happened, my darling?"
"Come at once and you will see. Bring brandy--brandy."
Jasper in an emergency was all that was admirable. She followed Sylvia
out into the snow, and between them they dragged Mr. Leeson back to the
house.
"Now, dear," said Jasper, "I will give him the brandy, and I'll stand
behind him. When he comes to I will slip out of the room. Oh, the poor
gentleman! He is as cold as ice. Hold that blanket and warm it, will
you, Sylvia? We must put it round him. Oh, bless you, child! heap some
coals on the fire. What matter the expense? There! you cannot lift that
great hod; I'll do it."
Jasper piled coals on the grate; the fire crackled and blazed merrily.
Mr. Leeson lay like one dead.
"He is dead--he is dead!" gasped Sylvia.
"No, love, not a bit of it; but he slipped in the cold and the fall
stunned him a bit, and the cold is so strong he could not come to
himself again. He will soon be all right; we must get this brandy
between his lips."
That they managed to do, and a minute or two later the poor man opened
his eyes. Just for a second it seemed to him that he saw a strange
woman, stout and large and determined-looking, bending over him; but the
next instant, his consciousness more wholly returning, he saw Sylvia.
Sylvia's little face, white with fear, her eyes, large with love and
anxiety, were close to his. He smiled into the sweet little face, and
holding out his thin hand, allowed her to clasp it. There was a rustle
as though somebody was going away, and Sylvia and her father were alone.
A moment later the young girl raised her eyes and saw Jasper in the
background making mysterious signs to her. She got up. Jasper was
holding a cup of very strong soup in her hand. Sylvia took it with
thankfulness, and brought it to her father.
"Do you know," she said, trying to speak as cheerfully as she could,
"that you have behaved very badly? You went out into the snow when you
should have been in your warm room, and you fell down and you fainted or
something. Anyhow, I found you in time; and now you are to drink this."
"I won't; hot water will do--not that expensive stuff," said Mr. Leeson,
true to the tragedy of his life even at this crucial moment.
"Drink this and nothing else," said Sylvia, speaking as hardly and
firmly as she dared.
Mr. Leeson was too weak to withstand her. She fed him by spoonfuls, and
presently he was well enough to sit up again.
"Child, what a fire!" he said.
"Yes, father; and if it means our very last sixpence, or our very last
penny even, it is going to be a big fire to-night: and you are going to
be nursed and petted and comforted. Oh, father, father, you gave me such
a fright!"
As Sylvia spoke her composure gave way; her tense feelings were relieved
by a flood of tears. She pressed her face against her father's hand and
sobbed unrestrainedly.
"You do not mean to say you are really fond of me?" he said; and a queer
moisture came into his own eyes. He said nothing more about the coals,
and Sylvia insisted on his having more food, and, in short, having a
really good time.
"Dare I leave him to-morrow?" she said to herself. "He may be very weak
after this; and yet--and yet I cannot give up my great, great fun. My
lovely dress, too, ready and all! Oh! I must go. I am sure he will be
all right in the morning."
Presently, much to Sylvia's relief, Mr. Leeson suggested that he should
sleep on the sofa, in the neighborhood of the big fire.
"For you have been so reckless, my dear little girl," he said, "that
really you have provided a fire to last for hours and hours. It would be
a sad pity to waste it; I think, therefore, that I shall spend the night
on this sofa, well wrapped up, enjoying the heat."
"Nothing could be better, father," said Sylvia, "except a big, very big,
fire in your own room, and you in your own bed well warmed with hot
bottles."
"We should soon be in the workhouse," was Mr. Leeson's rejoinder. "No,
no; I will enjoy the fire here now that you have been so extravagant;
and you had better go to bed if you have had your supper."
Sylvia had had no supper, but Mr. Leeson was far too self-absorbed to
notice that fact. Presently she left him, and he lay on the sofa,
blinking into the fire, and occasionally half-dozing. After a time he
dropped off to sleep, and the young girl, who stole in to look at him,
went out with a satisfied expression on her face.
"He is quite well again," she said to Jasper, "and he is sleeping
sweetly.
"Now, look here," said Jasper. "What is fretting you?"
"I don't think I ought to leave him to-morrow."
"But I shall be here. I will manage to let him have his meals
comfortable without his knowing it. Do you suppose I have not done more
difficult things than that in my day? Now, my love, you go to bed and
sleep sound, and I will have a plan all mature to give you your happy
day with an undisturbed conscience in the morning."
Sylvia was really very tired--dead tired. She went up-stairs, and as soon
as she laid her head on her pillow was sound asleep.
Meanwhile Mr. Leeson slept on for two or three hours; it was past the
middle of the night when he awoke. He woke wide awake, as elderly people
will, and looked round him. The fire had burnt itself down to a great
red mass; the room looked cheery and comfortable in the warm rays. Mr.
