Sylvia, who had never seen her father like this, shrank back in terror, but Deborah, with all her wits about her, though she was wildly astonished, seized a carafe of water from the table and dashed the contents in his face. The old man gasped, shuddered, and, dripping wet, sank again on the sofa. But the approaching fit was past, and when he looked up after a moment or so, his voice was as calm as his face. "What's all this?" he asked, feebly. "Nothing, father," said Sylvia, kneeling beside him; "you must not doubt Debby, who is as true as steel." "Are you, Deborah?" asked Aaron, weakly. "I should think so," she declared, putting her arms round Sylvia, "so long, sir, as you don't hurt my flower." "I don't want to hurt her ..." "There's feelings as well as bones," said Deborah, hugging Sylvia so as to keep her from speaking, "and love you can't squash, try as you may, though, bless you, I'm not given to keeping company myself." "Love," said Aaron, vacantly. He seemed to think more of his troubles than of Sylvia going to visit a young man. "Love and Mr. Beecot," said Deborah. "She wants to marry him." "Why, then," said Aaron, calmly, "she shall marry him." Sylvia fell at his feet. "Oh, father--father, and I have kept it from you all these months. Forgive me--forgive me," and she wept. "My dear," he said, gently raising her, "there is nothing to forgive." CHAPTER VI A NOISE IN THE NIGHT Both Deborah and Sylvia were astonished that Aaron should be so indifferent about their long concealment. They had expected and dreaded a storm, yet when the secret was told Mr. Norman appeared to take it as calmly as though he had known about the matter from the first. Indeed, he seemed perfectly indifferent, and when he raised Sylvia and made her sit beside him on the sofa he reverted to the brooch. "I shall certainly see Mr. Beecot," he said in a dreamy way. "Charing Cross Hospital--of course. I'll go to-morrow. I had intended to see about selling the furniture then, but I'll wait till the next day. I want the brooch first--yes--yes," and he opened and shut his hand in a strangely restless manner. The girl and the servant looked at one another in a perplexed way, for it was odd Norman should take the secret wooing of his daughter so quietly. He had never evinced much interest in Sylvia, who had been left mainly to the rough attentions of Miss Junk, but sometimes he had mentioned that Sylvia would be an heiress and fit to marry a poor peer. The love of Paul Beecot overthrew this scheme, if the man intended to carry it out, yet he did not seem to mind. Sylvia, thinking entirely of Paul, was glad, and the tense expression of her face relaxed; but Deborah sniffed, which was always an intimation that she intended to unburden her mind on an unpleasant subject.