The next morning, when the meager¹ 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 standing² in the kitchen. She had made up the fire with the smokeless coal, and it was burning slowly but steadily³. 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 briefly⁴.
 
“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 214 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 folly⁵? 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 miserable⁶ barn-door fowls⁷ 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 prudent⁹, 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 spoke¹⁰ 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 fowl⁸ to eat for his dinner as long as the old 215 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.” 216
“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 luxurious¹¹ 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 217 his chop in it. It is really good, and I am putting in lots of pearl barley¹² 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 enjoyment¹³ as far as Sylvia was concerned. She had sufficiently¹⁴ good taste to choose the least remarkable¹⁵ of Evelyn’s many costumes. There was a rich dark-brown costume, trimmed with velvet¹⁶ of the same shade, which could be lengthened¹⁷ 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 ostrich¹⁸ feathers placed on one side, and a pearl buckle¹⁹ 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 218 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 distressed²⁰ 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 flakes²¹.
 
“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 determined²² 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 hearth²³; 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 drowsy²⁴. 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 219 to her aid! But that, she knew, would be impossible. She wrapped a threadbare cloak, which hung on a peg²⁵ 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 bent²⁶ 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 prudence²⁷ flew to the winds. Get succor²⁸ 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 220 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!”

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