“Go!” screamed the angry man. “Do not tell me another word.”
He dashed into the house in absolute terror, and banged the hall door after him.
“I said I would give him a fright,” said Jasper to herself. “Well, if he don’t touch another morsel till Miss Sylvia comes home late to-night, he won’t die after my dinner. Ah, the poor old hen! I must get her out of the basket now or she will be suffocated.”
The gipsy walked slowly down the path, let herself out by the front entrance, walked round to the back, got in once more, and handed the old hen to a boy who was standing by the hedge.
“There,” she said. “There’s a present for you. Take it at once and go.”
“What do I want with it?” he asked in astonishment. “Why, it belongs to old Mr. Leeson, the miser!”
“Go—go!” she said. “You can sell it for sixpence, or a shilling, or whatever it will fetch, only take it away.”
The boy ran off laughing, the hen tucked under his arm.
CHAPTER XIX.—“WHY DID YOU DO IT?”
Meanwhile Sylvia was thoroughly enjoying herself. She started for the Castle in the highest spirits. Her walk during the morning hours had not fatigued her; and when, soon after twelve o’clock, she walked slowly and thoughtfully up the avenue, a happier, prettier girl could scarcely be seen. The good food she had enjoyed since Jasper had appeared on the scene had already begun to tell. Her cheeks were plump, her eyes bright; her somewhat pale complexion was creamy in tint and thoroughly healthy. Her dress, too, effected wonders. Sylvia would look well in a cotton frock; she would look well as a milkmaid, as a cottage girl; but she also had that indescribable grace which would enable her to fill a loftier station. And now, in her rich furs and dark-brown costume, she looked fit to move in any society. She held Evelyn’s letter in her hand. Her one fear was that Evelyn would remark on her own costume transmogrified for Sylvia’s benefit.