“I will go,” answered Jasper after a pause; “but I will come again to this same spot to-morrow night, and then you can answer me. Her ladyship cannot turn me out between now and to-morrow night, and I will come then for my answer.”
She turned and left Sylvia and went straight back to the village.
Sylvia stood still for a minute after she had gone. She then turned very slowly and re-entered The Priory grounds. A moment later she was in the ugly, ill-furnished house. The hall into which she had admitted herself was perfectly dark. There were no carpets on the floor, and the wind whistled through the ill-fitting casements. The young girl fumbled about until she found a box of matches. She struck one and lit a candle which stood in a brass candlestick on a shelf. She then drearily mounted the uncarpeted stairs. She went to her own room, and opening a box, looked quickly and furtively around her. The box contained some crusts of bread and a few dried figs. Sylvia counted the crusts with fingers that shook. There were five. The crusts were not large, and they were dry.
“I will eat one to-night,” she said to herself, “and—yes, two of the figs. I will not eat anything now. I wish Jasper had not tempted me. Twenty shillings, and paid in advance; and father need never know! Lots of room in the house! Yes; I know the one she could have, and I could make it comfortable; and father never goes there—never. It is away beyond the kitchen. I could make it very comfortable. She should have a fire, and we could have our chocolate there. We must never, never have any cooking that smells; we must never have anything fried; we must just have plain things. Oh! I dare not think any more. Mother once said to me, ‘If your father ever, ever finds out, Sylvia, that you have deceived him, all, all will be up.’ I won’t yield to temptation; it would be an awful act of deceit. I cannot—I will not do it! If he will only give me enough I will resist Jasper; but it is hard on a girl to be so frightfully hungry.”
She sighed, pulled herself together, walked to the window, and looked up at the watery moon.
“My own mother,” she whispered, “can you see me, and are you sorry for me, and are you helping me?”
Then she washed her hands, combed out her pretty, curly black hair, and ran down-stairs. When she got half-way down she burst into a cheerful song, and as she bounded into a room where a man sat crouching over a few embers on the hearth her voice rose to positive gaiety.
“Where have you been all this time?” said the querulous tones.
“Learning a new song for you, dad. Come now; supper is ready.”
“Supper!” said the man. He rose, and turned and faced his daughter.