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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4537-h.zip b/4537-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1e3cea --- /dev/null +++ b/4537-h.zip diff --git a/4537-h/4537-h.htm b/4537-h/4537-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2c6489 --- /dev/null +++ b/4537-h/4537-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,27369 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Sylvia's Lovers, Vol. I, by Elizabeth Gaskell +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sylvia's Lovers -- Complete, by +Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sylvia's Lovers -- Complete + +Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell + +Posting Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #4537] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: February 4, 2002 +[Last updated: June 17, 2012] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIA'S LOVERS -- COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="transnote"> +[Editor's Note:—The chapter numbering for volume 2 & 3 was changed +from the original in order to have unique chapter numbers for the +complete version, so volume 2 starts with chapter XV and volume 3 +starts with chapter XXX.] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +SYLVIA'S LOVERS. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ELIZABETH GASKELL +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Oh for thy voice to soothe and bless!<BR> + What hope of answer, or redress?<BR> + Behind the veil! Behind the veil!—Tennyson<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +IN THREE VOLUMES. +<BR> +VOL. I. +<BR> +LONDON: +<BR> +M.DCCC.LXIII. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">MONKSHAVEN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">HOME FROM GREENLAND</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">BUYING A NEW CLOAK</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">PHILIP HEPBURN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">STORY OF THE PRESS-GANG</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">THE SAILOR'S FUNERAL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">TETE-A-TETE.—THE WILL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">ATTRACTION AND REPULSION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">THE SPECKSIONEER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">A REFRACTORY PUPIL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">VISIONS OF THE FUTURE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">NEW YEAR'S FETE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">PERPLEXITIES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">PARTNERSHIP</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">A DIFFICULT QUESTION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">THE ENGAGEMENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">REJECTED WARNINGS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">EDDY IN LOVE'S CURRENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">AN IMPORTANT MISSION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">LOVED AND LOST</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">A REJECTED SUITOR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">DEEPENING SHADOWS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">RETALIATION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">BRIEF REJOICING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">COMING TROUBLES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">A DREARY VIGIL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap27">GLOOMY DAYS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap28">THE ORDEAL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap29">WEDDING RAIMENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap30">HAPPY DAYS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap31">EVIL OMENS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap32">RESCUED FROM THE WAVES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap33">AN APPARITION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap34">A RECKLESS RECRUIT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap35">THINGS UNUTTERABLE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap36">MYSTERIOUS TIDINGS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap37">BEREAVEMENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap38">THE RECOGNITION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap39">CONFIDENCES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XL </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap40">AN UNEXPECTED MESSENGER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap41">THE BEDESMAN OF ST SEPULCHRE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap42">A FABLE AT FAULT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap43">THE UNKNOWN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap44">FIRST WORDS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap45">SAVED AND LOST</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MONKSHAVEN +</H3> + +<P> +On the north-eastern shores of England there is a town called +Monkshaven, containing at the present day about fifteen thousand +inhabitants. There were, however, but half the number at the end of +the last century, and it was at that period that the events narrated +in the following pages occurred. +</P> + +<P> +Monkshaven was a name not unknown in the history of England, and +traditions of its having been the landing-place of a throneless +queen were current in the town. At that time there had been a +fortified castle on the heights above it, the site of which was now +occupied by a deserted manor-house; and at an even earlier date than +the arrival of the queen and coeval with the most ancient remains of +the castle, a great monastery had stood on those cliffs, overlooking +the vast ocean that blended with the distant sky. Monkshaven itself +was built by the side of the Dee, just where the river falls into +the German Ocean. The principal street of the town ran parallel to +the stream, and smaller lanes branched out of this, and straggled up +the sides of the steep hill, between which and the river the houses +were pent in. There was a bridge across the Dee, and consequently a +Bridge Street running at right angles to the High Street; and on the +south side of the stream there were a few houses of more pretension, +around which lay gardens and fields. It was on this side of the town +that the local aristocracy lived. And who were the great people of +this small town? Not the younger branches of the county families +that held hereditary state in their manor-houses on the wild bleak +moors, that shut in Monkshaven almost as effectually on the land +side as ever the waters did on the sea-board. No; these old families +kept aloof from the unsavoury yet adventurous trade which brought +wealth to generation after generation of certain families in +Monkshaven. +</P> + +<P> +The magnates of Monkshaven were those who had the largest number of +ships engaged in the whaling-trade. Something like the following was +the course of life with a Monkshaven lad of this class:—He was +apprenticed as a sailor to one of the great ship-owners—to his own +father, possibly—along with twenty other boys, or, it might be, +even more. During the summer months he and his fellow apprentices +made voyages to the Greenland seas, returning with their cargoes in +the early autumn; and employing the winter months in watching the +preparation of the oil from the blubber in the melting-sheds, and +learning navigation from some quaint but experienced teacher, half +schoolmaster, half sailor, who seasoned his instructions by stirring +narrations of the wild adventures of his youth. The house of the +ship-owner to whom he was apprenticed was his home and that of his +companions during the idle season between October and March. The +domestic position of these boys varied according to the premium +paid; some took rank with the sons of the family, others were +considered as little better than servants. Yet once on board an +equality prevailed, in which, if any claimed superiority, it was the +bravest and brightest. After a certain number of voyages the +Monkshaven lad would rise by degrees to be captain, and as such +would have a share in the venture; all these profits, as well as all +his savings, would go towards building a whaling vessel of his own, +if he was not so fortunate as to be the child of a ship-owner. At +the time of which I write, there was but little division of labour +in the Monkshaven whale fishery. The same man might be the owner of +six or seven ships, any one of which he himself was fitted by +education and experience to command; the master of a score of +apprentices, each of whom paid a pretty sufficient premium; and the +proprietor of the melting-sheds into which his cargoes of blubber +and whalebone were conveyed to be fitted for sale. It was no wonder +that large fortunes were acquired by these ship-owners, nor that +their houses on the south side of the river Dee were stately +mansions, full of handsome and substantial furniture. It was also +not surprising that the whole town had an amphibious appearance, to +a degree unusual even in a seaport. Every one depended on the whale +fishery, and almost every male inhabitant had been, or hoped to be, +a sailor. Down by the river the smell was almost intolerable to any +but Monkshaven people during certain seasons of the year; but on +these unsavoury 'staithes' the old men and children lounged for +hours, almost as if they revelled in the odours of train-oil. +</P> + +<P> +This is, perhaps, enough of a description of the town itself. I have +said that the country for miles all around was moorland; high above +the level of the sea towered the purple crags, whose summits were +crowned with greensward that stole down the sides of the scaur a +little way in grassy veins. Here and there a brook forced its way +from the heights down to the sea, making its channel into a valley +more or less broad in long process of time. And in the moorland +hollows, as in these valleys, trees and underwood grew and +flourished; so that, while on the bare swells of the high land you +shivered at the waste desolation of the scenery, when you dropped +into these wooded 'bottoms' you were charmed with the nestling +shelter which they gave. But above and around these rare and fertile +vales there were moors for many a mile, here and there bleak enough, +with the red freestone cropping out above the scanty herbage; then, +perhaps, there was a brown tract of peat and bog, uncertain footing +for the pedestrian who tried to make a short cut to his destination; +then on the higher sandy soil there was the purple ling, or +commonest species of heather growing in beautiful wild luxuriance. +Tufts of fine elastic grass were occasionally to be found, on which +the little black-faced sheep browsed; but either the scanty food, or +their goat-like agility, kept them in a lean condition that did not +promise much for the butcher, nor yet was their wool of a quality +fine enough to make them profitable in that way to their owners. In +such districts there is little population at the present day; there +was much less in the last century, before agriculture was +sufficiently scientific to have a chance of contending with such +natural disqualifications as the moors presented, and when there +were no facilities of railroads to bring sportsmen from a distance +to enjoy the shooting season, and make an annual demand for +accommodation. +</P> + +<P> +There were old stone halls in the valleys; there were bare +farmhouses to be seen on the moors at long distances apart, with +small stacks of coarse poor hay, and almost larger stacks of turf +for winter fuel in their farmyards. The cattle in the pasture fields +belonging to these farms looked half starved; but somehow there was +an odd, intelligent expression in their faces, as well as in those +of the black-visaged sheep, which is seldom seen in the placidly +stupid countenances of well-fed animals. All the fences were turf +banks, with loose stones piled into walls on the top of these. +</P> + +<P> +There was comparative fertility and luxuriance down below in the +rare green dales. The narrow meadows stretching along the brookside +seemed as though the cows could really satisfy their hunger in the +deep rich grass; whereas on the higher lands the scanty herbage was +hardly worth the fatigue of moving about in search of it. Even in +these 'bottoms' the piping sea-winds, following the current of the +stream, stunted and cut low any trees; but still there was rich +thick underwood, tangled and tied together with brambles, and +brier-rose, [sic] and honeysuckle; and if the farmer in these +comparatively happy valleys had had wife or daughter who cared for +gardening, many a flower would have grown on the western or southern +side of the rough stone house. But at that time gardening was not a +popular art in any part of England; in the north it is not yet. +Noblemen and gentlemen may have beautiful gardens; but farmers and +day-labourers care little for them north of the Trent, which is all +I can answer for. A few 'berry' bushes, a black currant tree or two +(the leaves to be used in heightening the flavour of tea, the fruit +as medicinal for colds and sore throats), a potato ground (and this +was not so common at the close of the last century as it is now), a +cabbage bed, a bush of sage, and balm, and thyme, and marjoram, with +possibly a rose tree, and 'old man' growing in the midst; a little +plot of small strong coarse onions, and perhaps some marigolds, the +petals of which flavoured the salt-beef broth; such plants made up a +well-furnished garden to a farmhouse at the time and place to which +my story belongs. But for twenty miles inland there was no +forgetting the sea, nor the sea-trade; refuse shell-fish, seaweed, +the offal of the melting-houses, were the staple manure of the +district; great ghastly whale-jaws, bleached bare and white, were +the arches over the gate-posts to many a field or moorland stretch. +Out of every family of several sons, however agricultural their +position might be, one had gone to sea, and the mother looked +wistfully seaward at the changes of the keen piping moorland winds. +The holiday rambles were to the coast; no one cared to go inland to +see aught, unless indeed it might be to the great annual horse-fairs +held where the dreary land broke into habitation and cultivation. +</P> + +<P> +Somehow in this country sea thoughts followed the thinker far +inland; whereas in most other parts of the island, at five miles +from the ocean, he has all but forgotten the existence of such an +element as salt water. The great Greenland trade of the coasting +towns was the main and primary cause of this, no doubt. But there +was also a dread and an irritation in every one's mind, at the time +of which I write, in connection with the neighbouring sea. +</P> + +<P> +Since the termination of the American war, there had been nothing to +call for any unusual energy in manning the navy; and the grants +required by Government for this purpose diminished with every year +of peace. In 1792 this grant touched its minimum for many years. In +1793 the proceedings of the French had set Europe on fire, and the +English were raging with anti-Gallican excitement, fomented into +action by every expedient of the Crown and its Ministers. We had our +ships; but where were our men? The Admiralty had, however, a ready +remedy at hand, with ample precedent for its use, and with common +(if not statute) law to sanction its application. They issued 'press +warrants,' calling upon the civil power throughout the country to +support their officers in the discharge of their duty. The sea-coast +was divided into districts, under the charge of a captain in the +navy, who again delegated sub-districts to lieutenants; and in this +manner all homeward-bound vessels were watched and waited for, all +ports were under supervision; and in a day, if need were, a large +number of men could be added to the forces of his Majesty's navy. +But if the Admiralty became urgent in their demands, they were also +willing to be unscrupulous. Landsmen, if able-bodied, might soon be +trained into good sailors; and once in the hold of the tender, which +always awaited the success of the operations of the press-gang, it +was difficult for such prisoners to bring evidence of the nature of +their former occupations, especially when none had leisure to listen +to such evidence, or were willing to believe it if they did listen, +or would act upon it for the release of the captive if they had by +possibility both listened and believed. Men were kidnapped, +literally disappeared, and nothing was ever heard of them again. The +street of a busy town was not safe from such press-gang captures, as +Lord Thurlow could have told, after a certain walk he took about +this time on Tower Hill, when he, the attorney-general of England, +was impressed, when the Admiralty had its own peculiar ways of +getting rid of tiresome besiegers and petitioners. Nor yet were +lonely inland dwellers more secure; many a rustic went to a statute +fair or 'mop,' and never came home to tell of his hiring; many a +stout young farmer vanished from his place by the hearth of his +father, and was no more heard of by mother or lover; so great was +the press for men to serve in the navy during the early years of the +war with France, and after every great naval victory of that war. +</P> + +<P> +The servants of the Admiralty lay in wait for all merchantmen and +traders; there were many instances of vessels returning home after +long absence, and laden with rich cargo, being boarded within a +day's distance of land, and so many men pressed and carried off, +that the ship, with her cargo, became unmanageable from the loss of +her crew, drifted out again into the wild wide ocean, and was +sometimes found in the helpless guidance of one or two infirm or +ignorant sailors; sometimes such vessels were never heard of more. +The men thus pressed were taken from the near grasp of parents or +wives, and were often deprived of the hard earnings of years, which +remained in the hands of the masters of the merchantman in which +they had served, subject to all the chances of honesty or +dishonesty, life or death. Now all this tyranny (for I can use no +other word) is marvellous to us; we cannot imagine how it is that a +nation submitted to it for so long, even under any warlike +enthusiasm, any panic of invasion, any amount of loyal subservience +to the governing powers. When we read of the military being called +in to assist the civil power in backing up the press-gang, of +parties of soldiers patrolling the streets, and sentries with +screwed bayonets placed at every door while the press-gang entered +and searched each hole and corner of the dwelling; when we hear of +churches being surrounded during divine service by troops, while the +press-gang stood ready at the door to seize men as they came out +from attending public worship, and take these instances as merely +types of what was constantly going on in different forms, we do not +wonder at Lord Mayors, and other civic authorities in large towns, +complaining that a stop was put to business by the danger which the +tradesmen and their servants incurred in leaving their houses and +going into the streets, infested by press-gangs. +</P> + +<P> +Whether it was that living in closer neighbourhood to the +metropolis—the centre of politics and news—inspired the +inhabitants of the southern counties with a strong feeling of that +kind of patriotism which consists in hating all other nations; or +whether it was that the chances of capture were so much greater at +all the southern ports that the merchant sailors became inured to +the danger; or whether it was that serving in the navy, to those +familiar with such towns as Portsmouth and Plymouth, had an +attraction to most men from the dash and brilliancy of the +adventurous employment—it is certain that the southerners took the +oppression of press-warrants more submissively than the wild +north-eastern people. For with them the chances of profit beyond +their wages in the whaling or Greenland trade extended to the lowest +description of sailor. He might rise by daring and saving to be a +ship-owner himself. Numbers around him had done so; and this very +fact made the distinction between class and class less apparent; and +the common ventures and dangers, the universal interest felt in one +pursuit, bound the inhabitants of that line of coast together with a +strong tie, the severance of which by any violent extraneous +measure, gave rise to passionate anger and thirst for vengeance. A +Yorkshireman once said to me, 'My county folk are all alike. Their +first thought is how to resist. Why! I myself, if I hear a man say +it is a fine day, catch myself trying to find out that it is no such +thing. It is so in thought; it is so in word; it is so in deed.' +</P> + +<P> +So you may imagine the press-gang had no easy time of it on the +Yorkshire coast. In other places they inspired fear, but here rage +and hatred. The Lord Mayor of York was warned on 20th January, 1777, +by an anonymous letter, that 'if those men were not sent from the +city on or before the following Tuesday, his lordship's own +dwelling, and the Mansion-house also, should be burned to the +ground.' +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps something of the ill-feeling that prevailed on the subject +was owing to the fact which I have noticed in other places similarly +situated. Where the landed possessions of gentlemen of ancient +family but limited income surround a centre of any kind of +profitable trade or manufacture, there is a sort of latent ill-will +on the part of the squires to the tradesman, be he manufacturer, +merchant, or ship-owner, in whose hands is held a power of +money-making, which no hereditary pride, or gentlemanly love of +doing nothing, prevents him from using. This ill-will, to be sure, +is mostly of a negative kind; its most common form of manifestation +is in absence of speech or action, a sort of torpid and genteel +ignoring all unpleasant neighbours; but really the whale-fisheries +of Monkshaven had become so impertinently and obtrusively prosperous +of late years at the time of which I write, the Monkshaven +ship-owners were growing so wealthy and consequential, that the +squires, who lived at home at ease in the old stone manor-houses +scattered up and down the surrounding moorland, felt that the check +upon the Monkshaven trade likely to be inflicted by the press-gang, +was wisely ordained by the higher powers (how high they placed these +powers I will not venture to say), to prevent overhaste in getting +rich, which was a scriptural fault, and they also thought that they +were only doing their duty in backing up the Admiralty warrants by +all the civil power at their disposal, whenever they were called +upon, and whenever they could do so without taking too much trouble +in affairs which did not after all much concern themselves. +</P> + +<P> +There was just another motive in the minds of some provident parents +of many daughters. The captains and lieutenants employed on this +service were mostly agreeable bachelors, brought up to a genteel +profession, at the least they were very pleasant visitors, when they +had a day to spare; who knew what might come of it? +</P> + +<P> +Indeed, these brave officers were not unpopular in Monkshaven +itself, except at the time when they were brought into actual +collision with the people. They had the frank manners of their +profession; they were known to have served in those engagements, the +very narrative of which at this day will warm the heart of a Quaker, +and they themselves did not come prominently forward in the dirty +work which, nevertheless, was permitted and quietly sanctioned by +them. So while few Monkshaven people passed the low public-house +over which the navy blue-flag streamed, as a sign that it was the +rendezvous of the press-gang, without spitting towards it in sign of +abhorrence, yet, perhaps, the very same persons would give some +rough token of respect to Lieutenant Atkinson if they met him in +High Street. Touching their hats was an unknown gesture in those +parts, but they would move their heads in a droll, familiar kind of +way, neither a wag nor a nod, but meant all the same to imply +friendly regard. The ship-owners, too, invited him to an occasional +dinner or supper, all the time looking forward to the chances of his +turning out an active enemy, and not by any means inclined to give +him 'the run of the house,' however many unmarried daughters might +grace their table. Still as he could tell a rattling story, drink +hard, and was seldom too busy to come at a short notice, he got on +better than any one could have expected with the Monkshaven folk. +And the principal share of the odium of his business fell on his +subordinates, who were one and all regarded in the light of mean +kidnappers and spies—'varmint,' as the common people esteemed +them: and as such they were ready at the first provocation to hunt +and to worry them, and little cared the press-gang for this. +Whatever else they were, they were brave and daring. They had law to +back them, therefore their business was lawful. They were serving +their king and country. They were using all their faculties, and +that is always pleasant. There was plenty of scope for the glory and +triumph of outwitting; plenty of adventure in their life. It was a +lawful and loyal employment, requiring sense, readiness, courage, +and besides it called out that strange love of the chase inherent in +every man. Fourteen or fifteen miles at sea lay the <I>Aurora</I>, good +man-of-war; and to her were conveyed the living cargoes of several +tenders, which were stationed at likely places along the sea-coast. +One, the <I>Lively Lady</I>, might be seen from the cliffs above +Monkshaven, not so far away, but hidden by the angle of the high +lands from the constant sight of the townspeople; and there was +always the Randyvow-house (as the public-house with the navy +blue-flag was called thereabouts) for the crew of the <I>Lively Lady</I> +to lounge about, and there to offer drink to unwary passers-by. At +present this was all that the press-gang had done at Monkshaven. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOME FROM GREENLAND +</H3> + +<P> +One hot day, early in October of the year 1796, two girls set off +from their country homes to Monkshaven to sell their butter and +eggs, for they were both farmers' daughters, though rather in +different circumstances; for Molly Corney was one of a large family +of children, and had to rough it accordingly; Sylvia Robson was an +only child, and was much made of in more people's estimation than +Mary's by her elderly parents. They had each purchases to make after +their sales were effected, as sales of butter and eggs were effected +in those days by the market-women sitting on the steps of the great +old mutilated cross till a certain hour in the afternoon, after +which, if all their goods were not disposed of, they took them +unwillingly to the shops and sold them at a lower price. But good +housewives did not despise coming themselves to the Butter Cross, +and, smelling and depreciating the articles they wanted, kept up a +perpetual struggle of words, trying, often in vain, to beat down +prices. A housekeeper of the last century would have thought that +she did not know her business, if she had not gone through this +preliminary process; and the farmers' wives and daughters treated it +all as a matter of course, replying with a good deal of independent +humour to the customer, who, once having discovered where good +butter and fresh eggs were to be sold, came time after time to +depreciate the articles she always ended in taking. There was +leisure for all this kind of work in those days. +</P> + +<P> +Molly had tied a knot on her pink-spotted handkerchief for each of +the various purchases she had to make; dull but important articles +needed for the week's consumption at home; if she forgot any one of +them she knew she was sure of a good 'rating' from her mother. The +number of them made her pocket-handkerchief look like one of the +nine-tails of a 'cat;' but not a single thing was for herself, nor, +indeed, for any one individual of her numerous family. There was +neither much thought nor much money to spend for any but collective +wants in the Corney family. +</P> + +<P> +It was different with Sylvia. She was going to choose her first +cloak, not to have an old one of her mother's, that had gone down +through two sisters, dyed for the fourth time (and Molly would have +been glad had even this chance been hers), but to buy a bran-new +duffle cloak all for herself, with not even an elder authority to +curb her as to price, only Molly to give her admiring counsel, and +as much sympathy as was consistent with a little patient envy of +Sylvia's happier circumstances. Every now and then they wandered off +from the one grand subject of thought, but Sylvia, with unconscious +art, soon brought the conversation round to the fresh consideration +of the respective merits of gray and scarlet. These girls were +walking bare-foot and carrying their shoes and stockings in their +hands during the first part of their way; but as they were drawing +near Monkshaven they stopped, and turned aside along a foot-path +that led from the main-road down to the banks of the Dee. There were +great stones in the river about here, round which the waters +gathered and eddied and formed deep pools. Molly sate down on the +grassy bank to wash her feet; but Sylvia, more active (or perhaps +lighter-hearted with the notion of the cloak in the distance), +placed her basket on a gravelly bit of shore, and, giving a long +spring, seated herself on a stone almost in the middle of the +stream. Then she began dipping her little rosy toes in the cool +rushing water and whisking them out with childish glee. +</P> + +<P> +'Be quiet, wi' the', Sylvia? Thou'st splashing me all ower, and my +feyther'll noane be so keen o' giving me a new cloak as thine is, +seemingly.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was quiet, not to say penitent, in a moment. She drew up her +feet instantly; and, as if to take herself out of temptation, she +turned away from Molly to that side of her stony seat on which the +current ran shallow, and broken by pebbles. But once disturbed in +her play, her thoughts reverted to the great subject of the cloak. +She was now as still as a minute before she had been full of frolic +and gambolling life. She had tucked herself up on the stone, as if +it had been a cushion, and she a little sultana. +</P> + +<P> +Molly was deliberately washing her feet and drawing on her +stockings, when she heard a sudden sigh, and her companion turned +round so as to face her, and said, +</P> + +<P> +'I wish mother hadn't spoken up for t' gray.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, Sylvia, thou wert saying as we topped t'brow, as she did +nought but bid thee think twice afore settling on scarlet.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! but mother's words are scarce, and weigh heavy. Feyther's liker +me, and we talk a deal o' rubble; but mother's words are liker to +hewn stone. She puts a deal o' meaning in 'em. And then,' said +Sylvia, as if she was put out by the suggestion, 'she bid me ask +cousin Philip for his opinion. I hate a man as has getten an opinion +on such-like things.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! we shall niver get to Monkshaven this day, either for to sell +our eggs and stuff, or to buy thy cloak, if we're sittin' here much +longer. T' sun's for slanting low, so come along, lass, and let's be +going.' +</P> + +<P> +'But if I put on my stockings and shoon here, and jump back into yon +wet gravel, I 'se not be fit to be seen,' said Sylvia, in a pathetic +tone of bewilderment, that was funnily childlike. She stood up, her +bare feet curved round the curving surface of the stone, her slight +figure balancing as if in act to spring. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou knows thou'll have just to jump back barefoot, and wash thy +feet afresh, without making all that ado; thou shouldst ha' done it +at first, like me, and all other sensible folk. But thou'st getten +no gumption.' +</P> + +<P> +Molly's mouth was stopped by Sylvia's hand. She was already on the +river bank by her friend's side. +</P> + +<P> +'Now dunnot lecture me; I'm none for a sermon hung on every peg o' +words. I'm going to have a new cloak, lass, and I cannot heed thee +if thou dost lecture. Thou shall have all the gumption, and I'll +have my cloak.' +</P> + +<P> +It may be doubted whether Molly thought this an equal division. +</P> + +<P> +Each girl wore tightly-fitting stockings, knit by her own hands, of +the blue worsted common in that country; they had on neat +high-heeled black leather shoes, coming well over the instep, and +fastened as well as ornamented with bright steel buckles. They did +not walk so lightly and freely now as they did before they were +shod, but their steps were still springy with the buoyancy of early +youth; for neither of them was twenty, indeed I believe Sylvia was +not more than seventeen at this time. +</P> + +<P> +They clambered up the steep grassy path, with brambles catching at +their kilted petticoats, through the copse-wood, till they regained +the high road; and then they 'settled themselves,' as they called +it; that is to say, they took off their black felt hats, and tied up +their clustering hair afresh; they shook off every speck of wayside +dust; straightened the little shawls (or large neck-kerchiefs, call +them which you will) that were spread over their shoulders, pinned +below the throat, and confined at the waist by their apron-strings; +and then putting on their hats again, and picking up their baskets, +they prepared to walk decorously into the town of Monkshaven. +</P> + +<P> +The next turn of the road showed them the red peaked roofs of the +closely packed houses lying almost directly below the hill on which +they were. The full autumn sun brought out the ruddy colour of the +tiled gables, and deepened the shadows in the narrow streets. The +narrow harbour at the mouth of the river was crowded with small +vessels of all descriptions, making an intricate forest of masts. +Beyond lay the sea, like a flat pavement of sapphire, scarcely a +ripple varying its sunny surface, that stretched out leagues away +till it blended with the softened azure of the sky. On this blue +trackless water floated scores of white-sailed fishing boats, +apparently motionless, unless you measured their progress by some +land-mark; but still, and silent, and distant as they seemed, the +consciousness that there were men on board, each going forth into +the great deep, added unspeakably to the interest felt in watching +them. Close to the bar of the river Dee a larger vessel lay to. +Sylvia, who had only recently come into the neighbourhood, looked at +this with the same quiet interest as she did at all the others; but +Molly, as soon as her eye caught the build of it, cried out aloud— +</P> + +<P> +'She's a whaler! she's a whaler home from t' Greenland seas! T' +first this season! God bless her!' and she turned round and shook +both Sylvia's hands in the fulness of her excitement. Sylvia's +colour rose, and her eyes sparkled out of sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +'Is ta sure?' she asked, breathless in her turn; for though she did +not know by the aspect of the different ships on what trade they +were bound, yet she was well aware of the paramount interest +attached to whaling vessels. +</P> + +<P> +'Three o'clock! and it's not high water till five!' said Molly. 'If +we're sharp we can sell our eggs, and be down to the staithes before +she comes into port. Be sharp, lass!' +</P> + +<P> +And down the steep long hill they went at a pace that was almost a +run. A run they dared not make it; and as it was, the rate at which +they walked would have caused destruction among eggs less carefully +packed. When the descent was ended, there was yet the long narrow +street before them, bending and swerving from the straight line, as +it followed the course of the river. The girls felt as if they +should never come to the market-place, which was situated at the +crossing of Bridge Street and High Street. There the old stone cross +was raised by the monks long ago; now worn and mutilated, no one +esteemed it as a holy symbol, but only as the Butter Cross, where +market-women clustered on Wednesday, and whence the town crier made +all his proclamations of household sales, things lost or found, +beginning with 'Oh! yes, oh! yes, oh! yes!' and ending with 'God +bless the king and the lord of this manor,' and a very brisk 'Amen,' +before he went on his way and took off the livery-coat, the colours +of which marked him as a servant of the Burnabys, the family who +held manorial rights over Monkshaven. +</P> + +<P> +Of course the much frequented space surrounding the Butter Cross was +the favourite centre for shops; and on this day, a fine market day, +just when good housewives begin to look over their winter store of +blankets and flannels, and discover their needs betimes, these shops +ought to have had plenty of customers. But they were empty and of +even quieter aspect than their every-day wont. The three-legged +creepie-stools that were hired out at a penny an hour to such +market-women as came too late to find room on the steps were +unoccupied; knocked over here and there, as if people had passed by +in haste. +</P> + +<P> +Molly took in all at a glance, and interpreted the signs, though she +had no time to explain their meaning, and her consequent course of +action, to Sylvia, but darted into a corner shop. +</P> + +<P> +'T' whalers is coming home! There's one lying outside t' bar!' +</P> + +<P> +This was put in the form of an assertion; but the tone was that of +eager cross-questioning. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay!' said a lame man, mending fishing-nets behind a rough deal +counter. 'She's come back airly, and she's brought good news o' t' +others, as I've heered say. Time was I should ha' been on th' +staithes throwing up my cap wit' t' best on 'em; but now it pleases +t' Lord to keep me at home, and set me to mind other folks' gear. +See thee, wench, there's a vast o' folk ha' left their skeps o' +things wi' me while they're away down to t' quay side. Leave me your +eggs and be off wi' ye for t' see t' fun, for mebbe ye'll live to be +palsied yet, and then ye'll be fretting ower spilt milk, and that ye +didn't tak' all chances when ye was young. Ay, well! they're out o' +hearin' o' my moralities; I'd better find a lamiter like mysen to +preach to, for it's not iverybody has t' luck t' clargy has of +saying their say out whether folks likes it or not.' +</P> + +<P> +He put the baskets carefully away with much of such talk as this +addressed to himself while he did so. Then he sighed once or twice; +and then he took the better course and began to sing over his tarry +work. +</P> + +<P> +Molly and Sylvia were far along the staithes by the time he got to +this point of cheerfulness. They ran on, regardless of stitches and +pains in the side; on along the river bank to where the concourse of +people was gathered. There was no great length of way between the +Butter Cross and the harbour; in five minutes the breathless girls +were close together in the best place they could get for seeing, on +the outside of the crowd; and in as short a time longer they were +pressed inwards, by fresh arrivals, into the very midst of the +throng. All eyes were directed to the ship, beating her anchor just +outside the bar, not a quarter of a mile away. The custom-house +officer was just gone aboard of her to receive the captain's report +of his cargo, and make due examination. The men who had taken him +out in his boat were rowing back to the shore, and brought small +fragments of news when they landed a little distance from the crowd, +which moved as one man to hear what was to be told. Sylvia took a +hard grasp of the hand of the older and more experienced Molly, and +listened open-mouthed to the answers she was extracting from a gruff +old sailor she happened to find near her. +</P> + +<P> +'What ship is she?' +</P> + +<P> +'T' <I>Resolution</I> of Monkshaven!' said he, indignantly, as if any +goose might have known that. +</P> + +<P> +'An' a good <I>Resolution</I>, and a blessed ship she's been to me,' +piped out an old woman, close at Mary's elbow. 'She's brought me +home my ae' lad—for he shouted to yon boatman to bid him tell me he +was well. 'Tell Peggy Christison,' says he (my name is Margaret +Christison)—'tell Peggy Christison as her son Hezekiah is come back +safe and sound.' The Lord's name be praised! An' me a widow as never +thought to see my lad again!' +</P> + +<P> +It seemed as if everybody relied on every one else's sympathy in +that hour of great joy. +</P> + +<P> +'I ax pardon, but if you'd gie me just a bit of elbow-room for a +minute like, I'd hold my babby up, so that he might see daddy's +ship, and happen, my master might see him. He's four months old last +Tuesday se'nnight, and his feyther's never clapt eyne on him yet, +and he wi' a tooth through, an another just breaking, bless him!' +</P> + +<P> +One or two of the better end of the Monkshaven inhabitants stood a +little before Molly and Sylvia; and as they moved in compliance with +the young mother's request, they overheard some of the information +these ship-owners had received from the boatman. +</P> + +<P> +'Haynes says they'll send the manifest of the cargo ashore in twenty +minutes, as soon as Fishburn has looked over the casks. Only eight +whales, according to what he says.' +</P> + +<P> +'No one can tell,' said the other, 'till the manifest comes to +hand.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid he's right. But he brings a good report of the <I>Good +Fortune</I>. She's off St Abb's Head, with something like fifteen +whales to her share.' +</P> + +<P> +'We shall see how much is true, when she comes in.' +</P> + +<P> +'That'll be by the afternoon tide to-morrow.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's my cousin's ship,' said Molly to Sylvia. 'He's specksioneer +on board the <I>Good Fortune</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +An old man touched her as she spoke— +</P> + +<P> +'I humbly make my manners, missus, but I'm stone blind; my lad's +aboard yon vessel outside t' bar; and my old woman is bed-fast. Will +she be long, think ye, in making t' harbour? Because, if so be as +she were, I'd just make my way back, and speak a word or two to my +missus, who'll be boiling o'er into some mak o' mischief now she +knows he's so near. May I be so bold as to ax if t' Crooked Negro is +covered yet?' +</P> + +<P> +Molly stood on tip-toe to try and see the black stone thus named; +but Sylvia, stooping and peeping through the glimpses afforded +between the arms of the moving people, saw it first, and told the +blind old man it was still above water. +</P> + +<P> +'A watched pot,' said he, 'ne'er boils, I reckon. It's ta'en a vast +o' watter t' cover that stone to-day. Anyhow, I'll have time to go +home and rate my missus for worritin' hersen, as I'll be bound she's +done, for all as I bade her not, but to keep easy and content.' +</P> + +<P> +'We'd better be off too,' said Molly, as an opening was made through +the press to let out the groping old man. 'Eggs and butter is yet to +sell, and tha' cloak to be bought.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I suppose we had!' said Sylvia, rather regretfully; for, +though all the way into Monkshaven her head had been full of the +purchase of this cloak, yet she was of that impressible nature that +takes the tone of feeling from those surrounding; and though she +knew no one on board the Resolution, she was just as anxious for the +moment to see her come into harbour as any one in the crowd who had +a dear relation on board. So she turned reluctantly to follow the +more prudent Molly along the quay back to the Butter Cross. +</P> + +<P> +It was a pretty scene, though it was too familiar to the eyes of all +who then saw it for them to notice its beauty. The sun was low +enough in the west to turn the mist that filled the distant valley +of the river into golden haze. Above, on either bank of the Dee, +there lay the moorland heights swelling one behind the other; the +nearer, russet brown with the tints of the fading bracken; the more +distant, gray and dim against the rich autumnal sky. The red and +fluted tiles of the gabled houses rose in crowded irregularity on +one side of the river, while the newer suburb was built in more +orderly and less picturesque fashion on the opposite cliff. The +river itself was swelling and chafing with the incoming tide till +its vexed waters rushed over the very feet of the watching crowd on +the staithes, as the great sea waves encroached more and more every +minute. The quay-side was unsavourily ornamented with glittering +fish-scales, for the hauls of fish were cleansed in the open air, +and no sanitary arrangements existed for sweeping away any of the +relics of this operation. +</P> + +<P> +The fresh salt breeze was bringing up the lashing, leaping tide from +the blue sea beyond the bar. Behind the returning girls there rocked +the white-sailed ship, as if she were all alive with eagerness for +her anchors to be heaved. +</P> + +<P> +How impatient her crew of beating hearts were for that moment, how +those on land sickened at the suspense, may be imagined, when you +remember that for six long summer months those sailors had been as +if dead from all news of those they loved; shut up in terrible, +dreary Arctic seas from the hungry sight of sweethearts and friends, +wives and mothers. No one knew what might have happened. The crowd +on shore grew silent and solemn before the dread of the possible +news of death that might toll in upon their hearts with this +uprushing tide. The whalers went out into the Greenland seas full of +strong, hopeful men; but the whalers never returned as they sailed +forth. On land there are deaths among two or three hundred men to be +mourned over in every half-year's space of time. Whose bones had +been left to blacken on the gray and terrible icebergs? Who lay +still until the sea should give up its dead? Who were those who +should come back to Monkshaven never, no, never more? +</P> + +<P> +Many a heart swelled with passionate, unspoken fear, as the first +whaler lay off the bar on her return voyage. +</P> + +<P> +Molly and Sylvia had left the crowd in this hushed suspense. But +fifty yards along the staithe they passed five or six girls with +flushed faces and careless attire, who had mounted a pile of timber, +placed there to season for ship-building, from which, as from the +steps of a ladder or staircase, they could command the harbour. They +were wild and free in their gestures, and held each other by the +hand, and swayed from side to side, stamping their feet in time, as +they sang— +</P> + +<P> + Weel may the keel row, the keel row, the keel row,<BR> + Weel may the keel row that my laddie's in!<BR> +</P> + +<P> +'What for are ye going off, now?' they called out to our two girls. +'She'll be in in ten minutes!' and without waiting for the answer +which never came, they resumed their song. +</P> + +<P> +Old sailors stood about in little groups, too proud to show their +interest in the adventures they could no longer share, but quite +unable to keep up any semblance of talk on indifferent subjects. +</P> + +<P> +The town seemed very quiet and deserted as Molly and Sylvia entered +the dark, irregular Bridge Street, and the market-place was as empty +of people as before. But the skeps and baskets and three-legged +stools were all cleared away. +</P> + +<P> +'Market's over for to-day,' said Molly Corney, in disappointed +surprise. 'We mun make the best on't, and sell to t' huxters, and a +hard bargain they'll be for driving. I doubt mother'll be vexed.' +</P> + +<P> +She and Sylvia went to the corner shop to reclaim their baskets. The +man had his joke at them for their delay. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay! lasses as has sweethearts a-coming home don't care much +what price they get for butter and eggs! I dare say, now, there's +some un in yon ship that 'ud give as much as a shilling a pound for +this butter if he only knowed who churned it!' This was to Sylvia, +as he handed her back her property. +</P> + +<P> +The fancy-free Sylvia reddened, pouted, tossed back her head, and +hardly deigned a farewell word of thanks or civility to the lame +man; she was at an age to be affronted by any jokes on such a +subject. Molly took the joke without disclaimer and without offence. +She rather liked the unfounded idea of her having a sweetheart, and +was rather surprised to think how devoid of foundation the notion +was. If she could have a new cloak as Sylvia was going to have, +then, indeed, there might be a chance! Until some such good luck, it +was as well to laugh and blush as if the surmise of her having a +lover was not very far from the truth, and so she replied in +something of the same strain as the lame net-maker to his joke about +the butter. +</P> + +<P> +'He'll need it all, and more too, to grease his tongue, if iver he +reckons to win me for his wife!' +</P> + +<P> +When they were out of the shop, Sylvia said, in a coaxing tone,— +</P> + +<P> +'Molly, who is it? Whose tongue 'll need greasing? Just tell me, and +I'll never tell!' +</P> + +<P> +She was so much in earnest that Molly was perplexed. She did not +quite like saying that she had alluded to no one in particular, only +to a possible sweetheart, so she began to think what young man had +made the most civil speeches to her in her life; the list was not a +long one to go over, for her father was not so well off as to make +her sought after for her money, and her face was rather of the +homeliest. But she suddenly remembered her cousin, the specksioneer, +who had given her two large shells, and taken a kiss from her +half-willing lips before he went to sea the last time. So she smiled +a little, and then said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Well! I dunno. It's ill talking o' these things afore one has made +up one's mind. And perhaps if Charley Kinraid behaves hissen, I +might be brought to listen.' +</P> + +<P> +'Charley Kinraid! who's he?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yon specksioneer cousin o' mine, as I was talking on.' +</P> + +<P> +'And do yo' think he cares for yo'?' asked Sylvia, in a low, tender +tone, as if touching on a great mystery. +</P> + +<P> +Molly only said, 'Be quiet wi' yo',' and Sylvia could not make out +whether she cut the conversation so short because she was offended, +or because they had come to the shop where they had to sell their +butter and eggs. +</P> + +<P> +'Now, Sylvia, if thou'll leave me thy basket, I'll make as good a +bargain as iver I can on 'em; and thou can be off to choose this +grand new cloak as is to be, afore it gets any darker. Where is ta +going to?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mother said I'd better go to Foster's,' answered Sylvia, with a +shade of annoyance in her face. 'Feyther said just anywhere.' +</P> + +<P> +'Foster's is t' best place; thou canst try anywhere afterwards. I'll +be at Foster's in five minutes, for I reckon we mun hasten a bit +now. It'll be near five o'clock.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia hung her head and looked very demure as she walked off by +herself to Foster's shop in the market-place. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BUYING A NEW CLOAK +</H3> + +<P> +Foster's shop was the shop of Monkshaven. It was kept by two Quaker +brothers, who were now old men; and their father had kept it before +them; probably his father before that. People remembered it as an +old-fashioned dwelling-house, with a sort of supplementary shop with +unglazed windows projecting from the lower story. These openings had +long been filled with panes of glass that at the present day would +be accounted very small, but which seventy years ago were much +admired for their size. I can best make you understand the +appearance of the place by bidding you think of the long openings in +a butcher's shop, and then to fill them up in your imagination with +panes about eight inches by six, in a heavy wooden frame. There was +one of these windows on each side the door-place, which was kept +partially closed through the day by a low gate about a yard high. +Half the shop was appropriated to grocery; the other half to +drapery, and a little mercery. The good old brothers gave all their +known customers a kindly welcome; shaking hands with many of them, +and asking all after their families and domestic circumstances +before proceeding to business. They would not for the world have had +any sign of festivity at Christmas, and scrupulously kept their shop +open at that holy festival, ready themselves to serve sooner than +tax the consciences of any of their assistants, only nobody ever +came. But on New Year's Day they had a great cake, and wine, ready +in the parlour behind the shop, of which all who came in to buy +anything were asked to partake. Yet, though scrupulous in most +things, it did not go against the consciences of these good brothers +to purchase smuggled articles. There was a back way from the +river-side, up a covered entry, to the yard-door of the Fosters, and +a peculiar kind of knock at this door always brought out either John +or Jeremiah, or if not them, their shopman, Philip Hepburn; and the +same cake and wine that the excise officer's wife might just have +been tasting, was brought out in the back parlour to treat the +smuggler. There was a little locking of doors, and drawing of the +green silk curtain that was supposed to shut out the shop, but +really all this was done very much for form's sake. Everybody in +Monkshaven smuggled who could, and every one wore smuggled goods who +could, and great reliance was placed on the excise officer's +neighbourly feelings. +</P> + +<P> +The story went that John and Jeremiah Foster were so rich that they +could buy up all the new town across the bridge. They had certainly +begun to have a kind of primitive bank in connection with their +shop, receiving and taking care of such money as people did not wish +to retain in their houses for fear of burglars. No one asked them +for interest on the money thus deposited, nor did they give any; +but, on the other hand, if any of their customers, on whose +character they could depend, wanted a little advance, the Fosters, +after due inquiries made, and in some cases due security given, were +not unwilling to lend a moderate sum without charging a penny for +the use of their money. All the articles they sold were as good as +they knew how to choose, and for them they expected and obtained +ready money. It was said that they only kept on the shop for their +amusement. Others averred that there was some plan of a marriage +running in the brothers' heads—a marriage between William Coulson, +Mr. Jeremiah's wife's nephew (Mr. Jeremiah was a widower), and Hester +Rose, whose mother was some kind of distant relation, and who served +in the shop along with William Coulson and Philip Hepburn. Again, +this was denied by those who averred that Coulson was no blood +relation, and that if the Fosters had intended to do anything +considerable for Hester, they would never have allowed her and her +mother to live in such a sparing way, ekeing out their small income +by having Coulson and Hepburn for lodgers. No; John and Jeremiah +would leave all their money to some hospital or to some charitable +institution. But, of course, there was a reply to this; when are +there not many sides to an argument about a possibility concerning +which no facts are known? Part of the reply turned on this: the old +gentlemen had, probably, some deep plan in their heads in permitting +their cousin to take Coulson and Hepburn as lodgers, the one a kind +of nephew, the other, though so young, the head man in the shop; if +either of them took a fancy to Hester, how agreeably matters could +be arranged! +</P> + +<P> +All this time Hester is patiently waiting to serve Sylvia, who is +standing before her a little shy, a little perplexed and distracted, +by the sight of so many pretty things. +</P> + +<P> +Hester was a tall young woman, sparely yet largely formed, of a +grave aspect, which made her look older than she really was. Her +thick brown hair was smoothly taken off her broad forehead, and put +in a very orderly fashion, under her linen cap; her face was a +little square, and her complexion sallow, though the texture of her +skin was fine. Her gray eyes were very pleasant, because they looked +at you so honestly and kindly; her mouth was slightly compressed, as +most have it who are in the habit of restraining their feelings; but +when she spoke you did not perceive this, and her rare smile slowly +breaking forth showed her white even teeth, and when accompanied, as +it generally was, by a sudden uplifting of her soft eyes, it made +her countenance very winning. She was dressed in stuff of sober +colours, both in accordance with her own taste, and in unasked +compliance with the religious customs of the Fosters; but Hester +herself was not a Friend. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia, standing opposite, not looking at Hester, but gazing at the +ribbons in the shop window, as if hardly conscious that any one +awaited the expression of her wishes, was a great contrast; ready to +smile or to pout, or to show her feelings in any way, with a +character as undeveloped as a child's, affectionate, wilful, +naughty, tiresome, charming, anything, in fact, at present that the +chances of an hour called out. Hester thought her customer the +prettiest creature ever seen, in the moment she had for admiration +before Sylvia turned round and, recalled to herself, began,— +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I beg your pardon, miss; I was thinking what may the price of +yon crimson ribbon be?' +</P> + +<P> +Hester said nothing, but went to examine the shop-mark. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! I did not mean that I wanted any, I only want some stuff for a +cloak. Thank you, miss, but I am very sorry—some duffle, please.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester silently replaced the ribbon and went in search of the +duffle. While she was gone Sylvia was addressed by the very person +she most wished to avoid, and whose absence she had rejoiced over on +first entering the shop, her cousin Philip Hepburn. +</P> + +<P> +He was a serious-looking young man, tall, but with a slight stoop in +his shoulders, brought on by his occupation. He had thick hair +standing off from his forehead in a peculiar but not unpleasing +manner; a long face, with a slightly aquiline nose, dark eyes, and a +long upper lip, which gave a disagreeable aspect to a face that +might otherwise have been good-looking. +</P> + +<P> +'Good day, Sylvie,' he said; 'what are you wanting? How are all at +home? Let me help you!' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia pursed up her red lips, and did not look at him as she +replied, +</P> + +<P> +'I'm very well, and so is mother; feyther's got a touch of +rheumatiz, and there's a young woman getting what I want.' +</P> + +<P> +She turned a little away from him when she had ended this sentence, +as if it had comprised all she could possibly have to say to him. +But he exclaimed, +</P> + +<P> +'You won't know how to choose,' and, seating himself on the counter, +he swung himself over after the fashion of shop-men. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia took no notice of him, but pretended to be counting over her +money. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you want, Sylvie?' asked he, at last annoyed at her +silence. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't like to be called "Sylvie;" my name is Sylvia; and I'm +wanting duffle for a cloak, if you must know.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester now returned, with a shop-boy helping her to drag along the +great rolls of scarlet and gray cloth. +</P> + +<P> +'Not that,' said Philip, kicking the red duffle with his foot, and +speaking to the lad. 'It's the gray you want, is it not, Sylvie?' He +used the name he had had the cousin's right to call her by since her +childhood, without remembering her words on the subject not five +minutes before; but she did, and was vexed. +</P> + +<P> +'Please, miss, it is the scarlet duffle I want; don't let him take +it away.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester looked up at both their countenances, a little wondering what +was their position with regard to each other; for this, then, was +the beautiful little cousin about whom Philip had talked to her +mother, as sadly spoilt, and shamefully ignorant; a lovely little +dunce, and so forth. Hester had pictured Sylvia Robson, somehow, as +very different from what she was: younger, more stupid, not half so +bright and charming (for, though she was now both pouting and cross, +it was evident that this was not her accustomed mood). Sylvia +devoted her attention to the red cloth, pushing aside the gray. +</P> + +<P> +Philip Hepburn was vexed at his advice being slighted; and yet he +urged it afresh. +</P> + +<P> +'This is a respectable, quiet-looking article that will go well with +any colour; you niver will be so foolish as to take what will mark +with every drop of rain.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sorry you sell such good-for-nothing things,' replied Sylvia, +conscious of her advantage, and relaxing a little (as little as she +possibly could) of her gravity. +</P> + +<P> +Hester came in now. +</P> + +<P> +'He means to say that this cloth will lose its first brightness in +wet or damp; but it will always be a good article, and the colour +will stand a deal of wear. Mr. Foster would not have had it in his +shop else.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip did not like that even a reasonable peace-making interpreter +should come between him and Sylvia, so he held his tongue in +indignant silence. +</P> + +<P> +Hester went on: +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure, this gray is the closer make, and would wear the +longest.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't care,' said Sylvia, still rejecting the dull gray. 'I like +this best. Eight yards, if you please, miss.' +</P> + +<P> +'A cloak takes nine yards, at least,' said Philip, decisively. +</P> + +<P> +'Mother told me eight,' said Sylvia, secretly conscious that her +mother would have preferred the more sober colour; and feeling that +as she had had her own way in that respect, she was bound to keep to +the directions she had received as to the quantity. But, indeed, she +would not have yielded to Philip in anything that she could help. +</P> + +<P> +There was a sound of children's feet running up the street from the +river-side, shouting with excitement. At the noise, Sylvia forgot +her cloak and her little spirit of vexation, and ran to the +half-door of the shop. Philip followed because she went. Hester +looked on with passive, kindly interest, as soon as she had +completed her duty of measuring. One of those girls whom Sylvia had +seen as she and Molly left the crowd on the quay, came quickly up +the street. Her face, which was handsome enough as to feature, was +whitened with excess of passionate emotion, her dress untidy and +flying, her movements heavy and free. She belonged to the lowest +class of seaport inhabitants. As she came near, Sylvia saw that the +tears were streaming down her cheeks, quite unconsciously to +herself. She recognized Sylvia's face, full of interest as it was, +and stopped her clumsy run to speak to the pretty, sympathetic +creature. +</P> + +<P> +'She's o'er t' bar! She's o'er t' bar! I'm boun' to tell mother!' +</P> + +<P> +She caught at Sylvia's hand, and shook it, and went on breathless +and gasping. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia, how came you to know that girl?' asked Philip, sternly. +'She's not one for you to be shaking hands with. She's known all +down t' quay-side as "Newcastle Bess."' +</P> + +<P> +'I can't help it,' said Sylvia, half inclined to cry at his manner +even more than his words. 'When folk are glad I can't help being +glad too, and I just put out my hand, and she put out hers. To think +o' yon ship come in at last! And if yo'd been down seeing all t' +folk looking and looking their eyes out, as if they feared they +should die afore she came in and brought home the lads they loved, +yo'd ha' shaken hands wi' that lass too, and no great harm done. I +never set eyne upon her till half an hour ago on th' staithes, and +maybe I'll niver see her again.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester was still behind the counter, but had moved so as to be near +the window; so she heard what they were saying, and now put in her +word: +</P> + +<P> +'She can't be altogether bad, for she thought o' telling her mother +first thing, according to what she said.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia gave Hester a quick, grateful look. But Hester had resumed +her gaze out of the window, and did not see the glance. +</P> + +<P> +And now Molly Corney joined them, hastily bursting into the shop. +</P> + +<P> +'Hech!' said she. 'Hearken! how they're crying and shouting down on +t' quay. T' gang's among 'em like t' day of judgment. Hark!' +</P> + +<P> +No one spoke, no one breathed, I had almost said no heart beat for +listening. Not long; in an instant there rose the sharp simultaneous +cry of many people in rage and despair. Inarticulate at that +distance, it was yet an intelligible curse, and the roll, and the +roar, and the irregular tramp came nearer and nearer. +</P> + +<P> +'They're taking 'em to t' Randyvowse,' said Molly. 'Eh! I wish I'd +King George here just to tell him my mind.' +</P> + +<P> +The girl clenched her hands, and set her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +'It's terrible hard!' said Hester; 'there's mothers, and wives, +looking out for 'em, as if they were stars dropt out o' t' lift.' +</P> + +<P> +'But can we do nothing for 'em?' cried Sylvia. 'Let us go into t' +thick of it and do a bit of help; I can't stand quiet and see 't!' +Half crying, she pushed forwards to the door; but Philip held her +back. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie! you must not. Don't be silly; it's the law, and no one can +do aught against it, least of all women and lasses. +</P> + +<P> +By this time the vanguard of the crowd came pressing up Bridge +Street, past the windows of Foster's shop. It consisted of wild, +half-amphibious boys, slowly moving backwards, as they were +compelled by the pressure of the coming multitude to go on, and yet +anxious to defy and annoy the gang by insults, and curses half +choked with their indignant passion, doubling their fists in the +very faces of the gang who came on with measured movement, armed to +the teeth, their faces showing white with repressed and determined +energy against the bronzed countenances of the half-dozen sailors, +who were all they had thought it wise to pick out of the whaler's +crew, this being the first time an Admiralty warrant had been used +in Monkshaven for many years; not since the close of the American +war, in fact. One of the men was addressing to his townspeople, in a +high pitched voice, an exhortation which few could hear, for, +pressing around this nucleus of cruel wrong, were women crying +aloud, throwing up their arms in imprecation, showering down abuse +as hearty and rapid as if they had been a Greek chorus. Their wild, +famished eyes were strained on faces they might not kiss, their +cheeks were flushed to purple with anger or else livid with impotent +craving for revenge. Some of them looked scarce human; and yet an +hour ago these lips, now tightly drawn back so as to show the teeth +with the unconscious action of an enraged wild animal, had been soft +and gracious with the smile of hope; eyes, that were fiery and +bloodshot now, had been loving and bright; hearts, never to recover +from the sense of injustice and cruelty, had been trustful and glad +only one short hour ago. +</P> + +<P> +There were men there, too, sullen and silent, brooding on remedial +revenge; but not many, the greater proportion of this class being +away in the absent whalers. +</P> + +<P> +The stormy multitude swelled into the market-place and formed a +solid crowd there, while the press-gang steadily forced their way on +into High Street, and on to the rendezvous. A low, deep growl went +up from the dense mass, as some had to wait for space to follow the +others—now and then going up, as a lion's growl goes up, into a +shriek of rage. +</P> + +<P> +A woman forced her way up from the bridge. She lived some little way +in the country, and had been late in hearing of the return of the +whaler after her six months' absence; and on rushing down to the +quay-side, she had been told by a score of busy, sympathizing +voices, that her husband was kidnapped for the service of the +Government. +</P> + +<P> +She had need pause in the market-place, the outlet of which was +crammed up. Then she gave tongue for the first time in such a +fearful shriek, you could hardly catch the words she said. +</P> + +<P> +'Jamie! Jamie! will they not let you to me?' +</P> + +<P> +Those were the last words Sylvia heard before her own hysterical +burst of tears called every one's attention to her. +</P> + +<P> +She had been very busy about household work in the morning, and much +agitated by all she had seen and heard since coming into Monkshaven; +and so it ended in this. +</P> + +<P> +Molly and Hester took her through the shop into the parlour +beyond—John Foster's parlour, for Jeremiah, the elder brother, +lived in a house of his own on the other side of the water. It was a +low, comfortable room, with great beams running across the ceiling, +and papered with the same paper as the walls—a piece of elegant +luxury which took Molly's fancy mightily! This parlour looked out on +the dark courtyard in which there grew two or three poplars, +straining upwards to the light; and through an open door between the +backs of two houses could be seen a glimpse of the dancing, heaving +river, with such ships or fishing cobles as happened to be moored in +the waters above the bridge. +</P> + +<P> +They placed Sylvia on the broad, old-fashioned sofa, and gave her +water to drink, and tried to still her sobbing and choking. They +loosed her hat, and copiously splashed her face and clustering +chestnut hair, till at length she came to herself; restored, but +dripping wet. She sate up and looked at them, smoothing back her +tangled curls off her brow, as if to clear both her eyes and her +intellect. +</P> + +<P> +'Where am I?