“No, love, not a bit of it; but he slipped in the cold and the fall stunned him a bit, and the cold is so strong he could not come to himself again. He will soon be all right; we must get this brandy between his lips.”
That they managed to do, and a minute or two later the poor man opened his eyes. Just for a second it seemed to him that he saw a strange woman, stout and large and determined-looking, bending over him; but the next instant, his consciousness more wholly returning, he saw Sylvia. Sylvia’s little face, white with fear, her eyes, large with love and anxiety, were close to his. He smiled into the sweet little face, and holding out his thin hand, allowed her to clasp it. There was a rustle as though somebody was going away, and Sylvia and her father were alone. A moment later the young girl raised her eyes and saw Jasper in the background making mysterious signs to her. She got up. Jasper was holding a cup of very strong soup in her hand. Sylvia took it with thankfulness, and brought it to her father.
“Do you know,” she said, trying to speak as cheerfully as she could, “that you have behaved very badly? You went out into the snow when you should have been in your warm room, and you fell down and you fainted or something. Anyhow, I found you in time; and now you are to drink this.”
“I won’t; hot water will do—not that expensive stuff,” said Mr. Leeson, true to the tragedy of his life even at this crucial moment.
“Drink this and nothing else,” said Sylvia, speaking as hardly and firmly as she dared.
Mr. Leeson was too weak to withstand her. She fed him by spoonfuls, and presently he was well enough to sit up again.
“Child, what a fire!” he said.
“Yes, father; and if it means our very last sixpence, or our very last penny even, it is going to be a big fire to-night: and you are going to be nursed and petted and comforted. Oh, father, father, you gave me such a fright!”
As Sylvia spoke her composure gave way; her tense feelings were relieved by a flood of tears. She pressed her face against her father’s hand and sobbed unrestrainedly.
“You do not mean to say you are really fond of me?” he said; and a queer moisture came into his own eyes. He said nothing more about the coals, and Sylvia insisted on his having more food, and, in short, having a really good time.