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 he resolved that if necessary he would fly without Sylvia. Sylvia could stay behind. If she managed to have such luxuries without his aid, she could go on having them; he would leave her a trifle—yes, a trifle—and save the rest for himself, and be no longer tortured by an unworthy and deceitful daughter. But as he thought these things he became more and more puzzled. The 372 Sylvia lying on that bed was undoubtedly28 his daughter; but his daughter had spoken to him from her own room at a reasonable hour—between ten and eleven o’clock—that same night. How could there be two Sylvias?
“The mystery thickens,” he muttered to himself. “This is more than I can stand. I will ferret the thing out—yes, and to the very bottom. Those trunks in the attic29! I suppose they belong to that ugly child. That voice in Sylvia’s room! Well, of course it was Sylvia’s voice; but what about the other Sylvia down-stairs? I must see into this matter without delay.”
He went up-stairs and found himself outside Sylvia’s door. He turned the handle, but it was locked. There was a light in the room, doubtless caused by another fire. He looked through the keyhole; the door was locked from within, for the key was in the lock.
More and more remarkable30! How could Sylvia lock the door from within if she was not in the room? Really the matter was enough to daze31 any man. Suddenly he made up his mind. It was now five o’clock in the morning; in a short time the day would break. Sylvia was an early riser. If Sylvia or any one else was in that room he would wait on the threshold to confront that person. Oh, of course it was Sylvia; she had slipped back again and was in bed, and thought he would never discover her. How astonished she would be when she saw him seated outside her door! 373
So Mr. Leeson fetched a broken-down chair from his own bedroom, placed it softly just outside the door of the room where Jasper was reposing32, and prepared himself to watch. He was far too excited to sleep, and the hours dragged slowly on. There was an old eight-day clock in the hall, and it struck solemnly hour after hour. Six o’clock—seven o’clock. Sylvia rose soon after seven. He waited now impatiently. The days were beginning to lengthen33, and it was light—not full daylight, but nearly so. He heard a stir in the room.
“Ha, ha, Miss Sylvia!” he said to himself, “I shall catch you, take you by the hand, bring you down to my parlor, tell you exactly what I think of——Hullo! she is making a good deal of noise. How strong she is! How she bounded out of bed!”
He listened impatiently. His heart warmed now to the work which lay before him. He was, on the whole, enjoying himself at the thought of discovering to Sylvia how black he thought her iniquities34.
“No child of my own any more!” he said to himself. “‘Poor father,’ indeed! ‘Darling father, forsooth!’ No, no, Sylvia; acts speak louder than words, and you were convicted out of your own mouth, my daughter.”
Jasper dressed with despatch35. She washed; she arranged her toilet. She came to the door; she opened it. Mr. Leeson looked up.
Jasper fell back.
“Merciful heavens!” cried the woman; and then 374 Mr. Leeson grasped her hand and dragged her out of the room.
“Who are you, woman?” he said. “How dare you come into my house? What are you doing in my daughter’s room?”
“Ah, Mr. Leeson,” said Jasper quietly, “discovered at last. Well, sir, and I am not sorry.”
“But who are you? What are you? What are you doing in my daughter’s room?”
“Will you come down to the parlor with me, Mr. Leeson, or shall I explain here?”
“You do not stir a step from this place until you tell me.”
“Then I will, sir—I will. I have been living in this house for the last six weeks. During that time I have paid Miss Sylvia, and she has had money enough to keep the breath of life within her. Be thankful that I came, Mr. Leeson, for you owe me much, and I owe you nothing. Ah! do you recognize me now? The gipsy—forsooth!—the gipsy who gave you a recipe for making the old hen tender! Ha, ha! I laugh as I thought never to laugh again when I recall that day.”
Mr. Leeson stood cold and white, looking full at Jasper. Suddenly a great dizziness took possession of him; he stretched out his hand wildly.
“There is something wrong with me,” he said. “I don’t think I am well.”
“Poor old gentleman!” said Jasper—“no wonder!” and her voice became mild. “The shock of it all, and the confusion! Sakes alive! I am not 375 going to take you into that icy bedroom of yours. Lean on me. There now, sir. You have not lost a penny by me; you have saved, on the contrary, and I have kept your daughter alive, and I have given you the best food, made out of the tenderest chickens, out of my own money, mark you—out of my own money—for weeks and weeks. Come down-stairs, sir; come and I will get you a bit of breakfast.”
“I—cannot—see,” muttered Mr. Leeson again.
“Well then, sir, I suppose you can feel. Anyhow, here is a good, strong right arm. Lean on it—all your weight if you like. Now then, we will get down-stairs.”
Mr. Leeson was past resistance. Jasper pulled his shaky old hand through her arm, and half-carried, half-dragged him down to the parlor. There she put him in a big armchair near the fire, and was bustling36 out of the room to get breakfast when he called her back.
“So you really are the woman who had the recipe for making old hens tender?”
“Bless you, Mr. Leeson!—bless you!—yes, I am the woman.”
“You will let me buy it from you?”
“Certainly—yes,” replied Jasper, not quite knowing whether to laugh or to cry. “But I am going to get you some breakfast now.”
“And who is the other girl?”
“Does he know about her too?” thought Jasper. “What can have happened in the night?”
“If you mean my dear little Miss Eve, why, no 376 one has a better right to be here, for she belongs to me and I pay for her—yes, every penny; and, for the matter of that, she only came last night. But do not fash yourself now, my good sir; you are past thought, I take it, and you want a hearty37 meal.”
Jasper bustled38 away; Mr. Leeson lay back in his chair. Was the world turning upside down? What had happened? Oh, if only he could feel well! If only that giddiness would leave him! What was the matter? He had been so well and so fierce and so strong a few hours ago, and now—now even his anger was slipping away from him. He had felt quite comforted when he leaned on Jasper’s strong arm; and when she pushed him into the armchair and wrapped an old blanket round him, he had enjoyed it rather than otherwise. Oh! he ought to be nearly mad with rage; and yet somehow—somehow he was not.
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1
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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4
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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5
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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10
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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11
lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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12
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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13
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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14
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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21
err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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22
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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23
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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26
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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31
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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32
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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33
lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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34
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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35
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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36
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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37
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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38
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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