—oh, I know! Thank you. It was very silly, but somehow +it seemed so sad!' +</P> + +<P> +And here she was nearly going off again, but Hester said— +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, it were sad, my poor lass—if I may call you so, for I don't +rightly know your name—but it's best not think on it for we can do +no mak' o' good, and it'll mebbe set you off again. Yo're Philip +Hepburn's cousin, I reckon, and yo' bide at Haytersbank Farm?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; she's Sylvia Robson,' put in Molly, not seeing that Hester's +purpose was to make Sylvia speak, and so to divert her attention +from the subject which had set her off into hysterics. 'And we came +in for market,' continued Molly, 'and for t' buy t' new cloak as her +feyther's going to give her; and, for sure, I thought we was i' +luck's way when we saw t' first whaler, and niver dreaming as t' +press-gang 'ud be so marred.' +</P> + +<P> +She, too, began to cry, but her little whimper was stopped by the +sound of the opening door behind her. It was Philip, asking Hester +by a silent gesture if he might come in. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia turned her face round from the light, and shut her eyes. Her +cousin came close up to her on tip-toe, and looked anxiously at what +he could see of her averted face; then he passed his hand so +slightly over her hair that he could scarcely be said to touch it, +and murmured— +</P> + +<P> +'Poor lassie! it's a pity she came to-day, for it's a long walk in +this heat!' +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia started to her feet, almost pushing him along. Her +quickened senses heard an approaching step through the courtyard +before any of the others were aware of the sound. In a minute +afterwards, the glass-door at one corner of the parlour was opened +from the outside, and Mr. John stood looking in with some surprise at +the group collected in his usually empty parlour. +</P> + +<P> +'It's my cousin,' said Philip, reddening a little; 'she came wi' her +friend in to market, and to make purchases; and she's got a turn wi' +seeing the press-gang go past carrying some of the crew of the +whaler to the Randyvowse. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay,' said Mr. John, quickly passing on into the shop on tip-toe, +as if he were afraid he were intruding in his own premises, and +beckoning Philip to follow him there. 'Out of strife cometh strife. +I guessed something of the sort was up from what I heard on t' +bridge as I came across fra' brother Jeremiah's.' Here he softly +shut the door between the parlour and the shop. 'It beareth hard on +th' expectant women and childer; nor is it to be wondered at that +they, being unconverted, rage together (poor creatures!) like the +very heathen. Philip,' he said, coming nearer to his 'head young +man,' 'keep Nicholas and Henry at work in the ware-room upstairs +until this riot be over, for it would grieve me if they were misled +into violence.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +'Speak out, man! Always ease an uneasy heart, and never let it get +hidebound.' +</P> + +<P> +'I had thought to convoy my cousin and the other young woman home, +for the town is like to be rough, and it's getting dark.' +</P> + +<P> +'And thou shalt, my lad,' said the good old man; 'and I myself will +try and restrain the natural inclinations of Nicholas and Henry.' +</P> + +<P> +But when he went to find the shop-boys with a gentle homily on his +lips, those to whom it should have been addressed were absent. In +consequence of the riotous state of things, all the other shops in +the market-place had put their shutters up; and Nicholas and Henry, +in the absence of their superiors, had followed the example of their +neighbours, and, as business was over, they had hardly waited to put +the goods away, but had hurried off to help their townsmen in any +struggle that might ensue. +</P> + +<P> +There was no remedy for it, but Mr. John looked rather discomfited. +The state of the counters, and of the disarranged goods, was such +also as would have irritated any man as orderly but less +sweet-tempered. All he said on the subject was: 'The old Adam! the +old Adam!' but he shook his head long after he had finished +speaking. +</P> + +<P> +'Where is William Coulson?' he next asked. 'Oh! I remember. He was +not to come back from York till the night closed in.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip and his master arranged the shop in the exact order the old +man loved. Then he recollected the wish of his subordinate, and +turned round and said— +</P> + +<P> +'Now go with thy cousin and her friend. Hester is here, and old +Hannah. I myself will take Hester home, if need be. But for the +present I think she had best tarry here, as it isn't many steps to +her mother's house, and we may need her help if any of those poor +creatures fall into suffering wi' their violence.' +</P> + +<P> +With this, Mr. John knocked at the door of the parlour, and waited +for permission to enter. With old-fashioned courtesy he told the two +strangers how glad he was that his room had been of service to them; +that he would never have made so bold as to pass through it, if he +had been aware how it was occupied. And then going to a corner +cupboard, high up in the wall, he pulled a key out of his pocket and +unlocked his little store of wine, and cake, and spirits; and +insisted that they should eat and drink while waiting for Philip, +who was taking some last measures for the security of the shop +during the night. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia declined everything, with less courtesy than she ought to +have shown to the offers of the hospitable old man. Molly took wine +and cake, leaving a good half of both, according to the code of +manners in that part of the country; and also because Sylvia was +continually urging her to make haste. For the latter disliked the +idea of her cousin's esteeming it necessary to accompany them home, +and wanted to escape from him by setting off before he returned. But +any such plans were frustrated by Philip's coming back into the +parlour, full of grave content, which brimmed over from his eyes, +with the parcel of Sylvia's obnoxious red duffle under his arm; +anticipating so keenly the pleasure awaiting him in the walk, that +he was almost surprised by the gravity of his companions as they +prepared for it. Sylvia was a little penitent for her rejection of +Mr. John's hospitality, now she found out how unavailing for its +purpose such rejection had been, and tried to make up by a modest +sweetness of farewell, which quite won his heart, and made him +praise her up to Hester in a way to which she, observant of all, +could not bring herself fully to respond. What business had the +pretty little creature to reject kindly-meant hospitality in the +pettish way she did, thought Hester. And, oh! what business had she +to be so ungrateful and to try and thwart Philip in his thoughtful +wish of escorting them through the streets of the rough, riotous +town? What did it all mean? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PHILIP HEPBURN +</H3> + +<P> +The coast on that part of the island to which this story refers is +bordered by rocks and cliffs. The inland country immediately +adjacent to the coast is level, flat, and bleak; it is only where +the long stretch of dyke-enclosed fields terminates abruptly in a +sheer descent, and the stranger sees the ocean creeping up the sands +far below him, that he is aware on how great an elevation he has +been. Here and there, as I have said, a cleft in the level land +(thus running out into the sea in steep promontories) occurs—what +they would call a 'chine' in the Isle of Wight; but instead of the +soft south wind stealing up the woody ravine, as it does there, the +eastern breeze comes piping shrill and clear along these northern +chasms, keeping the trees that venture to grow on the sides down to +the mere height of scrubby brushwood. The descent to the shore +through these 'bottoms' is in most cases very abrupt, too much so +for a cartway, or even a bridle-path; but people can pass up and +down without difficulty, by the help of a few rude steps hewn here +and there out of the rock. +</P> + +<P> +Sixty or seventy years ago (not to speak of much later times) the +farmers who owned or hired the land which lay directly on the summit +of these cliffs were smugglers to the extent of their power, only +partially checked by the coast-guard distributed, at pretty nearly +equal interspaces of eight miles, all along the north-eastern +seaboard. Still sea-wrack was a good manure, and there was no law +against carrying it up in great osier baskets for the purpose of +tillage, and many a secret thing was lodged in hidden crevices in +the rocks till the farmer sent trusty people down to the shore for a +good supply of sand and seaweed for his land. +</P> + +<P> +One of the farms on the cliff had lately been taken by Sylvia's +father. He was a man who had roamed about a good deal—been sailor, +smuggler, horse-dealer, and farmer in turns; a sort of fellow +possessed by a spirit of adventure and love of change, which did him +and his own family more harm than anybody else. He was just the kind +of man that all his neighbours found fault with, and all his +neighbours liked. Late in life (for such an imprudent man as he, was +one of a class who generally wed, trusting to chance and luck for +the provision for a family), farmer Robson married a woman whose +only want of practical wisdom consisted in taking him for a husband. +She was Philip Hepburn's aunt, and had had the charge of him until +she married from her widowed brother's house. He it was who had let +her know when Haytersbank Farm had been to let; esteeming it a +likely piece of land for his uncle to settle down upon, after a +somewhat unprosperous career of horse-dealing. The farmhouse lay in +the shelter of a very slight green hollow scarcely scooped out of +the pasture field by which it was surrounded; the short crisp turf +came creeping up to the very door and windows, without any attempt +at a yard or garden, or any nearer enclosure of the buildings than +the stone dyke that formed the boundary of the field itself. The +buildings were long and low, in order to avoid the rough violence of +the winds that swept over that wild, bleak spot, both in winter and +summer. It was well for the inhabitants of that house that coal was +extremely cheap; otherwise a southerner might have imagined that +they could never have survived the cutting of the bitter gales that +piped all round, and seemed to seek out every crevice for admission +into the house. +</P> + +<P> +But the interior was warm enough when once you had mounted the long +bleak lane, full of round rough stones, enough to lame any horse +unaccustomed to such roads, and had crossed the field by the little +dry, hard footpath, which tacked about so as to keep from directly +facing the prevailing wind. Mrs. Robson was a Cumberland woman, and +as such, was a cleaner housewife than the farmers' wives of that +north-eastern coast, and was often shocked at their ways, showing it +more by her looks than by her words, for she was not a great talker. +This fastidiousness in such matters made her own house extremely +comfortable, but did not tend to render her popular among her +neighbours. Indeed, Bell Robson piqued herself on her housekeeping +generally, and once in-doors in the gray, bare stone house, there +were plenty of comforts to be had besides cleanliness and warmth. +The great rack of clap-bread hung overhead, and Bell Robson's +preference of this kind of oat-cake over the leavened and partly +sour kind used in Yorkshire was another source of her unpopularity. +Flitches of bacon and 'hands' (<I>i.e.</I>, shoulders of cured pork, the +legs or hams being sold, as fetching a better price) abounded; and +for any visitor who could stay, neither cream nor finest wheaten +flour was wanting for 'turf cakes' and 'singing hinnies,' with which +it is the delight of the northern housewives to regale the honoured +guest, as he sips their high-priced tea, sweetened with dainty +sugar. +</P> + +<P> +This night farmer Robson was fidgeting in and out of his house-door, +climbing the little eminence in the field, and coming down +disappointed in a state of fretful impatience. His quiet, taciturn +wife was a little put out by Sylvia's non-appearance too; but she +showed her anxiety by being shorter than usual in her replies to his +perpetual wonders as to where the lass could have been tarrying, and +by knitting away with extra diligence. +</P> + +<P> +'I've a vast o' mind to go down to Monkshaven mysen, and see after +t' child. It's well on for seven.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, Dannel,' said his wife; 'thou'd best not. Thy leg has been +paining thee this week past, and thou'rt not up to such a walk. I'll +rouse Kester, and send him off, if thou think'st there's need on +it.' +</P> + +<P> +'A'll noan ha' Kester roused. Who's to go afield betimes after t' +sheep in t' morn, if he's ca'ed up to-neet? He'd miss t' lass, and +find a public-house, a reckon,' said Daniel, querulously. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not afeard o' Kester,' replied Bell. 'He's a good one for +knowing folk i' th' dark. But if thou'd rather, I'll put on my hood +and cloak and just go to th' end o' th' lane, if thou'lt have an eye +to th' milk, and see as it does na' boil o'er, for she canna stomach +it if it's bishopped e'er so little.' +</P> + +<P> +Before Mrs. Robson, however, had put away her knitting, voices were +heard at a good distance down the lane, but coming nearer every +moment, and once more Daniel climbed the little brow to look and to +listen. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a' reet!' said he, hobbling quickly down. 'Niver fidget +theesel' wi' gettin' ready to go search for her. I'll tak' thee a +bet it's Philip Hepburn's voice, convoying her home, just as I said +he would, an hour sin'.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell did not answer, as she might have done, that this probability +of Philip's bringing Sylvia home had been her own suggestion, set +aside by her husband as utterly unlikely. Another minute and the +countenances of both parents imperceptibly and unconsciously relaxed +into pleasure as Sylvia came in. +</P> + +<P> +She looked very rosy from the walk, and the October air, which began +to be frosty in the evenings; there was a little cloud over her face +at first, but it was quickly dispersed as she met the loving eyes of +home. Philip, who followed her, had an excited, but not altogether +pleased look about him. He received a hearty greeting from Daniel, +and a quiet one from his aunt. +</P> + +<P> +'Tak' off thy pan o' milk, missus, and set on t' kettle. Milk may do +for wenches, but Philip and me is for a drop o' good Hollands and +watter this cold night. I'm a'most chilled to t' marrow wi' looking +out for thee, lass, for t' mother was in a peck o' troubles about +thy none coining home i' t' dayleet, and I'd to keep hearkening out +on t' browhead.' +</P> + +<P> +This was entirely untrue, and Bell knew it to be so; but her husband +did not. He had persuaded himself now, as he had done often before, +that what he had in reality done for his own pleasure or +satisfaction, he had done in order to gratify some one else. +</P> + +<P> +'The town was rough with a riot between the press-gang and the +whaling folk; and I thought I'd best see Sylvia home.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay, lad; always welcome, if it's only as an excuse for t' +liquor. But t' whalers, say'st ta? Why, is t' whalers in? There was +none i' sight yesterday, when I were down on t' shore. It's early +days for 'em as yet. And t' cursed old press-gang's agate again, +doing its devil's work!' +</P> + +<P> +His face changed as he ended his speech, and showed a steady passion +of old hatred. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, missus, yo' may look. I wunnot pick and choose my words, +noather for yo' nor for nobody, when I speak o' that daumed gang. +I'm none ashamed o' my words. They're true, and I'm ready to prove +'em. Where's my forefinger? Ay! and as good a top-joint of a thumb +as iver a man had? I wish I'd kept 'em i' sperits, as they done +things at t' 'potticary's, just to show t' lass what flesh and bone +I made away wi' to get free. I ups wi' a hatchet when I saw as I +were fast a-board a man-o'-war standing out for sea—it were in t' +time o' the war wi' Amerikay, an' I could na stomach the thought o' +being murdered i' my own language—so I ups wi' a hatchet, and I +says to Bill Watson, says I, "Now, my lad, if thou'll do me a +kindness, I'll pay thee back, niver fear, and they'll be glad enough +to get shut on us, and send us to old England again. Just come down +with a will." Now, missus, why can't ye sit still and listen to me, +'stead o' pottering after pans and what not?' said he, speaking +crossly to his wife, who had heard the story scores of times, and, +it must be confessed, was making some noise in preparing bread and +milk for Sylvia's supper. +</P> + +<P> +Bell did not say a word in reply, but Sylvia tapped his shoulder +with a pretty little authoritative air. +</P> + +<P> +'It's for me, feyther. I'm just keen-set for my supper. Once let me +get quickly set down to it, and Philip there to his glass o' grog, +and you'll never have such listeners in your life, and mother's mind +will be at ease too.' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! thou's a wilfu' wench,' said the proud father, giving her a +great slap on her back. 'Well! set thee down to thy victual, and be +quiet wi' thee, for I want to finish my tale to Philip. But, +perhaps, I've telled it yo' afore?' said he, turning round to +question Hepburn. +</P> + +<P> +Hepburn could not say that he had not heard it, for he piqued +himself on his truthfulness. But instead of frankly and directly +owning this, he tried to frame a formal little speech, which would +soothe Daniel's mortified vanity; and, of course, it had the +directly opposite effect. Daniel resented being treated like a +child, and yet turned his back on Philip with all the wilfulness of +one. Sylvia did not care for her cousin, but hated the discomfort of +having her father displeased; so she took up her tale of adventure, +and told her father and mother of her afternoon's proceedings. +Daniel pretended not to listen at first, and made ostentatious +noises with his spoon and glass; but by-and-by he got quite warm and +excited about the doings of the press-gang, and scolded both Philip +and Sylvia for not having learnt more particulars as to what was the +termination of the riot. +</P> + +<P> +'I've been whaling mysel',' said he; 'and I've heerd tell as whalers +wear knives, and I'd ha' gi'en t' gang a taste o' my whittle, if I'd +been cotched up just as I'd set my foot a-shore.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know,' said Philip; 'we're at war wi' the French, and we +shouldn't like to be beaten; and yet if our numbers are not equal to +theirs, we stand a strong chance of it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not a bit on't—so be d—d!' said Daniel Robson, bringing down his +fist with such violence on the round deal table, that the glasses +and earthenware shook again. 'Yo'd not strike a child or a woman, +for sure! yet it 'ud be like it, if we did na' give the Frenchies +some 'vantages—if we took 'em wi' equal numbers. It's not fair +play, and that's one place where t' shoe pinches. It's not fair play +two ways. It's not fair play to cotch up men as has no call for +fightin' at another man's biddin', though they've no objection to +fight a bit on their own account and who are just landed, all keen +after bread i'stead o' biscuit, and flesh-meat i'stead o' junk, and +beds i'stead o' hammocks. (I make naught o' t' sentiment side, for I +were niver gi'en up to such carnal-mindedness and poesies.) It's +noane fair to cotch 'em up and put 'em in a stifling hole, all lined +with metal for fear they should whittle their way out, and send 'em +off to sea for years an' years to come. And again it's no fair play +to t' French. Four o' them is rightly matched wi' one o' us; and if +we go an' fight 'em four to four it's like as if yo' fell to beatin' +Sylvie there, or little Billy Croxton, as isn't breeched. And that's +my mind. Missus, where's t' pipe?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip did not smoke, so took his turn at talking, a chance he +seldom had with Daniel, unless the latter had his pipe between his +lips. So after Daniel had filled it, and used Sylvia's little finger +as a stopper to ram down the tobacco—a habit of his to which she +was so accustomed that she laid her hand on the table by him, as +naturally as she would have fetched him his spittoon when he began +to smoke—Philip arranged his arguments, and began— +</P> + +<P> +'I'm for fair play wi' the French as much as any man, as long as we +can be sure o' beating them; but, I say, make sure o' that, and then +give them ivery advantage. Now I reckon Government is not sure as +yet, for i' the papers it said as half th' ships i' th' Channel +hadn't got their proper complement o' men; and all as I say is, let +Government judge a bit for us; and if they say they're hampered for +want o' men, why we must make it up somehow. John and Jeremiah +Foster pay in taxes, and Militiaman pays in person; and if sailors +cannot pay in taxes, and will not pay in person, why they must be +made to pay; and that's what th' press-gang is for, I reckon. For my +part, when I read o' the way those French chaps are going on, I'm +thankful to be governed by King George and a British Constitution.' +</P> + +<P> +Daniel took his pipe out of his mouth at this. +</P> + +<P> +'And when did I say a word again King George and the Constitution? I +only ax 'em to govern me as I judge best, and that's what I call +representation. When I gived my vote to Measter Cholmley to go up to +t' Parliament House, I as good as said, 'Now yo' go up theer, sir, +and tell 'em what I, Dannel Robson, think right, and what I, Dannel +Robson, wish to have done.' Else I'd be darned if I'd ha' gi'en my +vote to him or any other man. And div yo' think I want Seth Robson ( +as is my own brother's son, and mate to a collier) to be cotched up +by a press-gang, and ten to one his wages all unpaid? Div yo' think +I'd send up Measter Cholmley to speak up for that piece o' work? Not +I.' He took up his pipe again, shook out the ashes, puffed it into a +spark, and shut his eyes, preparatory to listening. +</P> + +<P> +'But, asking pardon, laws is made for the good of the nation, not +for your good or mine.' +</P> + +<P> +Daniel could not stand this. He laid down his pipe, opened his eyes, +stared straight at Philip before speaking, in order to enforce his +words, and then said slowly— +</P> + +<P> +'Nation here! nation theere! I'm a man and yo're another, but +nation's nowheere. If Measter Cholmley talked to me i' that fashion, +he'd look long for another vote frae me. I can make out King George, +and Measter Pitt, and yo' and me, but nation! nation, go hang!' +</P> + +<P> +Philip, who sometimes pursued an argument longer than was politic +for himself, especially when he felt sure of being on the conquering +side, did not see that Daniel Robson was passing out of the +indifference of conscious wisdom into that state of anger which +ensues when a question becomes personal in some unspoken way. Robson +had contested this subject once or twice before, and had the +remembrance of former disputes to add to his present vehemence. So +it was well for the harmony of the evening that Bell and Sylvia +returned from the kitchen to sit in the house-place. They had been +to wash up the pans and basins used for supper; Sylvia had privately +shown off her cloak, and got over her mother's shake of the head at +its colour with a coaxing kiss, at the end of which her mother had +adjusted her cap with a 'There! there! ha' done wi' thee,' but had +no more heart to show her disapprobation; and now they came back to +their usual occupations until it should please their visitor to go; +then they would rake the fire and be off to bed; for neither +Sylvia's spinning nor Bell's knitting was worth candle-light, and +morning hours are precious in a dairy. +</P> + +<P> +People speak of the way in which harp-playing sets off a graceful +figure; spinning is almost as becoming an employment. A woman stands +at the great wool-wheel, one arm extended, the other holding the +thread, her head thrown back to take in all the scope of her +occupation; or if it is the lesser spinning-wheel for flax—and it +was this that Sylvia moved forwards to-night—the pretty sound of +the buzzing, whirring motion, the attitude of the spinner, foot and +hand alike engaged in the business—the bunch of gay coloured +ribbon that ties the bundle of flax on the rock—all make it into a +picturesque piece of domestic business that may rival harp-playing +any day for the amount of softness and grace which it calls out. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia's cheeks were rather flushed by the warmth of the room after +the frosty air. The blue ribbon with which she had thought it +necessary to tie back her hair before putting on her hat to go to +market had got rather loose, and allowed her disarranged curls to +stray in a manner which would have annoyed her extremely, if she had +been upstairs to look at herself in the glass; but although they +were not set in the exact fashion which Sylvia esteemed as correct, +they looked very pretty and luxuriant. Her little foot, placed on +the 'traddle', was still encased in its smartly buckled shoe—not +slightly to her discomfort, as she was unaccustomed to be shod in +walking far; only as Philip had accompanied them home, neither she +nor Molly had liked to go barefoot. Her round mottled arm and ruddy +taper hand drew out the flax with nimble, agile motion, keeping time +to the movement of the wheel. All this Philip could see; the greater +part of her face was lost to him as she half averted it, with a shy +dislike to the way in which she knew from past experience that +cousin Philip always stared at her. And avert it as she would she +heard with silent petulance the harsh screech of Philip's chair as +he heavily dragged it on the stone floor, sitting on it all the +while, and felt that he was moving round so as to look at her as +much as was in his power, without absolutely turning his back on +either her father or mother. She got herself ready for the first +opportunity of contradiction or opposition. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, wench! and has ta bought this grand new cloak?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, feyther. It's a scarlet one.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay! and what does mother say?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, mother's content,' said Sylvia, a little doubting in her heart, +but determined to defy Philip at all hazards. +</P> + +<P> +'Mother 'll put up with it if it does na spot would be nearer fact, +I'm thinking,' said Bell, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +'I wanted Sylvia to take the gray,' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'And I chose the red; it's so much gayer, and folk can see me the +farther off. Feyther likes to see me at first turn o' t' lane, don't +yo', feyther? and I'll niver turn out when it's boun' for to rain, +so it shall niver get a spot near it, mammy.' +</P> + +<P> +'I reckoned it were to wear i' bad weather,' said Bell. 'Leastways +that were the pretext for coaxing feyther out o' it.' +</P> + +<P> +She said it in a kindly tone, though the words became a prudent +rather than a fond mother. But Sylvia understood her better than +Daniel did as it appeared. +</P> + +<P> +'Hou'd thy tongue, mother. She niver spoke a pretext at all.' +</P> + +<P> +He did not rightly know what a 'pretext' was: Bell was a touch +better educated than her husband, but he did not acknowledge this, +and made a particular point of differing from her whenever she used +a word beyond his comprehension. +</P> + +<P> +'She's a good lass at times; and if she liked to wear a +yellow-orange cloak she should have it. Here's Philip here, as +stands up for laws and press-gangs, I'll set him to find us a law +again pleasing our lass; and she our only one. Thou dostn't think on +that, mother! +</P> + +<P> +Bell did think of that often; oftener than her husband, perhaps, for +she remembered every day, and many times a day, the little one that +had been born and had died while its father was away on some long +voyage. But it was not her way to make replies. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia, who had more insight into her mother's heart than Daniel, +broke in with a new subject. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! as for Philip, he's been preaching up laws all t' way home. I +said naught, but let Molly hold her own; or else I could ha' told a +tale about silks an' lace an' things.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip's face flushed. Not because of the smuggling; every one did +that, only it was considered polite to ignore it; but he was annoyed +to perceive how quickly his little cousin had discovered that his +practice did not agree with his preaching, and vexed, too, to see +how delighted she was to bring out the fact. He had some little +idea, too, that his uncle might make use of his practice as an +argument against the preaching he had lately been indulging in, in +opposition to Daniel; but Daniel was too far gone in his +Hollands-and-water to do more than enunciate his own opinions, which +he did with hesitating and laboured distinctness in the following +sentence: +</P> + +<P> +'What I think and say is this. Laws is made for to keep some folks +fra' harming others. Press-gangs and coast-guards harm me i' my +business, and keep me fra' getting what I want. Theerefore, what I +think and say is this: Measter Cholmley should put down press-gangs +and coast-guards. If that theere isn't reason I ax yo' to tell me +what is? an' if Measter Cholmley don't do what I ax him, he may go +whistle for my vote, he may.' +</P> + +<P> +At this period in his conversation, Bell Robson interfered; not in +the least from any feeling of disgust or annoyance, or dread of what +he might say or do if he went on drinking, but simply as a matter of +health. Sylvia, too, was in no way annoyed; not only with her +father, but with every man whom she knew, excepting her cousin +Philip, was it a matter of course to drink till their ideas became +confused. So she simply put her wheel aside, as preparatory to going +to bed, when her mother said, in a more decided tone than that which +she had used on any other occasion but this, and similar ones— +</P> + +<P> +'Come, measter, you've had as much as is good for you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Let a' be! Let a' be,' said he, clutching at the bottle of spirits, +but perhaps rather more good-humoured with what he had drunk than he +was before; he jerked a little more into his glass before his wife +carried it off, and locked it up in the cupboard, putting the key in +her pocket, and then he said, winking at Philip— +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! my man. Niver gie a woman t' whip hand o'er yo'! Yo' seen what +it brings a man to; but for a' that I'll vote for Cholmley, an' +d——t' press-gang!' +</P> + +<P> +He had to shout out the last after Philip, for Hepburn, really +anxious to please his aunt, and disliking drinking habits himself by +constitution, was already at the door, and setting out on his return +home, thinking, it must be confessed, far more of the character of +Sylvia's shake of the hand than of the parting words of either his +uncle or aunt. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +STORY OF THE PRESS-GANG +</H3> + +<P> +For a few days after the evening mentioned in the last chapter the +weather was dull. Not in quick, sudden showers did the rain come +down, but in constant drizzle, blotting out all colour from the +surrounding landscape, and filling the air with fine gray mist, +until people breathed more water than air. At such times the +consciousness of the nearness of the vast unseen sea acted as a +dreary depression to the spirits; but besides acting on the nerves +of the excitable, such weather affected the sensitive or ailing in +material ways. Daniel Robson's fit of rheumatism incapacitated him +from stirring abroad; and to a man of his active habits, and +somewhat inactive mind, this was a great hardship. He was not +ill-tempered naturally, but this state of confinement made him more +ill-tempered than he had ever been before in his life. He sat in the +chimney-corner, abusing the weather and doubting the wisdom or +desirableness of all his wife saw fit to do in the usual daily +household matters. The 'chimney-corner' was really a corner at +Haytersbank. There were two projecting walls on each side of the +fire-place, running about six feet into the room, and a stout wooden +settle was placed against one of these, while opposite was the +circular-backed 'master's chair,' the seat of which was composed of +a square piece of wood judiciously hollowed out, and placed with one +corner to the front. Here, in full view of all the operations going +on over the fire, sat Daniel Robson for four live-long days, +advising and directing his wife in all such minor matters as the +boiling of potatoes, the making of porridge, all the work on which +she specially piqued herself, and on which she would have taken +advice—no! not from the most skilled housewife in all the three +Ridings. But, somehow, she managed to keep her tongue quiet from +telling him, as she would have done any woman, and any other man, to +mind his own business, or she would pin a dish-clout to his tail. +She even checked Sylvia when the latter proposed, as much for fun as +for anything else, that his ignorant directions should be followed, +and the consequences brought before his eyes and his nose. +</P> + +<P> +'Na, na!' said Bell, 'th' feyther's feyther, and we mun respect him. +But it's dree work havin' a man i' th' house, nursing th' fire, an' +such weather too, and not a soul coming near us, not even to fall +out wi' him; for thee and me must na' do that, for th' Bible's sake, +dear; and a good stand-up wordy quarrel would do him a power of +good; stir his blood like. I wish Philip would turn up.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell sighed, for in these four days she had experienced somewhat of +Madame de Maintenon's difficulty (and with fewer resources to meet +it) of trying to amuse a man who was not amusable. For Bell, good +and sensible as she was, was not a woman of resources. Sylvia's +plan, undutiful as it was in her mother's eyes, would have done +Daniel more good, even though it might have made him angry, than his +wife's quiet, careful monotony of action, which, however it might +conduce to her husband's comfort when he was absent, did not amuse +him when present. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia scouted the notion of cousin Philip coming into their +household in the character of an amusing or entertaining person, +till she nearly made her mother angry at her ridicule of the good +steady young fellow, to whom Bell looked up as the pattern of all +that early manhood should be. But the moment Sylvia saw she had been +giving her mother pain, she left off her wilful little jokes, and +kissed her, and told her she would manage all famously, and ran out +of the back-kitchen, in which mother and daughter had been scrubbing +the churn and all the wooden implements of butter-making. Bell +looked at the pretty figure of her little daughter, as, running past +with her apron thrown over her head, she darkened the window beneath +which her mother was doing her work. She paused just for a moment, +and then said, almost unawares to herself, 'Bless thee, lass,' +before resuming her scouring of what already looked almost +snow-white. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia scampered across the rough farmyard in the wetting, drizzling +rain to the place where she expected to find Kester; but he was not +there, so she had to retrace her steps to the cow-house, and, making +her way up a rough kind of ladder-staircase fixed straight against +the wall, she surprised Kester as he sat in the wool-loft, looking +over the fleeces reserved for the home-spinning, by popping her +bright face, swathed round with her blue woollen apron, up through +the trap-door, and thus, her head the only visible part, she +addressed the farm-servant, who was almost like one of the family. +</P> + +<P> +'Kester, feyther's just tiring hissel' wi' weariness an' vexation, +sitting by t' fireside wi' his hands afore him, an' nought to do. +An' mother and me can't think on aught as 'll rouse him up to a bit +of a laugh, or aught more cheerful than a scolding. Now, Kester, +thou mun just be off, and find Harry Donkin th' tailor, and bring +him here; it's gettin' on for Martinmas, an' he'll be coming his +rounds, and he may as well come here first as last, and feyther's +clothes want a deal o' mending up, and Harry's always full of his +news, and anyhow he'll do for feyther to scold, an' be a new person +too, and that's somewhat for all on us. Now go, like a good old +Kester as yo' are.' +</P> + +<P> +Kester looked at her with loving, faithful admiration. He had set +himself his day's work in his master's absence, and was very +desirous of finishing it, but, somehow, he never dreamed of +resisting Sylvia, so he only stated the case. +</P> + +<P> +'T' 'ool's a vast o' muck in 't, an' a thowt as a'd fettle it, an' +do it up; but a reckon a mun do yo'r biddin'.' +</P> + +<P> +'There's a good old Kester,' said she, smiling, and nodding her +muffled head at him; then she dipped down out of his sight, then +rose up again (he had never taken his slow, mooney eyes from the +spot where she had disappeared) to say—'Now, Kester, be wary and +deep—thou mun tell Harry Donkin not to let on as we've sent for +him, but just to come in as if he were on his round, and took us +first; and he mun ask feyther if there is any work for him to do; +and I'll answer for 't, he'll have a welcome and a half. Now, be +deep and fause, mind thee!' +</P> + +<P> +'A'se deep an' fause enow wi' simple folk; but what can a do i' +Donkin be as fause as me—as happen he may be?' +</P> + +<P> +'Ga way wi' thee! I' Donkin be Solomon, thou mun be t' Queen o' +Sheba; and I'se bound for to say she outwitted him at last!' +</P> + +<P> +Kester laughed so long at the idea of his being the Queen of Sheba, +that Sylvia was back by her mother's side before the cachinnation +ended. +</P> + +<P> +That night, just as Sylvia was preparing to go to bed in her little +closet of a room, she heard some shot rattling at her window. She +opened the little casement, and saw Kester standing below. He +recommenced where he left off, with a laugh— +</P> + +<P> +'He, he, he! A's been t' queen! A'se ta'en Donkin on t' reet side, +an' he'll coom in to-morrow, just permiskus, an' ax for work, like +as if 't were a favour; t' oud felley were a bit cross-grained at +startin', for he were workin' at farmer Crosskey's up at t' other +side o' t' town, wheer they puts a strike an' a half of maut intil +t' beer, when most folk put nobbut a strike, an t' made him ill to +convince: but he'll coom, niver fear!' +</P> + +<P> +The honest fellow never said a word of the shilling he had paid out +of his own pocket to forward Sylvia's wishes, and to persuade the +tailor to leave the good beer. All his anxiety now was to know if he +had been missed, and if it was likely that a scolding awaited him in +the morning. +</P> + +<P> +'T' oud measter didn't set up his back, 'cause a didn't coom in t' +supper?' +</P> + +<P> +'He questioned a bit as to what thou were about, but mother didn't +know, an' I held my peace. Mother carried thy supper in t' loft for +thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'A'll gang after 't, then, for a'm like a pair o' bellowses wi' t' +wind out; just two flat sides wi' nowt betwixt.' +</P> + +<P> +The next morning, Sylvia's face was a little redder than usual when +Harry Donkin's bow-legs were seen circling down the path to the +house door. +</P> + +<P> +'Here's Donkin, for sure!' exclaimed Bell, when she caught sight of +him a minute after her daughter. 'Well, I just call that lucky! for +he'll be company for thee while Sylvia and me has to turn th' +cheeses.' +</P> + +<P> +This was too original a remark for a wife to make in Daniel's +opinion, on this especial morning, when his rheumatism was twinging +him more than usual, so he replied with severity— +</P> + +<P> +'That's all t' women know about it. Wi' them it's "coompany, +coompany, coompany," an' they think a man's no better than +theirsels. A'd have yo' to know a've a vast o' thoughts in myself', +as I'm noane willing to lay out for t' benefit o' every man. A've +niver gotten time for meditation sin' a were married; leastways, +sin' a left t' sea. Aboard ship, wi' niver a woman wi'n leagues o' +hail, and upo' t' masthead, in special, a could.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then I'd better tell Donkin as we've no work for him,' said Sylvia, +instinctively managing her father by agreeing with him, instead of +reasoning with or contradicting him. +</P> + +<P> +'Now, theere you go!' wrenching himself round, for fear Sylvia +should carry her meekly made threat into execution. 'Ugh! ugh!' as +his limb hurt him. 'Come in, Harry, come in, and talk a bit o' sense +to me, for a've been shut up wi' women these four days, and a'm +a'most a nateral by this time. A'se bound for 't, they'll find yo' +some wark, if 't's nought but for to save their own fingers.' +</P> + +<P> +So Harry took off his coat, and seated himself professional-wise on +the hastily-cleared dresser, so that he might have all the light +afforded by the long, low casement window. Then he blew in his +thimble, sucked his finger, so that they might adhere tightly +together, and looked about for a subject for opening conversation, +while Sylvia and her mother might be heard opening and shutting +drawers and box-lids before they could find the articles that needed +repair, or that were required to mend each other. +</P> + +<P> +'Women's well enough i' their way,' said Daniel, in a philosophizing +tone, 'but a man may have too much on 'em. Now there's me, leg-fast +these four days, and a'll make free to say to yo', a'd rather a deal +ha' been loading dung i' t' wettest weather; an' a reckon it's th' +being wi' nought but women as tires me so: they talk so foolish it +gets int' t' bones like. Now thou know'st thou'rt not called much of +a man oather, but bless yo', t' ninth part's summut to be thankful +for, after nought but women. An' yet, yo' seen, they were for +sending yo' away i' their foolishness! Well! missus, and who's to +pay for t' fettling of all them clothes?' as Bell came down with her +arms full. She was going to answer her husband meekly and literally +according to her wont, but Sylvia, already detecting the increased +cheerfulness of his tone, called out from behind her mother— +</P> + +<P> +'I am, feyther. I'm going for to sell my new cloak as I bought +Thursday, for the mending on your old coats and waistcoats.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hearken till her,' said Daniel, chuckling. 'She's a true wench. +Three days sin' noane so full as she o' t' new cloak that now she's +fain t' sell.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, Harry. If feyther won't pay yo' for making all these old +clothes as good as new, I'll sell my new red cloak sooner than yo' +shall go unpaid.' +</P> + +<P> +'A reckon it's a bargain,' said Harry, casting sharp, professional +eyes on the heap before him, and singling out the best article as to +texture for examination and comment. +</P> + +<P> +'They're all again these metal buttons,' said he. 'Silk weavers has +been petitioning Ministers t' make a law to favour silk buttons; and +I did hear tell as there were informers goin' about spyin' after +metal buttons, and as how they could haul yo' before a justice for +wearing on 'em.' +</P> + +<P> +'A were wed in 'em, and a'll wear 'em to my dyin' day, or a'll wear +noane at a'. They're for making such a pack o' laws, they'll be for +meddling wi' my fashion o' sleeping next, and taxing me for ivery +snore a give. They've been after t' winders, and after t' vittle, +and after t' very saut to 't; it's dearer by hauf an' more nor it +were when a were a boy: they're a meddlesome set o' folks, +law-makers is, an' a'll niver believe King George has ought t' do +wi' 't. But mark my words; I were wed wi' brass buttons, and brass +buttons a'll wear to my death, an' if they moither me about it, a'll +wear brass buttons i' my coffin!' +</P> + +<P> +By this time Harry had arranged a certain course of action with Mrs +Robson, conducting the consultation and agreement by signs. His +thread was flying fast already, and the mother and daughter felt +more free to pursue their own business than they had done for +several days; for it was a good sign that Daniel had taken his pipe +out of the square hollow in the fireside wall, where he usually kept +it, and was preparing to diversify his remarks with satisfying +interludes of puffing. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, look ye; this very baccy had a run for 't. It came ashore +sewed up neatly enough i' a woman's stays, as was wife to a +fishing-smack down at t' bay yonder. She were a lean thing as iver +you saw, when she went for t' see her husband aboard t' vessel; but +she coom back lustier by a deal, an' wi' many a thing on her, here +and theere, beside baccy. An' that were i' t' face o' coast-guard +and yon tender, an' a'. But she made as though she were tipsy, an' +so they did nought but curse her, an' get out on her way.' +</P> + +<P> +'Speaking of t' tender, there's been a piece o' wark i' Monkshaven +this week wi' t' press-gang,' said Harry. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! ay! our lass was telling about 't; but, Lord bless ye! there's +no gettin' t' rights on a story out on a woman—though a will say +this for our Sylvie, she's as bright a lass as iver a man looked +at.' +</P> + +<P> +Now the truth was, that Daniel had not liked to demean himself, at +the time when Sylvia came back so full of what she had seen at +Monkshaven, by evincing any curiosity on the subject. He had then +thought that the next day he would find some business that should +take him down to the town, when he could learn all that was to be +learnt, without flattering his womankind by asking questions, as if +anything they might say could interest him. He had a strong notion +of being a kind of domestic Jupiter. +</P> + +<P> +'It's made a deal o' wark i' Monkshaven. Folk had gotten to think +nought o' t' tender, she lay so still, an' t' leftenant paid such a +good price for all he wanted for t' ship. But o' Thursday t' +<I>Resolution</I>, first whaler back this season, came in port, and t' +press-gang showed their teeth, and carried off four as good +able-bodied seamen as iver I made trousers for; and t' place were +all up like a nest o' wasps, when yo've set your foot in t' midst. +They were so mad, they were ready for t' fight t' very pavin' +stones.' +</P> + +<P> +'A wish a'd been theere! A just wish a had! A've a score for t' +reckon up wi' t' press-gang!' +</P> + +<P> +And the old man lifted up his right hand—his hand on which the +forefinger and thumb were maimed and useless—partly in +denunciation, and partly as a witness of what he had endured to +escape from the service, abhorred because it was forced. His face +became a totally different countenance with the expression of +settled and unrelenting indignation, which his words called out. +</P> + +<P> +'G'on, man, g'on,' said Daniel, impatient with Donkin for the little +delay occasioned by the necessity of arranging his work more fully. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! ay! all in good time; for a've a long tale to tell yet; an' a +mun have some 'un to iron me out my seams, and look me out my bits, +for there's none here fit for my purpose.' +</P> + +<P> +'Dang thy bits! Here, Sylvie! Sylvie! come and be tailor's man, and +let t' chap get settled sharp, for a'm fain t' hear his story.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia took her directions, and placed her irons in the fire, and +ran upstairs for the bundle which had been put aside by her careful +mother for occasions like the present. It consisted of small pieces +of various coloured cloth, cut out of old coats and waistcoats, and +similar garments, when the whole had become too much worn for use, +yet when part had been good enough to be treasured by a thrifty +housewife. Daniel grew angry before Donkin had selected his patterns +and settled the work to his own mind. +</P> + +<P> +'Well,' said he at last; 'a mought be a young man a-goin' a wooin', +by t' pains thou'st taken for t' match my oud clothes. I don't care +if they're patched wi' scarlet, a tell thee; so as thou'lt work away +at thy tale wi' thy tongue, same time as thou works at thy needle +wi' thy fingers.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then, as a were saying, all Monkshaven were like a nest o' wasps, +flyin' hither and thither, and makin' sich a buzzin' and a talkin' +as niver were; and each wi' his sting out, ready for t' vent his +venom o' rage and revenge. And women cryin' and sobbin' i' t' +streets—when, Lord help us! o' Saturday came a worse time than +iver! for all Friday there had been a kind o' expectation an' dismay +about t' <I>Good Fortune</I>, as t' mariners had said was off St Abb's +Head o' Thursday, when t' <I>Resolution</I> came in; and there was wives +and maids wi' husbands an' sweethearts aboard t' <I>Good Fortune</I> +ready to throw their eyes out on their heads wi' gazin', gazin' +nor'ards over t'sea, as were all one haze o' blankness wi' t' rain; +and when t' afternoon tide comed in, an' niver a line on her to be +seen, folk were oncertain as t' whether she were holding off for +fear o' t' tender—as were out o' sight, too—or what were her mak' +o' goin' on. An' t' poor wet draggled women folk came up t' town, +some slowly cryin', as if their hearts was sick, an' others just +bent their heads to t' wind, and went straight to their homes, +nother looking nor speaking to ony one; but barred their doors, and +stiffened theirsels up for a night o' waiting. Saturday morn—yo'll +mind Saturday morn, it were stormy and gusty, downreet dirty +weather—theere stood t' folk again by daylight, a watching an' a +straining, and by that tide t' <I>Good Fortune</I> came o'er t' bar. But +t' excisemen had sent back her news by t' boat as took 'em there. +They'd a deal of oil, and a vast o' blubber. But for all that her +flag was drooping i' t' rain, half mast high, for mourning and +sorrow, an' they'd a dead man aboard—a dead man as was living and +strong last sunrise. An' there was another as lay between life an' +death, and there was seven more as should ha' been theere as wasn't, +but was carried off by t' gang. T' frigate as we 'n a' heard tell +on, as lying off Hartlepool, got tidings fra' t' tender as captured +t' seamen o' Thursday: and t' <I>Aurora</I>, as they ca'ed her, made off +for t' nor'ard; and nine leagues off St Abb's Head, t' <I>Resolution</I> +thinks she were, she see'd t' frigate, and knowed by her build she +were a man-o'-war, and guessed she were bound on king's kidnapping. +I seen t' wounded man mysen wi' my own eyes; and he'll live! he'll +live! Niver a man died yet, wi' such a strong purpose o' vengeance +in him. He could barely speak, for he were badly shot, but his +colour coome and went, as t' master's mate an' t' captain telled me +and some others how t' <I>Aurora</I> fired at 'em, and how t' innocent +whaler hoisted her colours, but afore they were fairly run up, +another shot coome close in t' shrouds, and then t' Greenland ship +being t' windward, bore down on t' frigate; but as they knew she +were an oud fox, and bent on mischief, Kinraid (that's he who lies +a-dying, only he'll noane die, a'se bound), the specksioneer, bade +t' men go down between decks, and fasten t' hatches well, an' he'd +stand guard, he an' captain, and t' oud master's mate, being left +upo' deck for t' give a welcome just skin-deep to t' boat's crew +fra' t' <I>Aurora</I>, as they could see coming t'wards them o'er t' +watter, wi' their reg'lar man-o'-war's rowing——' +</P> + +<P> +'Damn 'em!' said Daniel, in soliloquy, and under his breath. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia stood, poising her iron, and listening eagerly, afraid to +give Donkin the hot iron for fear of interrupting the narrative, +unwilling to put it into the fire again, because that action would +perchance remind him of his work, which now the tailor had +forgotten, so eager was he in telling his story. +</P> + +<P> +'Well! they coome on over t' watters wi' great bounds, and up t' +sides they coome like locusts, all armed men; an' t' captain says he +saw Kinraid hide away his whaling knife under some tarpaulin', and +he knew he meant mischief, an' he would no more ha' stopped him wi' +a word nor he would ha' stopped him fra' killing a whale. And when +t' <I>Aurora</I>'s men were aboard, one on 'em runs to t' helm; and at +that t' captain says, he felt as if his wife were kissed afore his +face; but says he, "I bethought me on t' men as were shut up below +hatches, an' I remembered t' folk at Monkshaven as were looking out +for us even then; an' I said to mysel', I would speak fair as long +as I could, more by token o' the whaling-knife, as I could see +glinting bright under t' black tarpaulin." So he spoke quite fair +and civil, though he see'd they was nearing t' <I>Aurora</I>, and t' +<I>Aurora</I> was nearing them. Then t' navy captain hailed him thro' t' +trumpet, wi' a great rough blast, and, says he, "Order your men to +come on deck." And t' captain of t' whaler says his men cried up +from under t' hatches as they'd niver be gi'en up wi'out bloodshed, +and he sees Kinraid take out his pistol, and look well to t' +priming; so he says to t' navy captain, "We're protected +Greenland-men, and you have no right t' meddle wi' us." But t' navy +captain only bellows t' more, "Order your men t' come on deck. If +they won't obey you, and you have lost the command of your vessel, I +reckon you're in a state of mutiny, and you may come aboard t' +<I>Aurora</I> and such men as are willing t' follow you, and I'll fire +int' the rest." Yo' see, that were t' depth o' the man: he were for +pretending and pretexting as t' captain could na manage his own +ship, and as he'd help him. But our Greenland captain were noane so +poor-spirited, and says he, "She's full of oil, and I ware you of +consequences if you fire into her. Anyhow, pirate, or no pirate" +(for t' word pirate stuck in his gizzard), "I'm a honest Monkshaven +man, an' I come fra' a land where there's great icebergs and many a +deadly danger, but niver a press-gang, thank God! and that's what +you are, I reckon." Them's the words he told me, but whether he +spoke 'em out so bold at t' time, I'se not so sure; they were in his +mind for t' speak, only maybe prudence got t' better on him, for he +said he prayed i' his heart to bring his cargo safe to t' owners, +come what might. Well, t' <I>Aurora</I>'s men aboard t' <I>Good Fortune</I> +cried out "might they fire down t' hatches, and bring t' men out +that a way?" and then t' specksioneer, he speaks, an' he says he +stands ower t' hatches, and he has two good pistols, and summut +besides, and he don't care for his life, bein' a bachelor, but all +below are married men, yo' see, and he'll put an end to t' first two +chaps as come near t' hatches. An' they say he picked two off as +made for t' come near, and then, just as he were stooping for t' +whaling knife, an' it's as big as a sickle——' +</P> + +<P> +'Teach folk as don't know a whaling knife,' cried Daniel. 'I were a +Greenland-man mysel'.' +</P> + +<P> +'They shot him through t' side, and dizzied him, and kicked him +aside for dead; and fired down t' hatches, and killed one man, and +disabled two, and then t' rest cried for quarter, for life is sweet, +e'en aboard a king's ship; and t' <I>Aurora</I> carried 'em off, wounded +men, an' able men, an' all: leaving Kinraid for dead, as wasn't +dead, and Darley for dead, as was dead, an' t' captain and master's +mate as were too old for work; and t' captain, as loves Kinraid like +a brother, poured rum down his throat, and bandaged him up, and has +sent for t' first doctor in Monkshaven for to get t' slugs out; for +they say there's niver such a harpooner in a' t' Greenland seas; an' +I can speak fra' my own seeing he's a fine young fellow where he +lies theere, all stark and wan for weakness and loss o' blood. But +Darley's dead as a door-nail; and there's to be such a burying of +him as niver was seen afore i' Monkshaven, come Sunday. And now gi' +us t' iron, wench, and let's lose no more time a-talking.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's noane loss o' time,' said Daniel, moving himself heavily in +his chair, to feel how helpless he was once more. 'If a were as +young as once a were—nay, lad, if a had na these sore rheumatics, +now—a reckon as t' press-gang 'ud find out as t' shouldn't do such +things for nothing. Bless thee, man! it's waur nor i' my youth i' +th' Ameriky war, and then 't were bad enough.' +</P> + +<P> +'And Kinraid?' said Sylvia, drawing a long breath, after the effort +of realizing it all; her cheeks had flushed up, and her eyes had +glittered during the progress of the tale. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! he'll do. He'll not die. Life's stuff is in him yet.' +</P> + +<P> +'He'll be Molly Corney's cousin, I reckon,' said Sylvia, bethinking +her with a blush of Molly Corney's implication that he was more than +a cousin to her, and immediately longing to go off and see Molly, +and hear all the little details which women do not think it beneath +them to give to women. From that time Sylvia's little heart was bent +on this purpose. But it was not one to be openly avowed even to +herself. She only wanted sadly to see Molly, and she almost believed +herself that it was to consult her about the fashion of her cloak; +which Donkin was to cut out, and which she was to make under his +directions; at any rate, this was the reason she gave to her mother +when the day's work was done, and a fine gleam came out upon the +pale and watery sky towards evening. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SAILOR'S FUNERAL +</H3> + +<P> +Moss Brow, the Corney's house, was but a disorderly, comfortless +place. You had to cross a dirty farmyard, all puddles and dungheaps, +on stepping-stones, to get to the door of the house-place. That +great room itself was sure to have clothes hanging to dry at the +fire, whatever day of the week it was; some one of the large +irregular family having had what is called in the district a +'dab-wash' of a few articles, forgotten on the regular day. And +sometimes these articles lay in their dirty state in the untidy +kitchen, out of which a room, half parlour, half bedroom, opened on +one side, and a dairy, the only clean place in the house, at the +opposite. In face of you, as you entered the door, was the entrance +to the working-kitchen, or scullery. Still, in spite of disorder +like this, there was a well-to-do aspect about the place; the +Corneys were rich in their way, in flocks and herds as well as in +children; and to them neither dirt nor the perpetual bustle arising +from ill-ordered work detracted from comfort. They were all of an +easy, good-tempered nature; Mrs. Corney and her daughters gave every +one a welcome at whatever time of the day they came, and would just +as soon sit down for a gossip at ten o'clock in the morning, as at +five in the evening, though at the former time the house-place was +full of work of various kinds which ought to be got out of hand and +done with: while the latter hour was towards the end of the day, +when farmers' wives and daughters were usually—'cleaned' was the +word then, 'dressed' is that in vogue now. Of course in such a +household as this Sylvia was sure to be gladly received. She was +young, and pretty, and bright, and brought a fresh breeze of +pleasant air about her as her appropriate atmosphere. And besides, +Bell Robson held her head so high that visits from her daughter were +rather esteemed as a favour, for it was not everywhere that Sylvia +was allowed to go. +</P> + +<P> +'Sit yo' down, sit yo' down!' cried Dame Corney, dusting a chair +with her apron; 'a reckon Molly 'll be in i' no time. She's nobbut +gone int' t' orchard, to see if she can find wind-falls enough for +t' make a pie or two for t' lads. They like nowt so weel for supper +as apple-pies sweetened wi' treacle, crust stout and leathery, as +stands chewing, and we hannot getten in our apples yet.' +</P> + +<P> +'If Molly is in t' orchard, I'll go find her,' said Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Well! yo' lasses will have your conks' (private talks), 'a know; +secrets 'bout sweethearts and such like,' said Mrs. Corney, with a +knowing look, which made Sylvia hate her for the moment. 'A've not +forgotten as a were young mysen. Tak' care; there's a pool o' mucky +watter just outside t' back-door.' +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia was half-way across the back-yard—worse, if possible, +than the front as to the condition in which it was kept—and had +passed through the little gate into the orchard. It was full of old +gnarled apple-trees, their trunks covered with gray lichen, in which +the cunning chaffinch built her nest in spring-time. The cankered +branches remained on the trees, and added to the knotted +interweaving overhead, if they did not to the productiveness; the +grass grew in long tufts, and was wet and tangled under foot. There +was a tolerable crop of rosy apples still hanging on the gray old +trees, and here and there they showed ruddy in the green bosses of +untrimmed grass. Why the fruit was not gathered, as it was evidently +ripe, would have puzzled any one not acquainted with the Corney +family to say; but to them it was always a maxim in practice, if not +in precept, 'Do nothing to-day that you can put off till to-morrow,' +and accordingly the apples dropped from the trees at any little gust +of wind, and lay rotting on the ground until the 'lads' wanted a +supply of pies for supper. +</P> + +<P> +Molly saw Sylvia, and came quickly across the orchard to meet her, +catching her feet in knots of grass as she hurried along. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, lass!' said she, 'who'd ha' thought o' seeing yo' such a day +as it has been?' +</P> + +<P> +'But it's cleared up now beautiful,' said Sylvia, looking up at the +soft evening sky, to be seen through the apple boughs. It was of a +tender, delicate gray, with the faint warmth of a promising sunset +tinging it with a pink atmosphere. 'Rain is over and gone, and I +wanted to know how my cloak is to be made; for Donkin 's working at +our house, and I wanted to know all about—the news, yo' know.' +</P> + +<P> +'What news?' asked Molly, for she had heard of the affair between +the <I>Good Fortune</I> and the <I>Aurora</I> some days before; and, to tell +the truth, it had rather passed out of her head just at this moment. +</P> + +<P> +'Hannot yo' heard all about t' press-gang and t' whaler, and t' +great fight, and Kinraid, as is your cousin, acting so brave and +grand, and lying on his death-bed now?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh!' said Molly, enlightened as to Sylvia's 'news,' and half +surprised at the vehemence with which the little creature spoke; +'yes; a heerd that days ago. But Charley's noane on his death-bed, +he's a deal better; an' mother says as he's to be moved up here next +week for nursin' and better air nor he gets i' t' town yonder.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! I am so glad,' said Sylvia, with all her heart. 'I thought he'd +maybe die, and I should niver see him.' +</P> + +<P> +'A'll promise yo' shall see him; that's t' say if a' goes on well, +for he's getten an ugly hurt. Mother says as there's four blue marks +on his side as'll last him his life, an' t' doctor fears bleeding i' +his inside; and then he'll drop down dead when no one looks for 't.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you said he was better,' said Sylvia, blanching a little at +this account. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, he's better, but life's uncertain, special after gun-shot +wounds.' +</P> + +<P> +'He acted very fine,' said Sylvia, meditating. +</P> + +<P> +'A allays knowed he would. Many's the time a've heerd him say +"honour bright," and now he's shown how bright his is.' +</P> + +<P> +Molly did not speak sentimentally, but with a kind of proprietorship +in Kinraid's honour, which confirmed Sylvia in her previous idea of +a mutual attachment between her and her cousin. Considering this +notion, she was a little surprised at Molly's next speech. +</P> + +<P> +'An' about yer cloak, are you for a hood or a cape? a reckon that's +the question.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I don't care! tell me more about Kinraid. Do yo' really think +he'll get better?' +</P> + +<P> +'Dear! how t' lass takes on about him. A'll tell him what a deal of +interest a young woman taks i' him!' +</P> + +<P> +From that time Sylvia never asked another question about him. In a +somewhat dry and altered tone, she said, after a little pause— +</P> + +<P> +'I think on a hood. What do you say to it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well; hoods is a bit old-fashioned, to my mind. If 't were mine, +I'd have a cape cut i' three points, one to tie on each shoulder, +and one to dip down handsome behind. But let yo' an' me go to +Monkshaven church o' Sunday, and see Measter Fishburn's daughters, +as has their things made i' York, and notice a bit how they're made. +We needn't do it i' church, but just scan 'em o'er i' t' churchyard, +and there'll be no harm done. Besides, there's to be this grand +burryin' o' t' man t' press-gang shot, and 't will be like killing +two birds at once.' +</P> + +<P> +'I should like to go,' said Sylvia. 'I feel so sorry like for the +poor sailors shot down and kidnapped just as they was coming home, +as we see'd 'em o' Thursday last. I'll ask mother if she'll let me +go.