Anger gave Mr. Leeson a false strength. He put the canvas bags of gold into a large cupboard in the parlor¹; he locked the door and put the key into his pocket. Then he went gingerly and on tiptoe to another cupboard, and took down out of the midst of an array of dirty empty bottles one which contained a very little brandy. He kept this brandy here so that no one should guess at its existence. He poured himself out about a thimbleful of the potent² spirit and drank it off. He then returned the bottle to its place, and fumbling³ in a lower shelf, collected some implements⁴ together. With these he went out into the open air.  
He now approached the window where the light shone—the faint, dim light which flickered⁵ against the blind and seemed almost to go out, and then shone once more. Slowly and dexterously⁶ he cut, with a diamond which he had brought for the purpose, a square of glass out of the lower pane⁷. He put the glass on the ground, and slipping in his hand, pushed back the bolt. All his movements were quiet. He said “Ah!” once or twice under his breath. When he had gently and very softly lifted the sash, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away 369 some drops which stood on his forehead. Then he said “Ah!” once more, and slipped softly, deftly⁸, and quietly into the room. He had made no noise whatsoever⁹. The young sleepers¹⁰ never moved. He stood in the fire-lit, and in his opinion lavishly¹¹ furnished, room. Here was a small white bed and an occupant; here a larger bed and another occupant. He crept on tiptoe towards the two beds. He bent¹² down over the little occupant of the smaller bed.
 
A girl—a stranger! A girl with long, fair hair, and light lashes¹³ lying on a white cheek. A curious-looking girl! She moaned once or twice in her sleep. He did not want to awaken¹⁴ her.
 
He looked towards the other bed, in which lay Sylvia, pretty, debonair¹⁵, rosy¹⁶ in her happy, warm slumber¹⁷. She had flung one arm outside the counterpane. Her lips parted; she uttered the words:
 
“Darling father! Poor, poor father!”
 
The man who listened started back as though something had struck him.
 
Sylvia in that bed—Sylvia who had spoken to him not two hours ago up-stairs? What did it mean? What could it mean? And who was this stranger? And what did the fire mean, and all the furniture? A carpet on the floor, too! A carpet on his floor—his! And a fire which he had never warranted in his grate, and beds which he had never ordered in his room! Oh! was it not enough to strike a man mad with fury? And yet again! what was this? A table and the remains¹⁸ of supper! Good living, warmth, luxuries, under the roof of the man who was 370 fireless and cold and, as he himself fondly and foolishly believed, a beggar!
 
He stood absolutely dumb. He would not awaken the sleepers. A strange sensation visited him. He was determined¹⁹ not to give way to his passions; he was determined, before he said a word to Sylvia, to regain²⁰ his self-control.
 
“Once I said bitter things to her mother; I will not err²¹ in that direction any more,” he said to himself. “And in her sleep she called me ‘Father’ and ‘Poor father.’ But all the same I shall cast her away. She is no longer my Sylvia. I disown her; I disinherit her. She goes out into the cold. She is ruining her father. She has deceived me; she shall never be anything to me again. Paw! how I hate her!”
 
He went to the window, got out just as he had got in, drew down the sash, and stepped softly across the dark lawn.
 
He was very cold now, and he felt faint; the effect of the tiny supply of brandy which he had administered to himself had worn off. He went into his desolate²² parlor. How cold it was! He thought of the big fire in the bedroom which he had left. How poor and desolate was this room by contrast! What a miserable²³ bed he reposed²⁴ on at night—absolutely not enough blankets—but Sylvia lay like a bird in its nest, so warm, so snug²⁵! Oh! how bad she was!
 
“Her mother was never as bad as that,” he muttered to himself. “She was extravagant²⁶, but she 371 was not like Sylvia. She never willingly deceived me. Sylvia to have a strange and unknown girl—a stranger—in the house! All my suspicions are verified. My doubts are certainties. God help me! I am a miserable old man.”
 
He cowered²⁷ down, and the icy cold of the room struck through his bones. He looked at the grate, and observed that a fire had been laid there.
 
“Sylvia did that,” he said to himself. “The little minx did not like to feel that she was so warm and I so cold, so she laid the fire; she thought that I would indulge myself. I! But am I not suffering for her? While she lies in the lap of luxury I die of cold and hunger, and all for her. But I will do it no longer. I will light the fire; I will have a feast; I will eat and drink and be merry, and forget that I had a daughter.”
 
So the unfortunate man, half-mad with bewilderment and the grief of his recent losses, lit a blazing fire, and going to his cupboard, took out his brandy and drank what was left in the bottle. He was warm now, and his pulse beat more quickly. He remembered his six bags of gold, and the other six bags in the garden, and h............