“Father,” said Sylvia in a tremulous tone, “I must speak, and now. You must not be angry, father; but you say that we spend too much on housekeeping. We do not; we spend too little.”
“Sylvia!”
“Yes; I am not going to be afraid,” continued the girl. “You were displeased with me to-night—yes, I know you were—because I nearly finished the bread. I finished it because—because I was hungry; yes, hungry. And, father, I do not mind how stale the bread is, nor how poor the food, but I must—I must have enough. You do not give me enough. No, you do not. I cannot bear the pain. I cannot bear the neuralgia. I cannot bear the cold of this house. I want warmth, and I want food, and I want clothes that will keep the chill away. That is all—just physical things. I do not ask for fun, nor for companions of my own age, nor for anything of that sort, but I do ask you, father, not to oblige me to lead this miserable, starved life in the future.”
Sylvia paused; her courage, after all, was short-lived. The look on her father’s face arrested her words. He wore a stony look. His face, which had been fairly animated, had lost almost all expression. The pupils of his eyes were narrowed to a pin’s point. Those eyes fixed themselves on the girl’s face as though they were gimlets, as though they meant to pierce right into her very soul. Alarm now took the place of beseeching.
“Never mind,” she said—“never mind; it was just your wild little rebellious Sylvia. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t—don’t! Oh, I will bear it—I will bear it! Don’t look at me like that!”
“Go to your room,” was his answer, “at once. Go to your room.”
She was a spirited girl, but she crept out of the room as though some one had beaten her.
CHAPTER XIII.—JASPER TO THE RESCUE.
The next evening, at the hour which she had named, Jasper walked down the road which led to The Priory. She walked with a confident step; she had very little doubt that Sylvia would be waiting for her. She was not far wrong in her expectations. A girl, wrapped in a cloak, was standing by a hedge. By the girl stood the mastiff Pilot. Pilot was not too well fed, but he was better fed than Sylvia. It was necessary, according to Mr. Leeson’s ideas, that Pilot should be strong enough to guard The Priory against thieves, against unwelcome, prying visitors—against the whole of the human race. But even Pilot could be caught by guile, and Sylvia was determined that he should be friends with Jasper. As Jasper came up the road Sylvia advanced a step or two to meet her.
“Well, dear,” said Jasper in a cheerful tone, “am I to come in, and am I to be welcome?”