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, do. I know my mother 'll let me, if she doesn't go hersen; for +it 'll be a sight to see and to speak on for many a long year, after +what I've heerd. And Miss Fishburns is sure to be theere, so I'd +just get Donkin to cut out cloak itsel', and keep back yer mind fra' +fixing o' either cape or hood till Sunday's turn'd.' +</P> + +<P> +'Will yo' set me part o' t' way home?' said Sylvia, seeing the dying +daylight become more and more crimson through the blackening trees. +</P> + +<P> +'No; I can't. A should like it well enough, but somehow, there's a +deal o' work to be done yet, for t' hours slip through one's fingers +so as there's no knowing. Mind yo', then, o' Sunday. A'll be at t' +stile one o'clock punctual; and we'll go slowly into t' town, and +look about us as we go, and see folk's dresses; and go to t' church, +and say wer prayers, and come out and have a look at t' funeral.' +</P> + +<P> +And with this programme of proceedings settled for the following +Sunday, the girls whom neighbourhood and parity of age had forced +into some measure of friendship parted for the time. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia hastened home, feeling as if she had been absent long; her +mother stood on the little knoll at the side of the house watching +for her, with her hand shading her eyes from the low rays of the +setting sun: but as soon as she saw her daughter in the distance, +she returned to her work, whatever that might be. She was not a +woman of many words, or of much demonstration; few observers would +have guessed how much she loved her child; but Sylvia, without any +reasoning or observation, instinctively knew that her mother's heart +was bound up in her. +</P> + +<P> +Her father and Donkin were going on much as when she had left them; +talking and disputing, the one compelled to be idle, the other +stitching away as fast as he talked. They seemed as if they had +never missed Sylvia; no more did her mother for that matter, for she +was busy and absorbed in her afternoon dairy-work to all appearance. +But Sylvia had noted the watching not three minutes before, and many +a time in her after life, when no one cared much for her out-goings +and in-comings, the straight, upright figure of her mother, fronting +the setting sun, but searching through its blinding rays for a sight +of her child, rose up like a sudden-seen picture, the remembrance of +which smote Sylvia to the heart with a sense of a lost blessing, not +duly valued while possessed. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, feyther, and how's a' wi' you?' asked Sylvia, going to the +side of his chair, and laying her hand on his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! harkee till this lass o' mine. She thinks as because she's gone +galraverging, I maun ha' missed her and be ailing. Why, lass, Donkin +and me has had t' most sensible talk a've had this many a day. A've +gi'en him a vast o' knowledge, and he's done me a power o' good. +Please God, to-morrow a'll tak' a start at walking, if t' weather +holds up.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay!' said Donkin, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice; 'feyther +and me has settled many puzzles; it's been a loss to Government as +they hannot been here for profiting by our wisdom. We've done away +wi' taxes and press-gangs, and many a plague, and beaten t' +French—i' our own minds, that's to say.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a wonder t' me as those Lunnon folks can't see things clear,' +said Daniel, all in good faith. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia did not quite understand the state of things as regarded +politics and taxes—and politics and taxes were all one in her mind, +it must be confessed—but she saw that her innocent little scheme of +giving her father the change of society afforded by Donkin's coming +had answered; and in the gladness of her heart she went out and ran +round the corner of the house to find Kester, and obtain from him +that sympathy in her success which she dared not ask from her +mother. +</P> + +<P> +'Kester, Kester, lad!' said she, in a loud whisper; but Kester was +suppering the horses, and in the clamp of their feet on the round +stable pavement, he did not hear her at first. She went a little +farther into the stable. 'Kester! he's a vast better, he'll go out +to-morrow; it's all Donkin's doing. I'm beholden to thee for +fetching him, and I'll try and spare thee waistcoat fronts out o' t' +stuff for my new red cloak. Thou'll like that, Kester, won't ta?' +</P> + +<P> +Kester took the notion in slowly, and weighed it. +</P> + +<P> +'Na, lass,' said he, deliberately, after a pause. 'A could na' bear +to see thee wi' thy cloak scrimpit. A like t' see a wench look bonny +and smart, an' a tak' a kind o' pride in thee, an should be a'most +as much hurt i' my mind to see thee i' a pinched cloak as if old +Moll's tail here were docked too short. Na, lass, a'se niver got a +mirroring glass for t' see mysen in, so what's waistcoats to me? +Keep thy stuff to thysen, theere's a good wench; but a'se main and +glad about t' measter. Place isn't like itsen when he's shut up and +cranky.' +</P> + +<P> +He took up a wisp of straw and began rubbing down the old mare, and +hissing over his work as if he wished to consider the conversation +as ended. And Sylvia, who had strung herself up in a momentary +fervour of gratitude to make the generous offer, was not sorry to +have it refused, and went back planning what kindness she could show +to Kester without its involving so much sacrifice to herself. For +giving waistcoat fronts to him would deprive her of the pleasant +power of selecting a fashionable pattern in Monkshaven churchyard +next Sunday. +</P> + +<P> +That wished-for day seemed long a-coming, as wished-for days most +frequently do. Her father got better by slow degrees, and her mother +was pleased by the tailor's good pieces of work; showing the +neatly-placed patches with as much pride as many matrons take in new +clothes now-a-days. And the weather cleared up into a dim kind of +autumnal fineness, into anything but an Indian summer as far as +regarded gorgeousness of colouring, for on that coast the mists and +sea fogs early spoil the brilliancy of the foliage. Yet, perhaps, +the more did the silvery grays and browns of the inland scenery +conduce to the tranquillity of the time,—the time of peace and rest +before the fierce and stormy winter comes on. It seems a time for +gathering up human forces to encounter the coming severity, as well +as of storing up the produce of harvest for the needs of winter. Old +people turn out and sun themselves in that calm St. Martin's summer, +without fear of 'the heat o' th' sun, or the coming winter's rages,' +and we may read in their pensive, dreamy eyes that they are weaning +themselves away from the earth, which probably many may never see +dressed in her summer glory again. +</P> + +<P> +Many such old people set out betimes, on the Sunday afternoon to +which Sylvia had been so looking forward, to scale the long flights +of stone steps—worn by the feet of many generations—which led up +to the parish church, placed on a height above the town, on a great +green area at the summit of the cliff, which was the angle where the +river and the sea met, and so overlooking both the busy crowded +little town, the port, the shipping, and the bar on the one hand, +and the wide illimitable tranquil sea on the other—types of life +and eternity. It was a good situation for that church. +Homeward-bound sailors caught sight of the tower of St Nicholas, the +first land object of all. They who went forth upon the great deep +might carry solemn thoughts with them of the words they had heard +there; not conscious thoughts, perhaps—rather a distinct if dim +conviction that buying and selling, eating and marrying, even life +and death, were not all the realities in existence. Nor were the +words that came up to their remembrance words of sermons preached +there, however impressive. The sailors mostly slept through the +sermons; unless, indeed, there were incidents such as were involved +in what were called 'funeral discourses' to be narrated. They did +not recognize their daily faults or temptations under the grand +aliases befitting their appearance from a preacher's mouth. But they +knew the old, oft-repeated words praying for deliverance from the +familiar dangers of lightning and tempest; from battle, murder, and +sudden death; and nearly every man was aware that he left behind him +some one who would watch for the prayer for the preservation of +those who travel by land or by water, and think of him, as +God-protected the more for the earnestness of the response then +given. +</P> + +<P> +There, too, lay the dead of many generations; for St. Nicholas had +been the parish church ever since Monkshaven was a town, and the +large churchyard was rich in the dead. Masters, mariners, +ship-owners, seamen: it seemed strange how few other trades were +represented in that great plain so full of upright gravestones. Here +and there was a memorial stone, placed by some survivor of a large +family, most of whom perished at sea:—'Supposed to have perished +in the Greenland seas,' 'Shipwrecked in the Baltic,' 'Drowned off +the coast of Iceland.' There was a strange sensation, as if the cold +sea-winds must bring with them the dim phantoms of those lost +sailors, who had died far from their homes, and from the hallowed +ground where their fathers lay. +</P> + +<P> +Each flight of steps up to this churchyard ended in a small flat +space, on which a wooden seat was placed. On this particular Sunday, +all these seats were filled by aged people, breathless with the +unusual exertion of climbing. You could see the church stair, as it +was called, from nearly every part of the town, and the figures of +the numerous climbers, diminished by distance, looked like a busy +ant-hill, long before the bell began to ring for afternoon service. +All who could manage it had put on a bit of black in token of +mourning; it might be very little; an old ribbon, a rusty piece of +crape; but some sign of mourning was shown by every one down to the +little child in its mother's arms, that innocently clutched the +piece of rosemary to be thrown into the grave 'for remembrance.' +Darley, the seaman shot by the press-gang, nine leagues off St. +Abb's Head, was to be buried to-day, at the accustomed time for the +funerals of the poorer classes, directly after evening service, and +there were only the sick and their nurse-tenders who did not come +forth to show their feeling for the man whom they looked upon as +murdered. The crowd of vessels in harbour bore their flags half-mast +high; and the crews were making their way through the High Street. +The gentlefolk of Monkshaven, full of indignation at this +interference with their ships, full of sympathy with the family who +had lost their son and brother almost within sight of his home, came +in unusual numbers—no lack of patterns for Sylvia; but her +thoughts were far otherwise and more suitably occupied. The unwonted +sternness and solemnity visible on the countenances of all whom she +met awed and affected her. She did not speak in reply to Molly's +remarks on the dress or appearance of those who struck her. She felt +as if these speeches jarred on her, and annoyed her almost to +irritation; yet Molly had come all the way to Monkshaven Church in +her service, and deserved forbearance accordingly. The two mounted +the steps alongside of many people; few words were exchanged, even +at the breathing places, so often the little centres of gossip. +Looking over the sea there was not a sail to be seen; it seemed +bared of life, as if to be in serious harmony with what was going on +inland. +</P> + +<P> +The church was of old Norman architecture; low and massive outside: +inside, of vast space, only a quarter of which was filled on +ordinary Sundays. The walls were disfigured by numerous tablets of +black and white marble intermixed, and the usual ornamentation of +that style of memorial as erected in the last century, of weeping +willows, urns, and drooping figures, with here and there a ship in +full sail, or an anchor, where the seafaring idea prevalent through +the place had launched out into a little originality. There was no +wood-work, the church had been stripped of that, most probably when +the neighbouring monastery had been destroyed. There were large +square pews, lined with green baize, with the names of the families +of the most flourishing ship-owners painted white on the doors; +there were pews, not so large, and not lined at all, for the farmers +and shopkeepers of the parish; and numerous heavy oaken benches +which, by the united efforts of several men, might be brought within +earshot of the pulpit. These were being removed into the most +convenient situations when Molly and Sylvia entered the church, and +after two or three whispered sentences they took their seats on one +of these. +</P> + +<P> +The vicar of Monkshaven was a kindly, peaceable old man, hating +strife and troubled waters above everything. He was a vehement Tory +in theory, as became his cloth in those days. He had two bugbears to +fear—the French and the Dissenters. It was difficult to say of +which he had the worst opinion and the most intense dread. Perhaps +he hated the Dissenters most, because they came nearer in contact +with him than the French; besides, the French had the excuse of +being Papists, while the Dissenters might have belonged to the +Church of England if they had not been utterly depraved. Yet in +practice Dr Wilson did not object to dine with Mr. Fishburn, who was +a personal friend and follower of Wesley, but then, as the doctor +would say, 'Wesley was an Oxford man, and that makes him a +gentleman; and he was an ordained minister of the Church of England, +so that grace can never depart from him.' But I do not know what +excuse he would have alleged for sending broth and vegetables to old +Ralph Thompson, a rabid Independent, who had been given to abusing +the Church and the vicar, from a Dissenting pulpit, as long as ever +he could mount the stairs. However, that inconsistency between Dr +Wilson's theories and practice was not generally known in +Monkshaven, so we have nothing to do with it. +</P> + +<P> +Dr Wilson had had a very difficult part to play, and a still more +difficult sermon to write, during this last week. The Darley who had +been killed was the son of the vicar's gardener, and Dr Wilson's +sympathies as a man had been all on the bereaved father's side. But +then he had received, as the oldest magistrate in the neighbourhood, +a letter from the captain of the <I>Aurora</I>, explanatory and +exculpatory. Darley had been resisting the orders of an officer in +his Majesty's service. What would become of due subordination and +loyalty, and the interests of the service, and the chances of +beating those confounded French, if such conduct as Darley's was to +be encouraged? (Poor Darley! he was past all evil effects of human +encouragement now!) +</P> + +<P> +So the vicar mumbled hastily over a sermon on the text, 'In the +midst of life we are in death'; which might have done as well for a +baby cut off in a convulsion-fit as for the strong man shot down +with all his eager blood hot within him, by men as hot-blooded as +himself. But once when the old doctor's eye caught the up-turned, +straining gaze of the father Darley, seeking with all his soul to +find a grain of holy comfort in the chaff of words, his conscience +smote him. Had he nothing to say that should calm anger and revenge +with spiritual power? no breath of the comforter to soothe repining +into resignation? But again the discord between the laws of man and +the laws of Christ stood before him; and he gave up the attempt to +do more than he was doing, as beyond his power. Though the hearers +went away as full of anger as they had entered the church, and some +with a dull feeling of disappointment as to what they had got there, +yet no one felt anything but kindly towards the old vicar. His +simple, happy life led amongst them for forty years, and open to all +men in its daily course; his sweet-tempered, cordial ways; his +practical kindness, made him beloved by all; and neither he nor they +thought much or cared much for admiration of his talents. Respect +for his office was all the respect he thought of; and that was +conceded to him from old traditional and hereditary association. In +looking back to the last century, it appears curious to see how +little our ancestors had the power of putting two things together, +and perceiving either the discord or harmony thus produced. Is it +because we are farther off from those times, and have, consequently, +a greater range of vision? Will our descendants have a wonder about +us, such as we have about the inconsistency of our forefathers, or a +surprise at our blindness that we do not perceive that, holding such +and such opinions, our course of action must be so and so, or that +the logical consequence of particular opinions must be convictions +which at present we hold in abhorrence? It seems puzzling to look +back on men such as our vicar, who almost held the doctrine that the +King could do no wrong, yet were ever ready to talk of the glorious +Revolution, and to abuse the Stuarts for having entertained the same +doctrine, and tried to put it in practice. But such discrepancies +ran through good men's lives in those days. It is well for us that +we live at the present time, when everybody is logical and +consistent. This little discussion must be taken in place of Dr +Wilson's sermon, of which no one could remember more than the text +half an hour after it was delivered. Even the doctor himself had the +recollection of the words he had uttered swept out of his mind, as, +having doffed his gown and donned his surplice, he came out of the +dusk of his vestry and went to the church-door, looking into the +broad light which came upon the plain of the church-yard on the +cliffs; for the sun had not yet set, and the pale moon was slowly +rising through the silvery mist that obscured the distant moors. +There was a thick, dense crowd, all still and silent, looking away +from the church and the vicar, who awaited the bringing of the dead. +They were watching the slow black line winding up the long steps, +resting their heavy burden here and there, standing in silent groups +at each landing-place; now lost to sight as a piece of broken, +overhanging ground intervened, now emerging suddenly nearer; and +overhead the great church bell, with its mediaeval inscription, +familiar to the vicar, if to no one else who heard it, I to the +grave do summon all, kept on its heavy booming monotone, with which +no other sound from land or sea, near or distant, intermingled, +except the cackle of the geese on some far-away farm on the moors, +as they were coming home to roost; and that one noise from so great +a distance seemed only to deepen the stillness. Then there was a +little movement in the crowd; a little pushing from side to side, to +make a path for the corpse and its bearers—an aggregate of the +fragments of room. +</P> + +<P> +With bent heads and spent strength, those who carried the coffin +moved on; behind came the poor old gardener, a brown-black funeral +cloak thrown over his homely dress, and supporting his wife with +steps scarcely less feeble than her own. He had come to church that +afternoon, with a promise to her that he would return to lead her to +the funeral of her firstborn; for he felt, in his sore perplexed +heart, full of indignation and dumb anger, as if he must go and hear +something which should exorcize the unwonted longing for revenge +that disturbed his grief, and made him conscious of that great blank +of consolation which faithfulness produces. And for the time he was +faithless. How came God to permit such cruel injustice of man? +Permitting it, He could not be good. Then what was life, and what +was death, but woe and despair? The beautiful solemn words of the +ritual had done him good, and restored much of his faith. Though he +could not understand why such sorrow had befallen him any more than +before, he had come back to something of his childlike trust; he +kept saying to himself in a whisper, as he mounted the weary steps, +'It is the Lord's doing'; and the repetition soothed him +unspeakably. Behind this old couple followed their children, grown +men and women, come from distant place or farmhouse service; the +servants at the vicarage, and many a neighbour, anxious to show +their sympathy, and most of the sailors from the crews of the +vessels in port, joined in procession, and followed the dead body +into the church. +</P> + +<P> +There was too great a crowd immediately within the door for Sylvia +and Molly to go in again, and they accordingly betook themselves to +the place where the deep grave was waiting, wide and hungry, to +receive its dead. There, leaning against the headstones all around, +were many standing—looking over the broad and placid sea, and +turned to the soft salt air which blew on their hot eyes and rigid +faces; for no one spoke of all that number. They were thinking of +the violent death of him over whom the solemn words were now being +said in the gray old church, scarcely out of their hearing, had not +the sound been broken by the measured lapping of the tide far +beneath. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly every one looked round towards the path from the churchyard +steps. Two sailors were supporting a ghastly figure that, with +feeble motions, was drawing near the open grave. +</P> + +<P> +'It's t' specksioneer as tried to save him! It's him as was left for +dead!' the people murmured round. +</P> + +<P> +'It's Charley Kinraid, as I'm a sinner!' said Molly, starting +forward to greet her cousin. +</P> + +<P> +But as he came on, she saw that all his strength was needed for the +mere action of walking. The sailors, in their strong sympathy, had +yielded to his earnest entreaty, and carried him up the steps, in +order that he might see the last of his messmate. They placed him +near the grave, resting against a stone; and he was hardly there +before the vicar came forth, and the great crowd poured out of the +church, following the body to the grave. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was so much wrapt up in the solemnity of the occasion, that +she had no thought to spare at the first moment for the pale and +haggard figure opposite; much less was she aware of her cousin +Philip, who now singling her out for the first time from among the +crowd, pressed to her side, with an intention of companionship and +protection. +</P> + +<P> +As the service went on, ill-checked sobs rose from behind the two +girls, who were among the foremost in the crowd, and by-and-by the +cry and the wail became general. Sylvia's tears rained down her +face, and her distress became so evident that it attracted the +attention of many in that inner circle. Among others who noticed it, +the specksioneer's hollow eyes were caught by the sight of the +innocent blooming childlike face opposite to him, and he wondered if +she were a relation; yet, seeing that she bore no badge of mourning, +he rather concluded that she must have been a sweetheart of the dead +man. +</P> + +<P> +And now all was over: the rattle of the gravel on the coffin; the +last long, lingering look of friends and lovers; the rosemary sprigs +had been cast down by all who were fortunate enough to have brought +them—and oh! how much Sylvia wished she had remembered this last +act of respect—and slowly the outer rim of the crowd began to +slacken and disappear. +</P> + +<P> +Now Philip spoke to Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'I never dreamt of seeing you here. I thought my aunt always went to +Kirk Moorside.' +</P> + +<P> +'I came with Molly Corney,' said Sylvia. 'Mother is staying at home +with feyther.' +</P> + +<P> +'How's his rheumatics?' asked Philip. +</P> + +<P> +But at the same moment Molly took hold of Sylvia's hand, and said— +</P> + +<P> +'A want t' get round and speak to Charley. Mother 'll be main and +glad to hear as he's getten out; though, for sure, he looks as +though he'd ha' been better in 's bed. Come, Sylvia.' +</P> + +<P> +And Philip, fain to keep with Sylvia, had to follow the two girls +close up to the specksioneer, who was preparing for his slow +laborious walk back to his lodgings. He stopped on seeing his +cousin. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, Molly,' said he, faintly, putting out his hand, but his eye +passing her face to look at Sylvia in the background, her +tear-stained face full of shy admiration of the nearest approach to +a hero she had ever seen. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, Charley, a niver was so taken aback as when a saw yo' theere, +like a ghost, a-standin' agin a gravestone. How white and wan yo' do +look!' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay!' said he, wearily, 'wan and weak enough.' +</P> + +<P> +'But I hope you're getting better, sir,' said Sylvia, in a low +voice, longing to speak to him, and yet wondering at her own +temerity. +</P> + +<P> +'Thank you, my lass. I'm o'er th' worst.' +</P> + +<P> +He sighed heavily. +</P> + +<P> +Philip now spoke. +</P> + +<P> +'We're doing him no kindness a-keeping him standing here i' t' +night-fall, and him so tired.' And he made as though he would turn +away. Kinraid's two sailor friends backed up Philip's words with +such urgency, that, somehow, Sylvia thought they had been to blame +in speaking to him, and blushed excessively with the idea. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'll come and be nursed at Moss Brow, Charley,' said Molly; and +Sylvia dropped her little maidenly curtsey, and said, 'Good-by;' +and went away, wondering how Molly could talk so freely to such a +hero; but then, to be sure, he was a cousin, and probably a +sweetheart, and that would make a great deal of difference, of +course. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile her own cousin kept close by her side. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TETE-A-TETE.—THE WILL +</H3> + +<P> +'And now tell me all about th' folk at home?' said Philip, evidently +preparing to walk back with the girls. He generally came to +Haytersbank every Sunday afternoon, so Sylvia knew what she had to +expect the moment she became aware of his neighbourhood in the +churchyard. +</P> + +<P> +'My feyther's been sadly troubled with his rheumatics this week +past; but he's a vast better now, thank you kindly.' Then, +addressing herself to Molly, she asked, 'Has your cousin a doctor to +look after him?' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, for sure!' said Molly, quickly; for though she knew nothing +about the matter, she was determined to suppose that her cousin had +everything becoming an invalid as well as a hero. 'He's well-to-do, +and can afford everything as he needs,' continued she. 'His +feyther's left him money, and he were a farmer out up in +Northumberland, and he's reckoned such a specksioneer as never, +never was, and gets what wage he asks for and a share on every whale +he harpoons beside.' +</P> + +<P> +'I reckon he'll have to make himself scarce on this coast for +awhile, at any rate,' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'An' what for should he?' asked Molly, who never liked Philip at the +best of times, and now, if he was going to disparage her cousin in +any way, was ready to take up arms and do battle. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, they do say as he fired the shot as has killed some o' the +men-o'-war's men, and, of course, if he has, he'll have to stand his +trial if he's caught.' +</P> + +<P> +'What lies people do say!' exclaimed Molly. 'He niver killed nought +but whales, a'll be bound; or, if he did, it were all right and +proper as he should, when they were for stealing him an' all t' +others, and did kill poor Darley as we come fra' seemin' buried. A +suppose, now yo're such a Quaker that, if some one was to break +through fra' t' other side o' this dyke and offer for to murder +Sylvia and me, yo'd look on wi' yo'r hands hanging by yo'r side.' +</P> + +<P> +'But t' press-gang had law on their side, and were doing nought but +what they'd warrant for.' +</P> + +<P> +'Th' tender's gone away, as if she were ashamed o' what she'd done,' +said Sylvia, 'and t' flag's down fra' o'er the Randyvowse. There 'll +be no more press-ganging here awhile.' +</P> + +<P> +'No; feyther says,' continued Molly, 'as they've made t' place too +hot t' hold 'em, coming so strong afore people had getten used to +their ways o' catchin' up poor lads just come fra' t' Greenland +seas. T' folks ha' their blood so up they'd think no harm o' +fighting 'em i' t' streets—ay, and o' killing 'em, too, if they +were for using fire-arms, as t' <I>Aurora</I>'s men did.' +</P> + +<P> +'Women is so fond o' bloodshed,' said Philip; 'for t' hear you talk, +who'd ha' thought you'd just come fra' crying ower the grave of a +man who was killed by violence? I should ha' thought you'd seen +enough of what sorrow comes o' fighting. Why, them lads o' t' +<I>Aurora</I> as they say Kinraid shot down had fathers and mothers, +maybe, a looking out for them to come home.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think he could ha' killed them,' said Sylvia; 'he looked so +gentle.' +</P> + +<P> +But Molly did not like this half-and-half view of the case. +</P> + +<P> +'A dare say he did kill 'em dead; he's not one to do things by +halves. And a think he served 'em reet, that's what a do.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is na' this Hester, as serves in Foster's shop?' asked Sylvia, in a +low voice, as a young woman came through a stile in the stone wall +by the roadside, and suddenly appeared before them. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' said Philip. 'Why, Hester, where have you been?' he asked, as +they drew near. +</P> + +<P> +Hester reddened a little, and then replied, in her slow, quiet way— +</P> + +<P> +'I've been sitting with Betsy Darley—her that is bed-ridden. It +were lonesome for her when the others were away at the burying.' +</P> + +<P> +And she made as though she would have passed; but Sylvia, all her +sympathies alive for the relations of the murdered man, wanted to +ask more questions, and put her hand on Hester's arm to detain her a +moment. Hester suddenly drew back a little, reddened still more, and +then replied fully and quietly to all Sylvia asked. +</P> + +<P> +In the agricultural counties, and among the class to which these +four persons belonged, there is little analysis of motive or +comparison of characters and actions, even at this present day of +enlightenment. Sixty or seventy years ago there was still less. I do +not mean that amongst thoughtful and serious people there was not +much reading of such books as <I>Mason</I> on <I>Self-Knowledge</I> and <I>Law's +Serious Call</I>, or that there were not the experiences of the +Wesleyans, that were related at class-meeting for the edification of +the hearers. But, taken as a general ride, it may be said that few +knew what manner of men they were, compared to the numbers now who +are fully conscious of their virtues, qualities, failings, and +weaknesses, and who go about comparing others with themselves—not +in a spirit of Pharisaism and arrogance, but with a vivid +self-consciousness that more than anything else deprives characters +of freshness and originality. +</P> + +<P> +To return to the party we left standing on the high-raised footway +that ran alongside of the bridle-road to Haytersbank. Sylvia had +leisure in her heart to think 'how good Hester is for sitting with +the poor bed-ridden sister of Darley!' without having a pang of +self-depreciation in the comparison of her own conduct with that she +was capable of so fully appreciating. She had gone to church for the +ends of vanity, and remained to the funeral for curiosity and the +pleasure of the excitement. In this way a modern young lady would +have condemned herself, and therefore lost the simple, purifying +pleasure of admiration of another. +</P> + +<P> +Hester passed onwards, going down the hill towards the town. The +other three walked slowly on. All were silent for a few moments, +then Sylvia said— +</P> + +<P> +'How good she is!' +</P> + +<P> +And Philip replied with ready warmth,— +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, she is; no one knows how good but us, who live in the same +house wi' her.' +</P> + +<P> +'Her mother is an old Quakeress, bean't she?' Molly inquired. +</P> + +<P> +'Alice Rose is a Friend, if that is what you mean,' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well! some folk's so particular. Is William Coulson a Quaker, +by which a mean a Friend?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; they're all on 'em right-down good folk.' +</P> + +<P> +'Deary me! What a wonder yo' can speak to such sinners as Sylvia and +me, after keepin' company with so much goodness,' said Molly, who +had not yet forgiven Philip for doubting Kinraid's power of killing +men. 'Is na' it, Sylvia?' +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia was too highly strung for banter. If she had not been one +of those who went to mock, but remained to pray, she had gone to +church with the thought of the cloak-that-was-to-be uppermost in her +mind, and she had come down the long church stair with life and +death suddenly become real to her mind, the enduring sea and hills +forming a contrasting background to the vanishing away of man. She +was full of a solemn wonder as to the abiding-place of the souls of +the dead, and a childlike dread lest the number of the elect should +be accomplished before she was included therein. How people could +ever be merry again after they had been at a funeral, she could not +imagine; so she answered gravely, and slightly beside the question: +</P> + +<P> +'I wonder if I was a Friend if I should be good?' +</P> + +<P> +'Gi' me your red cloak, that's all, when yo' turn Quaker; they'll +none let thee wear scarlet, so it 'll be of no use t' thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'I think thou'rt good enough as thou art,' said Philip, tenderly—at +least as tenderly as he durst, for he knew by experience that it did +not do to alarm her girlish coyness. Either one speech or the other +made Sylvia silent; neither was accordant to her mood of mind; so +perhaps both contributed to her quietness. +</P> + +<P> +'Folk say William Coulson looks sweet on Hester Rose,' said Molly, +always up in Monkshaven gossip. It was in the form of an assertion, +but was said in the tone of a question, and as such Philip replied +to it. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I think he likes her a good deal; but he's so quiet, I never +feel sure. John and Jeremiah would like the match, I've a notion.' +</P> + +<P> +And now they came to the stile which had filled Philip's eye for +some minutes past, though neither of the others had perceived they +were so near it; the stile which led to Moss Brow from the road into +the fields that sloped down to Haystersbank. Here they would leave +Molly, and now would begin the delicious <I>tete-a-tete</I> walk, which +Philip always tried to make as lingering as possible. To-day he was +anxious to show his sympathy with Sylvia, as far as he could read +what was passing in her mind; but how was he to guess the multitude +of tangled thoughts in that unseen receptacle? A resolution to be +good, if she could, and always to be thinking on death, so that what +seemed to her now as simply impossible, might come true—that she +might 'dread the grave as little as her bed'; a wish that Philip +were not coming home with her; a wonder if the specksioneer really +had killed a man, an idea which made her shudder; yet from the awful +fascination about it, her imagination was compelled to dwell on the +tall, gaunt figure, and try to recall the wan countenance; a hatred +and desire of revenge on the press-gang, so vehement that it sadly +militated against her intention of trying to be good; all these +notions, and wonders, and fancies, were whirling about in Sylvia's +brain, and at one of their promptings she spoke,— +</P> + +<P> +'How many miles away is t' Greenland seas?—I mean, how long do they +take to reach?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know; ten days or a fortnight, or more, maybe. I'll ask.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! feyther 'll tell me all about it. He's been there many a time.' +</P> + +<P> +'I say, Sylvie! My aunt said I were to give you lessons this winter +i' writing and ciphering. I can begin to come up now, two evenings, +maybe, a week. T' shop closes early after November comes in.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia did not like learning, and did not want him for her teacher; +so she answered in a dry little tone,— +</P> + +<P> +'It'll use a deal o' candle-light; mother 'll not like that. I can't +see to spell wi'out a candle close at my elbow.' +</P> + +<P> +'Niver mind about candles. I can bring up a candle wi' me, for I +should be burning one at Alice Rose's.' +</P> + +<P> +So that excuse would not do. Sylvia beat her brains for another. +</P> + +<P> +'Writing cramps my hand so, I can't do any sewing for a day after; +and feyther wants his shirts very bad.' +</P> + +<P> +'But, Sylvia, I'll teach you geography, and ever such a vast o' fine +things about t' countries, on t' map.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is t' Arctic seas down on t' map?' she asked, in a tone of greater +interest. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes! Arctics, and tropics, and equator, and equinoctial line; we'll +take 'em turn and turn about; we'll do writing and ciphering one +night, and geography t' other.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip spoke with pleasure at the prospect, but Sylvia relaxed into +indifference. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm no scholard; it's like throwing away labour to teach me, I'm +such a dunce at my book. Now there's Betsy Corney, third girl, her +as is younger than Molly, she'd be a credit to you. There niver was +such a lass for pottering ower books.' +</P> + +<P> +If Philip had had his wits about him, he would have pretended to +listen to this proposition of a change of pupils, and then possibly +Sylvia might have repented making it. But he was too much mortified +to be diplomatic. +</P> + +<P> +'My aunt asked me to teach <I>you</I> a bit, not any neighbour's lass.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! if I mun be taught, I mun; but I'd rayther be whipped and ha' +done with it,' was Sylvia's ungracious reply. +</P> + +<P> +A moment afterwards, she repented of her little spirit of +unkindness, and thought that she should not like to die that night +without making friends. Sudden death was very present in her +thoughts since the funeral. So she instinctively chose the best +method of making friends again, and slipped her hand into his, as he +walked a little sullenly at her side. She was half afraid, however, +when she found it firmly held, and that she could not draw it away +again without making what she called in her own mind a 'fuss.' So, +hand in hand, they slowly and silently came up to the door of +Haytersbank Farm; not unseen by Bell Robson, who sate in the +window-seat, with her Bible open upon her knee. She had read her +chapter aloud to herself, and now she could see no longer, even if +she had wished to read more; but she gazed out into the darkening +air, and a dim look of contentment came like moonshine over her face +when she saw the cousins approach. +</P> + +<P> +'That's my prayer day and night,' said she to herself. +</P> + +<P> +But there was no unusual aspect of gladness on her face, as she +lighted the candle to give them a more cheerful welcome. +</P> + +<P> +'Wheere's feyther?' said Sylvia, looking round the room for Daniel. +</P> + +<P> +'He's been to Kirk Moorside Church, for t' see a bit o' th' world, +as he ca's it. And sin' then he's gone out to th' cattle; for +Kester's ta'en his turn of playing hissel', now that father's +better.' +</P> + +<P> +'I've been talking to Sylvia,' said Philip, his head still full of +his pleasant plan, his hand still tingling from the touch of hers, +'about turning schoolmaster, and coming up here two nights a week for +t' teach her a bit o' writing and ciphering.' +</P> + +<P> +'And geography,' put in Sylvia; 'for,' thought she, 'if I'm to learn +them things I don't care a pin about, anyhow I'll learn what I do +care to know, if it 'll tell me about t' Greenland seas, and how far +they're off.' +</P> + +<P> +That same evening, a trio alike in many outward circumstances sate +in a small neat room in a house opening out of a confined court on +the hilly side of the High Street of Monkshaven—a mother, her only +child, and the young man who silently loved that daughter, and was +favoured by Alice Rose, though not by Hester. +</P> + +<P> +When the latter returned from her afternoon's absence, she stood for +a minute or two on the little flight of steep steps, whitened to a +snowy whiteness; the aspect of the whole house partook of the same +character of irreproachable cleanliness. It was wedged up into a +space which necessitated all sorts of odd projections and +irregularities in order to obtain sufficient light for the interior; +and if ever the being situated in a dusky, confined corner might +have been made an excuse for dirt, Alice Rose's house had that +apology. Yet the small diamond panes of glass in the casement window +were kept so bright and clear that a great sweet-scented-leaved +geranium grew and flourished, though it did not flower profusely. +The leaves seemed to fill the air with fragrance as soon as Hester +summoned up energy enough to open the door. Perhaps that was because +the young Quaker, William Coulson, was crushing one between his +finger and thumb, while waiting to set down Alice's next words. For +the old woman, who looked as if many years of life remained in her +yet, was solemnly dictating her last will and testament. +</P> + +<P> +It had been on her mind for many months; for she had something to +leave beyond the mere furniture of the house. Something—a few +pounds—in the hands of John and Jeremiah Foster, her cousins: and +it was they who had suggested the duty on which she was engaged. She +had asked William Coulson to write down her wishes, and he had +consented, though with some fear and trepidation; for he had an idea +that he was infringing on a lawyer's prerogative, and that, for +aught he knew, he might be prosecuted for making a will without a +licence, just as a man might be punished for selling wine and +spirits without going through the preliminary legal forms that give +permission for such a sale. But to his suggestion that Alice should +employ a lawyer, she had replied— +</P> + +<P> +'That would cost me five pounds sterling; and thee canst do it as +well, if thee'll but attend to my words.' +</P> + +<P> +So he had bought, at her desire, a black-edged sheet of fine-wove +paper, and a couple of good pens, on the previous Saturday; and +while waiting for her to begin her dictation, and full serious +thought himself, he had almost unconsciously made the grand flourish +at the top of the paper which he had learnt at school, and which was +there called a spread-eagle. +</P> + +<P> +'What art thee doing there?' asked Alice, suddenly alive to his +proceedings. +</P> + +<P> +Without a word he showed her his handiwork. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a vanity,' said she, 'and 't may make t' will not stand. Folk +may think I were na in my right mind, if they see such fly-legs and +cob-webs a-top. Write, "This is my doing, William Coulson, and none +of Alice Rose's, she being in her sound mind."' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think it's needed,' said William. Nevertheless he wrote +down the words. +</P> + +<P> +'Hast thee put that I'm in my sound mind and seven senses? Then make +the sign of the Trinity, and write, "In the name of the Father, the +Son, and the Holy Ghost."' +</P> + +<P> +'Is that the right way o' beginning a will?' said Coulson, a little +startled. +</P> + +<P> +'My father, and my father's father, and my husband had it a-top of +theirs, and I'm noane going for to cease fra' following after them, +for they were godly men, though my husband were o' t' episcopal +persuasion.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's done,' said William. +</P> + +<P> +'Hast thee dated it?' asked Alice. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then date it third day, ninth month. Now, art ready?' +</P> + +<P> +Coulson nodded. +</P> + +<P> +'I, Alice Rose, do leave my furniture (that is, my bed and chest o' +drawers, for thy bed and things is thine, and not mine), and settle, +and saucepans, and dresser, and table, and kettle, and all the rest +of my furniture, to my lawful and only daughter, Hester Rose. I +think that's safe for her to have all, is 't not, William?' +</P> + +<P> +'I think so, too,' said he, writing on all the time. +</P> + +<P> +'And thee shalt have t' roller and paste-board, because thee's so +fond o' puddings and cakes. It 'll serve thy wife after I'm gone, +and I trust she'll boil her paste long enough, for that's been t' +secret o' mine, and thee'll noane be so easy t' please.' +</P> + +<P> +'I din't reckon on marriage,' said William. +</P> + +<P> +'Thee'll marry,' said Alice. 'Thee likes to have thy victuals hot +and comfortable; and there's noane many but a wife as'll look after +that for t' please thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know who could please me,' sighed forth William, 'but I can't +please her.' +</P> + +<P> +Alice looked sharply at him from over her spectacles, which she had +put on the better to think about the disposal of her property. +</P> + +<P> +'Thee art thinking on our Hester,' said she, plainly out. +</P> + +<P> +He started a little, but looked up at her and met her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'Hester cares noane for me,' said he, dejectedly. +</P> + +<P> +'Bide a while, my lad,' said Alice, kindly. 'Young women don't +always know their own minds. Thee and her would make a marriage +after my own heart; and the Lord has been very good to me hitherto, +and I think He'll bring it t' pass. But don't thee let on as thee +cares for her so much. I sometimes think she wearies o' thy looks +and thy ways. Show up thy manly heart, and make as though thee had +much else to think on, and no leisure for to dawdle after her, and +she'll think a deal more on thee. And now mend thy pen for a fresh +start. I give and bequeath—did thee put "give and bequeath," at th' +beginning?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay,' said William, looking back. 'Thee didst not tell me "give and +bequeath!"' +</P> + +<P> +'Then it won't be legal, and my bit o' furniture 'll be taken to +London, and put into chancery, and Hester will have noane on it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I can write it over,' said William. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, write it clear then, and put a line under it to show those +are my special words. Hast thee done it? Then now start afresh. I +give and bequeath my book o' sermons, as is bound in good calfskin, +and lies on the third shelf o' corner cupboard at the right hand o' +t' fire-place, to Philip Hepburn; for I reckon he's as fond o' +reading sermons as thee art o' light, well-boiled paste, and I'd be +glad for each on ye to have somewhat ye like for to remember me by. +Is that down? There; now for my cousins John and Jeremiah. They are +rich i' world's gear, but they'll prize what I leave 'em if I could +only onbethink me what they would like. Hearken! Is na' that our +Hester's step? Put it away, quick! I'm noane for grieving her wi' +telling her what I've been about. We'll take a turn at t' will next +First Day; it will serve us for several Sabbaths to come, and maybe +I can think on something as will suit cousin John and cousin +Jeremiah afore then.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester, as was mentioned, paused a minute or two before lifting the +latch of the door. When she entered there was no unusual sign of +writing about; only Will Coulson looking very red, and crushing and +smelling at the geranium leaf. +</P> + +<P> +Hester came in briskly, with the little stock of enforced +cheerfulness she had stopped at the door to acquire. But it faded +away along with the faint flush of colour in her cheeks; and the +mother's quick eye immediately noted the wan heavy look of care. +</P> + +<P> +'I have kept t' pot in t' oven; it'll have a'most got a' t' goodness +out of t' tea by now, for it'll be an hour since I made it. Poor +lass, thou look'st as if thou needed a good cup o' tea. It were dree +work sitting wi' Betsy Darley, were it? And how does she look on her +affliction?' +</P> + +<P> +'She takes it sore to heart,' said Hester, taking off her hat, and +folding and smoothing away her cloak, before putting them in the +great oak chest (or 'ark,' as it was called), in which they were +laid from Sunday to Sunday. +</P> + +<P> +As she opened the lid a sweet scent of dried lavender and +rose-leaves came out. William stepped hastily forwards to hold up +the heavy lid for her. She lifted up her head, looked at him full +with her serene eyes, and thanked him for his little service. Then +she took a creepie-stool and sate down on the side of the +fire-place, having her back to the window. +</P> + +<P> +The hearth was of the same spotless whiteness as the steps; all that +was black about the grate was polished to the utmost extent; all +that was of brass, like the handle of the oven, was burnished +bright. Her mother placed the little black earthenware teapot, in +which the tea had been stewing, on the table, where cups and saucers +were already set for four, and a large plate of bread and butter +cut. Then they sate round the table, bowed their heads, and kept +silence for a minute or two. +</P> + +<P> +When this grace was ended, and they were about to begin, Alice said, +as if without premeditation, but in reality with a keen shrinking of +heart out of sympathy with her child— +</P> + +<P> +'Philip would have been in to his tea by now, I reckon, if he'd been +coming.' +</P> + +<P> +William looked up suddenly at Hester; her mother carefully turned +her head another way. But she answered quite quietly— +</P> + +<P> +'He'll be gone to his aunt's at Haytersbank. I met him at t' top o' +t' Brow, with his cousin and Molly Corney.' +</P> + +<P> +'He's a deal there,' said William. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' said Hester. 'It's likely; him and his aunt come from +Carlisle-way, and must needs cling together in these strange parts.' +</P> + +<P> +'I saw him at the burying of yon Darley,' said William. +</P> + +<P> +'It were a vast o' people went past th' entry end,' said Alice. 'It +were a'most like election time; I were just come back fra' meeting +when they were all going up th' church steps. I met yon sailor as, +they say, used violence and did murder; he looked like a ghost, +though whether it were his bodily wounds, or the sense of his sins +stirring within him, it's not for me to say. And by t' time I was +back here and settled to my Bible, t' folk were returning, and it +were tramp, tramp, past th' entry end for better nor a quarter of an +hour.' +</P> + +<P> +'They say Kinraid has getten slugs and gun-shot in his side,' said +Hester. +</P> + +<P> +'He's niver one Charley Kinraid, for sure, as I knowed at +Newcastle,' said William Coulson, roused to sudden and energetic +curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know,' replied Hester; 'they call him just Kinraid; and +Betsy Darley says he's t' most daring specksioneer of all that go +off this coast to t' Greenland seas. But he's been in Newcastle, for +I mind me she said her poor brother met with him there.' +</P> + +<P> +'How didst thee come to know him?' inquired Alice. +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot abide him if it is Charley,' said William. 'He kept +company with my poor sister as is dead for better nor two year, and +then he left off coming to see her and went wi' another girl, and it +just broke her heart.' +</P> + +<P> +'He don't look now as if he iver could play at that game again,' +said Alice; 'he has had a warning fra' the Lord. Whether it be a +call no one can tell. But to my eyne he looks as if he had been +called, and was going.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then he'll meet my sister,' said William, solemnly; 'and I hope the +Lord will make it clear to him, then, how he killed her, as sure as +he shot down yon sailors; an' if there's a gnashing o' teeth for +murder i' that other place, I reckon he'll have his share on't. He's +a bad man yon.' +</P> + +<P> +'Betsy said he were such a friend to her brother as niver was; and +he's sent her word and promised to go and see her, first place he +goes out to. +</P> + +<P> +But William only shook his head, and repeated his last words,— +</P> + +<P> +'He's a bad man, he is.' +</P> + +<P> +When Philip came home that Sunday night, he found only Alice up to +receive him. The usual bedtime in the household was nine o'clock, +and it was but ten minutes past the hour; but Alice looked +displeased and stern. +</P> + +<P> +'Thee art late, lad,' said she, shortly. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sorry; it's a long way from my uncle's, and I think clocks are +different,' said he, taking out his watch to compare it with the +round moon's face that told the time to Alice. +</P> + +<P> +'I know nought about thy uncle's, but thee art late. Take thy +candle, and begone.' +</P> + +<P> +If Alice made any reply to Philip's 'good-night,' he did not hear +it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ATTRACTION AND REPULSION +</H3> + +<P> +A fortnight had passed over and winter was advancing with rapid +strides. In bleak northern farmsteads there was much to be done +before November weather should make the roads too heavy for half-fed +horses to pull carts through. There was the turf, pared up on the +distant moors, and left out to dry, to be carried home and stacked; +the brown fern was to be stored up for winter bedding for the +cattle; for straw was scarce and dear in those parts; even for +thatching, heather (or rather ling) was used. Then there was meat to +salt while it could be had; for, in default of turnips and +mangold-wurzel, there was a great slaughtering of barren cows as +soon as the summer herbage failed; and good housewives stored up +their Christmas piece of beef in pickle before Martinmas was over. +Corn was to be ground while yet it could be carried to the distant +mill; the great racks for oat-cake, that swung at the top of the +kitchen, had to be filled. And last of all came the pig-killing, +when the second frost set in. For up in the north there is an idea +that the ice stored in the first frost will melt, and the meat cured +then taint; the first frost is good for nothing but to be thrown +away, as they express it. +</P> + +<P> +There came a breathing-time after this last event. The house had had +its last autumn cleaning, and was neat and bright from top to +bottom, from one end to another. The turf was led; the coal carted +up from Monkshaven; the wood stored; the corn ground; the pig +killed, and the hams and head and hands lying in salt. The butcher +had been glad to take the best parts of a pig of Dame Robson's +careful feeding; but there was unusual plenty in the Haytersbank +pantry; and as Bell surveyed it one morning, she said to her husband— +</P> + +<P> +'I wonder if yon poor sick chap at Moss Brow would fancy some o' my +sausages. They're something to crack on, for they are made fra' an +old Cumberland receipt, as is not known i' Yorkshire yet.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou's allays so set upo' Cumberland ways!' said her husband, not +displeased with the suggestion, however. 'Still, when folk's sick +they han their fancies, and maybe Kinraid 'll be glad o' thy +sausages. I ha' known sick folk tak' t' eating snails.' +</P> + +<P> +This was not complimentary, perhaps. But Daniel went on to say that +he did not mind if he stepped over with the sausages himself, when +it was too late to do anything else. Sylvia longed to offer to +accompany her father; but, somehow, she did not like to propose it. +Towards dusk she came to her mother to ask for the key of the great +bureau that stood in the house-place as a state piece of furniture, +although its use was to contain the family's best wearing apparel, +and stores of linen, such as might be supposed to be more needed +upstairs. +</P> + +<P> +'What for do yo' want my keys?' asked Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'Only just to get out one of t' damask napkins.' +</P> + +<P> +'The best napkins, as my mother span?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes!' said Sylvia, her colour heightening. 'I thought as how it +would set off t' sausages.' +</P> + +<P> +'A good clean homespun cloth will serve them better,' said Bell, +wondering in her own mind what was come over the girl, to be +thinking of setting off sausages that were to be eaten, not to be +looked at like a picture-book. She might have wondered still more, +if she had seen Sylvia steal round to the little flower border she +had persuaded Kester to make under the wall at the sunny side of the +house, and gather the two or three Michaelmas daisies, and the one +bud of the China rose, that, growing against the kitchen chimney, +had escaped the frost; and then, when her mother was not looking, +softly open the cloth inside of the little basket that contained the +sausages and a fresh egg or two, and lay her autumn blossoms in one +of the folds of the towel. +</P> + +<P> +After Daniel, now pretty clear of his rheumatism, had had his +afternoon meal (tea was a Sunday treat), he prepared to set out on +his walk to Moss Brow; but as he was taking his stick he caught the +look on Sylvia's face; and unconsciously interpreted its dumb +wistfulness. +</P> + +<P> +'Missus,' said he, 't' wench has nought more t' do, has she? She may +as well put on her cloak and step down wi' me, and see Molly a bit; +she'll be company like.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell considered. +</P> + +<P> +'There's t' yarn for thy stockings as is yet to spin; but she can +go, for I'll do a bit at 't mysel', and there's nought else agate.' +</P> + +<P> +'Put on thy things in a jiffy, then, and let's be off,' said Daniel. +</P> + +<P> +And Sylvia did not need another word. Down she came in a twinkling, +dressed in her new red cloak and hood, her face peeping out of the +folds of the latter, bright and blushing. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou should'st na' ha' put on thy new cloak for a night walk to +Moss Brow,' said Bell, shaking her head. +</P> + +<P> +'Shall I go take it off, and put on my shawl?' asked Sylvia, a +little dolefully. +</P> + +<P> +'Na, na, come along! a'm noane goin' for t' wait o' women's chops +and changes. Come along; come, Lassie!' (this last to his dog). +</P> + +<P> +So Sylvia set off with a dancing heart and a dancing step, that had +to be restrained to the sober gait her father chose. The sky above +was bright and clear with the light of a thousand stars, the grass +was crisping under their feet with the coming hoar frost; and as +they mounted to the higher ground they could see the dark sea +stretching away far below them. The night was very still, though now +and then crisp sounds in the distant air sounded very near in the +silence. Sylvia carried the basket, and looked like little Red +Riding Hood. Her father had nothing to say, and did not care to make +himself agreeable; but Sylvia enjoyed her own thoughts, and any +conversation would have been a disturbance to her. The long +monotonous roll of the distant waves, as the tide bore them in, the +multitudinous rush at last, and then the retreating rattle and +trickle, as the baffled waters fell back over the shingle that +skirted the sands, and divided them from the cliffs; her father's +measured tread, and slow, even movement; Lassie's pattering—all +lulled Sylvia into a reverie, of which she could not have given +herself any definite account. But at length they arrived at Moss +Brow, and with a sudden sigh she quitted the subjects of her dreamy +meditations, and followed her father into the great house-place. It +had a more comfortable aspect by night than by day. The fire was +always kept up to a wasteful size, and the dancing blaze and the +partial light of candles left much in shadow that was best ignored +in such a disorderly family. But there was always a warm welcome to +friends, however roughly given; and after the words of this were +spoken, the next rose up equally naturally in the mind of Mrs +Corney. +</P> + +<P> +'And what will ye tak'? Eh! but t' measter 'll be fine and vexed at +your comin' when he's away. He's off to Horncastle t' sell some +colts, and he'll not be back till to-morrow's neet. But here's +Charley Kinraid as we've getten to nurse up a bit, and' t' lads 'll +be back fra' Monkshaven in a crack o' no time.' +</P> + +<P> +All this was addressed to Daniel, to whom she knew that none but +masculine company would be acceptable. Amongst uneducated +people—whose range of subjects and interest do not extend beyond +their daily life—it is natural that when the first blush and hurry +of youth is over, there should be no great pleasure in the +conversation of the other sex. Men have plenty to say to men, which +in their estimation (gained from tradition and experience) women +cannot understand; and farmers of a much later date than the one of +which I am writing, would have contemptuously considered it as a +loss of time to talk to women; indeed, they were often more +communicative to the sheep-dog that accompanied them through all the +day's work, and frequently became a sort of dumb confidant. Farmer +Robson's Lassie now lay down at her master's feet, placed her nose +between her paws, and watched with attentive eyes the preparations +going on for refreshments—preparations which, to the +disappointment of her canine heart, consisted entirely of tumblers +and sugar. +</P> + +<P> +'Where's t' wench?' said Robson, after he had shaken hands with +Kinraid, and spoken a few words to him and to Mrs. Corney. 'She's +getten' a basket wi' sausages in 'em, as my missus has made, and +she's a rare hand at sausages; there's noane like her in a' t' three +Ridings, I'll be bound!' +</P> + +<P> +For Daniel could praise his wife's powers in her absence, though he +did not often express himself in an appreciative manner when she was +by to hear. But Sylvia's quick sense caught up the manner in which +Mrs. Corney would apply the way in which her mother's housewifery had +been exalted, and stepping forwards out of the shadow, she said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Mother thought, maybe, you hadn't killed a pig yet, and sausages is +always a bit savoury for any one who is na' well, and——' +</P> + +<P> +She might have gone on but that she caught Kinraid's eyes looking at +her with kindly admiration. She stopped speaking, and Mrs. Corney +took up the word— +</P> + +<P> +'As for sausages, I ha' niver had a chance this year, else I stand +again any one for t' making of 'em. Yorkshire hams 's a vast thought +on, and I'll niver let another county woman say as she can make +better sausages nor me. But, as I'm saying, I'd niver a chance; for +our pig, as I were sa fond on, and fed mysel', and as would ha' been +fourteen stone by now if he were an ounce, and as knew me as well as +any Christian, and a pig, as I may say, that I just idolized, went +and took a fit a week after Michaelmas Day, and died, as if it had +been to spite me; and t' next is na' ready for killing, nor wunnot +be this six week. So I'm much beholden to your missus, and so's +Charley, I'm sure; though he's ta'en a turn to betterin' sin' he +came out here to be nursed.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm a deal better,' said Kinraid; 'a'most ready for t' press-gang +to give chase to again.' +</P> + +<P> +'But folk say they're gone off this coast for one while,' added +Daniel. +</P> + +<P> +'They're gone down towards Hull, as I've been told,' said Kinraid. +'But they're a deep set, they'll be here before we know where we +are, some of these days.' +</P> + +<P> +'See thee here!' said Daniel, exhibiting his maimed hand; 'a reckon +a served 'em out time o' t' Ameriky war.' And he began the story +Sylvia knew so well; for her father never made a new acquaintance +but what he told him of his self-mutilation to escape the +press-gang. It had been done, as he would himself have owned, to +spite himself as well as them; for it had obliged him to leave a +sea-life, to which, in comparison, all life spent on shore was worse +than nothing for dulness. For Robson had never reached that rank +aboard ship which made his being unable to run up the rigging, or to +throw a harpoon, or to fire off a gun, of no great consequence; so +he had to be thankful that an opportune legacy enabled him to turn +farmer, a great degradation in his opinion. But his blood warmed, as +he told the specksioneer, towards a sailor, and he pressed Kinraid +to beguile the time when he was compelled to be ashore, by coming +over to see him at Haytersbank, whenever he felt inclined. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia, appearing to listen to Molly's confidences, was hearkening +in reality to all this conversation between her father and the +specksioneer; and at this invitation she became especially +attentive. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid replied,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'm much obliged to ye, I'm sure; maybe I can come and spend an +ev'ning wi' you; but as soon as I'm got round a bit, I must go see +my own people as live at Cullercoats near Newcastle-upo'-Tyne.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well!' said Daniel, rising to take leave, with unusual +prudence as to the amount of his drink. 'Thou'lt see, thou'lt see! I +shall be main glad to see thee; if thou'lt come. But I've na' lads +to keep thee company, only one sprig of a wench. Sylvia, come here, +an let's show thee to this young fellow!' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia came forwards, ruddy as any rose, and in a moment Kinraid +recognized her as the pretty little girl he had seen crying so +bitterly over Darley's grave. He rose up out of true sailor's +gallantry, as she shyly approached and stood by her father's side, +scarcely daring to lift her great soft eyes, to have one fair gaze +at his face. He had to support himself by one hand rested on the +dresser, but she saw he was looking far better—younger, less +haggard—than he had seemed to her before. His face was short and +expressive; his complexion had been weatherbeaten and bronzed, +though now he looked so pale; his eyes and hair were dark,—the +former quick, deep-set, and penetrating; the latter curly, and +almost in ringlets. His teeth gleamed white as he smiled at her, a +pleasant friendly smile of recognition; but she only blushed the +deeper, and hung her head. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll come, sir, and be thankful. I daresay a turn'll do me good, if +the weather holds up, an' th' frost keeps on.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's right, my lad,' said Robson, shaking him by the hand, and +then Kinraid's hand was held out to Sylvia, and she could not avoid +the same friendly action. +</P> + +<P> +Molly Corney followed her to the door, and when they were fairly +outside, she held Sylvia back for an instant to say,— +</P> + +<P> +'Is na' he a fine likely man? I'm so glad as yo've seen him, for +he's to be off next week to Newcastle and that neighbourhood.' +</P> + +<P> +'But he said he'd come to us some night?' asked Sylvia, half in a +fright. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, I'll see as he does; never fear. For I should like yo' for to +know him a bit. He's a rare talker. I'll mind him o' coming to yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +Somehow, Sylvia felt as if this repeated promise of reminding +Kinraid of his promise to come and see her father took away part of +the pleasure she had anticipated from his visit. Yet what could be +more natural than that Molly Corney should wish her friend to be +acquainted with the man whom Sylvia believed to be all but Molly's +engaged lover? +</P> + +<P> +Pondering these thoughts, the walk home was as silent as that going +to Moss Brow had been. The only change seemed to be that now they +faced the brilliant northern lights flashing up the sky, and that +either this appearance or some of the whaling narrations of Kinraid +had stirred up Daniel Robson's recollections of a sea ditty, which +he kept singing to himself in a low, unmusical voice, the burden of +which was, 'for I loves the tossin' say!' Bell met them at the door. