Furious anger shook the man to his depths. He hurried into the house.
CHAPTER XXIX.—WHAT COULD IT MEAN?
Anger gave Mr. Leeson a false strength. He put the canvas bags of gold into a large cupboard in the parlor; he locked the door and put the key into his pocket. Then he went gingerly and on tiptoe to another cupboard, and took down out of the midst of an array of dirty empty bottles one which contained a very little brandy. He kept this brandy here so that no one should guess at its existence. He poured himself out about a thimbleful of the potent spirit and drank it off. He then returned the bottle to its place, and fumbling in a lower shelf, collected some implements together. With these he went out into the open air.
He now approached the window where the light shone—the faint, dim light which flickered against the blind and seemed almost to go out, and then shone once more. Slowly and dexterously he cut, with a diamond which he had brought for the purpose, a square of glass out of the lower pane. 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 some drops which stood on his forehead. Then he said “Ah!” once more, and slipped softly, deftly, and quietly into the room. He had made no noise whatsoever. The young sleepers never moved. He stood in the fire-lit, and in his opinion lavishly 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 bent down over the little occupant of the smaller bed.
A girl—a stranger! A girl with long, fair hair, and light lashes lying on a white cheek. A curious-looking girl! She moaned once or twice in her sleep. He did not want to awaken her.
He looked towards the other bed, in which lay Sylvia, pretty, debonair, rosy in her happy, warm slumber. 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 remains of supper! Good living, warmth, luxuries, under the roof of the man who was 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 determined not to give way to his passions; he was determined, before he said a word to Sylvia, to regain his self-control.