Leeson stirred himself luxuriously and wrapped the blanket, which Jasper
had brought from her own stores, tightly round his person. After a time,
however, its very softness and fluffiness and warmth attracted his
attention. He began to feel it between his fingers and thumb; then he
roused himself, sat up, and looked at it. A suspicious look came into
his eyes.
"What is the matter?" he said to himself. "Is Sylvia spending money that
I know nothing about? Why, this is a new blanket! I have an inventory of
every single thing that this house possesses. Surely new blankets are
not included in that inventory! I can soon see."
He rose, lit a pair of candles, went to a secretary which stood against
the wall, opened it, and took out a book marked "Exact Inventory of all
the Furniture at The Priory." He turned up the portion devoted to house
linen, and read the description of the different blankets which the
meager establishment contained. There was certainly a lack of these
valuable necessaries; the blankets at The Priory had seen much service,
and were worn thin with use and washing. But this blanket was new--oh,
delicious, of course--but what was the man worth who needed such
luxuries! Mr. Leeson pushed it aside with a disturbed look on his face.
"Sylvia must be spending money," he said to himself. "I have observed it
of late. She looks better, and she decidedly gives me extravagant meals.
The bread is not as stale as it might be, and there is too much meat
used. This soup----"
He took up the empty cup from which he had drained the soup a few hours
back, and looked at a drop or two which still remained at the bottom.
"Positively it jellies," he said to himself--"jellies! Then, too, in my
rambles round this evening I noticed that smoke again--that smoke coming
from the kitchen. There is too much fuel used here, and these blankets
are disgraceful, and the food is reckless--there is no other word for
it."
He sank back on his sofa and gazed at the fire.
"Ah!" he said as he looked full at the flames, "out you go presently;
and for some time the warmth will remain in the room, and I shall not
dream of lighting any other fire here until that warmth is gone. Sylvia
takes after her mother. There was never a better woman than my dear
wife, but she was madly, disgracefully extravagant. What shall I do if
this goes on?--and pretty girls like Sylvia are apt to be so thoughtless.
I wish I could send her away for a bit; it will be quite terrible if she
develops her mother's tastes. I could not be cruel to my pretty little
girl, but she certainly will be a fearful thorn in my side if she buys
blankets of this sort, and feeds me with soup that jellies, forsooth!
What am I to do? I have not saved quite so much as I ought during the
last week. Ah! the house is silent as the grave. I shall just count out
the money I have put into that last canvas bag."
A stealthy, queer light came into Mr. Leeson's eyes. He crossed the room
on tiptoe and turned the key in the lock. As he did so he seemed to be
assailed by a memory.
"Was I alone with Sylvia when I awoke out of unconsciousness," he said
to himself, "or was there some one else by? I cannot quite make out. Was
it a dream that I saw an ugly, large woman bending over me? People do
dream things of that sort when they sink from exhaustion. I have read of
it in stories of misers. Misers! I am nothing of that kind; I am just a
prudent man who will not spend too much--a prudent man who tries to save.
It must have been a dream that a stranger was in the house; my little
girl might take after her mother, but she is not so bad as that. Yes, I
will take the opportunity; I will count what is in the canvas bag. I was
too weak to-night to attempt the work of burying my treasure, but
to-morrow night I must be stronger. I believe I ate too much, and that
is what ails me--in fact, I am certain of it. The cold took me and
brought on an acute attack of indigestion, and I stumbled and fell. Poor
dear little Sylvia! But I won't leave her penniless; that is one
comfort."
Putting out one candle carefully, Mr. Leeson now laid the other on a
table. He then went to his secretary and opened it. He pushed in his
hand far, and brought out from its innermost depths a small bag made of
rough canvas. The bag was tied with coarse string. He glanced round him,
a strange expression on his face, and loosening the string of the bag,
poured its contents upon the table. He poured them out slowly, and as he
did so a look of distinct delight visited his face. There lay on the
table in front of him a pile of money--gold, silver, copper. He spent
some time dividing the three species of coin into different heaps. The
gold coins were put in piles one on top of the other at his right hand,
the silver lying in still larger heaps in the middle; the coppers, up to
farthings, lay on his left hand. He bent his head and touched the gold
with his lips.
"Beautiful! blessed! lovely!" he muttered. "I have saved all this out of
the money which my dear wife would have spent on food and dress and
luxuries. The solid, tangible, precious thing is here, and there is more
like it--much more like it--many bags larger than these, full, full to the
brim, all buried down deep in the fowl-house. No one would guess where I
bank my spoils. They are as safe as can be. I dare not keep much
treasure in the house, but no one will know where it really lies."
He counted his gold carefully; he also counted his silver; finally he
counted his copper. He wrote down the different sums on a piece of
paper, which he slipped into the canvas bag; he put back the coins, tied
the bag with the string, and returned it to its hiding-place.
"To-morrow night I must bury it," he said to himself. "I had hoped that
I would have saved a little more, but by dint of great additional
economy I may succeed next month. Well, I must begin to be very careful,
and I must speak plainly on the subject to Sylvia."