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, and here ye are at home again! and Philip has been, Sylvie, +to give thee thy ciphering lesson; and he stayed awhile, thinking +thou'd be coming back.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm very sorry,' said Sylvia, more out of deference to her mother's +tone of annoyance, than because she herself cared either for her +lesson or her cousin's disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +'He'll come again to-morrow night, he says. But thou must take care, +and mind the nights he says he'll come, for it's a long way to come +for nought.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia might have repeated her 'I'm very sorry' at this announcement +of Philip's intentions; but she restrained herself, inwardly and +fervently hoping that Molly would not urge the fulfilment of the +specksioneer's promise for to-morrow night, for Philip's being there +would spoil all; and besides, if she sate at the dresser at her +lesson, and Kinraid at the table with her father, he might hear all, +and find out what a dunce she was. +</P> + +<P> +She need not have been afraid. With the next night Hepburn came; and +Kinraid did not. After a few words to her mother, Philip produced +the candles he had promised, and some books and a quill or two. +</P> + +<P> +'What for hast thou brought candles?' asked Bell, in a +half-affronted tone. +</P> + +<P> +Hepburn smiled. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia thought it would take a deal of candlelight, and was for +making it into a reason not to learn. I should ha' used t' candles +if I'd stayed at home, so I just brought them wi' me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then thou may'st just take them back again,' said Bell, shortly, +blowing out that which he had lighted, and placing one of her own on +the dresser instead. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia caught her mother's look of displeasure, and it made her +docile for the evening, although she owed her cousin a grudge for +her enforced good behaviour. +</P> + +<P> +'Now, Sylvia, here's a copy-book wi' t' Tower o' London on it, and +we'll fill it wi' as pretty writing as any in t' North Riding.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia sate quite still, unenlivened by this prospect. +</P> + +<P> +'Here's a pen as 'll nearly write of itsel',' continued Philip, +still trying to coax her out her sullenness of manner. +</P> + +<P> +Then he arranged her in the right position. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't lay your head down on your left arm, you'll ne'er see to +write straight.' +</P> + +<P> +The attitude was changed, but not a word was spoken. Philip began to +grow angry at such determined dumbness. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you tired?' asked he, with a strange mixture of crossness and +tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, very,' was her reply. +</P> + +<P> +'But thou ought'st not to be tired,' said Bell, who had not yet got +over the offence to her hospitality; who, moreover, liked her +nephew, and had, to boot, a great respect for the learning she had +never acquired. +</P> + +<P> +'Mother!' said Sylvia, bursting out, 'what's the use on my writing +"Abednego," "Abednego," "Abednego," all down a page? If I could see +t' use on 't, I'd ha' axed father to send me t' school; but I'm none +wanting to have learning.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a fine thing, tho', is learning. My mother and my grandmother +had it: but th' family came down i' the world, and Philip's mother +and me, we had none of it; but I ha' set my heart on thy having it, +child.' +</P> + +<P> +'My fingers is stiff,' pleaded Sylvia, holding up her little hand +and shaking it. +</P> + +<P> +'Let us take a turn at spelling, then,' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'What's t' use on't?' asked captious Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, it helps one i' reading an' writing.' +</P> + +<P> +'And what does reading and writing do for one?' +</P> + +<P> +Her mother gave her another of the severe looks that, quiet woman as +she was, she could occasionally bestow upon the refractory, and +Sylvia took her book and glanced down the column Philip pointed out +to her; but, as she justly considered, one man might point out the +task, but twenty could not make her learn it, if she did not choose; +and she sat herself down on the edge of the dresser, and idly gazed +into the fire. But her mother came round to look for something in +the drawers of the dresser, and as she passed her daughter she said +in a low voice— +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie, be a good lass. I set a deal o' store by learning, and +father 'ud never send thee to school, as has stuck by me sore.' +</P> + +<P> +If Philip, sitting with his back to them, heard these words he was +discreet enough not to show that he heard. And he had his reward; +for in a very short time, Sylvia stood before him with her book in +her hand, prepared to say her spelling. At which he also stood up by +instinct, and listened to her slow succeeding letters; helping her +out, when she looked up at him with a sweet childlike perplexity in +her face: for a dunce as to book-learning poor Sylvia was and was +likely to remain; and, in spite of his assumed office of +schoolmaster, Philip Hepburn could almost have echoed the words of +the lover of Jess MacFarlane— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + I sent my love a letter,<BR> + But, alas! she canna read,<BR> + And I lo'e her a' the better.<BR> +</P> + +<P> +Still he knew his aunt's strong wish on the subject, and it was very +delightful to stand in the relation of teacher to so dear and +pretty, if so wilful, a pupil. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps it was not very flattering to notice Sylvia's great joy when +her lessons were over, sadly shortened as they were by Philip's +desire not to be too hard upon her. Sylvia danced round to her +mother, bent her head back, and kissed her face, and then said +defyingly to Philip,— +</P> + +<P> +'If iver I write thee a letter it shall just be full of nothing but +"Abednego! Abednego! Abednego!"' +</P> + +<P> +But at this moment her father came in from a distant expedition on +the moors with Kester to look after the sheep he had pasturing there +before the winter set fairly in. He was tired, and so was Lassie, +and so, too, was Kester, who, lifting his heavy legs one after the +other, and smoothing down his hair, followed his master into the +house-place, and seating himself on a bench at the farther end of +the dresser, patiently awaited the supper of porridge and milk which +he shared with his master. Sylvia, meanwhile, coaxed Lassie—poor +footsore dog—to her side, and gave her some food, which the +creature was almost too tired to eat. Philip made as though he would +be going, but Daniel motioned to him to be quiet. +</P> + +<P> +'Sit thee down, lad. As soon as I've had my victual, I want t' hear +a bit o' news.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia took her sewing and sat at the little round table by her +mother, sharing the light of the scanty dip-candle. No one spoke. +Every one was absorbed in what they were doing. What Philip was +doing was, gazing at Sylvia—learning her face off by heart. +</P> + +<P> +When every scrap of porridge was cleared out of the mighty bowl, +Kester yawned, and wishing good-night, withdrew to his loft over the +cow-house. Then Philip pulled out the weekly York paper, and began +to read the latest accounts of the war then raging. This was giving +Daniel one of his greatest pleasures; for though he could read +pretty well, yet the double effort of reading and understanding what +he read was almost too much for him. He could read, or he could +understand what was read aloud to him; reading was no pleasure, but +listening was. +</P> + +<P> +Besides, he had a true John Bullish interest in the war, without +very well knowing what the English were fighting for. But in those +days, so long as they fought the French for any cause, or for no +cause at all, every true patriot was satisfied. Sylvia and her +mother did not care for any such far-extended interest; a little bit +of York news, the stealing of a few apples out of a Scarborough +garden that they knew, was of far more interest to them than all the +battles of Nelson and the North. +</P> + +<P> +Philip read in a high-pitched and unnatural tone of voice, which +deprived the words of their reality; for even familiar expressions +can become unfamiliar and convey no ideas, if the utterance is +forced or affected. Philip was somewhat of a pedant; yet there was a +simplicity in his pedantry not always to be met with in those who +are self-taught, and which might have interested any one who cared +to know with what labour and difficulty he had acquired the +knowledge which now he prized so highly; reading out Latin +quotations as easily as if they were English, and taking a pleasure +in rolling polysyllables, until all at once looking askance at +Sylvia, he saw that her head had fallen back, her pretty rosy lips +open, her eyes fast shut; in short, she was asleep. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay,' said Farmer Robson, 'and t' reading has a'most sent me off. +Mother 'd look angry now if I was to tell yo' yo' had a right to a +kiss; but when I was a young man I'd ha' kissed a pretty girl as I +saw asleep, afore yo'd said Jack Robson.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip trembled at these words, and looked at his aunt. She gave him +no encouragement, standing up, and making as though she had never +heard her husband's speech, by extending her hand, and wishing him +'good-night.' At the noise of the chairs moving over the flag floor, +Sylvia started up, confused and annoyed at her father's laughter. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, lass; it's iver a good time t' fall asleep when a young fellow +is by. Here's Philip here as thou'rt bound t' give a pair o' gloves +to.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia went like fire; she turned to her mother to read her face. +</P> + +<P> +'It's only father's joke, lass,' said she. 'Philip knows manners too +well.' +</P> + +<P> +'He'd better,' said Sylvia, flaming round at him. 'If he'd a touched +me, I'd niver ha' spoken to him no more.' And she looked even as it +was as if she was far from forgiving him. +</P> + +<P> +'Hoots, lass! wenches are brought up sa mim, now-a-days; i' my time +they'd ha' thought na' such great harm of a kiss.' +</P> + +<P> +'Good-night, Philip,' said Bell Robson, thinking the conversation +unseemly. +</P> + +<P> +'Good-night, aunt, good-night, Sylvie!' But Sylvia turned her back +on him, and he could hardly say 'good-night' to Daniel, who had +caused such an unpleasant end to an evening that had at one time +been going on so well. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SPECKSIONEER +</H3> + +<P> +A few days after, Farmer Robson left Haytersbank betimes on a +longish day's journey, to purchase a horse. Sylvia and her mother +were busied with a hundred household things, and the early winter's +evening closed in upon them almost before they were aware. The +consequences of darkness in the country even now are to gather the +members of a family together into one room, and to make them settle +to some sedentary employment; and it was much more the case at the +period of my story, when candles were far dearer than they are at +present, and when one was often made to suffice for a large family. +</P> + +<P> +The mother and daughter hardly spoke at all when they sat down at +last. The cheerful click of the knitting-needles made a pleasant +home-sound; and in the occasional snatches of slumber that overcame +her mother, Sylvia could hear the long-rushing boom of the waves, +down below the rocks, for the Haytersbank gulley allowed the sullen +roar to come up so far inland. It might have been about eight +o'clock—though from the monotonous course of the evening it seemed +much later—when Sylvia heard her father's heavy step cranching down +the pebbly path. More unusual, she heard his voice talking to some +companion. +</P> + +<P> +Curious to see who it could be, with a lively instinctive advance +towards any event which might break the monotony she had begun to +find somewhat dull, she sprang up to open the door. Half a glance +into the gray darkness outside made her suddenly timid, and she drew +back behind the door as she opened it wide to admit her father and +Kinraid. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel Robson came in bright and boisterous. He was pleased with his +purchase, and had had some drink to celebrate his bargain. He had +ridden the new mare into Monkshaven, and left her at the smithy +there until morning, to have her feet looked at, and to be new shod. +On his way from the town he had met Kinraid wandering about in +search of Haytersbank Farm itself, so he had just brought him along +with him; and here they were, ready for bread and cheese, and aught +else the mistress would set before them. +</P> + +<P> +To Sylvia the sudden change into brightness and bustle occasioned by +the entrance of her father and the specksioneer was like that which +you may effect any winter's night, when you come into a room where a +great lump of coal lies hot and slumbering on the fire; just break +it up with a judicious blow from the poker, and the room, late so +dark, and dusk, and lone, is full of life, and light, and warmth. +</P> + +<P> +She moved about with pretty household briskness, attending to all +her father's wants. Kinraid's eye watched her as she went backwards +and forwards, to and fro, into the pantry, the back-kitchen, out of +light into shade, out of the shadow into the broad firelight where +he could see and note her appearance. She wore the high-crowned +linen cap of that day, surmounting her lovely masses of golden brown +hair, rather than concealing them, and tied firm to her head by a +broad blue ribbon. A long curl hung down on each side of her neck—her +throat rather, for her neck was concealed by a little spotted +handkerchief carefully pinned across at the waist of her brown stuff +gown. +</P> + +<P> +How well it was, thought the young girl, that she had doffed her +bed-gown and linsey-woolsey petticoat, her working-dress, and made +herself smart in her stuff gown, when she sate down to work with her +mother. +</P> + +<P> +By the time she could sit down again, her father and Kinraid had +their glasses filled, and were talking of the relative merits of +various kinds of spirits; that led on to tales of smuggling, and the +different contrivances by which they or their friends had eluded the +preventive service; the nightly relays of men to carry the goods +inland; the kegs of brandy found by certain farmers whose horses had +gone so far in the night, that they could do no work the next day; +the clever way in which certain women managed to bring in prohibited +goods; in fact, that when a woman did give her mind to smuggling, +she was more full of resources, and tricks, and impudence, and +energy than any man. There was no question of the morality of the +affair; one of the greatest signs of the real progress we have made +since those times seems to be that our daily concerns of buying and +selling, eating and drinking, whatsoever we do, are more tested by +the real practical standard of our religion than they were in the +days of our grandfathers. Neither Sylvia nor her mother was in +advance of their age. Both listened with admiration to the ingenious +devices, and acted as well as spoken lies, that were talked about as +fine and spirited things. Yet if Sylvia had attempted one tithe of +this deceit in her every-day life, it would have half broken her +mother's heart. But when the duty on salt was strictly and cruelly +enforced, making it penal to pick up rough dirty lumps containing +small quantities that might be thrown out with the ashes of the +brine-houses on the high-roads; when the price of this necessary was +so increased by the tax upon it as to make it an expensive, +sometimes an unattainable, luxury to the working man, Government did +more to demoralise the popular sense of rectitude and uprightness +than heaps of sermons could undo. And the same, though in smaller +measure, was the consequence of many other taxes. It may seem +curious to trace up the popular standard of truth to taxation; but I +do not think the idea would be so very far-fetched. +</P> + +<P> +From smuggling adventures it was easy to pass on to stories of what +had happened to Robson, in his youth a sailor in the Greenland seas, +and to Kinraid, now one of the best harpooners in any whaler that +sailed off the coast. +</P> + +<P> +'There's three things to be afeared on,' said Robson, +authoritatively: 'there's t' ice, that's bad; there's dirty weather, +that's worse; and there's whales theirselves, as is t' worst of all; +leastways, they was i' my days; t' darned brutes may ha' larnt +better manners sin'. When I were young, they could niver be got to +let theirsels be harpooned wi'out flounderin' and makin' play wi' +their tales and their fins, till t' say were all in a foam, and t' +boats' crews was all o'er wi' spray, which i' them latitudes is a +kind o' shower-bath not needed.' +</P> + +<P> +'Th' whales hasn't mended their manners, as you call it,' said +Kinraid; 'but th' ice is not to be spoken lightly on. I were once in +th' ship <I>John</I> of Hull, and we were in good green water, and were +keen after whales; and ne'er thought harm of a great gray iceberg as +were on our lee-bow, a mile or so off; it looked as if it had been +there from the days of Adam, and were likely to see th' last man +out, and it ne'er a bit bigger nor smaller in all them thousands and +thousands o' years. Well, the fast-boats were out after a fish, and +I were specksioneer in one; and we were so keen after capturing our +whale, that none on us ever saw that we were drifting away from them +right into deep shadow o' th' iceberg. But we were set upon our +whale, and I harpooned it; and as soon as it were dead we lashed its +fins together, and fastened its tail to our boat; and then we took +breath and looked about us, and away from us a little space were th' +other boats, wi' two other fish making play, and as likely as not to +break loose, for I may say as I were th' best harpooner on board the +<I>John</I>, wi'out saying great things o' mysel'. So I says, "My lads, +one o' you stay i' th' boat by this fish,"—the fins o' which, as I +said, I'd reeved a rope through mysel', and which was as dead as +Noah's grandfather—"and th' rest on us shall go off and help th' +other boats wi' their fish." For, you see, we had another boat close +by in order to sweep th' fish. (I suppose they swept fish i' your +time, master?)' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay!' said Robson; 'one boat lies still holding t' end o' t' +line; t' other makes a circuit round t' fish.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! luckily for us we had our second boat, for we all got into +it, ne'er a man on us was left i' th' fast-boat. And says I, "But +who's to stay by t' dead fish?" And no man answered, for they were +all as keen as me for to go and help our mates; and we thought as we +could come back to our dead fish, as had a boat for a buoy, once we +had helped our mates. So off we rowed, every man Jack on us, out o' +the black shadow o' th' iceberg, as looked as steady as th' +pole-star. Well! we had na' been a dozen fathoms away fra' th' boat +as we had left, when crash! down wi' a roaring noise, and then a +gulp of the deep waters, and then a shower o' blinding spray; and +when we had wiped our eyes clear, and getten our hearts down agen +fra' our mouths, there were never a boat nor a glittering belly o' +e'er a great whale to be seen; but th' iceberg were there, still and +grim, as if a hundred ton or more had fallen off all in a mass, and +crushed down boat, and fish, and all, into th' deep water, as goes +half through the earth in them latitudes. Th' coal-miners round +about Newcastle way may come upon our good boat if they mine deep +enough, else ne'er another man will see her. And I left as good a +clasp-knife in her as ever I clapt eyes on.' +</P> + +<P> +'But what a mercy no man stayed in her,' said Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, mistress, I reckon we a' must die some way; and I'd as soon go +down into the deep waters as be choked up wi' moulds.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it must be so cold,' said Sylvia, shuddering and giving a +little poke to the fire to warm her fancy. +</P> + +<P> +'Cold!' said her father, 'what do ye stay-at-homes know about cold, +a should like to know? If yo'd been where a were once, north +latitude 81, in such a frost as ye ha' niver known, no, not i' deep +winter, and it were June i' them seas, and a whale i' sight, and a +were off in a boat after her: an' t' ill-mannered brute, as soon as +she were harpooned, ups wi' her big awkward tail, and struck t' boat +i' her stern, and chucks me out into t' watter. That were cold, a +can tell the'! First, I smarted all ower me, as if my skin were +suddenly stript off me: and next, ivery bone i' my body had getten +t' toothache, and there were a great roar i' my ears, an' a great +dizziness i' my eyes; an' t' boat's crew kept throwin' out their +oars, an' a kept clutchin' at 'em, but a could na' make out where +they was, my eyes dazzled so wi' t' cold, an' I thought I were bound +for "kingdom come," an' a tried to remember t' Creed, as a might die +a Christian. But all a could think on was, "What is your name, M or +N?" an' just as a were giving up both words and life, they heaved me +aboard. But, bless ye, they had but one oar; for they'd thrown a' t' +others after me; so yo' may reckon, it were some time afore we could +reach t' ship; an' a've heerd tell, a were a precious sight to look +on, for my clothes was just hard frozen to me, an' my hair a'most as +big a lump o' ice as yon iceberg he was a-telling us on; they rubbed +me as missus theere were rubbing t' hams yesterday, and gav' me +brandy; an' a've niver getten t' frost out o' my bones for a' their +rubbin', and a deal o' brandy as I 'ave ta'en sin'. Talk o' cold! +it's little yo' women known o' cold!' +</P> + +<P> +'But there's heat, too, i' some places,' said Kinraid. I was once a +voyage i' an American. They goes for th' most part south, to where +you come round to t' cold again; and they'll stay there for three +year at a time, if need be, going into winter harbour i' some o' th' +Pacific Islands. Well, we were i' th' southern seas, a-seeking for +good whaling-ground; and, close on our larboard beam, there were a +great wall o' ice, as much as sixty feet high. And says our +captain—as were a dare-devil, if ever a man were—"There'll be an +opening in yon dark gray wall, and into that opening I'll sail, if I +coast along it till th' day o' judgment." But, for all our sailing, +we never seemed to come nearer to th' opening. The waters were +rocking beneath us, and the sky were steady above us; and th' ice +rose out o' the waters, and seemed to reach up into the sky. We +sailed on, and we sailed on, for more days nor I could count. Our +captain were a strange, wild man, but once he looked a little pale +when he came upo' deck after his turn-in, and saw the green-gray ice +going straight up on our beam. Many on us thought as the ship were +bewitched for th' captain's words; and we got to speak low, and to +say our prayers o' nights, and a kind o' dull silence came into th' +very air; our voices did na' rightly seem our own. And we sailed on, +and we sailed on. All at once, th' man as were on watch gave a cry: +he saw a break in the ice, as we'd begun to think were everlasting; +and we all gathered towards the bows, and the captain called to th' +man at the helm to keep her course, and cocked his head, and began +to walk the quarter-deck jaunty again. And we came to a great cleft +in th' long weary rock of ice; and the sides o' th' cleft were not +jagged, but went straight sharp down into th' foaming waters. But we +took but one look at what lay inside, for our captain, with a loud +cry to God, bade the helmsman steer nor'ards away fra' th' mouth o' +Hell. We all saw wi' our own eyes, inside that fearsome wall o' +ice—seventy miles long, as we could swear to—inside that gray, +cold ice, came leaping flames, all red and yellow wi' heat o' some +unearthly kind out o' th' very waters o' the sea; making our eyes +dazzle wi' their scarlet blaze, that shot up as high, nay, higher +than th' ice around, yet never so much as a shred on 't was melted. +They did say that some beside our captain saw the black devils dart +hither and thither, quicker than the very flames themselves; anyhow, +he saw them. And as he knew it were his own daring as had led him to +have that peep at terrors forbidden to any on us afore our time, he +just dwined away, and we hadn't taken but one whale afore our +captain died, and first mate took th' command. It were a prosperous +voyage; but, for all that, I'll never sail those seas again, nor +ever take wage aboard an American again.' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh, dear! but it's awful t' think o' sitting wi' a man that has +seen th' doorway into hell,' said Bell, aghast. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia had dropped her work, and sat gazing at Kinraid with +fascinated wonder. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel was just a little annoyed at the admiration which his own +wife and daughter were bestowing on the specksioneer's wonderful +stories, and he said— +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay. If a'd been a talker, ye'd ha' thought a deal more on me +nor ye've iver done yet. A've seen such things, and done such +things.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tell us, father!' said Sylvia, greedy and breathless. +</P> + +<P> +'Some on 'em is past telling,' he replied, 'an some is not to be had +for t' asking, seeing as how they might bring a man into trouble. +But, as a said, if a had a fancy to reveal all as is on my mind a +could make t' hair on your heads lift up your caps—well, we'll say +an inch, at least. Thy mother, lass, has heerd one or two on 'em. +Thou minds the story o' my ride on a whale's back, Bell? That'll +maybe be within this young fellow's comprehension o' t' danger; +thou's heerd me tell it, hastn't ta?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' said Bell; 'but it's a long time ago; when we was courting.' +</P> + +<P> +'An' that's afore this young lass were born, as is a'most up to +woman's estate. But sin' those days a ha' been o'er busy to tell +stories to my wife, an' as a'll warrant she's forgotten it; an' as +Sylvia here niver heerd it, if yo'll fill your glass, Kinraid, yo' +shall ha' t' benefit o't. +</P> + +<P> +'A were a specksioneer mysel, though, after that, a rayther directed +my talents int' t' smuggling branch o' my profession; but a were +once a whaling aboord t' <I>Ainwell</I> of Whitby. An' we was anchored +off t' coast o' Greenland one season, an' we'd getten a cargo o' +seven whale; but our captain he were a keen-eyed chap, an' niver +above doin' any man's work; an' once seein' a whale he throws +himself int' a boat an' goes off to it, makin' signals to me, an' +another specksioneer as were off for diversion i' another boat, for +to come after him sharp. Well, afore we comes alongside, captain had +harpooned t' fish; an' says he, "Now, Robson, all ready! give into +her again when she comes to t' top;" an' I stands up, right leg +foremost, harpoon all ready, as soon as iver I cotched a sight o' t' +whale, but niver a fin could a see. 'Twere no wonder, for she were +right below t' boat in which a were; and when she wanted to rise, +what does t' great ugly brute do but come wi' her head, as is like +cast iron, up bang again t' bottom o' t' boat. I were thrown up in +t' air like a shuttlecock, me an' my line an' my harpoon—up we +goes, an' many a good piece o' timber wi' us, an' many a good fellow +too; but a had t' look after mysel', an a were up high i' t' air, +afore I could say Jack Robinson, an' a thowt a were safe for another +dive int' saut water; but i'stead a comes down plump on t' back o' +t' whale. Ay! yo' may stare, master, but theere a were, an' main an' +slippery it were, only a sticks my harpoon intil her an' steadies +mysel', an' looks abroad o'er t' vast o' waves, and gets sea-sick in +a manner, an' puts up a prayer as she mayn't dive, and it were as +good a prayer for wishin' it might come true as iver t' clargyman +an' t' clerk too puts up i' Monkshaven church. Well, a reckon it +were heerd, for all a were i' them north latitudes, for she keeps +steady, an' a does my best for t' keep steady; an' 'deed a was too +steady, for a was fast wi' t' harpoon line, all knotted and tangled +about me. T' captain, he sings out for me to cut it; but it's easy +singin' out, and it's noane so easy fumblin' for your knife i' t' +pocket o' your drawers, when yo've t' hold hard wi' t' other hand on +t' back of a whale, swimmin' fourteen knots an hour. At last a +thinks to mysel' a can't get free o' t' line, and t' line is fast to +t' harpoon, and t' harpoon is fast to t' whale; and t' whale may go +down fathoms deep wheniver t' maggot stirs i' her head; an' t' +watter's cold, an noane good for drownin' in; a can't get free o' t' +line, and a connot get my knife out o' my breeches pocket though t' +captain should ca' it mutiny to disobey orders, and t' line's fast +to t' harpoon—let's see if t' harpoon's fast to t' whale. So a +tugged, and a lugged, and t' whale didn't mistake it for ticklin', +but she cocks up her tail, and throws out showers o' water as were +ice or iver it touched me; but a pulls on at t' shank, an' a were +only afeard as she wouldn't keep at t' top wi' it sticking in her; +but at last t' harpoon broke, an' just i' time, for a reckon she was +near as tired o' me as a were on her, and down she went; an' a had +hard work to make for t' boats as was near enough to catch me; for +what wi' t' whale's being but slippery an' t' watter being cold, an' +me hampered wi' t' line an' t' piece o' harpoon, it's a chance, +missus, as thou had stopped an oud maid.' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh dear a' me!' said Bell, 'how well I mind yo'r telling me that +tale! It were twenty-four year ago come October. I thought I never +could think enough on a man as had rode on a whale's back!' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' may learn t' way of winnin' t' women,' said Daniel, winking at +the specksioneer. +</P> + +<P> +And Kinraid immediately looked at Sylvia. It was no premeditated +action; it came as naturally as wakening in the morning when his +sleep was ended; but Sylvia coloured as red as any rose at his +sudden glance,—coloured so deeply that he looked away until he +thought she had recovered her composure, and then he sat gazing at +her again. But not for long, for Bell suddenly starting up, did all +but turn him out of the house. It was late, she said, and her master +was tired, and they had a hard day before them next day; and it was +keeping Ellen Corney up; and they had had enough to drink,—more +than was good for them, she was sure, for they had both been taking +her in with their stories, which she had been foolish enough to +believe. No one saw the real motive of all this almost inhospitable +haste to dismiss her guest, how the sudden fear had taken possession +of her that he and Sylvia were 'fancying each other'. Kinraid had +said early in the evening that he had come to thank her for her +kindness in sending the sausages, as he was off to his own home near +Newcastle in a day or two. But now he said, in reply to Daniel +Robson, that he would step in another night before long and hear +some more of the old man's yarns. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel had just had enough drink to make him very good-tempered, or +else his wife would not have dared to have acted as she did; and +this maudlin amiability took the shape of hospitable urgency that +Kinraid should come as often as he liked to Haytersbank; come and +make it his home when he was in these parts; stay there altogether, +and so on, till Bell fairly shut the outer door to, and locked it +before the specksioneer had well got out of the shadow of their +roof. +</P> + +<P> +All night long Sylvia dreamed of burning volcanoes springing out of +icy southern seas. But, as in the specksioneer's tale the flames +were peopled with demons, there was no human interest for her in the +wondrous scene in which she was no actor, only a spectator. With +daylight came wakening and little homely every-day wonders. Did +Kinraid mean that he was going away really and entirely, or did he +not? Was he Molly Corney's sweetheart, or was he not? When she had +argued herself into certainty on one side, she suddenly wheeled +about, and was just of the opposite opinion. At length she settled +that it could not be settled until she saw Molly again; so, by a +strong gulping effort, she resolutely determined to think no more +about him, only about the marvels he had told. She might think a +little about them when she sat at night, spinning in silence by the +household fire, or when she went out in the gloaming to call the +cattle home to be milked, and sauntered back behind the patient, +slow-gaited creatures; and at times on future summer days, when, as +in the past, she took her knitting out for the sake of the freshness +of the faint sea-breeze, and dropping down from ledge to ledge of +the rocks that faced the blue ocean, established herself in a +perilous nook that had been her haunt ever since her parents had +come to Haytersbank Farm. From thence she had often seen the distant +ships pass to and fro, with a certain sort of lazy pleasure in +watching their swift tranquillity of motion, but no thought as to +where they were bound to, or what strange places they would +penetrate to before they turned again, homeward bound. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A REFRACTORY PUPIL +</H3> + +<P> +Sylvia was still full of the specksioneer and his stories, when +Hepburn came up to give her the next lesson. But the prospect of a +little sensible commendation for writing a whole page full of +flourishing 'Abednegos,' had lost all the slight charm it had ever +possessed. She was much more inclined to try and elicit some +sympathy in her interest in the perils and adventures of the +northern seas, than to bend and control her mind to the right +formation of letters. Unwisely enough, she endeavoured to repeat one +of the narratives that she had heard from Kinraid; and when she +found that Hepburn (if, indeed, he did not look upon the whole as a +silly invention) considered it only as an interruption to the real +business in hand, to which he would try to listen as patiently as he +could, in the hope of Sylvia's applying herself diligently to her +copy-book when she had cleared her mind, she contracted her pretty +lips, as if to check them from making any further appeals for +sympathy, and set about her writing-lesson in a very rebellious +frame of mind, only restrained by her mother's presence from spoken +mutiny. +</P> + +<P> +'After all,' said she, throwing down her pen, and opening and +shutting her weary, cramped hand, 'I see no good in tiring myself +wi' learning for t' write letters when I'se never got one in a' my +life. What for should I write answers, when there's niver a one +writes to me? and if I had one, I couldn't read it; it's bad enough +wi' a book o' print as I've niver seen afore, for there's sure to be +new-fangled words in 't. I'm sure I wish the man were farred who +plagues his brains wi' striking out new words. Why can't folks just +ha' a set on 'em for good and a'?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why! you'll be after using two or three hundred yoursel' every day +as you live, Sylvie; and yet I must use a great many as you never +think on about t' shop; and t' folks in t' fields want their set, +let alone the high English that parsons and lawyers speak.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, it's weary work is reading and writing. Cannot you learn me +something else, if we mun do lessons?' +</P> + +<P> +'There's sums—and geography,' said Hepburn, slowly and gravely. +</P> + +<P> +'Geography!' said Sylvia, brightening, and perhaps not pronouncing +the word quite correctly, 'I'd like yo' to learn me geography. +There's a deal o' places I want to hear all about.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I'll bring up a book and a map next time. But I can tell you +something now. There's four quarters in the globe.' +</P> + +<P> +'What's that?' asked Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'The globe is the earth; the place we live on.' +</P> + +<P> +'Go on. Which quarter is Greenland?' +</P> + +<P> +'Greenland is no quarter. It is only a part of one.' +</P> + +<P> +'Maybe it's a half quarter.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, not so much as that.' +</P> + +<P> +'Half again?' +</P> + +<P> +'No!' he replied, smiling a little. +</P> + +<P> +She thought he was making it into a very small place in order to +tease her; so she pouted a little, and then said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Greenland is all t' geography I want to know. Except, perhaps, +York. I'd like to learn about York, because of t' races, and London, +because King George lives there.' +</P> + +<P> +'But if you learn geography at all, you must learn 'bout all places: +which of them is hot, and which is cold, and how many inhabitants is +in each, and what's the rivers, and which is the principal towns.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure, Sylvie, if Philip will learn thee all that, thou'lt be +such a sight o' knowledge as ne'er a one o' th' Prestons has been +sin' my great-grandfather lost his property. I should be main proud +o' thee; 'twould seem as if we was Prestons o' Slaideburn once +more.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'd do a deal to pleasure yo', mammy; but weary befa' riches and +land, if folks that has 'em is to write "Abednegos" by t' score, and +to get hard words int' their brains, till they work like barm, and +end wi' cracking 'em.' +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to be Sylvia's last protest against learning for the +night, for after this she turned docile, and really took pains to +understand all that Philip could teach her, by means of the not +unskilful, though rude, map which he drew for her with a piece of +charred wood on his aunt's dresser. He had asked his aunt's leave +before beginning what Sylvia called his 'dirty work;' but by-and-by +even she became a little interested in starting from a great black +spot called Monkshaven, and in the shaping of land and sea around +that one centre. Sylvia held her round chin in the palms of her +hands, supporting her elbows on the dresser; looking down at the +progress of the rough drawing in general, but now and then glancing +up at him with sudden inquiry. All along he was not so much absorbed +in his teaching as to be unconscious of her sweet proximity. She was +in her best mood towards him; neither mutinous nor saucy; and he was +striving with all his might to retain her interest, speaking better +than ever he had done before (such brightness did love call +forth!)—understanding what she would care to hear and to know; +when, in the middle of an attempt at explaining the cause of the +long polar days, of which she had heard from her childhood, he felt +that her attention was no longer his; that a discord had come in +between their minds; that she had passed out of his power. This +certainty of intuition lasted but for an instant; he had no time to +wonder or to speculate as to what had affected her so adversely to +his wishes before the door opened and Kinraid came in. Then Hepburn +knew that she must have heard his coming footsteps, and recognized +them. +</P> + +<P> +He angrily stiffened himself up into coldness of demeanour. Almost +to his surprise, Sylvia's greeting to the new comer was as cold as +his own. She stood rather behind him; so perhaps she did not see the +hand which Kinraid stretched out towards her, for she did not place +her own little palm in it, as she had done to Philip an hour ago. +And she hardly spoke, but began to pore over the rough black map, as +if seized with strong geographical curiosity, or determined to +impress Philip's lesson deep on her memory. +</P> + +<P> +Still Philip was dismayed by seeing the warm welcome which Kinraid +received from the master of the house, who came in from the back +premises almost at the same time as the specksioneer entered at the +front. Hepburn was uneasy, too, at finding Kinraid take his seat by +the fireside, like one accustomed to the ways of the house. Pipes +were soon produced. Philip disliked smoking. Possibly Kinraid did so +too, but he took a pipe at any rate, and lighted it, though he +hardly used it at all, but kept talking to farmer Robson on sea +affairs. He had the conversation pretty much to himself. Philip sat +gloomily by; Sylvia and his aunt were silent, and old Robson smoked +his long clay pipe, from time to time taking it out of his mouth to +spit into the bright copper spittoon, and to shake the white ashes +out of the bowl. Before he replaced it, he would give a short laugh +of relishing interest in Kinraid's conversation; and now and then he +put in a remark. Sylvia perched herself sideways on the end of the +dresser, and made pretence to sew; but Philip could see how often +she paused in her work to listen. +</P> + +<P> +By-and-by, his aunt spoke to him, and they kept up a little side +conversation, more because Bell Robson felt that her nephew, her own +flesh and blood, was put out, than for any special interest they +either of them felt in what they were saying. Perhaps, also, they +neither of them disliked showing that they had no great faith in the +stories Kinraid was telling. Mrs. Robson, at any rate, knew so little +as to be afraid of believing too much. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was sitting on that side of the fire which was nearest to the +window and to Sylvia, and opposite to the specksioneer. At length he +turned to his cousin and said in a low voice— +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose we can't go on with our spell at geography till that +fellow's gone?' +</P> + +<P> +The colour came into Sylvia's cheek at the words 'that fellow'; but +she only replied with a careless air— +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I'm one as thinks enough is as good as a feast; and I've had +enough of geography this one night, thank you kindly all the same.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip took refuge in offended silence. He was maliciously pleased +when his aunt made so much noise with her preparation for supper as +quite to prevent the sound of the sailor's words from reaching +Sylvia's ears. She saw that he was glad to perceive that her efforts +to reach the remainder of the story were baulked! this nettled her, +and, determined not to let him have his malicious triumph, and still +more to put a stop to any attempt at private conversation, she began +to sing to herself as she sat at her work; till, suddenly seized +with a desire to help her mother, she dexterously slipped down from +her seat, passed Hepburn, and was on her knees toasting cakes right +in front of the fire, and just close to her father and Kinraid. And +now the noise that Hepburn had so rejoiced in proved his foe. He +could not hear the little merry speeches that darted backwards and +forwards as the specksioneer tried to take the toasting-fork out of +Sylvia's hand. +</P> + +<P> +'How comes that sailor chap here?' asked Hepburn of his aunt. 'He's +none fit to be where Sylvia is.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, I dunnot know,' said she; 'the Corneys made us acquaint first, +and my master is quite fain of his company.' +</P> + +<P> +'And do you like him, too, aunt?' asked Hepburn, almost wistfully; +he had followed Mrs. Robson into the dairy on pretence of helping +her. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm none fond on him; I think he tells us traveller's tales, by way +o' seeing how much we can swallow. But the master and Sylvia think +that there never was such a one.' +</P> + +<P> +'I could show them a score as good as he down on the quayside.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, laddie, keep a calm sough. Some folk like some folk and +others don't. Wherever I am there'll allays be a welcome for thee.' +</P> + +<P> +For the good woman thought that he had been hurt by the evident +absorption of her husband and daughter with their new friend, and +wished to make all easy and straight. But do what she would, he did +not recover his temper all evening: he was uncomfortable, put out, +not enjoying himself, and yet he would not go. He was determined to +assert his greater intimacy in that house by outstaying Kinraid. At +length the latter got up to go; but before he went, he must needs +bend over Sylvia and say something to her in so low a tone that +Philip could not hear it; and she, seized with a sudden fit of +diligence, never looked up from her sewing; only nodded her head by +way of reply. At last he took his departure, after many a little +delay, and many a quick return, which to the suspicious Philip +seemed only pretences for taking stolen glances at Sylvia. As soon +as he was decidedly gone, she folded up her work, and declared that +she was so much tired that she must go to bed there and then. Her +mother, too, had been dozing for the last half-hour, and was only +too glad to see signs that she might betake herself to her natural +place of slumber. +</P> + +<P> +'Take another glass, Philip,' said farmer Robson. +</P> + +<P> +But Hepburn refused the offer rather abruptly. He drew near to +Sylvia instead. He wanted to make her speak to him, and he saw that +she wished to avoid it. He took up the readiest pretext. It was an +unwise one as it proved, for it deprived him of his chances of +occasionally obtaining her undivided attention. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think you care much for learning geography, Sylvie?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not much to-night,' said she, making a pretence to yawn, yet +looking timidly up at his countenance of displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +'Nor at any time,' said he, with growing anger; 'nor for any kind of +learning. I did bring some books last time I came, meaning to teach +you many a thing—but now I'll just trouble you for my books; I put +them on yon shelf by the Bible.' +</P> + +<P> +He had a mind that she should bring them to him; that, at any rate, +he should have the pleasure of receiving them out of her hands. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia did not reply, but went and took down the books with a +languid, indifferent air. +</P> + +<P> +'And so you won't learn any more geography,' said Hepburn. +</P> + +<P> +Something in his tone struck her, and she looked up in his face. +There were marks of stern offence upon his countenance, and yet in +it there was also an air of wistful regret and sadness that touched +her. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo're niver angry with me, Philip? Sooner than vex yo', I'll try +and learn. Only, I'm just stupid; and it mun be such a trouble to +you.' +</P> + +<P> +Hepburn would fain have snatched at this half proposal that the +lessons should be continued, but he was too stubborn and proud to +say anything. He turned away from the sweet, pleading face without a +word, to wrap up his books in a piece of paper. He knew that she was +standing quite still by his side, though he made as if he did not +perceive her. When he had done he abruptly wished them all +'good-night,' and took his leave. +</P> + +<P> +There were tears in Sylvia's eyes, although the feeling in her heart +was rather one of relief. She had made a fair offer, and it had been +treated with silent contempt. A few days afterwards, her father came +in from Monkshaven market, and dropped out, among other pieces of +news, that he had met Kinraid, who was bound for his own home at +Cullercoats. He had desired his respects to Mrs. Robson and her +daughter; and had bid Robson say that he would have come up to +Haytersbank to wish them good-by, but that as he was pressed for +time, he hoped they would excuse him. But Robson did not think it +worth while to give this long message of mere politeness. Indeed, as +it did not relate to business, and was only sent to women, Robson +forgot all about it, pretty nearly as soon as it was uttered. So +Sylvia went about fretting herself for one or two days, at her +hero's apparent carelessness of those who had at any rate treated +him more like a friend than an acquaintance of only a few weeks' +standing; and then, her anger quenching her incipient regard, she +went about her daily business pretty much as though he had never +been. He had gone away out of her sight into the thick mist of +unseen life from which he had emerged—gone away without a word, and +she might never see him again. But still there was a chance of her +seeing him when he came to marry Molly Corney. Perhaps she should be +bridesmaid, and then what a pleasant merry time the wedding-day +would be! The Corneys were all such kind people, and in their family +there never seemed to be the checks and restraints by which her own +mother hedged her round. Then there came an overwhelming +self-reproaching burst of love for that 'own mother'; a humiliation +before her slightest wish, as penance for the moment's unspoken +treason; and thus Sylvia was led to request her cousin Philip to +resume his lessons in so meek a manner, that he slowly and +graciously acceded to a request which he was yearning to fulfil all +the time. +</P> + +<P> +During the ensuing winter, all went on in monotonous regularity at +Haytersbank Farm for many weeks. Hepburn came and went, and thought +Sylvia wonderfully improved in docility and sobriety; and perhaps +also he noticed the improvement in her appearance. For she was at +that age when a girl changes rapidly, and generally for the better. +Sylvia shot up into a tall young woman; her eyes deepened in colour, +her face increased in expression, and a sort of consciousness of +unusual good looks gave her a slight tinge of coquettish shyness +with the few strangers whom she ever saw. Philip hailed her interest +in geography as another sign of improvement. He had brought back his +book of maps to the farm; and there he sat on many an evening +teaching his cousin, who had strange fancies respecting the places +about which she wished to learn, and was coolly indifferent to the +very existence of other towns, and countries, and seas far more +famous in story. She was occasionally wilful, and at times very +contemptuous as to the superior knowledge of her instructor; but, in +spite of it all, Philip went regularly on the appointed evenings to +Haytersbank—through keen black east wind, or driving snow, or +slushing thaw; for he liked dearly to sit a little behind her, with +his arm on the back of her chair, she stooping over the outspread +map, with her eyes,—could he have seen them,—a good deal fixed on +one spot in the map, not Northumberland, where Kinraid was spending +the winter, but those wild northern seas about which he had told +them such wonders. +</P> + +<P> +One day towards spring, she saw Molly Corney coming towards the +farm. The companions had not met for many weeks, for Molly had been +from home visiting her relations in the north. Sylvia opened the +door, and stood smiling and shivering on the threshold, glad to see +her friend again. Molly called out, when a few paces off,— +</P> + +<P> +'Why, Sylvia, is that thee! Why, how thou'rt growed, to be sure! +What a bonny lass thou is!' +</P> + +<P> +'Dunnot talk nonsense to my lass,' said Bell Robson, hospitably +leaving her ironing and coming to the door; but though the mother +tried to look as if she thought it nonsense, she could hardly keep +down the smile that shone out of her eyes, as she put her hand on +Sylvia's shoulder, with a fond sense of proprietorship in what was +being praised. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! but she is,' persisted Molly. 'She's grown quite a beauty sin' +I saw her. And if I don't tell her so, the men will.' +</P> + +<P> +'Be quiet wi' thee,' said Sylvia, more than half offended, and +turning away in a huff at the open barefaced admiration. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay; but they will,' persevered Molly. 'Yo'll not keep her long, +Mistress Robson. And as mother says, yo'd feel it a deal more to +have yer daughters left on hand.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thy mother has many, I have but this one,' said Mrs. Robson, with +severe sadness; for now Molly was getting to talk as she disliked. +But Molly's purpose was to bring the conversation round to her own +affairs, of which she was very full. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes! I tell mother that wi' so many as she has, she ought to be +thankful to t' one as gets off quickest.' +</P> + +<P> +'Who? which is it?' asked Sylvia, a little eagerly, seeing that +there was news of a wedding behind the talk. +</P> + +<P> +'Why! who should it be but me?' said Molly, laughing a good deal, +and reddening a little. 'I've not gone fra' home for nought; I'se +picked up a measter on my travels, leastways one as is to be.' +</P> + +<P> +'Charley Kinraid,' said Sylvia smiling, as she found that now she +might reveal Molly's secret, which hitherto she had kept sacred. +</P> + +<P> +'Charley Kinraid be hung!' said Molly, with a toss of her head. +'Whatten good's a husband who's at sea half t' year? Ha ha, my +measter is a canny Newcassel shopkeeper, on t' Side. A reckon a've +done pretty well for mysel', and a'll wish yo' as good luck, Sylvia. +For yo' see,' (turning to Bell Robson, who, perhaps, she thought +would more appreciate the substantial advantages of her engagement +than Sylvia,) 'though Measter Brunton is near upon forty if he's a +day, yet he turns over a matter of two hundred pound every year; an +he's a good-looking man of his years too, an' a kind, good-tempered +feller int' t' bargain. He's been married once, to be sure; but his +childer are dead a' 'cept one; an' I don't mislike childer either; +an' a'll feed 'em well, an' get 'em to bed early, out o' t' road.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Robson gave her her grave good wishes; but Sylvia was silent. +She was disappointed; it was a coming down from the romance with the +specksioneer for its hero. Molly laughed awkwardly, understanding +Sylvia's thoughts better than the latter imagined. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia's noane so well pleased. Why, lass! it's a' t' better for +thee. There's Charley to t' fore now, which if a'd married him, he'd +not ha' been; and he's said more nor once what a pretty lass yo'd +grow into by-and-by.' +</P> + +<P> +Molly's prosperity was giving her an independence and fearlessness +of talk such as had seldom appeared hitherto; and certainly never +before Mrs. Robson. Sylvia was annoyed at Molly's whole tone and +manner, which were loud, laughing, and boisterous; but to her mother +they were positively repugnant. She said shortly and gravely,— +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia's none so set upo' matrimony; she's content to bide wi' me +and her father. Let a be such talking, it's not i' my way.' +</P> + +<P> +Molly was a little subdued; but still her elation at the prospect of +being so well married kept cropping out of all the other subjects +which were introduced; and when she went away, Mrs. Robson broke out +in an unwonted strain of depreciation. +</P> + +<P> +'That's the way wi' some lasses. They're like a cock on a dunghill, +when they've teased a silly chap into wedding 'em. It's +cock-a-doodle-do, I've cotched a husband, cock-a-doodle-doo, wi' +'em. I've no patience wi' such like; I beg, Sylvie, thou'lt not get +too thick wi' Molly. She's not pretty behaved, making such an ado +about men-kind, as if they were two-headed calves to be run after.' +</P> + +<P> +'But Molly's a good-hearted lass, mother. Only I never dreamt but +what she was troth-plighted wi' Charley Kinraid,' said Sylvia, +meditatively. +</P> + +<P> +'That wench 'll be troth-plight to th' first man as 'll wed her and +keep her i' plenty; that's a' she thinks about,' replied Bell, +scornfully. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VISIONS OF THE FUTURE +</H3> + +<P> +Before May was out, Molly Corney was married and had left the +neighbourhood for Newcastle. Although Charley Kinraid was not the +bridegroom, Sylvia's promise to be bridesmaid was claimed. But the +friendship brought on by the circumstances of neighbourhood and +parity of age had become very much weakened in the time that elapsed +between Molly's engagement and wedding. In the first place, she +herself was so absorbed in her preparations, so elated by her good +fortune in getting married, and married, too, before her elder +sister, that all her faults blossomed out full and strong. Sylvia +felt her to be selfish; Mrs. Robson thought her not maidenly. A year +before she would have been far more missed and regretted by Sylvia; +now it was almost a relief to the latter to be freed from the +perpetual calls upon her sympathy, from the constant demands upon +her congratulations, made by one who had no thought or feeling to +bestow on others; at least, not in these weeks of 'cock-a-doodle-dooing,' +as Mrs. Robson persisted in calling it. It was seldom that Bell +was taken with a humorous idea; but this once having hatched a +solitary joke, she was always clucking it into notice—to go on +with her own poultry simile. +</P> + +<P> +Every time during that summer that Philip saw his cousin, he thought +her prettier than she had ever been before; some new touch of +colour, some fresh sweet charm, seemed to have been added, just as +every summer day calls out new beauty in the flowers. And this was +not the addition of Philip's fancy. Hester Rose, who met Sylvia on +rare occasions, came back each time with a candid, sad +acknowledgement in her heart that it was no wonder that Sylvia was +so much admired and loved. +</P> + +<P> +One day Hester had seen her sitting near her mother in the +market-place; there was a basket by her, and over the clean cloth +that covered the yellow pounds of butter, she had laid the +hedge-roses and honeysuckles she had gathered on the way into +Monkshaven; her straw hat was on her knee, and she was busy placing +some of the flowers in the ribbon that went round it. Then she held +it on her hand, and turned it round about, putting her head on one +side, the better to view the effect; and all this time, Hester, +peeping at her through the folds of the stuffs displayed in Foster's +windows, saw her with admiring, wistful eyes; wondering, too, if +Philip, at the other counter, were aware of his cousin's being +there, so near to him. Then Sylvia put on her hat, and, looking up +at Foster's windows, caught Hester's face of interest, and smiled +and blushed at the consciousness of having been watched over her +little vanities, and Hester smiled back, but rather sadly. Then a +customer came in, and she had to attend to her business, which, on +this as on all market days, was great. In the midst she was aware of +Philip rushing bare-headed out of the shop, eager and delighted at +something he saw outside. There was a little looking-glass hung +against the wall on Hester's side, placed in that retired corner, in +order that the good women who came to purchase head-gear of any kind +might see the effect thereof before they concluded their bargain. In +a pause of custom, Hester, half-ashamed, stole into this corner, and +looked at herself in the glass. What did she see? a colourless face, +dark soft hair with no light gleams in it, eyes that were melancholy +instead of smiling, a mouth compressed with a sense of +dissatisfaction. This was what she had to compare with the bright +bonny face in the sunlight outside. She gave a gulp to check the +sigh that was rising, and came back, even more patient than she had +been before this disheartening peep, to serve all the whims and +fancies of purchasers. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia herself had been rather put out by Philip's way of coming to +her. 'It made her look so silly,' she thought; and 'what for must he +make a sight of himself, coming among the market folk in +that-a-way'; and when he took to admiring her hat, she pulled out +the flowers in a pet, and threw them down, and trampled them under +foot. +</P> + +<P> +'What for art thou doing that, Sylvie?' said her mother. 'The +flowers is well enough, though may-be thy hat might ha' been +stained.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't like Philip to speak to me so,' said Sylvia, pouting. +</P> + +<P> +'How?' asked her mother. +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia could not repeat his words. She hung her head, and looked +red and pre-occupied, anything but pleased. Philip had addressed his +first expression of personal admiration at an unfortunate tune. +</P> + +<P> +It just shows what different views different men and women take of +their fellow-creatures, when I say that Hester looked upon Philip as +the best and most agreeable man she had ever known. He was not one +to speak of himself without being questioned on the subject, so his +Haytersbank relations, only come into the neighborhood in the last +year or two, knew nothing of the trials he had surmounted, or the +difficult duties he had performed. His aunt, indeed, had strong +faith in him, both from partial knowledge of his character, and +because he was of her own tribe and kin; but she had never learnt +the small details of his past life. Sylvia respected him as her +mother's friend, and treated him tolerably well as long as he +preserved his usual self-restraint of demeanour, but hardly ever +thought of him when he was absent. +</P> + +<P> +Now Hester, who had watched him daily for all the years since he had +first come as an errand-boy into Foster's shop—watching with quiet, +modest, yet observant eyes—had seen how devoted he was to his +master's interests, had known of his careful and punctual +ministration to his absent mother's comforts, as long as she was +living to benefit by his silent, frugal self-denial. +</P> + +<P> +His methodical appropriation of the few hours he could call his own +was not without its charms to the equally methodical Hester; the way +in which he reproduced any lately acquired piece of +knowledge—knowledge so wearisome to Sylvia—was delightfully +instructive to Hester—although, as she was habitually silent, it +would have required an observer more interested in discovering her +feelings than Philip was to have perceived the little flush on the +pale cheek, and the brightness in the half-veiled eyes whenever he +was talking. She had not thought of love on either side. Love was a +vanity, a worldliness not to be spoken about, or even thought about. +Once or twice before the Robsons came into the neighbourhood, an +idea had crossed her mind that possibly the quiet, habitual way in +which she and Philip lived together, might drift them into matrimony +at some distant period; and she could not bear the humble advances +which Coulson, Philip's fellow-lodger, sometimes made. They seemed +to disgust her with him. +</P> + +<P> +But after the Robsons settled at Haytersbank, Philip's evenings were +so often spent there that any unconscious hopes Hester might, +unawares, have entertained, died away. At first she had felt a pang +akin to jealousy when she heard of Sylvia, the little cousin, who +was passing out of childhood into womanhood. Once—early in those +days—she had ventured to ask Philip what Sylvia was like. Philip +had not warmed up at the question, and had given rather a dry +catalogue of her features, hair, and height, but Hester, almost to +her own surprise, persevered, and jerked out the final question. +</P> + +<P> +'Is she pretty?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip's sallow cheek grew deeper by two or three shades; but he +answered with a tone of indifference,— +</P> + +<P> +'I believe some folks think her so.' +</P> + +<P> +'But do you?' persevered Hester, in spite of her being aware that he +somehow disliked the question. +</P> + +<P> +'There's no need for talking o' such things,' he answered, with +abrupt displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +Hester silenced her curiosity from that time. But her heart was not +quite at ease, and she kept on wondering whether Philip thought his +little cousin pretty until she saw her and him together, on that +occasion of which we have spoken, when Sylvia came to the shop to +buy her new cloak; and after that Hester never wondered whether +Philip thought his cousin pretty or no, for she knew quite well. +Bell Robson had her own anxieties on the subject of her daughter's +increasing attractions. She apprehended the dangers consequent upon +certain facts, by a mental process more akin to intuition than +reason. She was uncomfortable, even while her motherly vanity was +flattered, at the admiration Sylvia received from the other sex. +This admiration was made evident to her mother in many ways. When +Sylvia was with her at market, it might have been thought that the +doctors had prescribed a diet of butter and eggs to all the men +under forty in Monkshaven. At first it seemed to Mrs. Robson but a +natural tribute to the superior merit of her farm produce; but by +degrees she perceived that if Sylvia remained at home, she stood no +better chance than her neighbours of an early sale. There were more +customers than formerly for the fleeces stored in the wool-loft; +comely young butchers came after the calf almost before it had been +decided to sell it; in short, excuses were seldom wanting to those +who wished to see the beauty of Haytersbank Farm. All this made Bell +uncomfortable, though she could hardly have told what she dreaded. +Sylvia herself seemed unspoilt by it as far as her home relations +were concerned. A little thoughtless she had always been, and +thoughtless she was still; but, as her mother had often said, 'Yo' +canna put old heads on young shoulders;' and if blamed for her +carelessness by her parents, Sylvia was always as penitent as she +could be for the time being. To be sure, it was only to her father +and mother that she remained the same as she had been when an +awkward lassie of thirteen. Out of the house there were the most +contradictory opinions of her, especially if the voices of women +were to be listened to. She was 'an ill-favoured, overgrown thing'; +'just as bonny as the first rose i' June, and as sweet i' her nature +as t' honeysuckle a-climbing round it;' she was 'a vixen, with a +tongue sharp enough to make yer very heart bleed;' she was 'just a +bit o' sunshine wheriver she went;' she was sulky, lively, witty, +silent, affectionate, or cold-hearted, according to the person who +spoke about her. In fact, her peculiarity seemed to be this—that +every one who knew her talked about her either in praise or blame; +in church, or in market, she unconsciously attracted attention; they +could not forget her presence, as they could that of other girls +perhaps more personally attractive. Now all this was a cause of +anxiety to her mother, who began to feel as if she would rather have +had her child passed by in silence than so much noticed. Bell's +opinion was, that it was creditable to a woman to go through life in +the shadow of obscurity,—never named except in connexion with good +housewifery, husband, or children. Too much talking about a girl, +even in the way of praise, disturbed Mrs. Robson's opinion of her; +and when her neighbours told her how her own daughter was admired, +she would reply coldly, 'She's just well enough,' and change the +subject of conversation. But it was quite different with her +husband. To his looser, less-restrained mind, it was agreeable to +hear of, and still more to see, the attention which his daughter's +beauty received. He felt it as reflecting consequence on himself. He +had never troubled his mind with speculations as to whether he +himself was popular, still less whether he was respected. He was +pretty welcome wherever he went, as a jovial good-natured man, who +had done adventurous and illegal things in his youth, which in some +measure entitled him to speak out his opinions on life in general in +the authoritative manner he generally used; but, of the two, he +preferred consorting with younger men, to taking a sober stand of +respectability with the elders of the place; and he perceived, +without reasoning upon it, that the gay daring spirits were more +desirous of his company when Sylvia was by his side than at any +other time. One or two of these would saunter up to Haytersbank on a +Sunday afternoon, and lounge round his fields with the old farmer. +Bell kept herself from the nap which had been her weekly solace for +years, in order to look after Sylvia, and on such occasions she +always turned as cold a shoulder to the visitors as her sense of +hospitality and of duty to her husband would permit. But if they did +not enter the house, old Robson would always have Sylvia with him +when he went the round of his land. Bell could see them from the +upper window: the young men standing in the attitudes of listeners, +while Daniel laid down the law on some point, enforcing his words by +pantomimic actions with his thick stick; and Sylvia, half turning +away as if from some too admiring gaze, was possibly picking flowers +out of the hedge-bank. These Sunday afternoon strolls were the +plague of Bell's life that whole summer. Then it took as much of +artifice as was in the simple woman's nature to keep Daniel from +insisting on having Sylvia's company every time he went down to +Monkshaven. And here, again, came a perplexity, the acknowledgement +of which in distinct thought would have been an act of disloyalty, +according to Bell's conscience. If Sylvia went with her father, he +never drank to excess; and that was a good gain to health at any +rate (drinking was hardly a sin against morals in those days, and in +that place); so, occasionally, she was allowed to accompany him to +Monkshaven as a check upon his folly; for he was too fond and proud +of his daughter to disgrace her by any open excess. But one Sunday +afternoon early in November, Philip came up before the time at which +he usually paid his visits. He looked grave and pale; and his aunt +began,— +</P> + +<P> +'Why, lad! what's been ado? Thou'rt looking as peaked and pined as a +Methody preacher after a love-feast, when he's talked hisself to +Death's door. Thee dost na' get good milk enow, that's what it +is,—such stuff as Monkshaven folks put up wi'!' +</P> + +<P> +'No, aunt; I'm quite well. Only I'm a bit put out—vexed like at +what I've heerd about Sylvie.' +</P> + +<P> +His aunt's face changed immediately. +</P> + +<P> +'And whatten folk say of her, next thing?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh,' said Philip, struck by the difference of look and manner in +his aunt, and subdued by seeing how instantly she took alarm. 'It +were only my uncle;—he should na' take a girl like her to a public. +She were wi' him at t' "Admiral's Head" upo' All Souls' Day—that +were all. There were many a one there beside,—it were statute fair; +but such a one as our Sylvie ought not to be cheapened wi' t' rest.' +</P> + +<P> +'And he took her there, did he?' said Bell, in severe meditation. 'I +had never no opinion o' th' wenches as 'll set theirselves to be +hired for servants i' th' fair; they're a bad lot, as cannot find +places for theirselves—'bout going and stannin' to be stared at by +folk, and grinnin' wi' th' plough-lads when no one's looking; it's a +bad look-out for t' missus as takes one o' these wenches for a +servant; and dost ta mean to say as my Sylvie went and demeaned +hersel' to dance and marlock wi' a' th' fair-folk at th' "Admiral's +Head?"' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no, she did na' dance; she barely set foot i' th' room; but it +were her own pride as saved her; uncle would niver ha' kept her from +it, for he had fallen in wi' Hayley o' Seaburn and one or two +others, and they were having a glass i' t' bar, and Mrs. Lawson, t' +landlady, knew how there was them who would come and dance among +parish 'prentices if need were, just to get a word or a look wi' +Sylvie! So she tempts her in, saying that the room were all +smartened and fine wi' flags; and there was them in the room as told +me that they never were so startled as when they saw our Sylvie's +face peeping in among all t' flustered maids and men, rough and red +wi' weather and drink; and Jem Macbean, he said she were just like a +bit o' apple-blossom among peonies; and some man, he didn't know +who, went up and spoke to her; an' either at that, or at some o' t' +words she heard—for they'd got a good way on afore that time—she +went quite white and mad, as if fire were coming out of her eyes, +and then she turned red and left the room, for all t' landlady tried +to laugh it off and keep her in.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll be down to Monkshaven before I'm a day older, and tell +Margaret Lawson some on my mind as she'll not forget in a hurry.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell moved as though she would put on her cloak and hood there and +then. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, it's not in reason as a woman i' that line o' life shouldn't +try to make her house agreeable,' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'Not wi' my wench,' said Bell, in a determined voice. +</P> + +<P> +Philip's information had made a deeper impression on his aunt than +he intended. He himself had been annoyed more at the idea that +Sylvia would be spoken of as having been at a rough piece of rustic +gaiety—a yearly festival for the lower classes of Yorkshire +servants, out-door as well as in-door—than at the affair itself, +for he had learnt from his informant how instantaneous her +appearance had been. He stood watching his aunt's troubled face, and +almost wishing that he had not spoken. At last she heaved a deep +sigh, and stirring the fire, as if by this little household +occupation to compose her mind, she said— +</P> + +<P> +'It's a pity as wenches aren't lads, or married folk. I could ha' +wished—but it were the Lord's will—It would ha' been summut to +look to, if she'd had a brother. My master is so full on his own +thoughts, yo' see, he's no mind left for thinking on her, what wi' +th' oats, and th' wool, and th' young colt, and his venture i' th' +<I>Lucky Mary</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +She really believed her husband to have the serious and important +occupation for his mind that she had been taught to consider +befitting the superior intellect of the masculine gender; she would +have taxed herself severely, if, even in thought, she had blamed +him, and Philip respected her feelings too much to say that Sylvia's +father ought to look after her more closely if he made such a pretty +creature so constantly his companion; yet some such speech was only +just pent within Philip's closed lips. Again his aunt spoke— +</P> + +<P> +'I used to think as she and yo' might fancy one another, but thou'rt +too old-fashioned like for her; ye would na' suit; and it's as well, +for now I can say to thee, that I would take it very kindly if thou +would'st look after her a bit.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip's countenance fell into gloom. He had to gulp down certain +feelings before he could make answer with discretion. +</P> + +<P> +'How can I look after her, and me tied to the shop more and more +every day?' +</P> + +<P> +'I could send her on a bit of an errand to Foster's, and then, for +sure, yo' might keep an eye upon her when she's in th' town; and +just walk a bit way with her when she's in th' street, and keep t' +other fellows off her—Ned Simpson, t' butcher, in 'special, for +folks do say he means no good by any girl he goes wi'—and I'll ask +father to leave her a bit more wi' me. They're coming down th' brow, +and Ned Simpson wi' them. Now, Philip, I look to thee to do a +brother's part by my wench, and warn off all as isn't fit.' +</P> + +<P> +The door opened, and the coarse strong voice of Simpson made itself +heard. He was a stout man, comely enough as to form and feature, but +with a depth of colour in his face that betokened the coming on of +the habits of the sot. His Sunday hat was in his hand, and he +smoothed the long nap of it, as he said, with a mixture of shyness +and familiarity— +</P> + +<P> +'Sarvant, missus. Yo'r measter is fain that I should come in an' +have a drop; no offence, I hope?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia passed quickly through the house-place, and went upstairs +without speaking to her cousin Philip or to any one. He sat on, +disliking the visitor, and almost disliking his hospitable uncle for +having brought Simpson into the house, sympathizing with his aunt in +the spirit which prompted her curt answers, and in the intervals of +all these feelings wondering what ground she had for speaking as if +she had now given up all thought of Sylvia and him ever being +married, and in what way he was too 'old-fashioned.' +</P> + +<P> +Robson would gladly have persuaded Philip to join him and Simpson in +their drink, but Philip was in no sociable mood, and sate a little +aloof, watching the staircase down which sooner or later Sylvia must +come; for, as perhaps has been already said, the stairs went up +straight out of the kitchen. And at length his yearning watch was +rewarded; first, the little pointed toe came daintily in sight, then +the trim ankle in the tight blue stocking, the wool of which was +spun and the web of which was knitted by her mother's careful hands; +then the full brown stuff petticoat, the arm holding the petticoat +back in decent folds, so as not to encumber the descending feet; the +slender neck and shoulders hidden under the folded square of fresh +white muslin; the crowning beauty of the soft innocent face radiant +in colour, and with the light brown curls clustering around. She +made her way quickly to Philip's side; how his heart beat at her +approach! and even more when she entered into a low-voiced +<I>tete-a-tete</I>. +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't he gone yet?' said she. 'I cannot abide him; I could ha' +pinched father when he asked him for t' come in.' +</P> + +<P> +'Maybe, he'll not stay long,' said Philip, hardly understanding the +meaning of what he said, so sweet was it to have her making her +whispered confidences to him. +</P> + +<P> +But Simpson was not going to let her alone in the dark corner +between the door and the window. He began paying her some coarse +country compliments—too strong in their direct flattery for even +her father's taste, more especially as he saw by his wife's set lips +and frowning brow how much she disapproved of their visitor's style +of conversation. +</P> + +<P> +'Come, measter, leave t' lass alone; she's set up enough a'ready, +her mother makes such a deal on her. Yo' an' me's men for sensible +talk at our time o' life. An', as I was saying, t' horse was a +weaver if iver one was, as any one could ha' told as had come within +a mile on him.' +</P> + +<P> +And in this way the old farmer and the bluff butcher chatted on +about horses, while Philip and Sylvia sate together, he turning over +all manner of hopes and projects for the future, in spite of his +aunt's opinion that he was too 'old-fashioned' for her dainty, +blooming daughter. Perhaps, too, Mrs. Robson saw some reason for +changing her mind on this head as she watched Sylvia this night, for +she accompanied Philip to the door, when the time came for him to +start homewards, and bade him 'good-night' with unusual fervour, +adding— +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'st been a deal o' comfort to me, lad—a'most as one as if thou +wert a child o' my own, as at times I could welly think thou art to +be. Anyways, I trust to thee to look after the lile lass, as has no +brother to guide her among men—and men's very kittle for a woman to +deal wi; but if thou'lt have an eye on whom she consorts wi', my +mind 'll be easier.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip's heart beat fast, but his voice was as calm as usual when he +replied— +</P> + +<P> +'I'd just keep her a bit aloof from Monkshaven folks; a lass is +always the more thought on for being chary of herself; and as for t' +rest, I'll have an eye to the folks she goes among, and if I see +that they don't befit her, I'll just give her a warning, for she's +not one to like such chaps as yon Simpson there; she can see what's +becoming in a man to say to a lass, and what's not.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip set out on his two-mile walk home with a tumult of happiness +in his heart. He was not often carried away by delusions of his own +creating; to-night he thought he had good ground for believing that +by patient self-restraint he might win Sylvia's love. A year ago he +had nearly earned her dislike by obtruding upon her looks and words +betokening his passionate love. He alarmed her girlish coyness, as +well as wearied her with the wish he had then felt that she should +take an interest in his pursuits. But, with unusual wisdom, he had +perceived his mistake; it was many months now since he had betrayed, +by word or look, that she was anything more to him than a little +cousin to be cared for and protected when need was. The consequence +was that she had become tamed, just as a wild animal is tamed; he +had remained tranquil and impassive, almost as if he did not +perceive her shy advances towards friendliness. These advances were +made by her after the lessons had ceased. She was afraid lest he was +displeased with her behaviour in rejecting his instructions, and was +not easy till she was at peace with him; and now, to all appearance, +he and she were perfect friends, but nothing more. In his absence +she would not allow her young companions to laugh at his grave +sobriety of character, and somewhat prim demeanour; she would even +go against her conscience, and deny that she perceived any +peculiarity. When she wanted it, she sought his advice on such small +subjects as came up in her daily life; and she tried not to show +signs of weariness when he used more words—and more difficult +words—than were necessary to convey his ideas. But her ideal +husband was different from Philip in every point, the two images +never for an instant merged into one. To Philip she was the only +woman in the world; it was the one subject on which he dared not +consider, for fear that both conscience and judgment should decide +against him, and that he should be convinced against his will that +she was an unfit mate for him, that she never would be his, and that +it was waste of time and life to keep her shrined in the dearest +sanctuary of his being, to the exclusion of all the serious and +religious aims which, in any other case, he would have been the +first to acknowledge as the object he ought to pursue. For he had +been brought up among the Quakers, and shared in their austere +distrust of a self-seeking spirit; yet what else but self-seeking +was his passionate prayer, 'Give me Sylvia, or else, I die?' No +other vision had ever crossed his masculine fancy for a moment; his +was a rare and constant love that deserved a better fate than it met +with. At this time his hopes were high, as I have said, not merely +as to the growth of Sylvia's feelings towards him, but as to the +probability of his soon being in a position to place her in such +comfort, as his wife, as she had never enjoyed before. +</P> + +<P> +For the brothers Foster were thinking of retiring from business, and +relinquishing the shop to their two shopmen, Philip Hepburn and +William Coulson. To be sure, it was only by looking back for a few +months, and noticing chance expressions and small indications, that +this intention of theirs could be discovered. But every step they +took tended this way, and Philip knew their usual practice of +deliberation too well to feel in the least impatient for the quicker +progress of the end which he saw steadily approaching. The whole +atmosphere of life among the Friends at this date partook of this +character of self-repression, and both Coulson and Hepburn shared in +it. Coulson was just as much aware of the prospect opening before +him as Hepburn; but they never spoke together on the subject, +although their mutual knowledge might be occasionally implied in +their conversation on their future lives. Meanwhile the Fosters were +imparting more of the background of their business to their +successors. For the present, at least, the brothers meant to retain +an interest in the shop, even after they had given up the active +management; and they sometimes thought of setting up a separate +establishment as bankers. The separation of the business,—the +introduction of their shopmen to the distant manufacturers who +furnished their goods (in those days the system of 'travellers' was +not so widely organized as it is at present),—all these steps were +in gradual progress; and already Philip saw himself in imagination +in the dignified position of joint master of the principal shop in +Monkshaven, with Sylvia installed as his wife, with certainly a silk +gown, and possibly a gig at her disposal. In all Philip's visions of +future prosperity, it was Sylvia who was to be aggrandized by them; +his own life was to be spent as it was now, pretty much between the +four shop walls. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YEAR'S FETE +</H3> + +<P> +All this enlargement of interest in the shop occupied Philip fully +for some months after the period referred to in the preceding +chapter. Remembering his last conversation with his aunt, he might +have been uneasy at his inability to perform his promise and look +after his pretty cousin, but that about the middle of November Bell +Robson had fallen ill of a rheumatic fever, and that her daughter +had been entirely absorbed in nursing her. No thought of company or +gaiety was in Sylvia's mind as long as her mother's illness lasted; +vehement in all her feelings, she discovered in the dread of losing +her mother how passionately she was attached to her. Hitherto she +had supposed, as children so often do, that her parents would live +for ever; and now when it was a question of days, whether by that +time the following week her mother might not be buried out of her +sight for ever, she clung to every semblance of service to be +rendered, or affection shown, as if she hoped to condense the love +and care of years into the few days only that might remain. Mrs. +Robson lingered on, began slowly to recover, and before Christmas +was again sitting by the fireside in the house-place, wan and pulled +down, muffled up with shawls and blankets, but still there once +more, where not long before Sylvia had scarcely expected to see her +again. Philip came up that evening and found Sylvia in wild spirits. +She thought that everything was done, now that her mother had once +come downstairs again; she laughed with glee; she kissed her mother; +she shook hands with Philip, she almost submitted to a speech of +more than usual tenderness from him; but, in the midst of his words, +her mother's pillows wanted arranging and she went to her chair, +paying no more heed to his words than if they had been addressed to +the cat, that lying on the invalid's knee was purring out her +welcome to the weak hand feebly stroking her back. Robson himself +soon came in, looking older and more subdued since Philip had seen +him last. He was very urgent that his wife should have some spirits +and water; but on her refusal, almost as if she loathed the thought +of the smell, he contented himself with sharing her tea, though he +kept abusing the beverage as 'washing the heart out of a man,' and +attributing all the degeneracy of the world, growing up about him in +his old age, to the drinking of such slop. At the same time, his +little self-sacrifice put him in an unusually good temper; and, +mingled with his real gladness at having his wife once more on the +way to recovery, brought back some of the old charm of tenderness +combined with light-heartedness, which had won the sober Isabella +Preston long ago. He sat by her side, holding her hand, and talking +of old times to the young couple opposite; of his adventures and +escapes, and how he had won his wife. She, faintly smiling at the +remembrance of those days, yet half-ashamed at having the little +details of her courtship revealed, from time to time kept saying,— +</P> + +<P> +'For shame wi' thee, Dannel—I never did,' and faint denials of a +similar kind. +</P> + +<P> +'Niver believe her, Sylvie. She were a woman, and there's niver a +woman but likes to have a sweetheart, and can tell when a chap's +castin' sheep's-eyes at her; ay, an' afore he knows what he's about +hissen. She were a pretty one then, was my old 'ooman, an' liked +them as thought her so, though she did cock her head high, as bein' +a Preston, which were a family o' standin' and means i' those parts +aforetime. There's Philip there, I'll warrant, is as proud o' bein' +Preston by t' mother's side, for it runs i' t' blood, lass. A can +tell when a child of a Preston tak's to being proud o' their kin, by +t' cut o' their nose. Now Philip's and my missus's has a turn beyond +common i' their nostrils, as if they was sniffin' at t' rest of us +world, an' seein' if we was good enough for 'em to consort wi'. Thee +an' me, lass, is Robsons—oat-cake folk, while they's pie-crust. +Lord! how Bell used to speak to me, as short as though a wasn't a +Christian, an' a' t' time she loved me as her very life, an' well a +knew it, tho' a'd to mak' as tho' a didn't. Philip, when thou goes +courtin', come t' me, and a'll give thee many a wrinkle. A've shown, +too, as a know well how t' choose a good wife by tokens an' signs, +hannot a, missus? Come t' me, my lad, and show me t' lass, an' a'll +just tak' a squint at her, an' tell yo' if she'll do or not; an' if +she'll do, a'll teach yo' how to win her.' +</P> + +<P> +'They say another o' yon Corney girls is going to be married,' said +Mrs. Robson, in her faint deliberate tones. +</P> + +<P> +'By gosh, an' it's well thou'st spoke on 'em; a was as clean +forgettin' it as iver could be. A met Nanny Corney i' Monkshaven +last neet, and she axed me for t' let our Sylvia come o' New Year's +Eve, an' see Molly an' her man, that 'n as is wed beyond Newcassel, +they'll be over at her feyther's, for t' New Year, an' there's to be +a merry-making.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia's colour came, her eyes brightened, she would have liked to +go; but the thought of her mother came across her, and her features +fell. Her mother's eye caught the look and the change, and knew what +both meant as well as if Sylvia had spoken out. +</P> + +<P> +'Thursday se'nnight,' said she. 'I'll be rare and strong by then, +and Sylvie shall go play hersen; she's been nurse-tending long +enough.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're but weakly yet,' said Philip shortly; he did not intend to +say it, but the words seemed to come out in spite of himself. +</P> + +<P> +'A said as our lass should come, God willin', if she only came and +went, an' thee goin' on sprightly, old 'ooman. An' a'll turn +nurse-tender mysen for t' occasion, 'special if thou can stand t' +good honest smell o' whisky by then. So, my lass, get up thy smart +clothes, and cut t' best on 'em out, as becomes a Preston. Maybe, +a'll fetch thee home, an' maybe Philip will convoy thee, for Nanny +Corney bade thee to t' merry-making, as well. She said her measter +would be seem' thee about t' wool afore then.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think as I can go,' said Philip, secretly pleased to know +that he had the opportunity in his power; 'I'm half bound to go Wi' +Hester Rose and her mother to t' watch-night.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is Hester a Methodee?' asked Sylvia in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +'No! she's neither a Methodee, nor a Friend, nor a Church person; +but she's a turn for serious things, choose wherever they're found.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, then,' said good-natured farmer Robson, only seeing the +surface of things, 'a'll make shift to fetch Sylvie back fra' t' +merry-making, and thee an' thy young woman can go to t' +prayer-makin'; it's every man to his taste, say I.' +</P> + +<P> +But in spite of his half-promise, nay against his natural +inclination, Philip was lured to the Corneys' by the thought of +meeting Sylvia, of watching her and exulting in her superiority in +pretty looks and ways to all the other girls likely to be assembled. +Besides (he told his conscience) he was pledged to his aunt to watch +over Sylvia like a brother. So in the interval before New Year's +Eve, he silently revelled as much as any young girl in the +anticipation of the happy coming time. +</P> + +<P> +At this hour, all the actors in this story having played out their +parts and gone to their rest, there is something touching in +recording the futile efforts made by Philip to win from Sylvia the +love he yearned for. But, at the time, any one who had watched him +might have been amused to see the grave, awkward, plain young man +studying patterns and colours for a new waistcoat, with his head a +little on one side, after the meditative manner common to those who +are choosing a new article of dress. They might have smiled could +they have read in his imagination the frequent rehearsals of the +coming evening, when he and she should each be dressed in their gala +attire, to spend a few hours under a bright, festive aspect, among +people whose company would oblige them to assume a new demeanour +towards each other, not so familiar as their every-day manner, but +allowing more scope for the expression of rustic gallantry. Philip +had so seldom been to anything of the kind, that, even had Sylvia +not been going, he would have felt a kind of shy excitement at the +prospect of anything so unusual. But, indeed, if Sylvia had not been +going, it is very probable that Philip's rigid conscience might have +been aroused to the question whether such parties did not savour too +much of the world for him to form one in them. +</P> + +<P> +As it was, however, the facts to him were simply these. He was going +and she was going. The day before, he had hurried off to Haytersbank +Farm with a small paper parcel in his pocket—a ribbon with a little +briar-rose pattern running upon it for Sylvia. It was the first +thing he had ever ventured to give her—the first thing of the kind +would, perhaps, be more accurate; for when he had first begun to +teach her any lessons, he had given her Mavor's Spelling-book, but +that he might have done, out of zeal for knowledge, to any dunce of +a little girl of his acquaintance. This ribbon was quite a different +kind of present; he touched it tenderly, as if he were caressing it, +when he thought of her wearing it; the briar-rose (sweetness and +thorns) seemed to be the very flower for her; the soft, green ground +on which the pink and brown pattern ran, was just the colour to show +off her complexion. And she would in a way belong to him: her +cousin, her mentor, her chaperon, her lover! While others only +admired, he might hope to appropriate; for of late they had been +such happy friends! Her mother approved of him, her father liked +him. A few months, perhaps only a few weeks more of self-restraint, +and then he might go and speak openly of his wishes, and what he had +to offer. For he had resolved, with the quiet force of his +character, to wait until all was finally settled between him and his +masters, before he declared himself to either Sylvia or her parents. +The interval was spent in patient, silent endeavours to recommend +himself to her. +</P> + +<P> +He had to give his ribbon to his aunt in charge for Sylvia, and that +was a disappointment to his fancy, although he tried to reason +himself into thinking that it was better so. He had not time to wait +for her return from some errand on which she had gone, for he was +daily more and more occupied with the affairs of the shop. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia made many a promise to her mother, and more to herself, that +she would not stay late at the party, but she might go as early as +she liked; and before the December daylight had faded away, Sylvia +presented herself at the Corneys'. She was to come early in order to +help to set out the supper, which was arranged in the large old +flagged parlour, which served as best bed-room as well. It opened +out of the house-place, and was the sacred room of the house, as +chambers of a similar description are still considered in retired +farmhouses in the north of England. They are used on occasions like +the one now described for purposes of hospitality; but in the state +bed, overshadowing so large a portion of the floor, the births and, +as far as may be, the deaths, of the household take place. At the +Corneys', the united efforts of some former generation of the family +had produced patchwork curtains and coverlet; and patchwork was +patchwork in those days, before the early Yates and Peels had found +out the secret of printing the parsley-leaf. Scraps of costly Indian +chintzes and palempours were intermixed with commoner black and red +calico in minute hexagons; and the variety of patterns served for +the useful purpose of promoting conversation as well as the more +obvious one of displaying the work-woman 's taste. Sylvia, for +instance, began at once to her old friend, Molly Brunton, who had +accompanied her into this chamber to take off her hat and cloak, +with a remark on one of the chintzes. Stooping over the counterpane, +with a face into which the flush would come whether or no, she said +to Molly,— +</P> + +<P> +'Dear! I never seed this one afore—this—for all t' world like th' +eyes in a peacock's tail.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou's seen it many a time and oft, lass. But weren't thou +surprised to find Charley here? We picked him up at Shields, quite +by surprise like; and when Brunton and me said as we was comin' +here, nought would serve him but comin' with us, for t' see t' new +year in. It's a pity as your mother's ta'en this time for t' fall +ill and want yo' back so early.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia had taken off her hat and cloak by this time, and began to +help Molly and a younger unmarried sister in laying out the +substantial supper. +</P> + +<P> +'Here,' continued Mrs. Brunton; 'stick a bit o' holly i' yon pig's +mouth, that's the way we do things i' Newcassel; but folks is so +behindhand in Monkshaven. It's a fine thing to live in a large town, +Sylvia; an' if yo're looking out for a husband, I'd advise yo' to +tak' one as lives in a town. I feel as if I were buried alive comin' +back here, such an out-o'-t'-way place after t' Side, wheere there's +many a hundred carts and carriages goes past in a day. I've a great +mind for t' tak yo' two lassies back wi' me, and let yo' see a bit +o' t' world; may-be, I may yet. +</P> + +<P> +Her sister Bessy looked much pleased with this plan, but Sylvia was +rather inclined to take offence at Molly's patronizing ways, and +replied,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'm none so fond o' noise and bustle; why, yo'll not be able to +hear yoursels speak wi' all them carts and carriages. I'd rayther +bide at home; let alone that mother can't spare me.' +</P> + +<P> +It was, perhaps, a rather ungracious way of answering Molly +Brunton's speech, and so she felt it to be, although her invitation +had been none of the most courteously worded. She irritated Sylvia +still further by repeating her last words,— +</P> + +<P> +'"Mother can't spare me;" why, mother 'll have to spare thee +sometime, when t' time for wedding comes.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm none going to be wed,' said Sylvia; 'and if I were, I'd niver +go far fra' mother.' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! what a spoilt darling it is. How Brunton will laugh when I tell +him about yo'; Brunton's a rare one for laughin'. It's a great thing +to have got such a merry man for a husband. Why! he has his joke for +every one as comes into t' shop; and he'll ha' something funny to +say to everything this evenin'.' +</P> + +<P> +Bessy saw that Sylvia was annoyed, and, with more delicacy than her +sister, she tried to turn the conversation. +</P> + +<P> +'That's a pretty ribbon in thy hair, Sylvia; I'd like to have one o' +t' same pattern. Feyther likes pickled walnuts stuck about t' round +o' beef, Molly.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know what I'm about,' replied Mrs. Brunton, with a toss of her +married head. +</P> + +<P> +Bessy resumed her inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +'Is there any more to be had wheere that come fra', Sylvia?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know,' replied Sylvia. 'It come fra' Foster's, and yo' can +ask.' +</P> + +<P> +'What might it cost?' said Betsy, fingering an end of it to test its +quality. +</P> + +<P> +'I can't tell,' said Sylvia, 'it were a present.' +</P> + +<P> +'Niver mak' ado about t' price,' said Molly; 'I'll gi'e thee enough +on 't to tie up thy hair, just like Sylvia's. Only thou hastn't such +wealth o' curls as she has; it'll niver look t' same i' thy straight +locks. And who might it be as give it thee, Sylvia?' asked the +unscrupulous, if good-natured Molly. +</P> + +<P> +'My cousin Philip, him as is shopman at Foster's,' said Sylvia, +innocently. But it was far too good an opportunity for the exercise +of Molly's kind of wit for her to pass over. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, oh! our cousin Philip, is it? and he'll not be living so far +away from your mother? I've no need be a witch to put two and two +together. He's a coming here to-night, isn't he, Bessy?' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish yo' wouldn't talk so, Molly,' said Sylvia; 'me and Philip is +good enough friends, but we niver think on each other in that way; +leastways, I don't.' +</P> + +<P> +'(Sweet butter! now that's my mother's old-fashioned way; as if +folks must eat sweet butter now-a-days, because her mother did!) +That way,' continued Molly, in the manner that annoyed Sylvia so +much, repeating her words as if for the purpose of laughing at them. +'"That way?" and pray what is t' way yo're speaking on? I niver said +nought about marrying, did I, that yo' need look so red and +shamefaced about yo'r cousin Philip? But, as Brunton says, if t' cap +fits yo', put it on. I'm glad he's comin' to-night tho', for as I'm +done makin' love and courtin', it's next best t' watch other folks; +an' yo'r face, Sylvia, has letten me into a secret, as I'd some +glimpses on afore I was wed.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia secretly determined not to speak a word more to Philip than +she could help, and wondered how she could ever have liked Molly at +all, much less have made a companion of her. The table was now laid +out, and nothing remained but to criticize the arrangement a little. +</P> + +<P> +Bessy was full of admiration. +</P> + +<P> +'Theere, Molly!' said she. 'Yo' niver seed more vittle brought +together i' Newcassel, I'll be bound; there'll be above half a +hundredweight o' butcher's meat, beside pies and custards. I've +eaten no dinner these two days for thinking on 't; it's been a weary +burden on my mind, but it's off now I see how well it looks. I told +mother not to come near it till we'd spread it all out, and now I'll +go fetch her.' +</P> + +<P> +Bessy ran off into the house-place. +</P> + +<P> +'It's well enough in a country kind o' way,' said Molly, with the +faint approbation of condescension. 'But if I'd thought on, I'd ha' +brought 'em down a beast or two done i' sponge-cake, wi' currants +for his eyes to give t' table an air.' +</P> + +<P> +The door was opened, and Bessy came in smiling and blushing with +proud pleasure. Her mother followed her on tip-toe, smoothing down +her apron, and with her voice subdued to a whisper:— +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, my lass, it <I>is</I> fine! But dunnot mak' an ado about it, let 'em +think it's just our common way. If any one says aught about how good +t' vittle is, tak' it calm, and say we'n better i' t' house,—it'll +mak' 'em eat wi' a better appetite, and think the more on us. +Sylvie, I'm much beholden t' ye for comin' so early, and helpin' t' +lasses, but yo' mun come in t' house-place now, t' folks is +gatherin', an' yo'r cousin's been asking after yo' a'ready.' +</P> + +<P> +Molly gave her a nudge, which made Sylvia's face go all aflame with +angry embarrassment. She was conscious that the watching which Molly +had threatened her with began directly; for Molly went up to her +husband, and whispered something to him which set him off in a +chuckling laugh, and Sylvia was aware that his eyes followed her +about with knowing looks all the evening. She would hardly speak to +Philip, and pretended not to see his outstretched hand, but passed +on to the chimney-corner, and tried to shelter herself behind the +broad back of farmer Corney, who had no notion of relinquishing his +customary place for all the young people who ever came to the +house,—or for any old people either, for that matter. It was his +household throne, and there he sat with no more idea of abdicating +in favour of any comer than King George at St James's. But he was +glad to see his friends; and had paid them the unwonted compliment +of shaving on a week-day, and putting on his Sunday coat. The united +efforts of wife and children had failed to persuade him to make any +farther change in his attire; to all their arguments on this head he +had replied,— +</P> + +<P> +'Them as doesn't like t' see me i' my work-a-day wescut and breeches +may bide away.' +</P> + +<P> +It was the longest sentence he said that day, but he repeated it +several times over. He was glad enough to see all the young people, +but they were not 'of his kidney,' as he expressed it to himself, +and he did not feel any call upon himself to entertain them. He left +that to his bustling wife, all smartness and smiles, and to his +daughters and son-in-law. His efforts at hospitality consisted in +sitting still, smoking his pipe; when any one came, he took it out +of his mouth for an instant, and nodded his head in a cheerful +friendly way, without a word of speech; and then returned to his +smoking with the greater relish for the moment's intermission. He +thought to himself:— +</P> + +<P> +'They're a set o' young chaps as thinks more on t' lasses than on +baccy;—they'll find out their mistake in time; give 'em time, give +'em time.' +</P> + +<P> +And before eight o'clock, he went as quietly as a man of twelve +stone can upstairs to bed, having made a previous arrangement with +his wife that she should bring him up about two pounds of spiced +beef, and a hot tumbler of stiff grog. But at the beginning of the +evening he formed a good screen for Sylvia, who was rather a +favourite with the old man, for twice he spoke to her. +</P> + +<P> +'Feyther smokes?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' said Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Reach me t' baccy-box, my lass.' +</P> + +<P> +And that was all the conversation that passed between her and her +nearest neighbour for the first quarter of an hour after she came +into company. +</P> + +<P> +But, for all her screen, she felt a pair of eyes were fixed upon her +with a glow of admiration deepening their honest brightness. +Somehow, look in what direction she would, she caught the glance of +those eyes before she could see anything else. So she played with +her apron-strings, and tried not to feel so conscious. There were +another pair of eyes,—not such beautiful, sparkling +eyes,—deep-set, earnest, sad, nay, even gloomy, watching her every +movement; but of this she was not aware. Philip had not recovered +from the rebuff she had given him by refusing his offered hand, and +was standing still, in angry silence, when Mrs. Corney thrust a young +woman just arrived upon his attention. +</P> + +<P> +'Come, Measter Hepburn, here's Nancy Pratt wi'out ev'n a soul to +speak t' her, an' yo' mopin' theere. She says she knows yo' by sight +fra' having dealt at Foster's these six year. See if yo' can't find +summut t' say t' each other, for I mun go pour out tea. Dixons, an' +Walkers, an' Elliotts, an' Smiths is come,' said she, marking off +the families on her fingers, as she looked round and called over +their names; 'an' there's only Will Latham an' his two sisters, and +Roger Harbottle, an' Taylor t' come; an' they'll turn up afore tea's +ended.' +</P> + +<P> +So she went off to her duty at the one table, which, placed +alongside of the dresser, was the only article of furniture left in +the middle of the room: all the seats being arranged as close to the +four walls as could be managed. The candles of those days gave but a +faint light compared to the light of the immense fire, which it was +a point of hospitality to keep at the highest roaring, blazing +pitch; the young women occupied the seats, with the exception of two +or three of the elder ones, who, in an eager desire to show their +capability, insisted on helping Mrs. Corney in her duties, very much +to her annoyance, as there were certain little contrivances for +eking out cream, and adjusting the strength of the cups of tea to +the worldly position of the intended drinkers, which she did not +like every one to see. The young men,—whom tea did not embolden, +and who had as yet had no chance of stronger liquor,—clustered in +rustic shyness round the door, not speaking even to themselves, +except now and then, when one, apparently the wag of the party, made +some whispered remark, which set them all off laughing; but in a +minute they checked themselves, and passed the back of their hands +across their mouths to compose that unlucky feature, and then some +would try to fix their eyes on the rafters of the ceiling, in a +manner which was decorous if rather abstracted from the business in +hand. Most of these were young farmers, with whom Philip had nothing +in common, and from whom, in shy reserve, he had withdrawn himself +when he first came in. But now he wished himself among them sooner +than set to talk to Nancy Pratt, when he had nothing to say. And yet +he might have had a companion less to his mind, for she was a decent +young woman of a sober age, less inclined to giggle than many of the +younger ones. But all the time that he was making commonplace +remarks to her he was wondering if he had offended Sylvia, and why +she would not shake hands with him, and this pre-occupation of his +thoughts did not make him an agreeable companion. Nancy Pratt, who +had been engaged for some years to a mate of a whaling-ship, +perceived something of his state of mind, and took no offence at it; +on the contrary, she tried to give him pleasure by admiring Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'I've often heerd tell on her,' said she, 'but I niver thought she's +be so pretty, and so staid and quiet-like too. T' most part o' girls +as has looks like hers are always gape-gazing to catch other folks's +eyes, and see what is thought on 'em; but she looks just like a +child, a bit flustered wi' coming into company, and gettin' into as +dark a corner and bidin' as still as she can. +</P> + +<P> +Just then Sylvia lifted up her long, dark lashes, and catching the +same glance which she had so often met before—Charley Kinraid was +standing talking to Brunton on the opposite side of the +fire-place—she started back into the shadow as if she had not +expected it, and in so doing spilt her tea all over her gown. She +could almost have cried, she felt herself so awkward, and as if +everything was going wrong with her; she thought that every one +would think she had never been in company before, and did not know +how to behave; and while she was thus fluttered and crimson, she saw +through her tearful eyes Kinraid on his knees before her, wiping her +gown with his silk pocket handkerchief, and heard him speaking +through all the buzz of commiserating voices. +</P> + +<P> +'Your cupboard handle is so much i' th' way—I hurt my elbow +against it only this very afternoon.' +</P> + +<P> +So perhaps it was no clumsiness of hers,—as they would all know, +now, since he had so skilfully laid the blame somewhere else; and +after all it turned out that her accident had been the means of +bringing him across to her side, which was much more pleasant than +having him opposite, staring at her; for now he began to talk to +her, and this was very pleasant, although she was rather embarrassed +at their <I>tete-a-tete</I> at first. +</P> + +<P> +'I did not know you again when I first saw you,' said he, in a tone +which implied a good deal more than was uttered in words. +</P> + +<P> +'I knowed yo' at once,' she replied, softly, and then she blushed +and played with her apron-string, and wondered if she ought to have +confessed to the clearness of her recollection. +</P> + +<P> +'You're grown up into—well, perhaps it's not manners to say what +you're grown into—anyhow, I shan't forget yo' again.' +</P> + +<P> +More playing with her apron-string, and head hung still lower down, +though the corners of her mouth would go up in a shy smile of +pleasure. Philip watched it all as greedily as if it gave him +delight. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'r father, he'll be well and hearty, I hope?' asked Charley. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' replied Sylvia, and then she wished she could originate some +remark; he would think her so stupid if she just kept on saying such +little short bits of speeches, and if he thought her stupid he might +perhaps go away again to his former place. +</P> + +<P> +But he was quite far enough gone in love of her beauty, and pretty +modest ways, not to care much whether she talked or no, so long as +she showed herself so pleasingly conscious of his close +neighbourhood. +</P> + +<P> +'I must come and see the old gentleman; and your mother, too,' he +added more slowly, for he remembered that his visits last year had +not been quite so much welcomed by Bell Robson as by her husband; +perhaps it was because of the amount of drink which he and Daniel +managed to get through of an evening. He resolved this year to be +more careful to please the mother of Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +When tea was ended there was a great bustle and shifting of places, +while Mrs. Corney and her daughters carried out trays full of used +cups, and great platters of uneaten bread and butter into the +back-kitchen, to be washed up after the guests were gone. Just +because she was so conscious that she did not want to move, and +break up the little conversation between herself and Kinraid, Sylvia +forced herself to be as active in the service going on as became a +friend of the house; and she was too much her mother's own daughter +to feel comfortable at leaving all the things in the disorder which +to the Corney girls was second nature. +</P> + +<P> +'This milk mun go back to t' dairy, I reckon,' said she, loading +herself with milk and cream. +</P> + +<P> +'Niver fash thysel' about it,' said Nelly Corney, 'Christmas comes +but onest a year, if it does go sour; and mother said she'd have a +game at forfeits first thing after tea to loosen folks's tongues, +and mix up t' lads and lasses, so come along.' +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia steered her careful way to the cold chill of the dairy, +and would not be satisfied till she had carried away all the unused +provision into some fresher air than that heated by the fires and +ovens used for the long day's cooking of pies and cakes and much +roast meat. +</P> + +<P> +When they came back a round of red-faced 'lads,' as young men up to +five-and-thirty are called in Lancashire and Yorkshire if they are +not married before, and lasses, whose age was not to be defined, +were playing at some country game, in which the women were +apparently more interested than the men, who looked shamefaced, and +afraid of each other's ridicule. Mrs. Corney, however, knew how to +remedy this, and at a sign from her a great jug of beer was brought +in. This jug was the pride of her heart, and was in the shape of a +fat man in white knee-breeches, and a three-cornered hat; with one +arm he supported the pipe in his broad, smiling mouth, and the other +was placed akimbo and formed the handle. There was also a great +china punch-bowl filled with grog made after an old ship-receipt +current in these parts, but not too strong, because if their +visitors had too much to drink at that early part of the evening 'it +would spoil t' fun,' as Nelly Corney had observed. Her father, +however, after the notions of hospitality prevalent at that time in +higher circles, had stipulated that each man should have 'enough' +before he left the house; enough meaning in Monkshaven parlance the +liberty of getting drunk, if they thought fit to do it. +</P> + +<P> +Before long one of the lads was seized with a fit of admiration for +Toby—the name of the old gentleman who contained liquor—and went +up to the tray for a closer inspection. He was speedily followed by +other amateurs of curious earthenware; and by-and-by Mr. Brunton (who +had been charged by his mother-in-law with the due supplying of +liquor—by his father-in-law that every man should have his fill, +and by his wife and her sisters that no one should have too much, at +any rate at the beginning of the evening,) thought fit to carry out +Toby to be replenished; and a faster spirit of enjoyment and mirth +began to reign in the room. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid was too well seasoned to care what amount of liquor he +drank; Philip had what was called a weak head, and disliked muddling +himself with drink because of the immediate consequence of intense +feelings of irritability, and the more distant one of a racking +headache next day; so both these two preserved very much the same +demeanour they had held at the beginning of the evening. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was by all acknowledged and treated as the belle. When they +played at blind-man's-buff go where she would, she was always +caught; she was called out repeatedly to do what was required in any +game, as if all had a pleasure in seeing her light figure and deft +ways. She was sufficiently pleased with this to have got over her +shyness with all except Charley. When others paid her their rustic +compliments she tossed her head, and made her little saucy +repartees; but when he said something low and flattering, it was too +honey-sweet to her heart to be thrown off thus. And, somehow, the +more she yielded to this fascination the more she avoided Philip. He +did not speak flatteringly—he did not pay compliments—he watched +her with discontented, longing eyes, and grew more inclined every +moment, as he remembered his anticipation of a happy evening, to cry +out in his heart <I>vanitas vanitatum</I>. +</P> + +<P> +And now came crying the forfeits. Molly Brunton knelt down, her face +buried in her mother's lap; the latter took out the forfeits one by +one, and as she held them up, said the accustomed formula,— +</P> + +<P> +'A fine thing and a very fine thing, what must he (or she) do who +owns this thing.' +</P> + +<P> +One or two had been told to kneel to the prettiest, bow to the +wittiest, and kiss those they loved best; others had had to bite an +inch off the poker, or such plays upon words. And now came Sylvia's +pretty new ribbon that Philip had given her (he almost longed to +snatch it out of Mrs. Corney's hands and burn it before all their +faces, so annoyed was he with the whole affair.) +</P> + +<P> +'A fine thing and a very fine thing—a most particular fine +thing—choose how she came by it. What must she do as owns this +thing?' +</P> + +<P> +'She must blow out t' candle and kiss t' candlestick.' +</P> + +<P> +In one instant Kinraid had hold of the only candle within reach, all +the others had been put up high on inaccessible shelves and other +places. Sylvia went up and blew out the candle, and before the +sudden partial darkness was over he had taken the candle into his +fingers, and, according to the traditional meaning of the words, was +in the place of the candlestick, and as such was to be kissed. Every +one laughed at innocent Sylvia's face as the meaning of her penance +came into it, every one but Philip, who almost choked. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm candlestick,' said Kinraid, with less of triumph in his voice +than he would have had with any other girl in the room. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' mun kiss t' candlestick,' cried the Corneys, 'or yo'll niver +get yo'r ribbon back.' +</P> + +<P> +'And she sets a deal o' store by that ribbon,' said Molly Brunton, +maliciously. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll none kiss t' candlestick, nor him either,' said Sylvia, in a +low voice of determination, turning away, full of confusion. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'll not get yo'r ribbon if yo' dunnot,' cried one and all. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't care for t' ribbon,' said she, flashing up with a look at +her tormentors, now her back was turned to Kinraid. 'An' I wunnot +play any more at such like games,' she added, with fresh indignation +rising in her heart as she took her old place in the corner of the +room a little away from the rest. +</P> + +<P> +Philip's spirits rose, and he yearned to go to her and tell her how +he approved of her conduct. Alas, Philip! Sylvia, though as modest a +girl as ever lived, was no prude, and had been brought up in simple, +straightforward country ways; and with any other young man, +excepting, perhaps, Philip's self, she would have thought no more of +making a rapid pretence of kissing the hand or cheek of the +temporary 'candlestick', than our ancestresses did in a much higher +rank on similar occasions. Kinraid, though mortified by his public +rejection, was more conscious of this than the inexperienced Philip; +he resolved not to be baulked, and watched his opportunity. For the +time he went on playing as if Sylvia's conduct had not affected him +in the least, and as if he was hardly aware of her defection from +the game. As she saw others submitting, quite as a matter of course, +to similar penances, she began to be angry with herself for having +thought twice about it, and almost to dislike herself for the +strange consciousness which had made it at the time seem impossible +to do what she was told. Her eyes kept filling with tears as her +isolated position in the gay party, the thought of what a fool she +had made of herself, kept recurring to her mind; but no one saw her, +she thought, thus crying; and, ashamed to be discovered when the +party should pause in their game, she stole round behind them into +the great chamber in which she had helped to lay out the supper, +with the intention of bathing her eyes, and taking a drink of water. +One instant Charley Kinraid was missing from the circle of which he +was the life and soul; and then back he came with an air of +satisfaction on his face, intelligible enough to those who had seen +his game; but unnoticed by Philip, who, amidst the perpetual noise +and movements around him, had not perceived Sylvia's leaving the +room, until she came back at the end of about a quarter of an hour, +looking lovelier than ever, her complexion brilliant, her eyes +drooping, her hair neatly and freshly arranged, tied with a brown +ribbon instead of that she was supposed to have forfeited. She +looked as if she did not wish her return to be noticed, stealing +softly behind the romping lads and lasses with noiseless motions, +and altogether such a contrast to them in her cool freshness and +modest neatness, that both Kinraid and Philip found it difficult to +keep their eyes off her. But the former had a secret triumph in his +heart which enabled him to go on with his merry-making as if it +absorbed him; while Philip dropped out of the crowd and came up to +where she was standing silently by Mrs. Corney, who, arms akimbo, was +laughing at the frolic and fun around her. Sylvia started a little +when Philip spoke, and kept her soft eyes averted from him after the +first glance; she answered him shortly, but with unaccustomed +gentleness. He had only asked her when she would like him to take +her home; and she, a little surprised at the idea of going home when +to her the evening seemed only beginning, had answered— +</P> + +<P> +'Go home? I don't know! It's New Year's eve!' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! but yo'r mother 'll lie awake till yo' come home, Sylvie!' +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Corney, having heard his question, broke in with all sorts +of upbraidings. 'Go home! Not see t' New Year in! Why, what should +take 'em home these six hours? Wasn't there a moon as clear as day? +and did such a time as this come often? And were they to break up +the party before the New Year came in? And was there not supper, +with a spiced round of beef that had been in pickle pretty nigh sin' +Martinmas, and hams, and mince-pies, and what not? And if they +thought any evil of her master's going to bed, or that by that early +retirement he meant to imply that he did not bid his friends +welcome, why he would not stay up beyond eight o'clock for King +George upon his throne, as he'd tell them soon enough, if they'd +only step upstairs and ask him. Well; she knowed what it was to want +a daughter when she was ailing, so she'd say nought more, but hasten +supper. +</P> + +<P> +And this idea now took possession of Mrs. Corney's mind, for she +would not willingly allow one of her guests to leave before they had +done justice to her preparations; and, cutting her speech short, she +hastily left Sylvia and Philip together. +</P> + +<P> +His heart beat fast; his feeling towards her had never been so +strong or so distinct as since her refusal to kiss the +'candlestick.' He was on the point of speaking, of saying something +explicitly tender, when the wooden trencher which the party were +using at their play, came bowling between him and Sylvia, and spun +out its little period right betwixt them. Every one was moving from +chair to chair, and when the bustle was over Sylvia was seated at +some distance from him, and he left standing outside the circle, as +if he were not playing. In fact, Sylvia had unconsciously taken his +place as actor in the game while he remained spectator, and, as it +turned out, an auditor of a conversation not intended for his ears. +He was wedged against the wall, close to the great eight-day clock, +with its round moon-like smiling face forming a ludicrous contrast +to his long, sallow, grave countenance, which was pretty much at the +same level above the sanded floor. Before him sat Molly Brunton and +one of her sisters, their heads close together in too deep talk to +attend to the progress of the game. Philip's attention was caught by +the words— +</P> + +<P> +'I'll lay any wager he kissed her when he ran off into t' parlour.' +</P> + +<P> +'She's so coy she'd niver let him,' replied Bessy Corney. +</P> + +<P> +'She couldn't help hersel'; and for all she looks so demure and prim +now' (and then both heads were turned in the direction of Sylvia), +'I'm as sure as I'm born that Charley is not t' chap to lose his +forfeit; and yet yo' see he says nought more about it, and she's +left off being 'feared of him.' +</P> + +<P> +There was something in Sylvia's look, ay, and in Charley Kinraid's, +too, that shot conviction into Philip's mind. He watched them +incessantly during the interval before supper; they were intimate, +and yet shy with each other, in a manner that enraged while it +bewildered Philip. What was Charley saying to her in that whispered +voice, as they passed each other? Why did they linger near each +other? Why did Sylvia look so dreamily happy, so startled at every +call of the game, as if recalled from some pleasant idea? Why did +Kinraid's eyes always seek her while hers were averted, or downcast, +and her cheeks all aflame? Philip's dark brow grew darker as he +gazed. He, too, started when Mrs. Corney, close at his elbow, bade +him go in to supper along with some of the elder ones, who were not +playing; for the parlour was not large enough to hold all at once, +even with the squeezing and cramming, and sitting together on +chairs, which was not at all out of etiquette at Monkshaven. Philip +was too reserved to express his disappointment and annoyance at +being thus arrested in his painful watch over Sylvia; but he had no +appetite for the good things set before him, and found it hard work +to smile a sickly smile when called upon by Josiah Pratt for +applause at some country joke. When supper was ended, there was some +little discussion between Mrs. Corney and her son-in-law as to +whether the different individuals of the company should be called +upon for songs or stories, as was the wont at such convivial +meetings. Brunton had been helping his mother-in-law in urging +people to eat, heaping their plates over their shoulders with +unexpected good things, filling the glasses at the upper end of the +table, and the mugs which supplied the deficiency of glasses at the +lower. And now, every one being satisfied, not to say stuffed to +repletion, the two who had been attending to their wants stood +still, hot and exhausted. +</P> + +<P> +'They're a'most stawed,' said Mrs. Corney, with a pleased smile. +'It'll be manners t' ask some one as knows how to sing.' +</P> + +<P> +'It may be manners for full men, but not for fasting,' replied +Brunton. 'Folks in t' next room will be wanting their victual, and +singing is allays out o' tune to empty bellies.' +</P> + +<P> +'But there's them here as 'll take it ill if they're not asked. I +heerd Josiah Pratt a-clearing his throat not a minute ago, an' he +thinks as much on his singin' as a cock does on his crowin'.' +</P> + +<P> +'If one sings I'm afeard all on 'em will like to hear their own +pipes.' +</P> + +<P> +But their dilemma was solved by Bessy Corney, who opened the door to +see if the hungry ones outside might not come in for their share of +the entertainment; and in they rushed, bright and riotous, scarcely +giving the first party time to rise from their seats ere they took +their places. One or two young men, released from all their previous +shyness, helped Mrs. Corney and her daughters to carry off such +dishes as were actually empty. There was no time for changing or +washing of plates; but then, as Mrs. Corney laughingly observed,— +</P> + +<P> +'We're a' on us friends, and some on us mayhap sweethearts; so no +need to be particular about plates. Them as gets clean ones is +lucky; and them as doesn't, and cannot put up wi' plates that has +been used, mun go without.' +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to be Philip's luck this night to be pent up in places; +for again the space between the benches and the wall was filled up +by the in-rush before he had time to make his way out; and all he +could do was to sit quiet where he was. But between the busy heads +and over-reaching arms he could see Charley and Sylvia, sitting +close together, talking and listening more than eating. She was in a +new strange state of happiness not to be reasoned about, or +accounted for, but in a state of more exquisite feeling than she had +ever experienced before; when, suddenly lifting her eyes, she caught +Philip's face of extreme displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh,' said she, 'I must go. There's Philip looking at me so.' +</P> + +<P> +'Philip!' said Kinraid, with a sudden frown upon his face. +</P> + +<P> +'My cousin,' she replied, instinctively comprehending what had +flashed into his mind, and anxious to disclaim the suspicion of +having a lover. 'Mother told him to see me home, and he's noan one +for staying up late.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you needn't go. I'll see yo' home.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mother's but ailing,' said Sylvia, a little conscience-smitten at +having so entirely forgotten everything in the delight of the +present, 'and I said I wouldn't be late.' +</P> + +<P> +'And do you allays keep to your word?' asked he, with a tender +meaning in his tone. +</P> + +<P> +'Allays; leastways I think so,' replied she, blushing. +</P> + +<P> +'Then if I ask you not to forget me, and you give me your word, I +may be sure you'll keep it.' +</P> + +<P> +'It wasn't I as forgot you,' said Sylvia, so softly as not to be +heard by him. +</P> + +<P> +He tried to make her repeat what she had said, but she would not, +and he could only conjecture that it was something more tell-tale +than she liked to say again, and that alone was very charming to +him. +</P> + +<P> +'I shall walk home with you,' said he, as Sylvia at last rose to +depart, warned by a further glimpse of Philip's angry face. +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said she, hastily, 'I can't do with yo''; for somehow she felt +the need of pacifying Philip, and knew in her heart that a third +person joining their <I>tete-a-tete</I> walk would only increase his +displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +'Why not?' said Charley, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! I don't know, only please don't!' +</P> + +<P> +By this time her cloak and hood were on, and she was slowly making +her way down her side of the room followed by Charley, and often +interrupted by indignant remonstrances against her departure, and +the early breaking-up of the party. Philip stood, hat in hand, in +the doorway between the kitchen and parlour, watching her so +intently that he forgot to be civil, and drew many a jest and gibe +upon him for his absorption in his pretty cousin. +</P> + +<P> +When Sylvia reached him, he said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Yo're ready at last, are yo'?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' she replied, in her little beseeching tone. 'Yo've not been +wanting to go long, han yo'? I ha' but just eaten my supper.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo've been so full of talk, that's been the reason your supper +lasted so long. That fellow's none going wi' us?' said he sharply, +as he saw Kinraid rummaging for his cap in a heap of men's clothes, +thrown into the back-kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +'No,' said Sylvia, in affright at Philip's fierce look and +passionate tone. 'I telled him not.' +</P> + +<P> +But at that moment the heavy outer door was opened by Daniel Robson +himself—bright, broad, and rosy, a jolly impersonation of Winter. +His large drover's coat was covered with snow-flakes, and through +the black frame of the doorway might be seen a white waste world of +sweeping fell and field, with the dark air filled with the pure +down-fall. Robson stamped his snow-laden feet and shook himself +well, still standing on the mat, and letting a cold frosty current +of fresh air into the great warm kitchen. He laughed at them all +before he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a coud new year as I'm lettin' in though it's noan t' new year +yet. Yo'll a' be snowed up, as sure as my name s Dannel, if yo' stop +for twel' o'clock. Yo'd better mak' haste and go whoam. Why, +Charley, my lad! how beest ta? who'd ha' thought o' seeing thee i' +these parts again! Nay, missus, nay, t' new year mun find its way +int' t' house by itsel' for me; for a ha' promised my oud woman to +bring Sylvie whoam as quick as may-be; she's lyin' awake and +frettin' about t' snow and what not. Thank yo' kindly, missus, but +a'll tak' nought to eat; just a drop o' somethin' hot to keep out +coud, and wish yo' a' the compliments o' the season. Philip, my man, +yo'll not be sorry to be spared t' walk round by Haytersbank such a +neet. My missus were i' such a way about Sylvie that a thought a'd +just step off mysel', and have a peep at yo' a', and bring her some +wraps. Yo'r sheep will be a' folded, a reckon, Measter Pratt, for +there'll niver be a nibble o' grass to be seen this two month, +accordin' to my readin'; and a've been at sea long enough, and on +land long enough t' know signs and wonders. It's good stuff that, +any way, and worth comin' for,' after he had gulped down a +tumblerful of half-and-half grog. 'Kinraid, if ta doesn't come and +see me afore thou'rt many days ouder, thee and me'll have words. +Come, Sylvie, what art ta about, keepin' me here? Here's Mistress +Corney mixin' me another jorum. Well, this time a'll give "T' +married happy, and t' single wed!"' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was all this while standing by her father quite ready for +departure, and not a little relieved by his appearance as her convoy +home. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm ready to see Haytersbank to-night, master!' said Kinraid, with +easy freedom—a freedom which Philip envied, but could not have +imitated, although he was deeply disappointed at the loss of his +walk with Sylvia, when he had intended to exercise the power his +aunt had delegated to him of remonstrance if her behaviour had been +light or thoughtless, and of warning if he saw cause to disapprove +of any of her associates. +</P> + +<P> +After the Robsons had left, a blank fell upon both Charley and +Philip. In a few minutes, however, the former, accustomed to prompt +decision, resolved that she and no other should be his wife. +Accustomed to popularity among women, and well versed in the +incipient signs of their liking for him, he anticipated no +difficulty in winning her. Satisfied with the past, and pleasantly +hopeful about the future, he found it easy to turn his attention to +the next prettiest girl in the room, and to make the whole gathering +bright with his ready good temper and buoyant spirit. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Corney had felt it her duty to press Philip to stay, now that, +as she said, he had no one but himself to see home, and the new year +so near coming in. To any one else in the room she would have added +the clinching argument, 'A shall take it very unkind if yo' go now'; +but somehow she could not say this, for in truth Philip's look +showed that he would be but a wet blanket on the merriment of the +party. So, with as much civility as could be mustered up between +them, he took leave. Shutting the door behind him, he went out into +the dreary night, and began his lonesome walk back to Monkshaven. +The cold sleet almost blinded him as the sea-wind drove it straight +in his face; it cut against him as it was blown with drifting force. +The roar of the wintry sea came borne on the breeze; there was more +light from the whitened ground than from the dark laden sky above. +The field-paths would have been a matter of perplexity, had it not +been for the well-known gaps in the dyke-side, which showed the +whitened land beyond, between the two dark stone walls. Yet he went +clear and straight along his way, having unconsciously left all +guidance to the animal instinct which co-exists with the human soul, +and sometimes takes strange charge of the human body, when all the +nobler powers of the individual are absorbed in acute suffering. At +length he was in the lane, toiling up the hill, from which, by day, +Monkshaven might be seen. Now all features of the landscape before +him were lost in the darkness of night, against which the white +flakes came closer and nearer, thicker and faster. On a sudden, the +bells of Monkshaven church rang out a welcome to the new year, 1796. +From the direction of the wind, it seemed as if the sound was flung +with strength and power right into Philip's face. He walked down the +hill to its merry sound—its merry sound, his heavy heart. As he +entered the long High Street of Monkshaven he could see the watching +lights put out in parlour, chamber, or kitchen. The new year had +come, and expectation was ended. Reality had begun. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the right, into the court where he lodged with Alice +Rose. There was a light still burning there, and cheerful voices +were heard. He opened the door; Alice, her daughter, and Coulson +stood as if awaiting him. Hester's wet cloak hung on a chair before +the fire; she had her hood on, for she and Coulson had been to the +watch-night. +</P> + +<P> +The solemn excitement of the services had left its traces upon her +countenance and in her mind. There was a spiritual light in her +usually shadowed eyes, and a slight flush on her pale cheek. Merely +personal and self-conscious feelings were merged in a loving +good-will to all her fellow-creatures. Under the influence of this +large charity, she forgot her habitual reserve, and came forward as +Philip entered to meet him with her new year's wishes—wishes that +she had previously interchanged with the other two. +</P> + +<P> +'A happy new year to you, Philip, and may God have you in his +keeping all the days thereof!' +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand, and shook it warmly in reply. The flush on her +cheek deepened as she withdrew it. Alice Rose said something curtly +about the lateness of the hour and her being much tired; and then +she and her daughter went upstairs to the front chamber, and Philip +and Coulson to that which they shared at the back of the house. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PERPLEXITIES +</H3> + +<P> +Coulson and Philip were friendly, but not intimate. They never had +had a dispute, they never were confidential with each other; in +truth, they were both reserved and silent men, and, probably, +respected each other the more for being so self-contained. There was +a private feeling in Coulson's heart which would have made a less +amiable fellow dislike Philip. But of this the latter was +unconscious: they were not apt to exchange many words in the room +which they occupied jointly. +</P> + +<P> +Coulson asked Philip if he had enjoyed himself at the Corneys', and +Philip replied,— +</P> + +<P> +'Not much; such parties are noane to my liking.' +</P> + +<P> +'And yet thou broke off from t' watch-night to go there.' +</P> + +<P> +No answer; so Coulson went on, with a sense of the duty laid upon +him, to improve the occasion—the first that had presented itself +since the good old Methodist minister had given his congregation the +solemn warning to watch over the opportunities of various kinds +which the coming year would present. +</P> + +<P> +'Jonas Barclay told us as the pleasures o' this world were like +apples o' Sodom, pleasant to look at, but ashes to taste.' +</P> + +<P> +Coulson wisely left Philip to make the application for himself. If +he did he made no sign, but threw himself on his bed with a heavy +sigh. +</P> + +<P> +'Are yo' not going to undress?' said Coulson, as he covered him up +in bed. +</P> + +<P> +There had been a long pause of silence. Philip did not answer him, +and he thought he had fallen asleep. But he was roused from his +first slumber by Hepburn's soft movements about the room. Philip had +thought better of it, and, with some penitence in his heart for his +gruffness to the unoffending Coulson, was trying not to make any +noise while he undressed. +</P> + +<P> +But he could not sleep. He kept seeing the Corneys' kitchen and the +scenes that had taken place in it, passing like a pageant before his +closed eyes. Then he opened them in angry weariness at the recurring +vision, and tried to make out the outlines of the room and the +furniture in the darkness. The white ceiling sloped into the +whitewashed walls, and against them he could see the four +rush-bottomed chairs, the looking-glass hung on one side, the old +carved oak-chest (his own property, with the initials of forgotten +ancestors cut upon it), which held his clothes; the boxes that +belonged to Coulson, sleeping soundly in the bed in the opposite +corner of the room; the casement window in the roof, through which +the snowy ground on the steep hill-side could be plainly seen; and +when he got so far as this in the catalogue of the room, he fell +into a troubled feverish sleep, which lasted two or three hours; and +then he awoke with a start, and a consciousness of uneasiness, +though what about he could not remember at first. +</P> + +<P> +When he recollected all that had happened the night before, it +impressed him much more favourably than it had done at the time. If +not joy, hope had come in the morning; and, at any rate, he could be +up and be doing, for the late wintry light was stealing down the +hill-side, and he knew that, although Coulson lay motionless in his +sleep, it was past their usual time of rising. Still, as it was new +year's Day, a time of some licence, Philip had mercy on his +fellow-shopman, and did not waken him till just as he was leaving +the room. +</P> + +<P> +Carrying his shoes in his hand, he went softly downstairs for he +could see from the top of the flight that neither Alice nor her +daughter was down yet, as the kitchen shutters were not unclosed. It +was Mrs. Rose's habit to rise early, and have all bright and clean +against her lodgers came down; but then, in general, she went to +rest before nine o'clock, whereas the last night she had not gone +till past twelve. Philip went about undoing the shutters, and trying +to break up the raking coal, with as little noise as might be, for +he had compassion on the tired sleepers. The kettle had not been +filled, probably because Mrs. Rose had been unable to face the storm +of the night before, in taking it to the pump just at the entrance +of the court. When Philip came back from filling it, he found Alice +and Hester both in the kitchen, and trying to make up for lost time +by hastening over their work. Hester looked busy and notable with +her gown pinned up behind her, and her hair all tucked away under a +clean linen cap; but Alice was angry with herself for her late +sleeping, and that and other causes made her speak crossly to +Philip, as he came in with his snowy feet and well-filled kettle. +</P> + +<P> +'Look the' there! droppin' and drippin' along t' flags as was +cleaned last night, and meddlin' wi' woman's work as a man has no +business wi'.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip was surprised and annoyed. He had found relief from his own +thoughts in doing what he believed would help others. He gave up the +kettle to her snatching hands, and sate down behind the door in +momentary ill-temper. But the kettle was better filled, and +consequently heavier than the old woman expected, and she could not +manage to lift it to the crook from which it generally hung +suspended. She looked round for Hester, but she was gone into the +back-kitchen. In a minute Philip was at her side, and had heaved it +to its place for her. She looked in his face for a moment wistfully, +but hardly condescended to thank him; at least the sound of the +words did not pass the lips that formed them. Rebuffed by her +manner, he went back to his old seat, and mechanically watched the +preparations for breakfast; but his thoughts went back to the night +before, and the comparative ease of his heart was gone. The first +stir of a new day had made him feel as if he had had no sufficient +cause for his annoyance and despondency the previous evening; but +now, condemned to sit quiet, he reviewed looks and words, and saw +just reason for his anxiety. After some consideration he resolved to +go that very night to Haytersbank, and have some talk with either +Sylvia or her mother; what the exact nature of this purposed +conversation should be, he did not determine; much would depend on +Sylvia's manner and mood, and on her mother's state of health; but +at any rate something would be learnt. +</P> + +<P> +During breakfast something was learnt nearer home; though not all +that a man less unconscious and more vain than Philip might have +discovered. He only found out that Mrs. Rose was displeased with him +for not having gone to the watch-night with Hester, according to the +plan made some weeks before. But he soothed his conscience by +remembering that he had made no promise; he had merely spoken of his +wish to be present at the service, about which Hester was speaking; +and although at the time and for a good while afterwards, he had +fully intended going, yet as there had been William Coulson to +accompany her, his absence could not have been seriously noticed. +Still he was made uncomfortable by Mrs. Rose's change of manner; once +or twice he said to himself that she little knew how miserable he +had been during his 'gay evening,' as she would persist in calling +it, or she would not talk at him with such persevering bitterness +this morning. Before he left for the shop, he spoke of his intention +of going to see how his aunt was, and of paying her a new year's day +visit. +</P> + +<P> +Hepburn and Coulson took it in turns week and week about to go first +home to dinner; the one who went first sate down with Mrs. Rose and +her daughter, instead of having his portion put in the oven to keep +warm for him. To-day it was Hepburn's turn to be last. All morning +the shop was full with customers, come rather to offer good wishes +than to buy, and with an unspoken remembrance of the cake and wine +which the two hospitable brothers Foster made a point of offering to +all comers on new year's day. It was busy work for all—for Hester +on her side, where caps, ribbons, and women's gear were exclusively +sold—for the shopmen and boys in the grocery and drapery +department. Philip was trying to do his business with his mind far +away; and the consequence was that his manner was not such as to +recommend him to the customers, some of whom recollected it as very +different, courteous and attentive, if grave and sedate. One buxom +farmer's wife noticed the change to him. She had a little girl with +her, of about five years old, that she had lifted up on the counter, +and who was watching Philip with anxious eyes, occasionally +whispering in her mother's ear, and then hiding her face against her +cloak. +</P> + +<P> +'She's thought a deal o' coming to see yo', and a dunnot think as +yo' mind her at all. My pretty, he's clean forgotten as how he said +last new year's day, he'd gi' thee a barley-sugar stick, if thou'd +hem him a handkercher by this.' +</P> + +<P> +The child's face was buried in the comfortable breadth of duffle at +these words, while the little outstretched hand held a small square +of coarse linen. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, she's noane forgotten it, and has done her five stitches a day, +bless her; and a dunnot believe as yo' know her again. She's Phoebe +Moorsom, and a'm Hannah, and a've dealt at t' shop reg'lar this +fifteen year.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm very sorry,' said Philip. 'I was up late last night, and I'm a +bit dazed to-day. Well! this is nice work, Phoebe, and I'm sure I'm +very much beholden to yo'. And here's five sticks o' barley-sugar, +one for every stitch, and thank you kindly, Mrs. Moorsom, too.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip took the handkerchief and hoped he had made honourable amends +for his want of recognition. But the wee lassie refused to be lifted +down, and whispered something afresh into her mother's ear, who +smiled and bade her be quiet. Philip saw, however, that there was +some wish ungratified on the part of the little maiden which he was +expected to inquire into, and, accordingly, he did his duty. +</P> + +<P> +'She's a little fool; she says yo' promised to gi'e her a kiss, and +t' make her yo'r wife.' +</P> + +<P> +The child burrowed her face closer into her mother's neck, and +refused to allow the kiss which Philip willingly offered. All he +could do was to touch the back of the little white fat neck with his +lips. The mother carried her off only half satisfied, and Philip +felt that he must try and collect his scattered wits, and be more +alive to the occasion. +</P> + +<P> +Towards the dinner-hour the crowd slackened; Hester began to +replenish decanters and bottles, and to bring out a fresh cake +before she went home to dinner; and Coulson and Philip looked over +the joint present they always made to her on this day. It was a silk +handkerchief of the prettiest colours they could pick out of the +shop, intended for her to wear round her neck. Each tried to +persuade the other to give it to her, for each was shy of the act of +presentation. Coulson was, however, the most resolute; and when she +returned from the parlour the little parcel was in Philip's hands. +</P> + +<P> +'Here, Hester,' said he, going round the counter to her, just as she +was leaving the shop. 'It's from Coulson and me; a handkerchief for +yo' to wear; and we wish yo' a happy New Year, and plenty on 'em; +and there's many a one wishes the same.' +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand as he said this. She went a little paler, and her +eyes brightened as though they would fill with tears as they met +his; she could not have helped it, do what she would. But she only +said, 'Thank yo' kindly,' and going up to Coulson she repeated the +words and action to him; and then they went off together to dinner. +</P> + +<P> +There was a lull of business for the next hour. John and Jeremiah +were dining like the rest of the world. Even the elder errand-boy +had vanished. Philip rearranged disorderly goods; and then sate down +on the counter by the window; it was the habitual place for the one +who stayed behind; for excepting on market-day there was little or +no custom during the noon-hour. Formerly he used to move the drapery +with which the window was ornamented, and watch the passers-by with +careless eye. But now, though he seemed to gaze abroad, he saw +nothing but vacancy. All the morning since he got up he had been +trying to fight through his duties—leaning against a hope—a hope +that first had bowed, and then had broke as soon as he really tried +its weight. There was not a sign of Sylvia's liking for him to be +gathered from the most careful recollection of the past evening. It +was of no use thinking that there was. It was better to give it up +altogether and at once. But what if he could not? What if the +thought of her was bound up with his life; and that once torn out by +his own free will, the very roots of his heart must come also? +</P> + +<P> +No; he was resolved he would go on; as long as there was life there +was hope; as long as Sylvia remained unpledged to any one else, +there was a chance for him. He would remodel his behaviour to her. +He could not be merry and light-hearted like other young men; his +nature was not cast in that mould; and the early sorrows that had +left him a lonely orphan might have matured, but had not enlivened, +his character. He thought with some bitterness on the power of easy +talking about trifles which some of those he had met with at the +Corneys' had exhibited. But then he felt stirring within him a force +of enduring love which he believed to be unusual, and which seemed +as if it must compel all things to his wish in the end. A year or so +ago he had thought much of his own cleverness and his painfully +acquired learning, and he had imagined that these were the qualities +which were to gain Sylvia. But now, whether he had tried them and +had failed to win even her admiration, or whether some true instinct +had told him that a woman's love may be gained in many ways sooner +than by mere learning, he was only angry with himself for his past +folly in making himself her school—nay, her taskmaster. To-night, +though, he would start off on a new tack. He would not even upbraid +her for her conduct the night before; he had shown her his +displeasure at the time; but she should see how tender and forgiving +he could be. He would lure her to him rather than find fault with +her. There had perhaps been too much of that already. +</P> + +<P> +When Coulson came back Philip went to his solitary dinner. In +general he was quite alone while eating it; but to-day Alice Rose +chose to bear him company. She watched him with cold severe eye for +some time, until he had appeased his languid appetite. Then she +began with the rebuke she had in store for him; a rebuke the motives +to which were not entirely revealed even to herself. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou 're none so keen after thy food as common,' she began. 'Plain +victuals goes ill down after feastin'.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip felt the colour mount to his face; he was not in the mood for +patiently standing the brunt of the attack which he saw was coming, +and yet he had a reverent feeling for woman and for age. He wished +she would leave him alone; but he only said—'I had nought but a +slice o' cold beef for supper, if you'll call that feasting.' +</P> + +<P> +'Neither do godly ways savour delicately after the pleasures of the +world,' continued she, unheeding his speech. 'Thou wert wont to seek +the house of the Lord, and I thought well on thee; but of late +thou'st changed, and fallen away, and I mun speak what is in my +heart towards thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mother,' said Philip, impatiently (both he and Coulson called Alice +'mother' at times), 'I don't think I am fallen away, and any way I +cannot stay now to be—it's new year's Day, and t' shop is throng.' +</P> + +<P> +But Alice held up her hand. Her speech was ready, and she must +deliver it. +</P> + +<P> +'Shop here, shop there. The flesh and the devil are gettin' hold on +yo', and yo' need more nor iver to seek t' ways o' grace. New year's +day comes and says, "Watch and pray," and yo' say, "Nay, I'll seek +feasts and market-places, and let times and seasons come and go +without heedin' into whose presence they're hastening me." Time was, +Philip, when thou'd niver ha' letten a merry-making keep thee fra' +t' watch-night, and t' company o' the godly.' +</P> + +<P> +'I tell yo' it was no merry-making to me,' said Philip, with +sharpness, as he left the house. +</P> + +<P> +Alice sat down on the nearest seat, and leant her head on her +wrinkled hand. +</P> + +<P> +'He's tangled and snared,' said she; 'my heart has yearned after +him, and I esteemed him as one o' the elect. And more nor me yearns +after him. O Lord, I have but one child! O Lord, spare her! But o'er +and above a' I would like to pray for his soul, that Satan might not +have it, for he came to me but a little lad.' +</P> + +<P> +At that moment Philip, smitten by his conscience for his hard manner +of speech, came back; but Alice did not hear or see him till he was +close by her, and then he had to touch her to recall her attention. +</P> + +<P> +'Mother,' said he, 'I was wrong. I'm fretted by many things. I +shouldn't ha' spoken so. It was ill-done of me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, my lad!' said she, looking up and putting her thin arm on his +shoulder as he stooped, 'Satan is desiring after yo' that he may +sift yo' as wheat. Bide at whoam, bide at whoam, and go not after +them as care nought for holy things. Why need yo' go to Haytersbank +this night?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip reddened. He could not and would not give it up, and yet it +was difficult to resist the pleading of the usually stern old woman. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay,' said he, withdrawing himself ever so little from her hold; +'my aunt is but ailing, they're my own flesh and blood, and as good +folks as needs be, though they mayn't be o' our—o' your way o' +thinking in a' things.' +</P> + +<P> +'Our ways—your ways o' thinking, says he, as if they were no longer +his'n. And as good folks as need be,' repeated she, with returning +severity. 'Them's Satan's words, tho' yo' spoke 'em, Philip. I can +do nought again Satan, but I can speak to them as can; an' we'll see +which pulls hardest, for it'll be better for thee to be riven and +rent i' twain than to go body and soul to hell.' +</P> + +<P> +'But don't think, mother,' said Philip, his last words of +conciliation, for the clock had given warning for two, 'as I'm boun' +for hell, just because I go t' see my own folks, all I ha' left o' +kin.' And once more, after laying his hand with as much of a caress +as was in his nature on hers, he left the house. +</P> + +<P> +Probably Alice would have considered the first words that greeted +Philip on his entrance into the shop as an answer to her prayer, for +they were such as put a stop to his plan of going to see Sylvia that +evening; and if Alice had formed her inchoate thoughts into words, +Sylvia would have appeared as the nearest earthly representative of +the spirit of temptation whom she dreaded for Philip. +</P> + +<P> +As he took his place behind the counter, Coulson said to him in a +low voice,— +</P> + +<P> +'Jeremiah Foster has been round to bid us to sup wi' him to-night. +He says that he and John have a little matter o' business to talk +over with us.' +</P> + +<P> +A glance from his eyes to Philip told the latter that Coulson +believed the business spoken of had something to do with the +partnership, respecting which there had been a silent intelligence +for some time between the shopmen. +</P> + +<P> +'And what did thou say?' asked Philip, doggedly unwilling, even yet, +to give up his purposed visit. +</P> + +<P> +'Say! why, what could a say, but that we'd come? There was summat +up, for sure; and summat as he thought we should be glad on. I could +tell it fra' t' look on his face.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think as I can go,' said Philip, feeling just then as if +the long-hoped-for partnership was as nothing compared to his plan. +It was always distasteful to him to have to give up a project, or to +disarrange an intended order of things, such was his nature; but +to-day it was absolute pain to yield his own purpose. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, man alive?' said Coulson, in amaze at his reluctance. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't say I mightn't go,' said Philip, weighing consequences, +until called off to attend to customers. +</P> + +<P> +In the course of the afternoon, however, he felt himself more easy +in deferring his visit to Haytersbank till the next evening. Charley +Kinraid entered the shop, accompanied by Molly Brunton and her +sisters; and though they all went towards Hester's side of the shop, +and Philip and Coulson had many people to attend to, yet Hepburn's +sharpened ears caught much of what the young women were saying. From +that he gathered that Kinraid had promised them new year's gifts, +for the purchase of which they were come; and after a little more +listening he learnt that Kinraid was returning to Shields the next +day, having only come over to spend a holiday with his relations, +and being tied with ship's work at the other end. They all talked +together lightly and merrily, as if his going or staying was almost +a matter of indifference to himself and his cousins. The principal +thought of the young women was to secure the articles they most +fancied; Charley Kinraid was (so Philip thought) especially anxious +that the youngest and prettiest should be pleased. Hepburn watched +him perpetually with a kind of envy of his bright, courteous manner, +the natural gallantry of the sailor. If it were but clear that +Sylvia took as little thought of him as he did of her, to all +appearance, Philip could even have given him praise for manly good +looks, and a certain kind of geniality of disposition which made him +ready to smile pleasantly at all strangers, from babies upwards. +</P> + +<P> +As the party turned to leave the shop they saw Philip, the guest of +the night before; and they came over to shake hands with him across +the counter; Kinraid's hand was proffered among the number. Last +night Philip could not have believed it possible that such a +demonstration of fellowship should have passed between them; and +perhaps there was a slight hesitation of manner on his part, for +some idea or remembrance crossed Kinraid's mind which brought a keen +searching glance into the eyes which for a moment were fastened on +Philip's face. In spite of himself, and during the very action of +hand-shaking, Philip felt a cloud come over his face, not altering +or moving his features, but taking light and peace out of his +countenance. +</P> + +<P> +Molly Brunton began to say something, and he gladly turned to look +at her. She was asking him why he went away so early, for they had +kept it up for four hours after he left, and last of all, she added +(turning to Kinraid), her cousin Charley had danced a hornpipe among +the platters on the ground. +</P> + +<P> +Philip hardly knew what he said in reply, the mention of that pas +seul lifted such a weight off his heart. He could smile now, after +his grave fashion, and would have shaken hands again with Kinraid +had it been required; for it seemed to him that no one, caring ever +so little in the way that he did for Sylvia, could have borne four +mortal hours of a company where she had been, and was not; least of +all could have danced a hornpipe, either from gaiety of heart, or +even out of complaisance. He felt as if the yearning after the +absent one would have been a weight to his legs, as well as to his +spirit; and he imagined that all men were like himself. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PARTNERSHIP +</H3> + +<P> +As darkness closed in, and the New Year's throng became scarce, +Philip's hesitation about accompanying Coulson faded away. He was +more comfortable respecting Sylvia, and his going to see her might +be deferred; and, after all, he felt that the wishes of his masters +ought to be attended to, and the honour of an invitation to the +private house of Jeremiah not to be slighted for anything short of a +positive engagement. Besides, the ambitious man of business existed +strongly in Philip. It would never do to slight advances towards the +second great earthly object in his life; one also on which the first +depended. +</P> + +<P> +So when the shop was closed, the two set out down Bridge Street to +cross the river to the house of Jeremiah Foster. They stood a moment +on the bridge to breathe the keen fresh sea air after their busy +day. The waters came down, swollen full and dark, with rapid rushing +speed from the snow-fed springs high up on the moorland above. The +close-packed houses in the old town seemed a cluster of white roofs +irregularly piled against the more unbroken white of the hill-side. +Lights twinkled here and there in the town, and were slung from +stern and bow of the ships in the harbour. The air was very still, +settling in for a frost; so still that all distant sounds seemed +near: the rumble of a returning cart in the High Street, the voices +on board ship, the closing of shutters and barring of doors in the +new town to which they were bound. But the sharp air was filled, as +it were, with saline particles in a freezing state; little pungent +crystals of sea salt burning lips and cheeks with their cold +keenness. It would not do to linger here in the very centre of the +valley up which passed the current of atmosphere coming straight +with the rushing tide from the icy northern seas. Besides, there was +the unusual honour of a supper with Jeremiah Foster awaiting them. +He had asked each of them separately to a meal before now; but they +had never gone together, and they felt that there was something +serious in the conjuncture. +</P> + +<P> +They began to climb the steep heights leading to the freshly-built +rows of the new town of Monkshaven, feeling as if they were rising +into aristocratic regions where no shop profaned the streets. +Jeremiah Foster's house was one of six, undistinguished in size, or +shape, or colour; but noticed in the daytime by all passers-by for +its spotless cleanliness of lintel and doorstep, window and window +frame. The very bricks seemed as though they came in for the daily +scrubbing which brightened handle, knocker, all down to the very +scraper. +</P> + +<P> +The two young men felt as shy of the interview with their master +under such unusual relations of guest and host, as a girl does of +her first party. Each rather drew back from the decided step of +knocking at the door; but with a rebuffing shake at his own folly, +Philip was the one to give a loud single rap. As if they had been +waited for, the door flew open, and a middle-aged servant stood +behind, as spotless and neat as the house itself; and smiled a +welcome to the familiar faces. +</P> + +<P> +'Let me dust yo' a bit, William,' said she, suiting the action to +the word. 'You've been leanin' again some whitewash, a'll be bound. +Ay, Philip,' continued she, turning him round with motherly freedom, +'yo'll do if yo'll but gi' your shoon a polishin' wipe on yon other +mat. This'n for takin' t' roughest mud off. Measter allays polishes +on that.' +</P> + +<P> +In the square parlour the same precise order was observed. Every +article of furniture was free from speck of dirt or particle of +dust; and everything was placed either in a parallel line, or at +exact right-angles with every other. Even John and Jeremiah sat in +symmetry on opposite sides of the fire-place; the very smiles on +their honest faces seemed drawn to a line of exactitude. +</P> + +<P> +Such formality, however admirable, was not calculated to promote +ease: it was not until after supper—until a good quantity of +Yorkshire pie had been swallowed, and washed down, too, with the +best and most generous wine in Jeremiah's cellar—that there was the +least geniality among them, in spite of the friendly kindness of the +host and his brother. The long silence, during which mute thanks for +the meal were given, having come to an end, Jeremiah called for +pipes, and three of the party began to smoke. +</P> + +<P> +Politics in those days were tickle subjects to meddle with, even in +the most private company. The nation was in a state of terror +against France, and against any at home who might be supposed to +sympathise with the enormities she had just been committing. The +oppressive act against seditious meetings had been passed the year +before; and people were doubtful to what extremity of severity it +might be construed. Even the law authorities forgot to be impartial, +but either their alarms or their interests made too many of them +vehement partisans instead of calm arbiters, and thus destroyed the +popular confidence in what should have been considered the supreme +tribunal of justice. Yet for all this, there were some who dared to +speak of reform of Parliament, as a preliminary step to fair +representation of the people, and to a reduction of the heavy +war-taxation that was imminent, if not already imposed. But these +pioneers of 1830 were generally obnoxious. The great body of the +people gloried in being Tories and haters of the French, with whom +they were on tenter-hooks to fight, almost unaware of the rising +reputation of the young Corsican warrior, whose name would be used +ere a dozen years had passed to hush English babies with a terror +such as that of Marlborough once had for the French. +</P> + +<P> +At such a place as Monkshaven all these opinions were held in +excess. One or two might, for the mere sake of argument, dispute on +certain points of history or government; but they took care to be +very sure of their listeners before such arguments touched on +anything of the present day; for it had been not unfrequently found +that the public duty of prosecuting opinions not your own overrode +the private duty of respecting confidence. Most of the Monkshaven +politicians confined themselves, therefore, to such general +questions as these: 'Could an Englishman lick more than four +Frenchmen at a time?' 'What was the proper punishment for members of +the Corresponding Society (correspondence with the French +directory), hanging and quartering, or burning?' 'Would the +forthcoming child of the Princess of Wales be a boy or a girl? If a +girl, would it be more loyal to call it Charlotte or Elizabeth?' +</P> + +<P> +The Fosters were quite secure enough of their guests this evening to +have spoken freely on politics had they been so inclined. And they +did begin on the outrages which had been lately offered to the king +in crossing St James's Park to go and open the House of Lords; but +soon, so accustomed were their minds to caution and restraint, the +talk dropped down to the high price of provisions. Bread at 1<I>s</I>. +3<I>d</I>. the quartern loaf, according to the London test. Wheat at +120<I>s</I>. per quarter, as the home-baking northerners viewed the +matter; and then the conversation died away to an ominous silence. +John looked at Jeremiah, as if asking him to begin. Jeremiah was the +host, and had been a married man. Jeremiah returned the look with +the same meaning in it. John, though a bachelor, was the elder +brother. The great church bell, brought from the Monkshaven +monastery centuries ago, high up on the opposite hill-side, began to +ring nine o'clock; it was getting late. Jeremiah began: +</P> + +<P> +'It seems a bad time for starting any one on business, wi' prices +and taxes and bread so dear; but John and I are getting into years, +and we've no children to follow us: yet we would fain draw out of +some of our worldly affairs. We would like to give up the shop, and +stick to banking, to which there seemeth a plain path. But first +there is the stock and goodwill of the shop to be disposed on.' +</P> + +<P> +A dead pause. This opening was not favourable to the hopes of the +two moneyless young men who had been hoping to succeed their masters +by the more gradual process of partnership. But it was only the kind +of speech that had been agreed upon by the two brothers with a view +of impressing on Hepburn and Coulson the great and unusual +responsibility of the situation into which the Fosters wished them +to enter. In some ways the talk of many was much less simple and +straightforward in those days than it is now. The study of effect +shown in the London diners-out of the last generation, who prepared +their conversation beforehand, was not without its parallel in +humbler spheres, and for different objects than self-display. The +brothers Foster had all but rehearsed the speeches they were about +to make this evening. They were aware of the youth of the parties to +whom they were going to make a most favourable proposal; and they +dreaded that if that proposal was too lightly made, it would be too +lightly considered, and the duties involved in it too carelessly +entered upon. So the <I>role</I> of one brother was to suggest, that of +the other to repress. The young men, too, had their reserves. They +foresaw, and had long foreseen, what was coming that evening. They +were impatient to hear it in distinct words; and yet they had to +wait, as if unconscious, during all the long preamble. Do age and +youth never play the same parts now? To return. John Foster replied +to his brother: +</P> + +<P> +'The stock and goodwill! That would take much wealth. And there will +be fixtures to be considered. Philip, canst thee tell me the exact +amount of stock in the shop at present?' +</P> + +<P> +It had only just been taken; Philip had it at his fingers' ends. +'One thousand nine hundred and forty-one pounds, thirteen shillings +and twopence.' +</P> + +<P> +Coulson looked at him in a little dismay, and could not repress a +sigh. The figures put into words and spoken aloud seemed to indicate +so much larger an amount of money than when quickly written down in +numerals. But Philip read the countenances, nay, by some process of +which he was not himself aware, he read the minds of the brothers, +and felt no dismay at what he saw there. +</P> + +<P> +'And the fixtures?' asked John Foster. +</P> + +<P> +'The appraiser valued them at four hundred and thirty-five pounds +three and sixpence when father died. We have added to them since, +but we will reckon them at that. How much does that make with the +value of the stock?' +</P> + +<P> +'Two thousand one hundred and seventy-six pounds, sixteen shillings +and eightpence,' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +Coulson had done the sum quicker, but was too much disheartened by +the amount to speak. +</P> + +<P> +'And the goodwill?' asked the pitiless John. 'What dost thee set +that at?' +</P> + +<P> +'I think, brother, that that would depend on who came forward with +the purchase-money of the stock and fixtures. To some folks we might +make it sit easy, if they were known to us, and those as we wished +well to. If Philip and William here, for instance, said they'd like +to purchase the business, I reckon thee and me would not ask 'em so +much as we should ask Millers' (Millers was an upstart petty rival +shop at the end of the bridge in the New Town). +</P> + +<P> +'I wish Philip and William was to come after us,' said John. 'But +that's out of the question,' he continued, knowing all the while +that, far from being out of the question, it was the very question, +and that it was as good as settled at this very time. +</P> + +<P> +No one spoke. Then Jeremiah went on: +</P> + +<P> +'It's out of the question, I reckon?' +</P> + +<P> +He looked at the two young men. Coulson shook his head. Philip more +bravely said,— +</P> + +<P> +'I have fifty-three pounds seven and fourpence in yo'r hands, Master +John, and it's all I have i' the world.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a pity,' said John, and again they were silent. Half-past nine +struck. It was time to be beginning to make an end. 'Perhaps, +brother, they have friends who could advance 'em the money. We might +make it sit light to them, for the sake of their good service?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip replied,— +</P> + +<P> +'There's no one who can put forwards a penny for me: I have but few +kin, and they have little to spare beyond what they need.' +</P> + +<P> +Coulson said— +</P> + +<P> +'My father and mother have nine on us.' +</P> + +<P> +'Let alone, let alone!' said John, relenting fast; for he was weary +of his part of cold, stern prudence. 'Brother, I think we have +enough of this world's goods to do what we like wi' our own.' +</P> + +<P> +Jeremiah was a little scandalized at the rapid melting away of +assumed character, and took a good pull at his pipe before he +replied— +</P> + +<P> +'Upwards of two thousand pounds is a large sum to set on the +well-being and well-doing of two lads, the elder of whom is not +three-and-twenty. I fear we must look farther a-field.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, John,' replied Jeremiah, 'it was but yesterday thee saidst +thee would rather have Philip and William than any men o' fifty that +thee knowed. And now to bring up their youth again them.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well! t' half on it is thine, and thou shall do even as thou +wilt. But I think as I must have security for my moiety, for it's a +risk—a great risk. Have ye any security to offer? any expectations? +any legacies, as other folk have a life-interest in at present?' +</P> + +<P> +No; neither of them had. So Jeremiah rejoined— +</P> + +<P> +'Then, I suppose, I mun do as thee dost, John, and take the security +of character. And it's a great security too, lads, and t' best o' +all, and one that I couldn't ha' done without; no, not if yo'd pay +me down five thousand for goodwill, and stock, and fixtures. For +John Foster and Son has been a shop i' Monkshaven this eighty years +and more; and I dunnot think there's a man living—or dead, for that +matter—as can say Fosters wronged him of a penny, or gave short +measure to a child or a Cousin Betty.' +</P> + +<P> +They all four shook hands round with the same heartiness as if it +had been a legal ceremony necessary to the completion of the +partnership. The old men's faces were bright with smiles; the eyes +of the young ones sparkled with hope. +</P> + +<P> +'But, after all,' said Jeremiah, 'we've not told you particulars. +Yo're thanking us for a pig in a poke; but we had more forethought, +and we put all down on a piece o' paper.' +</P> + +<P> +He took down a folded piece of paper from the mantel-shelf, put on +his horn spectacles, and began to read aloud, occasionally peering +over his glasses to note the effect on the countenances of the young +men. The only thing he was in the habit of reading aloud was a +chapter in the Bible daily to his housekeeper servant; and, like +many, he reserved a peculiar tone for that solemn occupation—a tone +which he unconsciously employed for the present enumeration of +pounds, shillings, and pence. +</P> + +<P> +'Average returns of the last three years, one hundred and +twenty-seven pounds, three shillings, and seven penny and one-sixth +a week. Profits thereupon thirty-four per cent.—as near as may be. +Clear profits of the concern, after deducting all expenses except +rent—for t' house is our own—one thousand two hundred and two +pound a year.' +</P> + +<P> +This was far more than either Hepburn or Coulson had imagined it to +be; and a look of surprise, almost amounting to dismay, crept over +their faces, in spite of their endeavour to keep simply motionless +and attentive. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a deal of money, lads, and the Lord give you grace to guide +it,' said Jeremiah, putting down his paper for a minute. +</P> + +<P> +'Amen,' said John, shaking his head to give effect to his word. +</P> + +<P> +'Now what we propose is this,' continued Jeremiah, beginning afresh +to refer to his paper: 'We will call t' value of stock and fixtures +two thousand one hundred and fifty. You may have John Holden, +appraiser and auctioneer, in to set a price on them if yo' will; or +yo' may look over books and bills; or, better still, do both, and so +check one again t'other; but for t' sake o' making the ground o' the +bargain, I state the sum as above; and I reckon it so much capital +left in yo'r hands for the use o' which yo're bound to pay us five +per cent. quarterly—that's one hundred and seven pound ten per +annum at least for t' first year; and after it will be reduced by +the gradual payment on our money, which must be at the rate of +twenty per cent., thus paying us our principal back in five years. +And the rent, including all back yards, right of wharfage, +warehouse, and premises, is reckoned by us to be sixty-five pound +per annum. So yo' will have to pay us, John and Jeremiah Foster, +brothers, six hundred and twelve pound ten out of the profits of the +first year, leaving, at the present rate of profits, about five +hundred and eighty-nine pound ten, for the share to be divided +between yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +The plan had, in all its details, been carefully arranged by the two +brothers. They were afraid lest Hepburn and Coulson should be +dazzled by the amount of profits, and had so arranged the +sliding-scale of payment as to reduce the first year's income to +what the elder men thought a very moderate sum, but what to the +younger ones appeared an amount of wealth such as they, who had +neither of them ever owned much more than fifty pounds, considered +almost inexhaustible. It was certainly a remarkable instance of +prosperity and desert meeting together so early in life. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment or two the brothers were disappointed at not hearing +any reply from either of them. Then Philip stood up, for he felt as +if anything he could say sitting down would not be sufficiently +expressive of gratitude, and William instantly followed his example. +Hepburn began in a formal manner, something the way in which he had +read in the York newspapers that honourable members returned thanks +when their health was given. +</P> + +<P> +'I can hardly express my feelings' (Coulson nudged him) 'his +feelings, too—of gratitude. Oh, Master John! Master Jeremiah, I +thought it might come i' time; nay, I've thought it might come afore +long; but I niver thought as it would be so much, or made so easy. +We've got good kind friends—we have, have we not, William?—and +we'll do our best, and I hope as we shall come up to their wishes.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip's voice quivered a little, as some remembrance passed across +his mind; at this unusual moment of expansion out it came. 'I wish +mother could ha' seen this day.' +</P> + +<P> +'She shall see a better day, my lad, when thy name and William's is +painted over t' shop-door, and J. and J. Foster blacked out.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, master,' said William, 'that mun never be. I'd a'most sooner +not come in for the business. Anyhow, it must be 'late J. and J. +Foster,' and I'm not sure as I can stomach that.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well, William,' said John Foster, highly gratified, 'there be +time enough to talk over that. There was one thing more to be said, +was there not, brother Jeremiah? We do not wish to have this talked +over in Monkshaven until shortly before the time when yo' must enter +on the business. We have our own arrangements to make wi' regard to +the banking concern, and there'll be lawyer's work to do, after +yo've examined books and looked over stock again together; may-be +we've overstated it, or t' fixtures aren't worth so much as we said. +Anyhow yo' must each on yo' give us yo'r word for to keep fra' +naming this night's conversation to any one. Meantime, Jeremiah and +I will have to pay accounts, and take a kind of farewell of the +merchants and manufacturers with whom Fosters have had dealings this +seventy or eighty year; and when and where it seems fitting to us we +will take one of yo' to introduce as our successors and friends. But +all that's to come. But yo' must each give us yo'r word not to name +what has passed here to any one till further speech on the subject +has passed between us.' +</P> + +<P> +Coulson immediately gave the promise. Philip's assent came lagging. +He had thought of Sylvia living, almost as much as of the dead +mother, whose last words had been a committal of her child to the +Father of the friendless; and now that a short delay was placed +between the sight of the cup and his enjoyment of it, there was an +impatient chafing in the mind of the composed and self-restrained +Philip; and then repentance quick as lightning effaced the feeling, +and he pledged himself to the secrecy which was enjoined. Some few +more details as to their mode of procedure—of verifying the +Fosters' statements, which to the younger men seemed a perfectly +unnecessary piece of business—of probable journeys and +introductions, and then farewell was bidden, and Hepburn and Coulson +were in the passage donning their wraps, and rather to their +indignation being assisted therein by Martha, who was accustomed to +the office with her own master. Suddenly they were recalled into the +parlour. +</P> + +<P> +John Foster was fumbling with the papers a little nervously: +Jeremiah spoke— +</P> + +<P> +'We have not thought it necessary to commend Hester Rose to you; if +she had been a lad she would have had a third o' the business along +wi' yo'. Being a woman, it's ill troubling her with a partnership; +better give her a fixed salary till such time as she marries.' +</P> + +<P> +He looked a little knowingly and curiously at the faces of the young +men he addressed. William Coulson seemed sheepish and uncomfortable, +but said nothing, leaving it as usual to Philip to be spokesman. +</P> + +<P> +'If we hadn't cared for Hester for hersel', master, we should ha' +cared for her as being forespoken by yo'. Yo' and Master John shall +fix what we ought t' pay her; and I think I may make bold to say +that, as our income rises, hers shall too—eh, Coulson?' (a sound of +assent quite distinct enough); 'for we both look on her as a sister +and on Alice like a mother, as I told her only this very day.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A DIFFICULT QUESTION +</H3> + +<P> +Philip went to bed with that kind of humble penitent gratitude in +his heart, which we sometimes feel after a sudden revulsion of +feeling from despondency to hope. The night before it seemed as if +all events were so arranged as to thwart him in his dearest wishes; +he felt now as if his discontent and repining, not twenty-four hours +before, had been almost impious, so great was the change in his +circumstances for the better. Now all seemed promising for the +fulfilment of what he most desired. He was almost convinced that he +was mistaken in thinking that Kinraid had had anything more than a +sailor's admiration for a pretty girl with regard to Sylvia; at any +rate, he was going away to-morrow, in all probability not to return +for another year (for Greenland ships left for the northern seas as +soon as there was a chance of the ice being broken up), and ere then +he himself might speak out openly, laying before her parents all his +fortunate prospects, and before her all his deep passionate love. +</P> + +<P> +So this night his prayers were more than the mere form that they had +been the night before; they were a vehement expression of gratitude +to God for having, as it were, interfered on his behalf, to grant +him the desire of his eyes and the lust of his heart. He was like +too many of us, he did not place his future life in the hands of +God, and only ask for grace to do His will in whatever circumstances +might arise; but he yearned in that terrible way after a blessing +which, when granted under such circumstances, too often turns out to +be equivalent to a curse. And that spirit brings with it the +material and earthly idea that all events that favour our wishes are +answers to our prayer; and so they are in one sense, but they need +prayer in a deeper and higher spirit to keep us from the temptation +to evil which such events invariably bring with them. +</P> + +<P> +Philip little knew how Sylvia's time had been passed that day. If he +had, he would have laid down this night with even a heavier heart +than he had done on the last. +</P> + +<P> +Charley Kinraid accompanied his cousins as far as the spot where the +path to Haytersbank Farm diverged. Then he stopped his merry talk, +and announced his intention of going to see farmer Robson. Bessy +Corney looked disappointed and a little sulky; but her sister Molly +Brunton laughed, and said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Tell truth, lad! Dannel Robson 'd niver have a call fra' thee if he +hadn't a pretty daughter.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed, but he would,' replied Charley, rather annoyed; 'when I've +said a thing, I do it. I promised last night to go see him; besides, +I like the old man.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! when shall we tell mother yo're comin' whoam?' +</P> + +<P> +'Toward eight o'clock—may-be sooner.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why it's bare five now! bless t' lad, does he think o' staying +theere a' neet, and they up so late last night, and Mrs. Robson +ailing beside? Mother 'll not think it kind on yo' either, will she, +Bess?' +</P> + +<P> +'I dunno. Charley mun do as he likes; I daresay no one'll miss him +if he does bide away till eight.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well! I can't tell what I shall do; but yo'd best not stop +lingering here, for it's getting on, and there'll be a keen frost by +t' look o' the stars.' +</P> + +<P> +Haytersbank was closed for the night as far as it ever was closed; +there were no shutters to the windows, nor did they care to draw the +inside curtains, so few were the passers-by. The house door was +fastened; but the shippen door a little on in the same long low +block of building stood open, and a dim light made an oblong upon +the snowy ground outside. As Kinraid drew near he heard talking +there, and a woman's voice; he threw a passing glance through the +window into the fire-lit house-place, and seeing Mrs. Robson asleep +by the fireside in her easy-chair, he went on. +</P> + +<P> +There was the intermittent sound of the sharp whistling of milk into +the pail, and Kester, sitting on a three-legged stool, cajoling a +capricious cow into letting her fragrant burden flow. Sylvia stood +near the farther window-ledge, on which a horn lantern was placed, +pretending to knit at a gray worsted stocking, but in reality +laughing at Kester's futile endeavours, and finding quite enough to +do with her eyes, in keeping herself untouched by the whisking tail, +or the occasional kick. The frosty air was mellowed by the warm and +odorous breath of the cattle—breath that hung about the place in +faint misty clouds. There was only a dim light; such as it was, it +was not dearly defined against the dark heavy shadow in which the +old black rafters and manger and partitions were enveloped. +</P> + +<P> +As Charley came to the door, Kester was saying, 'Quiet wi' thee, +wench! Theere now, she's a beauty, if she'll stand still. There's +niver sich a cow i' t' Riding; if she'll only behave hersel'. She's +a bonny lass, she is; let down her milk, theere's a pretty!' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, Kester,' laughed Sylvia, 'thou'rt asking her for her milk wi' +as many pretty speeches as if thou wert wooing a wife!' +</P> + +<P> +'Hey, lass!' said Kester, turning a bit towards her, and shutting +one eye to cock the other the better upon her; an operation which +puckered up his already wrinkled face into a thousand new lines and +folds. 'An' how does thee know how a man woos a wife, that thee +talks so knowin' about it? That's tellin'. Some un's been tryin' it +on thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'There's niver a one been so impudent,' said Sylvia, reddening and +tossing her head a little; 'I'd like to see 'em try me!' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well!' said Kester, wilfully misunderstanding her meaning, +'thou mun be patient, wench; and if thou's a good lass, may-be thy +turn 'll come and they 'll try it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish thou'd talk of what thou's some knowledge on, Kester, +i'stead of i' that silly way,' replied Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Then a mun talk no more 'bout women, for they're past knowin', an' +druv e'en King Solomon silly.' +</P> + +<P> +At this moment Charley stepped in. Sylvia gave a little start and +dropped her ball of worsted. Kester made as though absorbed in his +task of cajoling Black Nell; but his eyes and ears were both +vigilant. +</P> + +<P> +'I was going into the house, but I saw yo'r mother asleep, and I +didn't like to waken her, so I just came on here. Is yo'r father to +the fore?' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' said Sylvia, hanging down her head a little, wondering if he +could have heard the way in which she and Kester had been talking, +and thinking over her little foolish jokes with anger against +herself. 'Father is gone to Winthrop about some pigs as he's heerd +on. He'll not be back till seven o'clock or so.' +</P> + +<P> +It was but half-past five, and Sylvia in the irritation of the +moment believed that she wished Kinraid would go. But she would have +been extremely disappointed if he had. Kinraid himself seemed to +have no thought of the kind. He saw with his quick eyes, not +unaccustomed to women, that his coming so unexpectedly had fluttered +Sylvia, and anxious to make her quite at her ease with him, and not +unwilling to conciliate Kester, he addressed his next speech to him, +with the same kind of air of interest in the old man's pursuit that +a young man of a different class sometimes puts on when talking to +the chaperone of a pretty girl in a ball-room. +</P> + +<P> +'That's a handsome beast yo've just been milking, master.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay; but handsome is as handsome does. It were only yesterday as she +aimed her leg right at t' pail wi' t' afterings in. She knowed it +were afterings as well as any Christian, and t' more t' mischief t' +better she likes it; an' if a hadn't been too quick for her, it +would have a' gone swash down i' t' litter. This'n 's a far better +cow i' t' long run, she's just a steady goer,' as the milky +down-pour came musical and even from the stall next to Black Nell's. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was knitting away vigorously, thinking all the while that it +was a great pity she had not put on a better gown, or even a cap +with brighter ribbon, and quite unconscious how very pretty she +looked standing against the faint light, her head a little bent +down; her hair catching bright golden touches, as it fell from under +her little linen cap; her pink bed-gown, confined by her +apron-string, giving a sort of easy grace to her figure; her dark +full linsey petticoat short above her trim ancles, looking far more +suitable to the place where she was standing than her long gown of +the night before would have done. Kinraid was wanting to talk to +her, and to make her talk, but was uncertain how to begin. In the +meantime Kester went on with the subject last spoken about. +</P> + +<P> +'Black Nell's at her fourth calf now, so she ought to ha' left off +her tricks and turned sober-like. But bless yo', there's some cows +as 'll be skittish till they're fat for t' butcher. Not but what a +like milking her better nor a steady goer; a man has allays summat +to be watchin' for; and a'm kind o' set up when a've mastered her at +last. T' young missus theere, she's mighty fond o' comin' t' see +Black Nell at her tantrums. She'd niver come near me if a' cows were +like this'n.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you often come and see the cows milked?' asked Kinraid, +</P> + +<P> +'Many a time,' said Sylvia, smiling a little. 'Why, when we're +throng, I help Kester; but now we've only Black Nell and Daisy +giving milk. Kester knows as I can milk Black Nell quite easy,' she +continued, half vexed that Kester had not named this accomplishment. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! when she's in a good frame o' mind, as she is sometimes. But t' +difficulty is to milk her at all times.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish I'd come a bit sooner. I should like t' have seen you milk +Black Nell,' addressing Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'd better come to-morrow e'en, and see what a hand she'll mak' on +her,' said Kester. +</P> + +<P> +'To-morrow night I shall be far on my road back to Shields.' +</P> + +<P> +'To-morrow!' said Sylvia, suddenly looking up at him, and then +dropping her eyes, as she found he had been watching for the effect +of his intelligence on her. +</P> + +<P> +'I mun be back at t' whaler, where I'm engaged,' continued he. +'She's fitting up after a fresh fashion, and as I've been one as +wanted new ways, I mun be on the spot for t' look after her. Maybe I +shall take a run down here afore sailing in March. I'm sure I shall +try.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a good deal meant and understood by these last few words. +The tone in which they were spoken gave them a tender intensity not +lost upon either of the hearers. Kester cocked his eye once more, +but with as little obtrusiveness as he could, and pondered the +sailor's looks and ways. He remembered his coming about the place +the winter before, and how the old master had then appeared to have +taken to him; but at that time Sylvia had seemed to Kester too +little removed from a child to have either art or part in Kinraid's +visits; now, however, the case was different. Kester in his +sphere—among his circle of acquaintance, narrow though it was—had +heard with much pride of Sylvia's bearing away the bell at church +and at market, wherever girls of her age were congregated. He was a +north countryman, so he gave out no further sign of his feelings +than his mistress and Sylvia's mother had done on a like occasion. +</P> + +<P> +'T' lass is weel enough,' said he; but he grinned to himself, and +looked about, and listened to the hearsay of every lad, wondering +who was handsome, and brave, and good enough to be Sylvia's mate. +Now, of late, it had seemed to the canny farm-servant pretty clear +that Philip Hepburn was 'after her'; and to Philip, Kester had an +instinctive objection, a kind of natural antipathy such as has +existed in all ages between the dwellers in a town and those in the +country, between agriculture and trade. So, while Kinraid and Sylvia +kept up their half-tender, half-jesting conversation, Kester was +making up his slow persistent mind as to the desirability of the +young man then present as a husband for his darling, as much from +his being other than Philip in every respect, as from the individual +good qualities he possessed. Kester's first opportunity of favouring +Kinraid's suit consisted in being as long as possible over his +milking; so never were cows that required such 'stripping,' or were +expected to yield such 'afterings', as Black Nell and Daisy that +night. But all things must come to an end; and at length Kester got +up from his three-legged stool, on seeing what the others did +not—that the dip-candle in the lantern was coming to an end—and +that in two or three minutes more the shippen would be in darkness, +and so his pails of milk be endangered. In an instant Sylvia had +started out of her delicious dreamland, her drooping eyes were +raised, and recovered their power of observation; her ruddy arms +were freed from the apron in which she had enfolded them, as a +protection from the gathering cold, and she had seized and adjusted +the wooden yoke across her shoulders, ready to bear the brimming +milk-pails to the dairy. +</P> + +<P> +'Look yo' at her!' exclaimed Kester to Charley, as he adjusted the +fragrant pails on the yoke. 'She thinks she's missus a ready, and +she's allays for carrying in t' milk since t' rhumatiz cotched my +shouther i' t' back end; and when she says "Yea," it's as much as my +heed's worth to say "Nay."' +</P> + +<P> +And along the wall, round the corner, down the round slippery stones +of the rambling farmyard, behind the buildings, did Sylvia trip, +safe and well-poised, though the ground wore all one coating of +white snow, and in many places was so slippery as to oblige Kinraid +to linger near Kester, the lantern-bearer. Kester did not lose his +opportunity, though the cold misty night air provoked his asthmatic +cough when-ever he breathed, and often interrupted his words. +</P> + +<P> +'She's a good wench—a good wench as iver was—an come on a good +stock, an' that's summat, whether in a cow or a woman. A've known +her from a baby; she's a reet down good un.' +</P> + +<P> +By this time they had reached the back-kitchen door, just as Sylvia +had unladen herself, and was striking a light with flint and tinder. +The house seemed warm and inviting after the piercing outer air, +although the kitchen into which they entered contained only a raked +and slumbering fire at one end, over which, on a crook, hung the +immense pan of potatoes cooking for the evening meal of the pigs. To +this pan Kester immediately addressed himself, swinging it round +with ease, owing to the admirable simplicity of the old-fashioned +machinery. Kinraid stood between Kester and the door into the dairy, +through which Sylvia had vanished with the milk. He half wished to +conciliate Kester by helping him, but he seemed also attracted, by a +force which annihilated his will, to follow her wherever she went. +Kester read his mind. +</P> + +<P> +'Let alone, let alone,' said he; 'pigs' vittle takes noan such +dainty carryin' as milk. A may set it down an' niver spill a drop; +she's noan fit for t' serve swine, nor yo' other, mester; better +help her t' teem t' milk.' +</P> + +<P> +So Kinraid followed the light—his light—into the icy chill of the +dairy, where the bright polished tin cans were quickly dimmed with +the warm, sweet-smelling milk, that Sylvia was emptying out into the +brown pans. In his haste to help her, Charley took up one of the +pails. +</P> + +<P> +'Eh? that'n 's to be strained. Yo' have a' the cow's hair in. +Mother's very particular, and cannot abide a hair.' +</P> + +<P> +So she went over to her awkward dairymaid, and before she—but not +before he—was aware of the sweet proximity, she was adjusting his +happy awkward arms to the new office of holding a milk-strainer over +the bowl, and pouring the white liquid through it. +</P> + +<P> +'There!' said she, looking up for a moment, and half blushing; 'now +yo'll know how to do it next time.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish next time was to come now,' said Kinraid; but she had +returned to her own pail, and seemed not to hear him. He followed +her to her side of the dairy. 'I've but a short memory, can yo' not +show me again how t' hold t' strainer?' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' said she, half laughing, but holding her strainer fast in +spite of his insinuating efforts to unlock her fingers. 'But there's +no need to tell me yo've getten a short memory.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why? what have I done? how dun you know it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Last night,' she began, and then she stopped, and turned away her +head, pretending to be busy in her dairy duties of rinsing and such +like. +</P> + +<P> +'Well!' said he, half conjecturing her meaning, and flattered by it, +if his conjecture were right. 'Last night—what?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, yo' know!' said she, as if impatient at being both literally +and metaphorically followed about, and driven into a corner. +</P> + +<P> +'No; tell me,' persisted he. +</P> + +<P> +'Well,' said she, 'if yo' will have it, I think yo' showed yo'd but +a short memory when yo' didn't know me again, and yo' were five +times at this house last winter, and that's not so long sin'. But I +suppose yo' see a vast o' things on yo'r voyages by land or by sea, +and then it's but natural yo' should forget.' She wished she could +go on talking, but could not think of anything more to say just +then; for, in the middle of her sentence, the flattering +interpretation he might put upon her words, on her knowing so +exactly the number of times he had been to Haytersbank, flashed upon +her, and she wanted to lead the conversation a little farther +afield—to make it a little less personal. This was not his wish, +however. In a tone which thrilled through her, even in her own +despite, he said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Do yo' think that can ever happen again, Sylvia?' +</P> + +<P> +She was quite silent; almost trembling. He repeated the question as +if to force her to answer. Driven to bay, she equivocated. +</P> + +<P> +'What happen again? Let me go, I dunno what yo're talking about, and +I'm a'most numbed wi' cold.' +</P> + +<P> +For the frosty air came sharp in through the open lattice window, +and the ice was already forming on the milk. Kinraid would have +found a ready way of keeping his cousins, or indeed most young +women, warm; but he paused before he dared put his arm round Sylvia; +she had something so shy and wild in her look and manner; and her +very innocence of what her words, spoken by another girl, might lead +to, inspired him with respect, and kept him in check. So he +contented himself with saying,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'll let yo' go into t' warm kitchen if yo'll tell me if yo' think +I can ever forget yo' again.' +</P> + +<P> +She looked up at him defiantly, and set her red lips firm. He +enjoyed her determination not to reply to this question; it showed +she felt its significance. Her pure eyes looked steadily into his; +nor was the expression in his such as to daunt her or make her +afraid. They were like two children defying each other; each +determined to conquer. At last she unclosed her lips, and nodding +her head as if in triumph, said, as she folded her arms once more in +her check apron,— +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'll have to go home sometime.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not for a couple of hours yet,' said he; 'and yo'll be frozen +first; so yo'd better say if I can ever forget yo' again, without +more ado.' +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps the fresh voices breaking on the silence,—perhaps the tones +were less modulated than they had been before, but anyhow Bell +Robson's voice was heard calling Sylvia through the second door, +which opened from the dairy to the house-place, in which her mother +had been till this moment asleep. Sylvia darted off in obedience to +the call; glad to leave him, as at the moment Kinraid resentfully +imagined. Through the open door he heard the conversation between +mother and daughter, almost unconscious of its meaning, so difficult +did he find it to wrench his thoughts from the ideas he had just +been forming with Sylvia's bright lovely face right under his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia!' said her mother, 'who's yonder?' Bell was sitting up in +the attitude of one startled out of slumber into intensity of +listening; her hands on each of the chair-arms, as if just going to +rise. 'There's a fremd man i' t' house. I heerd his voice!' +</P> + +<P> +'It's only—it's just Charley Kinraid; he was a-talking to me i' t' +dairy.' +</P> + +<P> +'I' t' dairy, lass! and how com'd he i' t' dairy?' +</P> + +<P> +'He com'd to see feyther. Feyther asked him last night,' said +Sylvia, conscious that he could overhear every word that was said, +and a little suspecting that he was no great favourite with her +mother. +</P> + +<P> +'Thy feyther's out; how com'd he i' t' dairy?' persevered Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'He com'd past this window, and saw yo' asleep, and didn't like for +t' waken yo'; so he com'd on to t' shippen, and when I carried t' +milk in—-' +</P> + +<P> +But now Kinraid came in, feeling the awkwardness of his situation a +little, yet with an expression so pleasant and manly in his open +face, and in his exculpatory manner, that Sylvia lost his first +words in a strange kind of pride of possession in him, about which +she did not reason nor care to define the grounds. But her mother +rose from her chair somewhat formally, as if she did not intend to +sit down again while he stayed, yet was too weak to be kept in that +standing attitude long. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afeared, sir, Sylvie hasn't told yo' that my master's out, and +not like to be in till late. He'll be main and sorry to have missed +yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing for it after this but to go. His only comfort was +that on Sylvia's rosy face he could read unmistakable signs of +regret and dismay. His sailor's life, in bringing him suddenly face +to face with unexpected events, had given him something of that +self-possession which we consider the attribute of a gentleman; and +with an apparent calmness which almost disappointed Sylvia, who +construed it into a symptom of indifference as to whether he went or +stayed, he bade her mother good-night, and only said, in holding her +hand a minute longer than was absolutely necessary,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'm coming back ere I sail; and then, may-be, you'll answer yon +question.' +</P> + +<P> +He spoke low, and her mother was rearranging herself in her chair, +else Sylvia would have had to repeat the previous words. As it was, +with soft thrilling ideas ringing through her, she could get her +wheel, and sit down to her spinning by the fire; waiting for her +mother to speak first, Sylvia dreamt her dreams. +</P> + +<P> +Bell Robson was partly aware of the state of things, as far as it +lay on the surface. She was not aware how deep down certain feelings +had penetrated into the girl's heart who sat on the other side of +the fire, with a little sad air diffused over her face and figure. +Bell looked upon Sylvia as still a child, to be warned off forbidden +things by threats of danger. But the forbidden thing was already +tasted, and possible danger in its full acquisition only served to +make it more precious-sweet. +</P> + +<P> +Bell sat upright in her chair, gazing into the fire. Her milk-white +linen mob-cap fringed round and softened her face, from which the +usual apple-red was banished by illness, and the features, from the +same cause, rendered more prominent and stern. She had a clean buff +kerchief round her neck, and stuffed into the bosom of her Sunday +woollen gown of dark blue,—if she had been in working-trim she +would have worn a bedgown like Sylvia's. Her sleeves were pinned +back at the elbows, and her brown arms and hard-working hands lay +crossed in unwonted idleness on her check apron. Her knitting was by +her side; and if she had been going through any accustomed +calculation or consideration she would have had it busily clinking +in her fingers. But she had something quite beyond common to think +about, and, perhaps, to speak about; and for the minute she was not +equal to knitting. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie,' she began at length, 'did I e'er tell thee on Nancy +Hartley as I knew when I were a child? I'm thinking a deal on her +to-night; may-be it's because I've been dreaming on yon old times. +She was a bonny lass as ever were seen, I've heerd folk say; but +that were afore I knew her. When I knew her she were crazy, poor +wench; wi' her black hair a-streaming down her back, and her eyes, +as were a'most as black, allays crying out for pity, though never a +word she spoke but "He once was here." Just that o'er and o'er +again, whether she were cold or hot, full or hungry, "He once was +here," were all her speech. She had been farm-servant to my mother's +brother—James Hepburn, thy great-uncle as was; she were a poor, +friendless wench, a parish 'prentice, but honest and gaum-like, till +a lad, as nobody knowed, come o'er the hills one sheep-shearing fra' +Whitehaven; he had summat to do wi' th' sea, though not rightly to +be called a sailor: and he made a deal on Nancy Hartley, just to +beguile the time like; and he went away and ne'er sent a thought +after her more. It's the way as lads have; and there's no holding +'em when they're fellows as nobody knows—neither where they come +fro', nor what they've been doing a' their lives, till they come +athwart some poor wench like Nancy Hartley. She were but a softy +after all: for she left off doing her work in a proper manner. I've +heerd my aunt say as she found out as summat was wrong wi' Nancy as +soon as th' milk turned bingy, for there ne'er had been such a clean +lass about her milk-cans afore that; and from bad it grew to worse, +and she would sit and do nothing but play wi' her fingers fro' morn +till night, and if they asked her what ailed her, she just said, "He +once was here;" and if they bid her go about her work, it were a' +the same. And when they scolded her, and pretty sharp too, she would +stand up and put her hair from her eyes, and look about her like a +crazy thing searching for her wits, and ne'er finding them, for all +she could think on was just, "He once was here." It were a caution +to me again thinking a man t' mean what he says when he's a-talking +to a young woman.' +</P> + +<P> +'But what became on poor Nancy?' asked Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'What should become on her or on any lass as gives hersel' up to +thinking on a man who cares nought for her?' replied her mother, a +little severely. 'She were crazed, and my aunt couldn't keep her +on, could she? She did keep her a long weary time, thinking as she +would, may-be, come to hersel', and, anyhow, she were a motherless +wench. But at length she had for t' go where she came fro'—back to +Keswick workhouse: and when last I heerd on her she were chained to +th' great kitchen dresser i' t' workhouse; they'd beaten her till +she were taught to be silent and quiet i' th' daytime, but at night, +when she were left alone, she would take up th' oud cry, till it +wrung their heart, so they'd many a time to come down and beat her +again to get any peace. It were a caution to me, as I said afore, to +keep fro' thinking on men as thought nought on me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Poor crazy Nancy!' sighed Sylvia. The mother wondered if she had +taken the 'caution' to herself, or was only full of pity for the mad +girl, dead long before. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE ENGAGEMENT +</H3> + +<P> +'As the day lengthens so the cold strengthens.' It was so that year; +the hard frost which began on new year's eve lasted on and on into +late February, black and bitter, but welcome enough to the farmers, +as it kept back the too early growth of autumn-sown wheat, and gave +them the opportunity of leading manure. But it did not suit invalids +as well, and Bell Robson, though not getting worse, did not make any +progress towards amendment. Sylvia was kept very busy, +notwithstanding that she had the assistance of a poor widow-woman in +the neighbourhood on cleaning, or washing, or churning days. Her +life was quiet and monotonous, although hard-working; and while her +hands mechanically found and did their accustomed labour, the +thoughts that rose in her head always centred on Charley Kinraid, +his ways, his words, his looks, whether they all meant what she +would fain believe they did, and whether, meaning love at the time, +such a feeling was likely to endure. Her mother's story of crazy +Nancy had taken hold of her; but not as a 'caution,' rather as a +parallel case to her own. Like Nancy, and borrowing the poor girl's +own words, she would say softly to herself, 'He once was here'; but +all along she believed in her heart he would come back again to her, +though it touched her strangely to imagine the agonies of forsaken +love. +</P> + +<P> +Philip knew little of all this. He was very busy with facts and +figures, doggedly fighting through the necessary business, and only +now and then allowing himself the delicious relaxation of going to +Haytersbank in an evening, to inquire after his aunt's health, and +to see Sylvia; for the two Fosters were punctiliously anxious to +make their shopmen test all their statements; insisting on an +examination of the stock, as if Hepburn and Coulson were strangers +to the shop; having the Monkshaven auctioneer in to appraise the +fixtures and necessary furniture; going over the shop books for the +last twenty years with their successors, an employment which took up +evening after evening; and not unfrequently taking one of the young +men on the long commercial journeys which were tediously made in a +gig. By degrees both Hepburn and Coulson were introduced to distant +manufacturers and wholesale dealers. They would have been willing to +take the Fosters' word for every statement the brothers had made on +new year's day; but this, it was evident, would not have satisfied +their masters, who were scrupulous in insisting that whatever +advantage there was should always fall on the side of the younger +men. +</P> + +<P> +When Philip saw Sylvia she was always quiet and gentle; perhaps more +silent than she had been a year ago, and she did not attend so +briskly to what was passing around her. She was rather thinner and +paler; but whatever change there was in her was always an +improvement in Philip's eyes, so long as she spoke graciously to +him. He thought she was suffering from long-continued anxiety about +her mother, or that she had too much to do; and either cause was +enough to make him treat her with a grave regard and deference which +had a repressed tenderness in it, of which she, otherwise occupied, +was quite unaware. She liked him better, too, than she had done a +year or two before, because he did not show her any of the eager +attention which teased her then, although its meaning was not fully +understood. +</P> + +<P> +Things were much in this state when the frost broke, and milder +weather succeeded. This was the time so long looked forward to by +the invalid and her friends, as favouring the doctor's +recommendation of change of air. Her husband was to take her to +spend a fortnight with a kindly neighbour, who lived near the farm +they had occupied, forty miles or so inland, before they came to +Haytersbank. The widow-woman was to come and stay in the house, to +keep Sylvia company, during her mother's absence. Daniel, indeed, +was to return home after conveying his wife to her destination; but +there was so much to be done on the land at this time of the year, +that Sylvia would have been alone all day had it not been for the +arrangement just mentioned. +</P> + +<P> +There was active stirring in Monkshaven harbour as well as on shore. +The whalers were finishing their fittings-out for the Greenland +seas. It was a 'close' season, that is to say, there would be +difficulty in passing the barrier of ice which lay between the ships +and the whaling-grounds; and yet these must be reached before June, +or the year's expedition would be of little avail. Every +blacksmith's shop rung with the rhythmical clang of busy hammers, +beating out old iron, such as horseshoes, nails or stubs, into the +great harpoons; the quays were thronged with busy and important +sailors, rushing hither and thither, conscious of the demand in +which they were held at this season of the year. It was war time, +too. Many captains unable to procure men in Monkshaven would have to +complete their crews in the Shetlands. The shops in the town were +equally busy; stores had to be purchased by the whaling-masters, +warm clothing of all sorts to be provided. These were the larger +wholesale orders; but many a man, and woman, too, brought out their +small hoards to purchase extra comforts, or precious keepsakes for +some beloved one. It was the time of the great half-yearly traffic +of the place; another impetus was given to business when the whalers +returned in the autumn, and the men were flush of money, and full of +delight at once more seeing their homes and their friends. +</P> + +<P> +There was much to be done in Fosters' shop, and later hours were +kept than usual. Some perplexity or other was occupying John and +Jeremiah Foster; their minds were not so much on the alert as usual, +being engaged on some weighty matter of which they had as yet spoken +to no one. But it thus happened that they did not give the prompt +assistance they were accustomed to render at such times; and Coulson +had been away on some of the new expeditions devolving on him and +Philip as future partners. One evening after the shop was closed, +while they were examining the goods, and comparing the sales with +the entries in the day-book, Coulson suddenly inquired— +</P> + +<P> +'By the way, Hester, does thee know where the parcel of best +bandanas is gone? There was four left, as I'm pretty sure, when I +set off to Sandsend; and to-day Mark Alderson came in, and would +fain have had one, and I could find none nowhere.' +</P> + +<P> +'I sold t' last to-day, to yon sailor, the specksioneer, who fought +the press-gang same time as poor Darley were killed. He took it, and +three yards of yon pink ribbon wi' t' black and yellow crosses on +it, as Philip could never abide. Philip has got 'em i' t' book, if +he'll only look.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is he here again?' said Philip; 'I didn't see him. What brings him +here, where he's noan wanted?' +</P> + +<P> +'T' shop were throng wi' folk,' said Hester, 'and he knew his own +mind about the handkercher, and didn't tarry long. Just as he was +leaving, his eye caught on t' ribbon, and he came back for it. It +were when yo' were serving Mary Darby and there was a vast o' folk +about yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish I'd seen him,' said Coulson. 'I'd ha' gi'en him a word and a +look he'd not ha' forgotten in a hurry.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, what's up?' said Philip, surprised at William's unusual +manner, and, at the same time, rather gratified to find a reflection +of his own feelings about Kinraid. Coulson's face was pale with +anger, but for a moment or two he seemed uncertain whether he would +reply or not. +</P> + +<P> +'Up!' said he at length. 'It's just this: he came after my sister +for better nor two year; and a better lass—no, nor a prettier i' my +eyes—niver broke bread. And then my master saw another girl, that +he liked better'—William almost choked in his endeavour to keep +down all appearance of violent anger, and then went on, 'and that +he played t' same game wi', as I've heerd tell.' +</P> + +<P> +'And how did thy sister take it?' asked Philip, eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +'She died in a six-month,' said William; '<I>she</I> forgived him, but +it's beyond me. I thought it were him when I heerd of t' work about +Darley; Kinraid—and coming fra' Newcassel, where Annie lived +'prentice—and I made inquiry, and it were t' same man. But I'll +say no more about him, for it stirs t' old Adam more nor I like, or +is fitting.' +</P> + +<P> +Out of respect to him, Philip asked no more questions although there +were many things that he fain would have known. Both Coulson and he +went silently and grimly through the remainder of their day's work. +Independent of any personal interest which either or both of them +had or might have in Kinraid's being a light o' love, this fault of +his was one with which the two grave, sedate young men had no +sympathy. Their hearts were true and constant, whatever else might +be their failings; and it is no new thing to 'damn the faults we +have no mind to.' Philip wished that it was not so late, or that +very evening he would have gone to keep guard over Sylvia in her +mother's absence—nay, perhaps he might have seen reason to give her +a warning of some kind. But, if he had done so, it would have been +locking the stable-door after the steed was stolen. Kinraid had +turned his steps towards Haytersbank Farm as soon as ever he had +completed his purchases. He had only come that afternoon to +Monkshaven, and for the sole purpose of seeing Sylvia once more +before he went to fulfil his engagement as specksioneer in the +<I>Urania</I>, a whaling-vessel that was to sail from North Shields on +Thursday morning, and this was Monday. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia sat in the house-place, her back to the long low window, in +order to have all the light the afternoon hour afforded for her +work. A basket of her father's unmended stockings was on the little +round table beside her, and one was on her left hand, which she +supposed herself to be mending; but from time to time she made long +pauses, and looked in the fire; and yet there was but little motion +of flame or light in it out of which to conjure visions. It was +'redd up' for the afternoon; covered with a black mass of coal, over +which the equally black kettle hung on the crook. In the +back-kitchen Dolly Reid, Sylvia's assistant during her mother's +absence, chanted a lugubrious ditty, befitting her condition as a +widow, while she cleaned tins, and cans, and milking-pails. Perhaps +these bustling sounds prevented Sylvia from hearing approaching +footsteps coming down the brow with swift advance; at any rate, she +started and suddenly stood up as some one entered the open door. It +was strange she should be so much startled, for the person who +entered had been in her thoughts all during those long pauses. +Charley Kinraid and the story of crazy Nancy had been the subjects +for her dreams for many a day, and many a night. Now he stood there, +bright and handsome as ever, with just that much timidity in his +face, that anxiety as to his welcome, which gave his accost an added +charm, could she but have perceived it. But she was so afraid of +herself, so unwilling to show what she felt, and how much she had +been thinking of him in his absence, that her reception seemed cold +and still. She did not come forward to meet him; she went crimson to +the very roots of her hair; but that, in the waning light, he could +not see; and she shook so that she felt as if she could hardly +stand; but the tremor was not visible to him. She wondered if he +remembered the kiss that had passed between them on new year's +eve—the words that had been spoken in the dairy on new year's day; +the tones, the looks, that had accompanied those words. But all she +said was— +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't think to see yo'. I thought yo'd ha' sailed.' +</P> + +<P> +'I told yo' I should come back, didn't I?' said he, still standing, +with his hat in his hand, waiting to be asked to sit down; and she, +in her bashfulness, forgetting to give the invitation, but, instead, +pretending to be attentively mending the stocking she held. Neither +could keep quiet and silent long. She felt his eyes were upon her, +watching every motion, and grew more and more confused in her +expression and behaviour. He was a little taken aback by the nature +of his reception, and was not sure at first whether to take the +great change in her manner, from what it had been when last he saw +her, as a favourable symptom or otherwise. By-and-by, luckily for +him, in some turn of her arm to reach the scissors on the table, she +caught the edge of her work-basket, and down it fell. She stooped to +pick up the scattered stockings and ball of worsted, and so did he; +and when they rose up, he had fast hold of her hand, and her face +was turned away, half ready to cry. +</P> + +<P> +'What ails yo' at me?' said he, beseechingly. 'Yo' might ha' +forgotten me; and yet I thought we made a bargain against forgetting +each other.' No answer. He went on: 'Yo've never been out o' my +thoughts, Sylvia Robson; and I'm come back to Monkshaven for nought +but to see you once and again afore I go away to the northern seas. +It's not two hour sin' I landed at Monkshaven, and I've been near +neither kith nor kin as yet; and now I'm here you won't speak to +me.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know what to say,' said she, in a low, almost inaudible +tone. Then hardening herself, and resolving to speak as if she did +not understand his only half-expressed meaning, she lifted up her +head, and all but looking at him—while she wrenched her hand out of +his—she said: 'Mother's gone to Middleham for a visit, and +feyther's out i' t' plough-field wi' Kester; but he'll be in afore +long.' +</P> + +<P> +Charley did not speak for a minute or so. Then he said— +</P> + +<P> +'Yo're not so dull as to think I'm come all this way for t' see +either your father or your mother. I've a great respect for 'em +both; but I'd hardly ha' come all this way for to see 'em, and me +bound to be back i' Shields, if I walk every step of the way, by +Wednesday night. It's that yo' won't understand my meaning, Sylvia; +it's not that yo' don't, or that yo' can't.' He made no effort to +repossess himself of her hand. She was quite silent, but in spite of +herself she drew long hard breaths. 'I may go back to where I came +from,' he went on. 'I thought to go to sea wi' a blessed hope to +cheer me up, and a knowledge o' some one as loved me as I'd left +behind; some one as loved me half as much as I did her; for th' +measure o' my love toward her is so great and mighty, I'd be content +wi' half as much from her, till I'd taught her to love me more. But +if she's a cold heart and cannot care for a honest sailor, why, +then, I'd best go back at once.' +</P> + +<P> +He made for the door. He must have been pretty sure from some sign +or other, or he would never have left it to her womanly pride to +give way, and for her to make the next advance. He had not taken two +steps when she turned quickly towards him, and said something—the +echo of which, rather than the words themselves, reached him. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't know yo' cared for me; yo' niver said so.' In an instant +he was back at her side, his arm round her in spite of her short +struggle, and his eager passionate voice saying, 'Yo' never knowed I +loved you, Sylvia? say it again, and look i' my face while yo' say +it, if yo' can. Why, last winter I thought yo'd be such a woman when +yo'd come to be one as my een had never looked upon, and this year, +ever sin' I saw yo' i' the kitchen corner sitting crouching behind +my uncle, I as good as swore I'd have yo' for wife, or never wed at +all. And it was not long ere yo' knowed it, for all yo' were so coy, +and now yo' have the face—no, yo' have not the face—come, my +darling, what is it?' for she was crying; and on his turning her wet +blushing face towards him the better to look at it, she suddenly hid +it in his breast. He lulled and soothed her in his arms, as if she +had been a weeping child and he her mother; and then they sat down +on the settle together, and when she was more composed they began to +talk. He asked her about her mother; not sorry in his heart at Bell +Robson's absence. He had intended if necessary to acknowledge his +wishes and desires with regard to Sylvia to her parents; but for +various reasons he was not sorry that circumstances had given him +the chance of seeing her alone, and obtaining her promise to marry +him without being obliged to tell either her father or her mother at +present. 'I ha' spent my money pretty free,' he said, 'and I've +ne'er a penny to the fore, and yo'r parents may look for something +better for yo', my pretty: but when I come back fro' this voyage I +shall stand a chance of having a share i' th' <I>Urania</I>, and may-be I +shall be mate as well as specksioneer; and I can get a matter of +from seventy to ninety pound a voyage, let alone th' half-guineas +for every whale I strike, and six shilling a gallon on th' oil; and +if I keep steady wi' Forbes and Company, they'll make me master i' +time, for I've had good schooling, and can work a ship as well as +any man; an' I leave yo' wi' yo'r parents, or take a cottage for yo' +nigh at hand; but I would like to have something to the fore, and +that I shall have, please God, when we come back i' th' autumn. I +shall go to sea happy, now, thinking I've yo'r word. Yo're not one +to go back from it, I'm sure, else it's a long time to leave such a +pretty girl as yo', and ne'er a chance of a letter reaching yo' just +to tell yo' once again how I love yo', and to bid yo' not forget +yo'r true love.' +</P> + +<P> +'There'll be no need o' that,' murmured Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +She was too dizzy with happiness to have attended much to his +details of his worldly prospects, but at the sound of his tender +words of love her eager heart was ready to listen. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know,' said he, wanting to draw her out into more +confession of her feelings. 'There's many a one ready to come after +yo'; and yo'r mother is not o'er captivated wi' me; and there's yon +tall fellow of a cousin as looks black at me, for if I'm not +mista'en he's a notion of being sweet on yo' hisself.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not he,' said Sylvia, with some contempt in her tone. 'He's so full +o' business and t' shop, and o' makin' money, and gettin' wealth.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay; but perhaps when he gets a rich man he'll come and ask my +Sylvia to be his wife, and what will she say then?' +</P> + +<P> +'He'll niver come asking such a foolish question,' said she, a +little impatiently; 'he knows what answer he'd get if he did.' +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid said, almost as if to himself, 'Yo'r mother favours him +though.' But she, weary of a subject she cared nothing about, and +eager to identify herself with all his interests, asked him about +his plans almost at the same time that he said these last words; and +they went on as lovers do, intermixing a great many tender +expressions with a very little conversation relating to facts. +</P> + +<P> +Dolly Reid came in, and went out softly, unheeded by them. But +Sylvia's listening ears caught her father's voice, as he and Kester +returned homewards from their day's work in the plough-field; and +she started away, and fled upstairs in shy affright, leaving Charley +to explain his presence in the solitary kitchen to her father. +</P> + +<P> +He came in, not seeing that any one was there at first; for they had +never thought of lighting a candle. Kinraid stepped forward into the +firelight; his purpose of concealing what he had said to Sylvia +quite melted away by the cordial welcome her father gave him the +instant that he recognized him. +</P> + +<P> +'Bless thee, lad! who'd ha' thought o' seein' thee? Why, if iver a +thought on thee at all, it were half way to Davis' Straits. To be +sure, t' winter's been a dree season, and thou'rt, may-be, i' t' +reet on 't to mak' a late start. Latest start as iver I made was +ninth o' March, an' we struck thirteen whales that year.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have something to say to you,' said Charley, in a hesitating +voice, so different to his usual hearty way, that Daniel gave him a +keen look of attention before he began to speak. And, perhaps, the +elder man was not unprepared for the communication that followed. At +any rate, it was not unwelcome. He liked Kinraid, and had strong +sympathy not merely with what he knew of the young sailor's +character, but with the life he led, and the business he followed. +Robson listened to all he said with approving nods and winks, till +Charley had told him everything he had to say; and then he turned +and struck his broad horny palm into Kinraid's as if concluding a +bargain, while he expressed in words his hearty consent to their +engagement. He wound up with a chuckle, as the thought struck him +that this great piece of business, of disposing of their only child, +had been concluded while his wife was away. +</P> + +<P> +'A'm noan so sure as t' missus 'll like it,' said he; 'tho' +whativer she'll ha' to say again it, mischief only knows. But she's +noan keen on matterimony; though a have made her as good a man as +there is in a' t' Ridings. Anyhow, a'm master, and that she knows. +But may-be, for t' sake o' peace an' quietness—tho' she's niver a +scolding tongue, that a will say for her—we'n best keep this matter +to ourselves till thou comes int' port again. T' lass upstairs 'll +like nought better than t' curl hersel' round a secret, and purr +o'er it, just as t' oud cat does o'er her blind kitten. But thou'll +be wanting to see t' lass, a'll be bound. An oud man like me isn't +as good company as a pretty lass.' Laughing a low rich laugh over +his own wit, Daniel went to the bottom of the stairs, and called, +'Sylvie, Sylvie! come down, lass! a's reet; come down!' +</P> + +<P> +For a time there was no answer. Then a door was unbolted, and Sylvia +said, +</P> + +<P> +'I can't come down again. I'm noan comin' down again to-night.' +</P> + +<P> +Daniel laughed the more at this, especially when he caught Charley's +look of disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +'Hearken how she's bolted her door. She'll noane come near us this +night. Eh! but she's a stiff little 'un; she's been our only one, and +we'n mostly let her have her own way. But we'll have a pipe and a +glass; and that, to my thinking, is as good company as iver a woman +in Yorkshire.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +REJECTED WARNINGS +</H3> + +<P> +The post arrived at Monkshaven three times in the week; sometimes, +indeed, there were not a dozen letters in the bag, which was brought +thither by a man in a light mail-cart, who took the better part of a +day to drive from York; dropping private bags here and there on the +moors, at some squire's lodge or roadside inn. Of the number of +letters that arrived in Monkshaven, the Fosters, shopkeepers and +bankers, had the largest share. +</P> + +<P> +The morning succeeding the day on which Sylvia had engaged herself +to Kinraid, the Fosters seemed unusually anxious to obtain their +letters. Several times Jeremiah came out of the parlour in which his +brother John was sitting in expectant silence, and, passing through +the shop, looked up and down the market-place in search of the old +lame woman, who was charitably employed to deliver letters, and who +must have been lamer than ever this morning, to judge from the +lateness of her coming. Although none but the Fosters knew the cause +of their impatience for their letters, yet there was such tacit +sympathy between them and those whom they employed, that Hepburn, +Coulson, and Hester were all much relieved when the old woman at +length appeared with her basket of letters. +</P> + +<P> +One of these seemed of especial consequence to the good brothers. +They each separately looked at the direction, and then at one +another; and without a word they returned with it unread into the +parlour, shutting the door, and drawing the green silk curtain +close, the better to read it in privacy. +</P> + +<P> +Both Coulson and Philip felt that something unusual was going on, +and were, perhaps, as full of consideration as to the possible +contents of this London letter, as of attention to their more +immediate business. But fortunately there was little doing in the +shop. Philip, indeed, was quite idle when John Foster opened the +parlour-door, and, half doubtfully, called him into the room. As the +door of communication shut the three in, Coulson felt himself a +little aggrieved. A minute ago Philip and he were on a level of +ignorance, from which the former was evidently going to be raised. +But he soon returned to his usual state of acquiescence in things as +they were, which was partly constitutional, and partly the result of +his Quaker training. +</P> + +<P> +It was apparently by John Foster's wish that Philip had been +summoned. Jeremiah, the less energetic and decided brother, was +still discussing the propriety of the step when Philip entered. +</P> + +<P> +'No need for haste, John; better not call the young man till we have +further considered the matter.' +</P> + +<P> +But the young man was there in presence; and John's will carried the +day. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed from his account to Philip (explanatory of what he, in +advance of his brother's slower judgment, thought to be a necessary +step), that the Fosters had for some time received anonymous +letters, warning them, with distinct meaning, though in ambiguous +terms, against a certain silk-manufacturer in Spitalfields, with +whom they had had straightforward business dealings for many years; +but to whom they had latterly advanced money. The letters hinted at +the utter insolvency of this manufacturer. They had urged their +correspondent to give them his name in confidence, and this +morning's letter had brought it; but the name was totally unknown to +them, though there seemed no reason to doubt the reality of either +it or the address, the latter of which was given in full. Certain +circumstances were mentioned regarding the transactions between the +Fosters and this manufacturer, which could be known only to those +who were in the confidence of one or the other; and to the Fosters +the man was, as has been said, a perfect stranger. Probably, they +would have been unwilling to incur the risk they had done on this +manufacturer Dickinson's account, if it had not been that he +belonged to the same denomination as themselves, and was publicly +distinguished for his excellent and philanthropic character; but +these letters were provocative of anxiety, especially since this +morning's post had brought out the writer's full name, and various +particulars showing his intimate knowledge of Dickinson's affairs. +</P> + +<P> +After much perplexed consultation, John had hit upon the plan of +sending Hepburn to London to make secret inquiries respecting the +true character and commercial position of the man whose creditors, +not a month ago, they had esteemed it an honour to be. +</P> + +<P> +Even now Jeremiah was ashamed of their want of confidence in one so +good; he believed that the information they had received would all +prove a mistake, founded on erroneous grounds, if not a pure +invention of an enemy; and he had only been brought partially to +consent to the sending of Hepburn, by his brother's pledging himself +that the real nature of Philip's errand should be unknown to any +human creature, save them three. +</P> + +<P> +As all this was being revealed to Philip, he sat apparently unmoved +and simply attentive. In fact, he was giving all his mind to +understanding the probabilities of the case, leaving his own +feelings in the background till his intellect should have done its +work. He said little; but what he did say was to the point, and +satisfied both brothers. John perceived that his messenger would +exercise penetration and act with energy; while Jeremiah was soothed +by Philip's caution in not hastily admitting the probability of any +charge against Dickinson, and in giving full weight to his previous +good conduct and good character. +</P> + +<P> +Philip had the satisfaction of feeling himself employed on a mission +which would call out his powers, and yet not exceed them. In his own +mind he forestalled the instructions of his masters, and was +silently in advance of John Foster's plans and arrangements, while +he appeared to listen to all that was said with quiet business-like +attention. +</P> + +<P> +It was settled that the next morning he was to make his way +northwards to Hartlepool, whence he could easily proceed either by +land or sea to Newcastle, from which place smacks were constantly +sailing to London. As to his personal conduct and behaviour there, +the brothers overwhelmed him with directions and advice; nor did +they fail to draw out of the strong box in the thick wall of their +counting-house a more than sufficient sum of money for all possible +expenses. Philip had never had so much in his hands before, and +hesitated to take it, saying it was more than he should require; but +they repeated, with fresh urgency, their warnings about the terrible +high prices of London, till he could only resolve to keep a strict +account, and bring back all that he did not expend, since nothing +but his taking the whole sum would satisfy his employers. +</P> + +<P> +When he was once more behind the counter, he had leisure enough for +consideration as far as Coulson could give it him. The latter was +silent, brooding over the confidence which Philip had apparently +received, but which was withheld from him. He did not yet know of +the culminating point—of Philip's proposed journey to London; that +great city of London, which, from its very inaccessibility fifty +years ago, loomed so magnificent through the mist of men's +imaginations. It is not to be denied that Philip felt exultant at +the mere fact of 'going to London.' But then again, the thought of +leaving Sylvia; of going out of possible daily reach of her; of not +seeing her for a week—a fortnight; nay, he might be away for a +month,—for no rash hurry was to mar his delicate negotiation,—gnawed +at his heart, and spoilt any enjoyment he might have anticipated +from gratified curiosity, or even from the consciousness of +being trusted by those whose trust and regard he valued. The +sense of what he was leaving grew upon him the longer he thought on +the subject; he almost wished that he had told his masters earlier +in the conversation of his unwillingness to leave Monkshaven for so +long a time; and then again he felt that the gratitude he owed them +quite prohibited his declining any task they might impose, +especially as they had more than once said that it would not do for +them to appear in the affair, and yet that to no one else could they +entrust so difficult and delicate a matter. Several times that day, +as he perceived Coulson's jealous sullenness, he thought in his +heart that the consequence of the excessive confidence for which +Coulson envied him was a burden from which he would be thankful to +be relieved. +</P> + +<P> +As they all sat at tea in Alice Rose's house-place, Philip announced +his intended journey; a piece of intelligence he had not +communicated earlier to Coulson because he had rather dreaded the +increase of dissatisfaction it was sure to produce, and of which he +knew the expression would be restrained by the presence of Alice +Rose and her daughter. +</P> + +<P> +'To Lunnon!' exclaimed Alice. +</P> + +<P> +Hester said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'Well! some folks has the luck!' said Coulson. +</P> + +<P> +'Luck!' said Alice, turning sharp round on him. 'Niver let me hear +such a vain word out o' thy mouth, laddie, again. It's the Lord's +doing, and luck's the devil's way o' putting it. Maybe it's to try +Philip he's sent there; happen it may be a fiery furnace to him; for +I've heerd tell it's full o' temptations, and he may fall into +sin—and then where'd be the "luck" on it? But why art ta going? and +the morning, say'st thou? Why, thy best shirt is in t' suds, and no +time for t' starch and iron it. Whatten the great haste as should +take thee to Lunnon wi'out thy ruffled shirt?' +</P> + +<P> +'It's none o' my doing,' said Philip; 'there's business to be done, +and John Foster says I'm to do it; and I'm to start to-morrow.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll not turn thee out wi'out thy ruffled shirt, if I sit up a' +neet,' said Alice, resolutely. +</P> + +<P> +'Niver fret thyself, mother, about t' shirt,' said Philip. 'If I +need a shirt, London's not what I take it for if I can't buy mysel' +one ready-made.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hearken to him!' said Alice. 'He speaks as if buying o' ready-made +shirts were nought to him, and he wi' a good half-dozen as I made +mysel'. Eh, lad? but if that's the frame o' mind thou'rt in, Lunnon +is like for to be a sore place o' temptation. There's pitfalls for +men, and traps for money at ivery turn, as I've heerd say. It would +ha' been better if John Foster had sent an older man on his +business, whativer it be.' +</P> + +<P> +'They seem to make a deal o' Philip all on a sudden,' said Coulson. +'He's sent for, and talked to i' privacy, while Hester and me is +left i' t' shop for t' bear t' brunt o' t' serving.' +</P> + +<P> +'Philip knows,' said Hester, and then, somehow, her voice failed her +and she stopped. +</P> + +<P> +Philip paid no attention to this half-uttered sentence; he was eager +to tell Coulson, as far as he could do so without betraying his +master's secret, how many drawbacks there were to his proposed +journey, in the responsibility which it involved, and his +unwillingness to leave Monkshaven: he said— +</P> + +<P> +'Coulson, I'd give a deal it were thou that were going, and not me. +At least, there is many a time I'd give a deal. I'll not deny but at +other times I'm pleased at the thought on't. But, if I could I'd +change places wi' thee at this moment.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's fine talking,' said Coulson, half mollified, and yet not +caring to show it. 'I make no doubt it were an even chance betwixt +us two at first, which on us was to go; but somehow thou got the +start and thou'st stuck to it till it's too late for aught but to +say thou's sorry.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, William,' said Philip, rising, 'it's an ill look-out for the +future, if thee and me is to quarrel, like two silly wenches, o'er +each bit of pleasure, or what thou fancies to be pleasure, as falls +in t' way of either on us. I've said truth to thee, and played thee +fair, and I've got to go to Haytersbank for to wish 'em good-by, so +I'll not stay longer here to be misdoubted by thee.' +</P> + +<P> +He took his cap and was gone, not heeding Alice's shrill inquiry as +to his clothes and his ruffled shirt. Coulson sat still, penitent +and ashamed; at length he stole a look at Hester. She was playing +with her teaspoon, but he could see that she was choking down her +tears; he could not choose but force her to speak with an ill-timed +question. +</P> + +<P> +'What's to do, Hester?' said he. +</P> + +<P> +She lifted up those eyes, usually so soft and serene; now they were +full of the light of indignation shining through tears. +</P> + +<P> +'To do!' she said; 'Coulson, I'd thought better of thee, going and +doubting and envying Philip, as niver did thee an ill turn, or said +an ill word, or thought an ill thought by thee; and sending him away +out o' t' house this last night of all, may-be, wi' thy envyings and +jealousy.' +</P> + +<P> +She hastily got up and left the room. Alice was away, looking up +Philip's things for his journey. Coulson remained alone, feeling +like a guilty child, but dismayed by Hester's words, even more than +by his own regret at what he had said. +</P> + +<P> +Philip walked rapidly up the hill-road towards Haytersbank. He was +chafed and excited by Coulson's words, and the events of the day. He +had meant to shape his life, and now it was, as it were, being +shaped for him, and yet he was reproached for the course it was +taking, as much as though he were an active agent; accused of taking +advantage over Coulson, his intimate companion for years; he who +esteemed himself above taking an unfair advantage over any man! His +feeling on the subject was akin to that of Hazael, 'Is thy servant a +dog that he should do this thing?' +</P> + +<P> +His feelings, disturbed on this one point, shook his judgment off +its balance on another. The resolution he had deliberately formed of +not speaking to Sylvia on the subject of his love till he could +announce to her parents the fact of his succession to Fosters' +business, and till he had patiently, with long-continuing and deep +affection, worked his way into her regard, was set aside during the +present walk. He would speak to her of his passionate attachment, +before he left, for an uncertain length of time, and the certain +distance of London. And all the modification on this point which his +judgment could obtain from his impetuous and excited heart was, that +he would watch her words and manner well when he announced his +approaching absence, and if in them he read the slightest token of +tender regretful feeling, he would pour out his love at her feet, +not even urging the young girl to make any return, or to express the +feelings of which he hoped the germ was already budding in her. He +would be patient with her; he could not be patient himself. His +heart beating, his busy mind rehearsing the probable coming scene, +he turned into the field-path that led to Haytersbank. Coming along +it, and so meeting him, advanced Daniel Robson, in earnest talk with +Charley Kinraid. Kinraid, then, had been at the farm: Kinraid had +been seeing Sylvia, her mother away. The thought of poor dead Annie +Coulson flashed into Philip's mind. Could he be playing the same +game with Sylvia? Philip set his teeth and tightened his lips at the +thought of it. They had stopped talking; they had seen him already, +or his impulse would have been to dodge behind the wall and avoid +them; even though one of his purposes in going to Haytersbank had +been to bid his uncle farewell. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid took him by surprise from the hearty greeting he gave him, +and which Philip would fain have avoided. But the specksioneer was +full of kindliness towards all the world, especially towards all +Sylvia's friends, and, convinced of her great love towards himself, +had forgotten any previous jealousy of Philip. Secure and exultant, +his broad, handsome, weather-bronzed face was as great a contrast to +Philip's long, thoughtful, sallow countenance, as his frank manner +was to the other's cold reserve. It was some minutes before Hepburn +could bring himself to tell the great event that was about to befall +him before this third person whom he considered as an intrusive +stranger. But as Kinraid seemed to have no idea of going on, and as +there really was no reason why he and all the world should not know +of Philip's intentions, he told his uncle that he was bound for +London the next day on business connected with the Fosters. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel was deeply struck with the fact that he was talking to a man +setting off for London at a day's notice. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'll niver tell me this hasn't been brewin' longer nor twelve +hours; thou's a sly close chap, and we hannot seen thee this +se'nnight; thou'll ha' been thinkin' on this, and cogitating it, +may-be, a' that time.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay,' said Philip, 'I knew nought about it last night; it's none o' +my doing, going, for I'd liefer ha' stayed where I am.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'll like it when once yo're there,' said Kinraid, with a +travelled air of superiority, as Philip fancied. +</P> + +<P> +'No, I shan't,' he replied, shortly. 'Liking has nought to do with +it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah' yo' knew nought about it last neet,' continued Daniel, +musingly. 'Well, life's soon o'er; else when I were a young fellow, +folks made their wills afore goin' to Lunnon.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yet I'll be bound to say yo' niver made a will before going to +sea,' said Philip, half smiling. +</P> + +<P> +'Na, na; but that's quite another mak' o' thing; going' to sea comes +natteral to a man, but goin' to Lunnon,—I were once there, and were +near deafened wi' t' throng and t' sound. I were but two hours i' t' +place, though our ship lay a fortneet off Gravesend.' +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid now seemed in a hurry; but Philip was stung with curiosity +to ascertain his movements, and suddenly addressed him: +</P> + +<P> +'I heard yo' were i' these parts. Are you for staying here long?' +</P> + +<P> +There was a certain abruptness in Philip's tone, if not in his +words, which made Kinraid look in his face with surprise, and answer +with equal curtness. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm off i' th' morning; and sail for the north seas day after.' +</P> + +<P> +He turned away, and began to whistle, as if he did not wish for any +further conversation with his interrogator. Philip, indeed, had +nothing more to say to him: he had learned all he wanted to know. +</P> + +<P> +'I'd like to bid good-by to Sylvie. Is she at home?' he asked of her +father. +</P> + +<P> +'A'm thinking thou'll not find her. She'll be off to Yesterbarrow t' +see if she'd get a settin' o' their eggs; her grey speckled hen is +cluckin', and nought 'll serve our Sylvia but their eggs to set her +upon. But, for a' that, she mayn't be gone yet. Best go on and see +for thysel'.' +</P> + +<P> +So they parted; but Philip had not gone many steps before his uncle +called him back, Kinraid slowly loitering on meanwhile. Robson was +fumbling among some dirty papers he had in an old leather case, +which he had produced out of his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +'Fact is, Philip, t' pleugh's in a bad way, gearin' and a', an' folk +is talkin' on a new kind o' mak'; and if thou's bound for York—-' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not going by York; I'm going by a Newcastle smack.' +</P> + +<P> +'Newcassel—Newcassel—it's pretty much t' same. Here, lad, thou can +read print easy; it's a bit as was cut out on a papper; there's +Newcassel, and York, and Durham, and a vast more towns named, wheere +folk can learn a' about t' new mak' o' pleugh.' +</P> + +<P> +'I see,' said Philip: '"Robinson, Side, Newcastle, can give all +requisite information."' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay,' said Robson; 'thou's hit t' marrow on t' matter. Now, if +thou'rt i' Newcassel, thou can learn all about it; thou'rt little +better nor a woman, for sure, bein' mainly acquaint wi' ribbons, but +they'll tell thee—they'll tell thee, lad; and write down what they +sayn, and what's to be t' price, and look sharp as to what kind o' +folk they are as sells 'em, an' write and let me know. Thou'll be i' +Newcassel to-morrow, may-be? Well, then, I'll reckon to hear fro' +thee in a week, or, mayhap, less,—for t' land is backward, and I'd +like to know about t' pleughs. I'd a month's mind to write to +Brunton, as married Molly Corney, but writin' is more i' thy way an' +t' parson's nor mine; and if thou sells ribbons, Brunton sells +cheese, and that's no better.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip promised to do his best, and to write word to Robson, who, +satisfied with his willingness to undertake the commission, bade him +go on and see if he could not find the lass. Her father was right in +saying that she might not have set out for Yesterbarrow. She had +talked about it to Kinraid and her father in order to cover her +regret at her lover's accompanying her father to see some new kind +of harpoon about which the latter had spoken. But as soon as they +had left the house, and she had covertly watched them up the brow in +the field, she sate down to meditate and dream about her great +happiness in being beloved by her hero, Charley Kinraid. No gloomy +dread of his long summer's absence; no fear of the cold, glittering +icebergs bearing mercilessly down on the <I>Urania</I>, nor shuddering +anticipation of the dark waves of evil import, crossed her mind. He +loved her, and that was enough. Her eyes looked, trance-like, into a +dim, glorious future of life; her lips, still warm and reddened by +his kiss, were just parted in a happy smile, when she was startled +by the sound of an approaching footstep—a footstep quite familiar +enough for her to recognize it, and which was unwelcome now, as +disturbing her in the one blessed subject of thought in which alone +she cared to indulge. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, Philip! an' what brings <I>yo'</I> here?' was her rather +ungracious greeting. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, Sylvie, are yo' sorry to see me?' asked Philip, reproachfully. +But she turned it off with assumed lightness. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, yes,' said she. 'I've been wanting yo' this week past wi' t' +match to my blue ribbon yo' said yo'd get and bring me next time yo' +came.' +</P> + +<P> +'I've forgotten it, Sylvie. It's clean gone out of my mind,' said +Philip, with true regret. 'But I've had a deal to think on,' he +continued, penitently, as if anxious to be forgiven. Sylvia did not +want his penitence, did not care for her ribbon, was troubled by his +earnestness of manner—but he knew nothing of all that; he only knew +that she whom he loved had asked him to do something for her, and he +had neglected it; so, anxious to be excused and forgiven, he went on +with the apology she cared not to hear. +</P> + +<P> +If she had been less occupied with her own affairs, less engrossed +with deep feeling, she would have reproached him, if only in jest, +for his carelessness. As it was, she scarcely took in the sense of +his words. +</P> + +<P> +'You see, Sylvie, I've had a deal to think on; before long I intend +telling yo' all about it; just now I'm not free to do it. And when a +man's mind is full o' business, most particular when it's other +folk's as is trusted to him, he seems to lose count on the very +things he'd most care for at another time.' He paused a little. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia's galloping thoughts were pulled suddenly up by his silence; +she felt that he wanted her to say something, but she could think of +nothing besides an ambiguous— +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' +</P> + +<P> +'And I'm off to London i' t' morning,' added he, a little wistfully, +almost as if beseeching her to show or express some sorrow at a +journey, the very destination of which showed that he would be +absent for some time. +</P> + +<P> +'To Lunnon!' said she, with some surprise. 'Yo're niver thinking o' +going to live theere, for sure!' +</P> + +<P> +Surprise, and curiosity, and wonder; nothing more, as Philip's +instinct told him. But he reasoned that first correct impression +away with ingenious sophistry. +</P> + +<P> +'Not to live there: only to stay for some time. I shall be back, I +reckon, in a month or so.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! that's nought of a going away,' said she, rather petulantly. +'Them as goes to t' Greenland seas has to bide away for six months +and more,' and she sighed. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly a light shone down into Philip's mind. His voice was +changed as he spoke next. +</P> + +<P> +'I met that good-for-nothing chap, Kinraid, wi' yo'r father just +now. He'll ha' been here, Sylvie?' +</P> + +<P> +She stooped for something she had dropped, and came up red as a +rose. +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure; what then?' And she eyed him defiantly, though in her +heart she trembled, she knew not why. +</P> + +<P> +'What then? and yo'r mother away. He's no company for such as thee, +at no time, Sylvie.' +</P> + +<P> +'Feyther and me chooses our own company, without iver asking leave +o' yo',' said Sylvia, hastily arranging the things in the little +wooden work-box that was on the table, preparatory to putting it +away. At the time, in his agitation, he saw, but did not affix any +meaning to it, that the half of some silver coin was among the +contents thus turned over before the box was locked. +</P> + +<P> +'But thy mother wouldn't like it, Sylvie; he's played false wi' +other lasses, he'll be playing thee false some o' these days, if +thou lets him come about thee. He went on wi' Annie Coulson, +William's sister, till he broke her heart; and sin then he's been on +wi' others.' +</P> + +<P> +'I dunnot believe a word on 't,' said Sylvia, standing up, all +aflame. +</P> + +<P> +'I niver telled a lie i' my life,' said Philip, almost choking with +grief at her manner to him, and the regard for his rival which she +betrayed. 'It were Willie Coulson as telled me, as solemn and +serious as one man can speak to another; and he said it weren't the +first nor the last time as he had made his own game with young +women.' +</P> + +<P> +'And how dare yo' come here to me wi' yo'r backbiting tales?' said +Sylvia, shivering all over with passion. +</P> + +<P> +Philip tried to keep calm, and to explain. +</P> + +<P> +'It were yo'r own mother, Sylvia, as knowed yo' had no brother, or +any one to see after yo'; and yo' so pretty, so pretty, Sylvia,' he +continued, shaking his head, sadly, 'that men run after yo' against +their will, as one may say; and yo'r mother bade me watch o'er ye +and see what company yo' kept, and who was following after yo', and +to warn yo', if need were.' +</P> + +<P> +'My mother niver bade yo' to come spying after me, and blaming me +for seeing a lad as my feyther thinks well on. An' I don't believe a +word about Annie Coulson; an' I'm not going to suffer yo' to come +wi' yo'r tales to me; say 'em out to his face, and hear what he'll +say to yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie, Sylvie,' cried poor Philip, as his offended cousin rushed +past him, and upstairs to her little bedroom, where he heard the +sound of the wooden bolt flying into its place. He could hear her +feet pacing quickly about through the unceiled rafters. He sate +still in despair, his head buried in his two hands. He sate till it +grew dusk, dark; the wood fire, not gathered together by careful +hands, died out into gray ashes. Dolly Reid had done her work and +gone home. There were but Philip and Sylvia in the house. He knew he +ought to be going home, for he had much to do, and many arrangements +to make. Yet it seemed as though he could not stir. At length he +raised his stiffened body, and stood up, dizzy. Up the little wooden +stairs he went, where he had never been before, to the small square +landing, almost filled up with the great chest for oat-cake. He +breathed hard for a minute, and then knocked at the door of Sylvia's +room. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie! I'm going away; say good-by.' No answer. Not a sound heard. +'Sylvie!' (a little louder, and less hoarsely spoken). There was no +reply. 'Sylvie! I shall be a long time away; perhaps I may niver +come back at all'; here he bitterly thought of an unregarded death. +'Say good-by.' No answer. He waited patiently. Can she be wearied +out, and gone to sleep, he wondered. Yet once again—'Good-by, +Sylvie, and God bless yo'! I'm sorry I vexed yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +No reply. +</P> + +<P> +With a heavy, heavy heart he creaked down the stairs, felt for his +cap, and left the house. +</P> + +<P> +'She's warned, any way,' thought he. Just at that moment the little +casement window of Sylvia's room was opened, and she said— +</P> + +<P> +'Good-by, Philip!' +</P> + +<P> +The window was shut again as soon as the words were spoken. Philip +knew the uselessness of remaining; the need for his departure; and +yet he stood still for a little time like one entranced, as if his +will had lost all power to compel him to leave the place. Those two +words of hers, which two hours before would have been so far beneath +his aspirations, had now power to re-light hope, to quench reproach +or blame. +</P> + +<P> +'She's but a young lassie,' said he to himself; 'an' Kinraid has +been playing wi' her, as such as he can't help doing, once they get +among the women. An' I came down sudden on her about Annie Coulson, +and touched her pride. Maybe, too, it were ill advised to tell her +how her mother was feared for her. I couldn't ha' left the place +to-morrow if he'd been biding here; but he's off for half a year or +so, and I'll be home again as soon as iver I can. In half a year +such as he forgets, if iver he's thought serious about her; but in +a' my lifetime, if I live to fourscore, I can niver forget. God +bless her for saying, "Good-by, Philip."' He repeated the words +aloud in fond mimicry of her tones: 'Good-by, Philip.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +EDDY IN LOVE'S CURRENT +</H3> + +<P> +The next morning shone bright and clear, if ever a March morning +did. The beguiling month was coming in like a lamb, with whatever +storms it might go raging out. It was long since Philip had tasted +the freshness of the early air on the shore, or in the country, as +his employment at the shop detained him in Monkshaven till the +evening. And as he turned down the quays (or staithes) on the north +side of the river, towards the shore, and met the fresh sea-breeze +blowing right in his face, it was impossible not to feel bright and +elastic. With his knapsack slung over his shoulder, he was prepared +for a good stretch towards Hartlepool, whence a coach would take him +to Newcastle before night. For seven or eight miles the level sands +were as short and far more agreeable a road than the up and down +land-ways. Philip walked on pretty briskly, unconsciously enjoying +the sunny landscape before him; the crisp curling waves rushing +almost up to his feet, on his right hand, and then swishing back +over the fine small pebbles into the great swelling sea. To his left +were the cliffs rising one behind another, having deep gullies here +and there between, with long green slopes upward from the land, and +then sudden falls of brown and red soil or rock deepening to a yet +greater richness of colour at their base towards the blue ocean +before him. The loud, monotonous murmur of the advancing and +receding waters lulled him into dreaminess; the sunny look of +everything tinged his day-dreams with hope. So he trudged merrily +over the first mile or so; not an obstacle to his measured pace on +the hard, level pavement; not a creature to be seen since he had +left the little gathering of bare-legged urchins dabbling in the +sea-pools near Monkshaven. The cares of land were shut out by the +glorious barrier of rocks before him. There were some great masses +that had been detached by the action of the weather, and lay half +embedded in the sand, draperied over by the heavy pendent +olive-green seaweed. The waves were nearer at this point; the +advancing sea came up with a mighty distant length of roar; here and +there the smooth swell was lashed by the fret against unseen rocks +into white breakers; but otherwise the waves came up from the German +Ocean upon that English shore with a long steady roll that might +have taken its first impetus far away, in the haunt of the +sea-serpent on the coast of 'Norroway over the foam.' The air was +soft as May; right overhead the sky was blue, but it deadened into +gray near the sea lines. Flocks of seagulls hovered about the edge +of the waves, slowly rising and turning their white under-plumage to +glimmer in the sunlight as Philip approached. The whole scene was so +peaceful, so soothing, that it dispelled the cares and fears (too +well founded in fact) which had weighed down on his heart during the +dark hours of the past night. +</P> + +<P> +There was Haytersbank gully opening down its green entrance among +the warm brown bases of the cliffs. Below, in the sheltered +brushwood, among the last year's withered leaves, some primroses +might be found. He half thought of gathering Sylvia a posy of them, +and rushing up to the farm to make a little farewell peace-offering. +But on looking at his watch, he put all thoughts of such an action +out of his head; it was above an hour later than he had supposed, +and he must make all haste on to Hartlepool. Just as he was +approaching this gully, a man came dashing down, and ran out some +way upon the sand with the very force of his descent; then he turned +to the left and took the direction of Hartlepool a hundred yards or +so in advance of Philip. He never stayed to look round him, but went +swiftly and steadily on his way. By the peculiar lurch in his +walk—by everything—Philip knew it was the specksioneer, Kinraid. +</P> + +<P> +Now the road up Haytersbank gully led to the farm, and nowhere else. +Still any one wishing to descend to the shore might do so by first +going up to the Robsons' house, and skirting the walls till they +came to the little slender path down to the shore. But by the farm, +by the very house-door they must of necessity pass. Philip slackened +his pace, keeping under the shadow of the rock. By-and-by Kinraid, +walking on the sunlight open sands, turned round and looked long and +earnestly towards Haytersbank gully. Hepburn paused when he paused, +but as intently as he looked at some object above, so intently did +Hepburn look at him. No need to ascertain by sight towards whom his +looks, his thoughts were directed. He took off his hat and waved it, +touching one part of it as if with particular meaning. When he +turned away at last, Hepburn heaved a heavy sigh, and crept yet more +into the cold dank shadow of the cliffs. Each step was now a heavy +task, his sad heart tired and weary. After a while he climbed up a +few feet, so as to mingle his form yet more completely with the +stones and rocks around. Stumbling over the uneven and often jagged +points, slipping on the sea-weed, plunging into little pools of +water left by the ebbing tide in some natural basins, he yet kept +his eyes fixed as if in fascination on Kinraid, and made his way +almost alongside of him. But the last hour had pinched Hepburn's +features into something of the wan haggardness they would wear when +he should first be lying still for ever. +</P> + +<P> +And now the two men were drawing near a creek, about eight miles +from Monkshaven. The creek was formed by a beck (or small stream) +that came flowing down from the moors, and took its way to the sea +between the widening rocks. The melting of the snows and running of +the flooded water-springs above made this beck in the early +spring-time both deep and wide. Hepburn knew that here they both +must take a path leading inland to a narrow foot-bridge about a +quarter of a mile up the stream; indeed from this point, owing to +the jutting out of the rocks, the land path was the shortest; and +this way lay by the water-side at an angle right below the cliff to +which Hepburn's steps were leading him. He knew that on this long +level field path he might easily be seen by any one following; nay, +if he followed any one at a short distance, for it was full of +turnings; and he resolved, late as he was, to sit down for a while +till Kinraid was far enough in advance for him to escape being seen. +He came up to the last rock behind which he could be concealed; +seven or eight feet above the stream he stood, and looked cautiously +for the specksioneer. Up by the rushing stream he looked, then right +below. +</P> + +<P> +'It is God's providence,' he murmured. 'It is God's providence.' +</P> + +<P> +He crouched down where he had been standing and covered his face +with his hands. He tried to deafen as well as to blind himself, that +he might neither hear nor see anything of the coming event of which +he, an inhabitant of Monkshaven at that day, well understood the +betokening signs. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid had taken the larger angle of the sands before turning up +towards the bridge. He came along now nearing the rocks. By this +time he was sufficiently buoyant to whistle to himself. It steeled +Philip's heart to what was coming to hear his rival whistling, 'Weel +may the keel row,' so soon after parting with Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +The instant Kinraid turned the corner of the cliff, the ambush was +upon him. Four man-of-war's men sprang on him and strove to pinion +him. +</P> + +<P> +'In the King's name!' cried they, with rough, triumphant jeers. +</P> + +<P> +Their boat was moored not a dozen yards above; they were sent by the +tender of a frigate lying off Hartlepool for fresh water. The tender +was at anchor just beyond the jutting rocks in face. +</P> + +<P> +They knew that fishermen were in the habit of going to and from +their nets by the side of the creek; but such a prize as this +active, strong, and evidently superior sailor, was what they had not +hoped for, and their endeavours to secure him were in proportion to +the value of the prize. +</P> + +<P> +Although taken by surprise, and attacked by so many, Kinraid did not +lose his wits. He wrenched himself free, crying out loud: +</P> + +<P> +'Avast, I'm a protected whaler. I claim my protection. I've my +papers to show, I'm bonded specksioneer to the <I>Urania</I> whaler, +Donkin captain, North Shields port.' +</P> + +<P> +As a protected whaler, the press-gang had, by the 17th section of +Act 26 Geo. III. no legal right to seize him, unless he had failed +to return to his ship by the 10th March following the date of his +bond. But of what use were the papers he hastily dragged out of his +breast; of what use were laws in those days of slow intercourse with +such as were powerful enough to protect, and in the time of popular +panic against a French invasion? +</P> + +<P> +'D—n your protection,' cried the leader of the press-gang; 'come +and serve his Majesty, that's better than catching whales.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is it though?' said the specksioneer, with a motion of his hand, +which the swift-eyed sailor opposed to him saw and interpreted +rightly. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou wilt, wilt thou? Close with him, Jack; and ware the cutlass.' +</P> + +<P> +In a minute his cutlass was forced from him, and it became a +hand-to-hand struggle, of which, from the difference in numbers, it +was not difficult to foretell the result. Yet Kinraid made desperate +efforts to free himself; he wasted no breath in words, but fought, +as the men said, 'like a very devil.' +</P> + +<P> +Hepburn heard loud pants of breath, great thuds, the dull struggle +of limbs on the sand, the growling curses of those who thought to +have managed their affair more easily; the sudden cry of some one +wounded, not Kinraid he knew, Kinraid would have borne any pain in +silence at such a moment; another wrestling, swearing, infuriated +strife, and then a strange silence. Hepburn sickened at the heart; +was then his rival dead? had he left this bright world? lost his +life—his love? For an instant Hepburn felt guilty of his death; he +said to himself he had never wished him dead, and yet in the +struggle he had kept aloof, and now it might be too late for ever. +Philip could not bear the suspense; he looked stealthily round the +corner of the rock behind which he had been hidden, and saw that +they had overpowered Kinraid, and, too exhausted to speak, were +binding him hand and foot to carry him to their boat. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid lay as still as any hedgehog: he rolled when they pushed +him; he suffered himself to be dragged without any resistance, any +motion; the strong colour brought into his face while fighting was +gone now, his countenance was livid pale; his lips were tightly held +together, as if it cost him more effort to be passive, wooden, and +stiff in their hands than it had done to fight and struggle with all +his might. His eyes seemed the only part about him that showed +cognizance of what was going on. They were watchful, vivid, fierce +as those of a wild cat brought to bay, seeking in its desperate +quickened brain for some mode of escape not yet visible, and in all +probability never to become visible to the hopeless creature in its +supreme agony. +</P> + +<P> +Without a motion of his head, he was perceiving and taking in +everything while he lay bound at the bottom of the boat. A sailor +sat by his side, who had been hurt by a blow from him. The man held +his head in his hand, moaning; but every now and then he revenged +himself by a kick at the prostrate specksioneer, till even his +comrades stopped their cursing and swearing at their prisoner for +the trouble he had given them, to cry shame on their comrade. But +Kinraid never spoke, nor shrank from the outstretched foot. +</P> + +<P> +One of his captors, with the successful insolence of victory, +ventured to jeer him on the supposed reason for his vehement and +hopeless resistance. +</P> + +<P> +He might have said yet more insolent things; the kicks might have +hit harder; Kinraid did not hear or heed. His soul was beating +itself against the bars of inflexible circumstance; reviewing in one +terrible instant of time what had been, what might have been, what +was. Yet while these thoughts thus stabbed him, he was still +mechanically looking out for chances. He moved his head a little, so +as to turn towards Haytersbank, where Sylvia must be quickly, if +sadly, going about her simple daily work; and then his quick eye +caught Hepburn's face, blanched with excitement rather than fear, +watching eagerly from behind the rock, where he had sat breathless +during the affray and the impressment of his rival. +</P> + +<P> +'Come here, lad!' shouted the specksioneer as soon as he saw Philip, +heaving and writhing his body the while with so much vigour that the +sailors started away from the work they were engaged in about the +boat, and held him down once more, as if afraid he should break the +strong rope that held him like withes of green flax. But the bound +man had no such notion in his head. His mighty wish was to call +Hepburn near that he might send some message by him to Sylvia. 'Come +here, Hepburn,' he cried again, falling back this time so weak and +exhausted that the man-of-war's men became sympathetic. +</P> + +<P> +'Come down, peeping Tom, and don't be afeared,' they called out. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not afeared,' said Philip; 'I'm no sailor for yo' t' impress +me: nor have yo' any right to take that fellow; he's a Greenland +specksioneer, under protection, as I know and can testify.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' and yo'r testify go hang. Make haste, man and hear what this +gem'man, as was in a dirty blubbery whale-ship, and is now in his +Majesty's service, has got to say. I dare say, Jack,' went on the +speaker, 'it's some message to his sweetheart, asking her to come +for to serve on board ship along with he, like Billy Taylor's young +woman.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip was coming towards them slowly, not from want of activity, +but because he was undecided what he should be called upon to do or +to say by the man whom he hated and dreaded, yet whom just now he +could not help admiring. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid groaned with impatience at seeing one, free to move with +quick decision, so slow and dilatory. +</P> + +<P> +'Come on then,' cried the sailors, 'or we'll take you too on board, +and run you up and down the main-mast a few times. Nothing like life +aboard ship for quickening a land-lubber.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'd better take him and leave me,' said Kinraid, grimly. 'I've +been taught my lesson; and seemingly he has his yet to learn.' +</P> + +<P> +'His Majesty isn't a schoolmaster to need scholars; but a jolly good +captain to need men,' replied the leader of the gang, eyeing Philip +nevertheless, and questioning within himself how far, with only two +other available men, they durst venture on his capture as well as +the specksioneer's. It might be done, he thought, even though there +was this powerful captive aboard, and the boat to manage too; but, +running his eye over Philip's figure, he decided that the tall +stooping fellow was never cut out for a sailor, and that he should +get small thanks if he captured him, to pay him for the possible +risk of losing the other. Or else the mere fact of being a landsman +was of as little consequence to the press-gang, as the protecting +papers which Kinraid had vainly showed. +</P> + +<P> +'Yon fellow wouldn't have been worth his grog this many a day, and +be d—d to you,' said he, catching Hepburn by the shoulder, and +giving him a push. Philip stumbled over something in this, his +forced run. He looked down; his foot had caught in Kinraid's hat, +which had dropped off in the previous struggle. In the band that +went round the low crown, a ribbon was knotted; a piece of that same +ribbon which Philip had chosen out, with such tender hope, to give +to Sylvia for the Corneys' party on new year's eve. He knew every +delicate thread that made up the briar-rose pattern; and a spasm of +hatred towards Kinraid contracted his heart. He had been almost +relenting into pity for the man captured before his eyes; now he +abhorred him. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid did not speak for a minute or two. The sailors, who had +begun to take him into favour, were all agog with curiosity to hear +the message to his sweetheart, which they believed he was going to +send. Hepburn's perceptions, quickened with his vehement agitation +of soul, were aware of this feeling of theirs; and it increased his +rage against Kinraid, who had exposed the idea of Sylvia to be the +subject of ribald whispers. But the specksioneer cared little what +others said or thought about the maiden, whom he yet saw before his +closed eyelids as she stood watching him, from the Haytersbank +gully, waving her hands, her handkerchief, all in one passionate +farewell. +</P> + +<P> +'What do yo' want wi' me?' asked Hepburn at last in a gloomy tone. +If he could have helped it, he would have kept silence till Kinraid +spoke first; but he could no longer endure the sailors' nudges, and +winks, and jests among themselves. +</P> + +<P> +'Tell Sylvia,' said Kinraid—— +</P> + +<P> +'There's a smart name for a sweetheart,' exclaimed one of the men; +but Kinraid went straight on,— +</P> + +<P> +'What yo've seen; how I've been pressed by this cursed gang.' +</P> + +<P> +'Civil words, messmate, if you please. Sylvia can't abide cursing +and swearing, I'm sure. We're gentlemen serving his Majesty on board +the <I>Alcestis</I>, and this proper young fellow shall be helped on to +more honour and glory than he'd ever get bobbing for whales. Tell +Sylvia this, with my love; Jack Carter's love, if she's anxious +about my name.' +</P> + +<P> +One of the sailors laughed at this rude humour; another bade Carter +hold his stupid tongue. Philip hated him in his heart. Kinraid +hardly heard him. He was growing faint with the heavy blows he had +received, the stunning fall he had met with, and the reaction from +his dogged self-control at first. +</P> + +<P> +Philip did not speak nor move. +</P> + +<P> +'Tell her,' continued Kinraid, rousing himself for another effort, +'what yo've seen. Tell her I'll come back to her. Bid her not forget +the great oath we took together this morning; she's as much my wife +as if we'd gone to church;—I'll come back and marry her afore +long.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip said something inarticulately. +</P> + +<P> +'Hurra!' cried Carter, 'and I'll be best man. Tell her, too that +I'll have an eye on her sweetheart, and keep him from running after +other girls.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'll have yo'r hands full, then,' muttered Philip, his passion +boiling over at the thought of having been chosen out from among all +men to convey such a message as Kinraid's to Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Make an end of yo'r d—d yarns, and be off,' said the man who had +been hurt by Kinraid, and who had sate apart and silent till now. +</P> + +<P> +Philip turned away; Kinraid raised himself and cried after him,— +</P> + +<P> +'Hepburn, Hepburn! tell her—-' what he added Philip could not hear, +for the words were lost before they reached him in the outward noise +of the regular splash of the oars and the rush of the wind down the +gully, with which mingled the closer sound that filled his ears of +his own hurrying blood surging up into his brain. He was conscious +that he had said something in reply to Kinraid's adjuration that he +would deliver his message to Sylvia, at the very time when Carter +had stung him into fresh anger by the allusion to the possibility of +the specksioneer's 'running after other girls,' for, for an instant, +Hepburn had been touched by the contrast of circumstances. Kinraid +an hour or two ago,—Kinraid a banished man; for in those days, an +impressed sailor might linger out years on some foreign station, far +from those he loved, who all this time remained ignorant of his +cruel fate. +</P> + +<P> +But Hepburn began to wonder what he himself had said—how much of a +promise he had made to deliver those last passionate words of +Kinraid's. He could not recollect how much, how little he had said; +he knew he had spoken hoarsely and low almost at the same time as +Carter had uttered his loud joke. But he doubted if Kinraid had +caught his words. +</P> + +<P> +And then the dread Inner Creature, who lurks in each of our hearts, +arose and said, 'It is as well: a promise given is a fetter to the +giver. But a promise is not given when it has not been received.' +</P> + +<P> +At a sudden impulse, he turned again towards the shore when he had +crossed the bridge, and almost ran towards the verge of the land. +Then he threw himself down on the soft fine turf that grew on the +margin of the cliffs overhanging the sea, and commanding an extent +of view towards the north. His face supported by his hands, he +looked down upon the blue rippling ocean, flashing here and there, +into the sunlight in long, glittering lines. The boat was still in +the distance, making her swift silent way with long regular bounds +to the tender that lay in the offing. +</P> + +<P> +Hepburn felt insecure, as in a nightmare dream, so long as the boat +did not reach her immediate destination. His contracted eyes could +see four minute figures rowing with ceaseless motion, and a fifth +sate at the helm. But he knew there was a sixth, unseen, lying, +bound and helpless, at the bottom of the boat; and his fancy kept +expecting this man to start up and break his bonds, and overcome all +the others, and return to the shore free and triumphant. +</P> + +<P> +It was by no fault of Hepburn's that the boat sped well away; that +she was now alongside the tender, dancing on the waves; now emptied +of her crew; now hoisted up to her place. No fault of his! and yet +it took him some time before he could reason himself into the belief +that his mad, feverish wishes not an hour before—his wild prayer to +be rid of his rival, as he himself had scrambled onward over the +rocks alongside of Kinraid's path on the sands—had not compelled +the event. +</P> + +<P> +'Anyhow,' thought he, as he rose up, 'my prayer is granted. God be +thanked!' +</P> + +<P> +Once more he looked out towards the ship. She had spread her +beautiful great sails, and was standing out to sea in the glittering +path of the descending sun. +</P> + +<P> +He saw that he had been delayed on his road, and had lingered long. +He shook his stiffened limbs, shouldered his knapsack, and prepared +to walk on to Hartlepool as swiftly as he could. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN IMPORTANT MISSION +</H3> + +<P> +Philip was too late for the coach he had hoped to go by, but there +was another that left at night, and which reached Newcastle in the +forenoon, so that, by the loss of a night's sleep, he might overtake +his lost time. But, restless and miserable, he could not stop in +Hartlepool longer than to get some hasty food at the inn from which +the coach started. He acquainted himself with the names of the towns +through which it would pass, and the inns at which it would stop, +and left word that the coachman was to be on the look-out for him +and pick him up at some one of these places. +</P> + +<P> +He was thoroughly worn out before this happened—too much tired to +gain any sleep in the coach. When he reached Newcastle, he went to +engage his passage in the next London-bound smack, and then directed +his steps to Robinson's, in the Side, to make all the inquiries he +could think of respecting the plough his uncle wanted to know about. +</P> + +<P> +So it was pretty late in the afternoon, indeed almost evening, +before he arrived at the small inn on the quay-side, where he +intended to sleep. It was but a rough kind of place, frequented +principally by sailors; he had been recommended to it by Daniel +Robson, who had known it well in former days. The accommodation in +it was, however, clean and homely, and the people keeping it were +respectable enough in their way. +</P> + +<P> +Still Hepburn was rather repelled by the appearance of the sailors +who sate drinking in the bar, and he asked, in a low voice, if there +was not another room. The woman stared in surprise, and only shook +her head. Hepburn went to a separate table, away from the roaring +fire, which on this cold March evening was the great attraction, and +called for food and drink. Then seeing that the other men were +eyeing him with the sociable idea of speaking to him, he asked for +pen and ink and paper, with the intention of defeating their purpose +by pre-occupation on his part. But when the paper came, the new pen, +the unused thickened ink, he hesitated long before he began to +write; and at last he slowly put down the words,— +</P> + +<P> +'DEAR AND HONOURED UNCLE,'—— +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause; his meal was brought and hastily swallowed. Even +while he was eating it, he kept occasionally touching up the letters +of these words. When he had drunk a glass of ale he began again to +write: fluently this time, for he was giving an account of the +plough. Then came another long stop; he was weighing in his own mind +what he should say about Kinraid. Once he thought for a second of +writing to Sylvia herself, and telling her—-how much? She might +treasure up her lover's words like grains of gold, while they were +lighter than dust in their meaning to Philip's mind; words which +such as the specksioneer used as counters to beguile and lead astray +silly women. It was for him to prove his constancy by action; and +the chances of his giving such proof were infinitesimal in Philip's +estimation. But should the latter mention the bare fact of Kinraid's +impressment to Robson? That would have been the natural course of +things, remembering that the last time Philip had seen either, they +were in each other's company. Twenty times he put his pen to the +paper with the intention of relating briefly the event that had +befallen Kinraid; and as often he stopped, as though the first word +would be irrevocable. While he thus sate pen in hand, thinking +himself wiser than conscience, and looking on beyond the next step +which she bade him take into an indefinite future, he caught some +fragments of the sailors' talk at the other end of the room, which +made him listen to their words. They were speaking of that very +Kinraid, the thought of whom filled his own mind like an actual +presence. In a rough, careless way they spoke of the specksioneer, +with admiration enough for his powers as a sailor and harpooner; and +from that they passed on to jesting mention of his power amongst +women, and one or two girls' names were spoken of in connection with +him. Hepburn silently added Annie Coulson and Sylvia Robson to this +list, and his cheeks turned paler as he did so. Long after they had +done speaking about Kinraid, after they had paid their shot, and +gone away, he sate in the same attitude, thinking bitter thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +The people of the house prepared for bed. Their silent guest took no +heed of their mute signs. At length the landlord spoke to him, and +he started, gathered his wits together with an effort, and prepared +to retire with the rest. But before he did so, he signed and +directed the letter to his uncle, leaving it still open, however, in +case some sudden feeling should prompt him to add a postscript. The +landlord volunteered the information that the letter his guest had +been writing must be posted early the next morning if it was going +south; as the mails in that direction only left Newcastle every +other day. +</P> + +<P> +All night long Hepburn wearied himself with passionate tossings, +prompted by stinging recollection. Towards morning he fell into a +dead sound sleep. He was roused by a hasty knocking at the door. It +was broad full daylight; he had overslept himself, and the smack was +leaving by the early tide. He was even now summoned on board. He +dressed, wafered his letter, and rushed with it to the neighbouring +post-office; and, without caring to touch the breakfast for which he +paid, he embarked. Once on board, he experienced the relief which it +always is to an undecided man, and generally is at first to any one +who has been paltering with duty, when circumstances decide for him. +In the first case, it is pleasant to be relieved from the burden of +decision; in the second, the responsibility seems to be shifted on +to impersonal events. +</P> + +<P> +And so Philip sailed out of the mouth of the Tyne on to the great +open sea. It would be a week before the smack reached London, even +if she pursued a tolerably straight course, but she had to keep a +sharp look-out after possible impressment of her crew; and it was +not until after many dodges and some adventures that, at the end of +a fortnight from the time of his leaving Monkshaven, Philip found +himself safely housed in London, and ready to begin the delicate +piece of work which was given him to do. +</P> + +<P> +He felt himself fully capable of unravelling each clue to +information, and deciding on the value of the knowledge so gained. +But during the leisure of the voyage he had wisely determined to +communicate everything he learnt about Dickinson, in short, every +step he took in the matter, by letter to his employers. And thus his +mind both in and out of his lodgings might have appeared to have +been fully occupied with the concerns of others. +</P> + +<P> +But there were times when the miserable luxury of dwelling upon his +own affairs was his—when he lay down in his bed till he fell into +restless sleep—when the point to which his steps tended in his +walks was ascertained. Then he gave himself up to memory, and regret +which often deepened into despair, and but seldom was cheered by +hope. +</P> + +<P> +He grew so impatient of the ignorance in which he was kept—for in +those days of heavy postage any correspondence he might have had on +mere Monkshaven intelligence was very limited—as to the affairs at +Haytersbank, that he cut out an advertisement respecting some new +kind of plough, from a newspaper that lay in the chop-house where he +usually dined, and rising early the next morning he employed the +time thus gained in going round to the shop where these new ploughs +were sold. +</P> + +<P> +That night he wrote another letter to Daniel Robson, with a long +account of the merits of the implements he had that day seen. With a +sick heart and a hesitating hand, he wound up with a message of +regard to his aunt and to Sylvia; an expression of regard which he +dared not make as warm as he wished, and which, consequently, fell +below the usual mark attained by such messages, and would have +appeared to any one who cared to think about it as cold and formal. +</P> + +<P> +When this letter was despatched, Hepburn began to wonder what he had +hoped for in writing it. He knew that Daniel could write—or rather +that he could make strange hieroglyphics, the meaning of which +puzzled others and often himself; but these pen-and-ink signs were +seldom employed by Robson, and never, so far as Philip knew, for the +purpose of letter-writing. But still he craved so for news of +Sylvia—even for a sight of paper which she had seen, and perhaps +touched—that he thought all his trouble about the plough (to say +nothing of the one-and-twopence postage which he had prepaid in +order to make sure of his letter's reception in the frugal household +at Haytersbank) well lost for the mere chance of his uncle's caring +enough for the intelligence to write in reply, or even to get some +friend to write an answer; for in such case, perhaps, Philip might +see her name mentioned in some way, even though it was only that she +sent her duty to him. +</P> + +<P> +But the post-office was dumb; no letter came from Daniel Robson. +Philip heard, it is true, from his employers pretty frequently on +business; and he felt sure they would have named it, if any ill had +befallen his uncle's family, for they knew of the relationship and +of his intimacy there. They generally ended their formal letters +with as formal a summary of Monkshaven news; but there was never a +mention of the Robsons, and that of itself was well, but it did not +soothe Philip's impatient curiosity. He had never confided his +attachment to his cousin to any one, it was not his way; but he +sometimes thought that if Coulson had not taken his present +appointment to a confidential piece of employment so ill, he would +have written to him and asked him to go up to Haytersbank Farm, and +let him know how they all were. +</P> + +<P> +All this time he was transacting the affair on which he had been +sent, with great skill; and, indeed, in several ways, he was quietly +laying the foundation for enlarging the business in Monkshaven. +Naturally grave and quiet, and slow to speak, he impressed those who +saw him with the idea of greater age and experience than he really +possessed. Indeed, those who encountered him in London, thought he +was absorbed in the business of money-making. Yet before the time +came when he could wind up affairs and return to Monkshaven, he +would have given all he possessed for a letter from his uncle, +telling him something about Sylvia. For he still hoped to hear from +Robson, although he knew that he hoped against reason. But we often +convince ourselves by good argument that what we wish for need never +have been expected; and then, at the end of our reasoning, find that +we might have saved ourselves the trouble, for that our wishes are +untouched, and are as strong enemies to our peace of mind as ever. +Hepburn's baulked hope was the Mordecai sitting in Haman's gate; all +his success in his errand to London, his well-doing in worldly +affairs, was tasteless, and gave him no pleasure, because of this +blank and void of all intelligence concerning Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +And yet he came back with a letter from the Fosters in his pocket, +curt, yet expressive of deep gratitude for his discreet services in +London; and at another time—in fact, if Philip's life had been +ordered differently to what it was—it might have given this man a +not unworthy pleasure to remember that, without a penny of his own, +simply by diligence, honesty, and faithful quick-sightedness as to +the interests of his masters, he had risen to hold the promise of +being their successor, and to be ranked by them as a trusted friend. +</P> + +<P> +As the Newcastle smack neared the shore on her voyage home, Hepburn +looked wistfully out for the faint gray outline of Monkshaven Priory +against the sky, and the well-known cliffs; as if the masses of +inanimate stone could tell him any news of Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +In the streets of Shields, just after landing, he encountered a +neighbour of the Robsons, and an acquaintance of his own. By this +honest man, he was welcomed as a great traveller is welcomed on his +return from a long voyage, with many hearty good shakes of the hand, +much repetition of kind wishes, and offers to treat him to drink. +Yet, from some insurmountable feeling, Philip avoided all mention of +the family who were the principal bond between the honest farmer and +himself. He did not know why, but he could not bear the shock of +first hearing her name in the open street, or in the rough +public-house. And thus he shrank from the intelligence he craved to +hear. +</P> + +<P> +Thus he knew no more about the Robsons when he returned to +Monkshaven, than he had done on the day when he had last seen them; +and, of course, his first task there was to give a long <I>viva voce</I> +account of all his London proceedings to the two brothers Foster, +who, considering that they had heard the result of everything by +letter, seemed to take an insatiable interest in details. +</P> + +<P> +He could hardly tell why, but even when released from the Fosters' +parlour, he was unwilling to go to Haytersbank Farm. It was late, it +is true, but on a May evening even country people keep up till eight +or nine o'clock. Perhaps it was because Hepburn was still in his +travel-stained dress; having gone straight to the shop on his +arrival in Monkshaven. Perhaps it was because, if he went this night +for the short half-hour intervening before bed-time, he would have +no excuse for paying a longer visit on the following evening. At any +rate, he proceeded straight to Alice Rose's, as soon as he had +finished his interview with his employers. +</P> + +<P> +Both Hester and Coulson had given him their welcome home in the +shop, which they had, however, left an hour or two before him. +</P> + +<P> +Yet they gave him a fresh greeting, almost one in which surprise was +blended, when he came to his lodgings. Even Alice seemed gratified +by his spending this first evening with them, as if she had thought +it might have been otherwise. Weary though he was, he exerted +himself to talk and to relate what he had done and seen in London, +as far as he could without breaking confidence with his employers. +It was something to see the pleasure he gave to his auditors, +although there were several mixed feelings in their minds to produce +the expression of it which gratified him. Coulson was sorry for his +former ungenerous reception of the news that Philip was going to +London; Hester and her mother each secretly began to feel as if this +evening was like more happy evenings of old, before the Robsons came +to Haytersbank Farm; and who knows what faint delicious hopes this +resemblance may not have suggested? +</P> + +<P> +While Philip, restless and excited, feeling that he could not sleep, +was glad to pass away the waking hours that must intervene before +to-morrow night, at times, he tried to make them talk of what had +happened in Monkshaven during his absence, but all had gone on in an +eventless manner, as far as he could gather; if they knew of +anything affecting the Robsons, they avoided speaking of it to him; +and, indeed, how little likely were they ever to have heard their +names while he was away? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LOVED AND LOST +</H3> + +<P> +Philip walked towards the Robsons' farm like a man in a dream, who +has everything around him according to his wish, and yet is +conscious of a secret mysterious inevitable drawback to his +enjoyment. Hepburn did not care to think—would not realize what +this drawback, which need not have been mysterious in his case, was. +</P> + +<P> +The May evening was glorious in light and shadow. The crimson sun +warmed up the chilly northern air to a semblance of pleasant heat. +The spring sights and sounds were all about; the lambs were bleating +out their gentle weariness before they sank to rest by the side of +their mothers; the linnets were chirping in every bush of golden +gorse that grew out of the stone walls; the lark was singing her +good-night in the cloudless sky, before she dropped down to her nest +in the tender green wheat; all spoke of brooding peace—but Philip's +heart was not at peace. +</P> + +<P> +Yet he was going to proclaim his good fortune. His masters had that +day publicly announced that Coulson and he were to be their +successors, and he had now arrived at that longed-for point in his +business, when he had resolved to openly speak of his love to +Sylvia, and might openly strive to gain her love. But, alas! the +fulfilment of that wish of his had lagged sadly behind. He was +placed as far as he could, even in his most sanguine moments, have +hoped to be as regarded business, but Sylvia was as far from his +attainment as ever—nay, farther. Still the great obstacle was +removed in Kinraid's impressment. Philip took upon himself to decide +that, with such a man as the specksioneer, absence was equivalent to +faithless forgetfulness. He thought that he had just grounds for +this decision in the account he had heard of Kinraid's behaviour to +Annie Coulson; to the other nameless young girl, her successor in +his fickle heart; in the ribald talk of the sailors in the Newcastle +public-house. It would be well for Sylvia if she could forget as +quickly; and, to promote this oblivion, the name of her lover should +never be brought up, either in praise or blame. And Philip would be +patient and enduring; all the time watching over her, and labouring +to win her reluctant love. +</P> + +<P> +There she was! He saw her as he stood at the top of the little +hill-path leading down to the Robsons' door. She was out of doors, +in the garden, which, at some distance from the house, sloped up the +bank on the opposite side of the gully; much too far off to be +spoken to—not too far off to be gazed at by eyes that caressed her +every movement. How well Philip knew that garden; placed long ago by +some tenant of the farm on a southern slope; walled in with rough +moorland stones; planted with berry-bushes for use, and southernwood +and sweet-briar for sweetness of smell. When the Robsons had first +come to Haytersbank, and Sylvia was scarcely more than a pretty +child, how well he remembered helping her with the arrangement of +this garden; laying out his few spare pence in hen-and-chicken +daisies at one time, in flower-seeds at another; again in a +rose-tree in a pot. He knew how his unaccustomed hands had laboured +with the spade at forming a little primitive bridge over the beck in +the hollow before winter streams should make it too deep for +fording; how he had cut down branches of the mountain-ash and +covered them over, yet decked with their scarlet berries, with sods +of green turf, beyond which the brilliancy crept out; but now it was +months and years since he had been in that garden, which had lost +its charm for Sylvia, as she found the bleak sea-winds came up and +blighted all endeavours at cultivating more than the most useful +things—pot-herbs, marigolds, potatoes, onions, and such-like. Why +did she tarry there now, standing quite motionless up by the highest +bit of wall, looking over the sea, with her hand shading her eyes? +Quite motionless; as if she were a stone statue. He began to wish +she would move—would look at him—but any way that she would move, +and not stand gazing thus over that great dreary sea. +</P> + +<P> +He went down the path with an impatient step, and entered the +house-place. There sat his aunt spinning, and apparently as well as +ever. He could hear his uncle talking to Kester in the neighbouring +shippen; all was well in the household. Why was Sylvia standing in +the garden in that strange quiet way? +</P> + +<P> +'Why, lad! thou'rt a sight for sair een!' said his aunt, as she +stood up to welcome him back. 'An' when didst ta come, eh?—but thy +uncle will be glad to see thee, and to hear thee talk about yon +pleughs; he's thought a deal o' thy letters. I'll go call him in.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not yet,' said Philip, stopping her in her progress towards the +door. 'He's busy talking to Kester. I'm in no haste to be gone. I +can stay a couple of hours. Sit down, and tell me how you are +yoursel'—and how iverything is. And I've a deal to tell you.' +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure—to be sure. To think thou's been in Lunnon sin' I saw +thee!—well to be sure! There's a vast o' coming and going i' this +world. Thou'll mind yon specksioneer lad, him as was cousin to t' +Corneys—Charley Kinraid?' +</P> + +<P> +Mind him! As if he could forget him. +</P> + +<P> +'Well! he's dead and gone.' +</P> + +<P> +'Dead! Who told you? I don't understand,' said Philip, in strange +bewilderment. Could Kinraid have tried to escape after all, and been +wounded, killed in the attempt? If not, how should they know he was +dead? Missing he might be, though how this should be known was +strange, as he was supposed to be sailing to the Greenland seas. But +dead! What did they mean? At Philip's worst moment of hatred he had +hardly dared to wish him dead. +</P> + +<P> +'Dunnot yo' mention it afore our Sylvie; we niver speak on him to +her, for she takes it a deal to heart, though I'm thinkin' it were a +good thing for her; for he'd got a hold of her—he had on Bessy +Corney, too, as her mother telled me;—not that I iver let on to +them as Sylvia frets after him, so keep a calm sough, my lad. It's a +girl's fancy—just a kind o' calf-love; let it go by; and it's well +for her he's dead, though it's hard to say so on a drowned man.' +</P> + +<P> +'Drowned!' said Philip. 'How do yo' know?' half hoping that the poor +drenched swollen body might have been found, and thus all questions +and dilemmas solved. Kinraid might have struggled overboard with +ropes or handcuffs on, and so have been drowned. +</P> + +<P> +'Eh, lad! there's no misdoubtin' it. He were thought a deal on by t' +captain o' t' <I>Urania</I>; and when he niver come back on t' day when +she ought for to have sailed, he sent to Kinraid's people at +Cullercoats, and they sent to Brunton's i' Newcassel, and they knew +he'd been here. T' captain put off sailing for two or three days, +that he might ha' that much law; but when he heard as Kinraid were +not at Corneys', but had left 'em a'most on to a week, he went off +to them Northern seas wi' t' next best specksioneer he could find. +For there's no use speaking ill on t' dead; an' though I couldn't +abear his coming for iver about t' house, he were a rare good +specksioneer, as I've been told.' +</P> + +<P> +'But how do you know he was drowned?' said Philip, feeling guiltily +disappointed at his aunt's story. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, lad! I'm a'most ashamed to tell thee, I were sore put out +mysel'; but Sylvia were so broken-hearted like I couldn't cast it up +to her as I should ha' liked: th' silly lass had gone and gi'en him +a bit o' ribbon, as many a one knowed, for it had been a vast +noticed and admired that evenin' at th' Corneys'—new year's eve I +think it were—and t' poor vain peacock had tied it on his hat, so +that when t' tide——hist! there's Sylvie coming in at t' back-door; +never let on,' and in a forced made-up voice she inquired aloud, for +hitherto she had been speaking almost in a whisper,— +</P> + +<P> +'And didst ta see King George an' Queen Charlotte?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip could not answer—did not hear. His soul had gone out to meet +Sylvia, who entered with quiet slowness quite unlike her former +self. Her face was wan and white; her gray eyes seemed larger, and +full of dumb tearless sorrow; she came up to Philip, as if his being +there touched her with no surprise, and gave him a gentle greeting +as if he were a familiar indifferent person whom she had seen but +yesterday. Philip, who had recollected the quarrel they had had, and +about Kinraid too, the very last time they had met, had expected +some trace of this remembrance to linger in her looks and speech to +him. But there was no such sign; her great sorrow had wiped away all +anger, almost all memory. Her mother looked at her anxiously, and +then said in the same manner of forced cheerfulness which she had +used before,— +</P> + +<P> +'Here's Philip, lass, a' full o' Lunnon; call thy father in, an +we'll hear a' about t' new-fangled pleughs. It'll be rare an' nice +a' sitting together again.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia, silent and docile, went out to the shippen to obey her +mother's wish. Bell Robson leant forward towards Philip, +misinterpreting the expression on his face, which was guilt as much +as sympathy, and checked the possible repentance which might have +urged him on at that moment to tell all he knew, by saying, 'Lad! +it's a' for t' best. He were noane good enough for her; and I +misdoubt me he were only playin' wi' her as he'd done by others. Let +her a-be, let her a-be; she'll come round to be thankful.' +</P> + +<P> +Robson bustled in with loud welcome; all the louder and more +talkative because he, like his wife, assumed a cheerful manner +before Sylvia. Yet he, unlike his wife, had many a secret regret +over Kinraid's fate. At first, while merely the fact of his +disappearance was known, Daniel Robson had hit on the truth, and had +stuck to his opinion that the cursed press-gang were at the bottom +of it. He had backed his words by many an oath, and all the more +because he had not a single reason to give that applied to the +present occasion. No one on the lonely coast had remarked any sign +of the presence of the men-of-war, or the tenders that accompanied +them, for the purpose of impressment on the king's ships. At +Shields, and at the mouth of the Tyne, where they lay in greedy +wait, the owners of the <I>Urania</I> had caused strict search to be made +for their skilled and protected specksioneer, but with no success. +All this positive evidence in contradiction to Daniel Robson's +opinion only made him cling to it the more; until the day when the +hat was found on the shore with Kinraid's name written out large and +fair in the inside, and the tell-tale bit of ribbon knotted in the +band. Then Daniel, by a sudden revulsion, gave up every hope; it +never entered his mind that it could have fallen off by any +accident. No! now Kinraid was dead and drowned, and it was a bad +job, and the sooner it could be forgotten the better for all +parties; and it was well no one knew how far it had gone with +Sylvia, especially now since Bessy Corney was crying her eyes out as +if he had been engaged to her. So Daniel said nothing to his wife +about the mischief that had gone on in her absence, and never spoke +to Sylvia about the affair; only he was more than usually tender to +her in his rough way, and thought, morning, noon, and night, on what +he could do to give her pleasure, and drive away all recollection of +her ill-starred love. +</P> + +<P> +To-night he would have her sit by him while Philip told his stories, +or heavily answered questions put to him. Sylvia sat on a stool by +her father's knee, holding one of his hands in both of hers; and +presently she laid down her head upon them, and Philip saw her sad +eyes looking into the flickering fire-light with long unwinking +stare, showing that her thoughts were far distant. He could hardly +go on with his tales of what he had seen, and what done, he was so +full of pity for her. Yet, for all his pity, he had now resolved +never to soothe her with the knowledge of what he knew, nor to +deliver the message sent by her false lover. He felt like a mother +withholding something injurious from the foolish wish of her +plaining child. +</P> + +<P> +But he went away without breathing a word of his good fortune in +business. The telling of such kind of good fortune seemed out of +place this night, when the thought of death and the loss of friends +seemed to brood over the household, and cast its shadow there, +obscuring for the time all worldly things. +</P> + +<P> +And so the great piece of news came out in the ordinary course of +gossip, told by some Monkshaven friend to Robson the next market +day. For months Philip had been looking forward to the sensation +which the intelligence would produce in the farm household, as a +preliminary to laying his good fortune at Sylvia's feet. And they +heard of it, and he away, and all chance of his making use of it in +the manner he had intended vanished for the present. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel was always curious after other people's affairs, and now was +more than ever bent on collecting scraps of news which might +possibly interest Sylvia, and rouse her out of the state of +indifference as to everything into which she had fallen. Perhaps he +thought that he had not acted altogether wisely in allowing her to +engage herself to Kinraid, for he was a man apt to judge by results; +and moreover he had had so much reason to repent of the +encouragement which he had given to the lover whose untimely end had +so deeply affected his only child, that he was more unwilling than +ever that his wife should know of the length to which the affair had +gone during her absence. He even urged secrecy upon Sylvia as a +personal favour; unwilling to encounter the silent blame which he +openly affected to despise. +</P> + +<P> +'We'll noane fret thy mother by lettin' on how oft he came and went. +She'll, may-be, be thinkin' he were for speakin' to thee, my poor +lass; an' it would put her out a deal, for she's a woman of a stern +mind towards matteremony. And she'll be noane so strong till +summer-weather comes, and I'd be loath to give her aught to worrit +hersel' about. So thee and me 'll keep our own counsel.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish mother had been here, then she'd ha' known all, without my +telling her.' +</P> + +<P> +'Cheer up, lass; it's better as it is. Thou'll get o'er it sooner +for havin' no one to let on to. A myself am noane going to speak +on't again.' +</P> + +<P> +No more he did; but there was a strange tenderness in his tones when +he spoke to her; a half-pathetic way of seeking after her, if by any +chance she was absent for a minute from the places where he expected +to find her; a consideration for her, about this time, in his way of +bringing back trifling presents, or small pieces of news that he +thought might interest her, which sank deep into her heart. +</P> + +<P> +'And what dun yo' think a' t' folks is talkin' on i' Monkshaven?' +asked he, almost before he had taken off his coat, on the day when +he had heard of Philip's promotion in the world. 'Why, missus, thy +nephew, Philip Hepburn, has got his name up i' gold letters four +inch long o'er Fosters' door! Him and Coulson has set up shop +together, and Fosters is gone out!' +</P> + +<P> +'That's t' secret of his journey t' Lunnon,' said Bell, more +gratified than she chose to show. +</P> + +<P> +'Four inch long if they're theere at all! I heerd on it at t' Bay +Horse first; but I thought yo'd niver be satisfied 'bout I seed it +wi' my own eyes. They do say as Gregory Jones, t' plumber, got it +done i' York, for that nought else would satisfy old Jeremiah. It'll +be a matter o' some hundreds a year i' Philip's pocket.' +</P> + +<P> +'There'll be Fosters i' th' background, as one may say, to take t' +biggest share on t' profits,' said Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay, that's but as it should be, for I reckon they'll ha' to +find t' brass the first, my lass!' said he, turning to Sylvia. 'A'm +fain to tak' thee in to t' town next market-day, just for thee t' +see 't. A'll buy thee a bonny ribbon for thy hair out o' t' cousin's +own shop.' +</P> + +<P> +Some thought of another ribbon which had once tied up her hair, and +afterwards been cut in twain, must have crossed Sylvia's mind, for +she answered, as if she shrank from her father's words,— +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot go, I'm noane wantin' a ribbon; I'm much obliged, father, +a' t' same.' +</P> + +<P> +Her mother read her heart clearly, and suffered with her, but never +spoke a word of sympathy. But she went on rather more quickly than +she would otherwise have done to question her husband as to all he +knew about this great rise of Philip's. Once or twice Sylvia joined +in with languid curiosity; but presently she became tired and went +to bed. For a few moments after she left, her parents sate silent. +Then Daniel, in a tone as if he were justifying his daughter, and +comforting himself as well as his wife, observed that it was almost +on for nine; the evenings were light so long now. Bell said nothing +in reply, but gathered up her wool, and began to arrange the things +for night. +</P> + +<P> +By-and-by Daniel broke the silence by saying,— +</P> + +<P> +'A thowt at one time as Philip had a fancy for our Sylvie.' +</P> + +<P> +For a minute or two Bell did not speak. Then, with deeper insight +into her daughter's heart than her husband, in spite of his greater +knowledge of the events that had happened to affect it, she said,— +</P> + +<P> +'If thou's thinking on a match between 'em, it 'll be a long time +afore th' poor sad wench is fit t' think on another man as +sweetheart.' +</P> + +<P> +'A said nought about sweethearts,' replied he, as if his wife had +reproached him in some way. 'Woman's allays so full o' sweethearts +and matteremony. A only said as a'd thowt once as Philip had a fancy +for our lass, and a think so still; and he'll be worth his two +hunder a year afore long. But a niver said nought about +sweethearts.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A REJECTED SUITOR +</H3> + +<P> +There were many domestic arrangements to be made in connection with +the new commercial ones which affected Hepburn and Coulson. +</P> + +<P> +The Fosters, with something of the busybodiness which is apt to +mingle itself with kindly patronage, had planned in their own minds +that the Rose household should be removed altogether to the house +belonging to the shop; and that Alice, with the assistance of the +capable servant, who, at present, managed all John's domestic +affairs, should continue as mistress of the house, with Philip and +Coulson for her lodgers. +</P> + +<P> +But arrangements without her consent did not suit Alice at any time, +and she had very good reasons for declining to accede to this. She +was not going to be uprooted at her time of life, she said, nor +would she consent to enter upon a future which might be so +uncertain. Why, Hepburn and Coulson were both young men, she said, +and they were as likely to marry as not; and then the bride would be +sure to wish to live in the good old-fashioned house at the back of +the shop. +</P> + +<P> +It was in vain she was told by every one concerned, that, in case of +such an event, the first married partner should take a house of his +own, leaving her in undisputed possession. She replied, with +apparent truth, that both might wish to marry, and surely the wife +of one ought to take possession of the house belonging to the +business; that she was not going to trust herself to the fancies of +young men, who were always, the best of them, going and doing the +very thing that was most foolish in the way of marriage; of which +state, in fact, she spoke with something of acrimonious contempt and +dislike, as if young people always got mismatched, yet had not the +sense to let older and wiser people choose for them. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'll not have been understanding why Alice Rose spoke as she did +this morning,' said Jeremiah Foster to Philip, on the afternoon +succeeding the final discussion of this plan. 'She was a-thinking of +her youth, I reckon, when she was a well-favoured young woman, and +our John was full of the thought of marrying her. As he could not +have her, he has lived a bachelor all his days. But if I am not a +vast mistaken, all that he has will go to her and to Hester, for all +that Hester is the child of another man. Thee and Coulson should +have a try for Hester, Philip. I have told Coulson this day of +Hester's chances. I told him first because he is my wife's nephew; +but I tell thee now, Philip. It would be a good thing for the shop +if one of ye was married.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip reddened. Often as the idea of marriage had come into his +mind, this was the first time it had been gravely suggested to him +by another. But he replied quietly enough. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think Hester Rose has any thought of matrimony.' +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure not; it is for thee, or for William Coulson, to make her +think. She, may-be, remembers enough of her mother's life with her +father to make her slow to think on such things. But it's in her to +think on matrimony; it's in all of us.' +</P> + +<P> +'Alice's husband was dead before I knew her,' said Philip, rather +evading the main subject. +</P> + +<P> +'It was a mercy when he were taken. A mercy to them who were left, I +mean. Alice was a bonny young woman, with a smile for everybody, +when he wed her—a smile for every one except our John, who never +could do enough to try and win one from her. But, no! she would have +none of him, but set her heart on Jack Rose, a sailor in a +whale-ship. And so they were married at last, though all her own +folks were against it. And he was a profligate sinner, and went +after other women, and drank, and beat her. She turned as stiff and +as grey as thou seest her now within a year of Hester's birth. I +believe they'd have perished for want and cold many a time if it had +not been for John. If she ever guessed where the money came from, it +must have hurt her pride above a bit, for she was always a proud +woman. But mother's love is stronger than pride.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip fell to thinking; a generation ago something of the same kind +had been going on as that which he was now living through, quick +with hopes and fears. A girl beloved by two—nay, those two so +identical in occupation as he and Kinraid were—Rose identical even +in character with what he knew of the specksioneer; a girl choosing +the wrong lover, and suffering and soured all her life in +consequence of her youth's mistake; was that to be Sylvia's +lot?—or, rather, was she not saved from it by the event of the +impressment, and by the course of silence he himself had resolved +upon? Then he went on to wonder if the lives of one generation were +but a repetition of the lives of those who had gone before, with no +variation but from the internal cause that some had greater capacity +for suffering than others. Would those very circumstances which made +the interest of his life now, return, in due cycle, when he was dead +and Sylvia was forgotten? +</P> + +<P> +Perplexed thoughts of this and a similar kind kept returning into +Philip's mind whenever he had leisure to give himself up to +consideration of anything but the immediate throng of business. And +every time he dwelt on this complication and succession of similar +events, he emerged from his reverie more and more satisfied with the +course he had taken in withholding from Sylvia all knowledge of her +lover's fate. +</P> + +<P> +It was settled at length that Philip was to remove to the house +belonging to the shop, Coulson remaining with Alice and her +daughter. But in the course of the summer the latter told his +partner that he had offered marriage to Hester on the previous day, +and been refused. It was an awkward affair altogether, as he lived +in their house, and was in daily companionship with Hester, who, +however, seemed to preserve her gentle calmness, with only a tinge +more of reserve in her manner to Coulson. +</P> + +<P> +'I wish yo' could find out what she has again' me, Philip,' said +Coulson, about a fortnight after he had made the proposal. The poor +young man thought that Hester's composure of manner towards him +since the event argued that he was not distasteful to her; and as he +was now on very happy terms with Philip, he came constantly to him, +as if the latter could interpret the meaning of all the little +occurrences between him and his beloved. 'I'm o' right age, not two +months betwixt us; and there's few in Monkshaven as would think on +her wi' better prospects than me; and she knows my folks; we're kind +o' cousins, in fact; and I'd be like a son to her mother; and +there's noane i' Monkshaven as can speak again' my character. +There's nought between yo' and her, is there, Philip?' +</P> + +<P> +'I ha' telled thee many a time that she and me is like brother and +sister. She's no more thought on me nor I have for her. So be +content wi't, for I'se not tell thee again.' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't be vexed, Philip; if thou knew what it was to be in love, +thou'd be always fancying things, just as I am.' +</P> + +<P> +'I might be,' said Philip; 'but I dunnut think I should be always +talking about my fancies.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wunnot talk any more after this once, if thou'll just find out +fra' thysel', as it were, what it is she has again' me. I'd go to +chapel for iver with her, if that's what she wants. Just ask her, +Philip.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's an awkward thing for me to be melling wi',' said Hepburn, +reluctantly. +</P> + +<P> +'But thou said thee and she were like brother and sister; and a +brother would ask a sister, and niver think twice about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well,' replied Philip, 'I'll see what I can do; but, lad, I +dunnot think she'll have thee. She doesn't fancy thee, and fancy is +three parts o' love, if reason is t' other fourth.' +</P> + +<P> +But somehow Philip could not begin on the subject with Hester. He +did not know why, except that, as he said, 'it was so awkward.' But +he really liked Coulson so much as to be anxious to do what the +latter wished, although he was almost convinced that it would be of +no use. So he watched his opportunity, and found Alice alone and at +leisure one Sunday evening. +</P> + +<P> +She was sitting by the window, reading her Bible, when he went in. +She gave him a curt welcome, hearty enough for her, for she was +always chary in her expressions of pleasure or satisfaction. But she +took off her horn spectacles and placed them in the book to keep her +place; and then turning more fully round on her chair, so as to face +him, she said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Well, lad! and how does it go on? Though it's not a day for t' ask +about worldly things. But I niver see thee now but on Sabbath day, +and rarely then. Still we munnot speak o' such things on t' Lord's +day. So thee mun just say how t' shop is doing, and then we'll leave +such vain talk.' +</P> + +<P> +'T' shop is doing main an' well, thank ye, mother. But Coulson could +tell yo' o' that any day.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'd a deal rayther hear fra' thee, Philip. Coulson doesn't know how +t' manage his own business, let alone half the business as it took +John and Jeremiah's heads—ay, and tasked 'em, too—to manage. I've +no patience with Coulson.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why? he's a decent young fellow as ever there is in Monkshaven.' +</P> + +<P> +'He may be. He's noane cut his wisdom-teeth yet. But, for that +matter, there's other folks as far fra' sense as he is.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, and farther. Coulson mayn't be so bright at all times as he +might be, but he's a steady-goer, and I'd back him again' any chap +o' his age i' Monkshaven.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know who I'd sooner back in many a thing, Philip!' She said it +with so much meaning that he could not fail to understand that he +himself was meant, and he replied, ingenuously enough,— +</P> + +<P> +'If yo' mean me, mother, I'll noane deny that in a thing or two I +may be more knowledgeable than Coulson. I've had a deal o' time on +my hands i' my youth, and I'd good schooling as long as father +lived.' +</P> + +<P> +'Lad! it's not schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as +carries a man through t' world. It's mother-wit. And it's noane +schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as takes a young woman. +It's summat as cannot be put into words.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's just what I told Coulson!' said Philip, quickly. 'He were +sore put about because Hester had gi'en him the bucket, and came to +me about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'And what did thou say?' asked Alice, her deep eyes gleaming at him +as if to read his face as well as his words. Philip, thinking he +could now do what Coulson had begged of him in the neatest manner, +went on,— +</P> + +<P> +'I told him I'd help him all as I could—-' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou did, did thou? Well, well, there's nought sa queer as folks, +that a will say,' muttered Alice, between her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +'—but that fancy had three parts to do wi' love,' continued Philip, +'and it would be hard, may-be, to get a reason for her not fancying +him. Yet I wish she'd think twice about it; he so set upon having +her, I think he'll do himself a mischief wi' fretting, if it goes on +as it is.' +</P> + +<P> +'It'll noane go on as it is,' said Alice, with gloomy oracularness. +</P> + +<P> +'How not?' asked Philip. Then, receiving no answer, he went on, 'He +loves her true, and he's within a month or two on her age, and his +character will bear handling on a' sides; and his share on t' shop +will be worth hundreds a year afore long.' +</P> + +<P> +Another pause. Alice was trying to bring down her pride to say +something, which she could not with all her efforts. +</P> + +<P> +'Maybe yo'll speak a word for him, mother,' said Philip, annoyed at +her silence. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll do no such thing. Marriages are best made wi'out melling. How +do I know but what she likes some one better?' +</P> + +<P> +'Our Hester's not th' lass to think on a young man unless he's been +a-wooing on her. And yo' know, mother, as well as I do—and Coulson +does too—she's niver given any one a chance to woo her; living half +her time here, and t' other half in t' shop, and niver speaking to +no one by t' way.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish thou wouldn't come here troubling me on a Sabbath day wi' +thy vanity and thy worldly talk. I'd liefer by far be i' that world +wheere there's neither marrying nor giving in marriage, for it's all +a moithering mess here.' She turned to the closed Bible lying on the +dresser, and opened it with a bang. While she was adjusting her +spectacles on her nose, with hands trembling with passion, she heard +Philip say,— +</P> + +<P> +'I ask yo'r pardon, I'm sure. I couldn't well come any other day.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a' t' same—I care not. But thou might as well tell truth. +I'll be bound thou's been at Haytersbank Farm some day this week?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip reddened; in fact, he had forgotten how he had got to +consider his frequent visits to the farm as a regular piece of +occupation. He kept silence. +</P> + +<P> +Alice looked at him with a sharp intelligence that read his silence +through. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought so. Next time thou thinks to thyself, 'I'm more +knowledgeable than Coulson,' just remember Alice Rose's words, and +they are these:—If Coulson's too thick-sighted to see through a +board, thou'rt too blind to see through a window. As for comin' and +speakin' up for Coulson, why he'll be married to some one else afore +t' year's out, for all he thinks he's so set upon Hester now. Go thy +ways, and leave me to my Scripture, and come no more on Sabbath days +wi' thy vain babbling.' +</P> + +<P> +So Philip returned from his mission rather crestfallen, but quite as +far as ever from 'seeing through a glass window.' +</P> + +<P> +Before the year was out, Alice's prophecy was fulfilled. Coulson, +who found the position of a rejected lover in the same house with +the girl who had refused him, too uncomfortable to be endured, as +soon as he was convinced that his object was decidedly out of his +reach, turned his attention to some one else. He did not love his +new sweetheart as he had done Hester: there was more of reason and +less of fancy in his attachment. But it ended successfully; and +before the first snow fell, Philip was best man at his partner's +wedding. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DEEPENING SHADOWS +</H3> + +<P> +But before Coulson was married, many small events happened—small +events to all but Philip. To him they were as the sun and moon. The +days when he went up to Haytersbank and Sylvia spoke to him, the +days when he went up and she had apparently no heart to speak to any +one, but left the room as soon as he came, or never entered it at +all, although she must have known that he was there—these were his +alternations from happiness to sorrow. +</P> + +<P> +From her parents he always had a welcome. Oppressed by their +daughter's depression of spirits, they hailed the coming of any +visitor as a change for her as well as for themselves. The former +intimacy with the Corneys was in abeyance for all parties, owing to +Bessy Corney's out-spoken grief for the loss of her cousin, as if +she had had reason to look upon him as her lover, whereas Sylvia's +parents felt this as a slur upon their daughter's cause of grief. +But although at this time the members of the two families ceased to +seek after each other's society, nothing was said. The thread of +friendship might be joined afresh at any time, only just now it was +broken; and Philip was glad of it. Before going to Haytersbank he +sought each time for some little present with which to make his +coming welcome. And now he wished even more than ever that Sylvia +had cared for learning; if she had he could have taken her many a +pretty ballad, or story-book, such as were then in vogue. He did try +her with the translation of the <I>Sorrows of Werther</I>, so popular at +the time that it had a place in all pedlars' baskets, with Law's +<I>Serious Call</I>, the <I>Pilgrim's Progress</I>, Klopstock's <I>Messiah</I>, and +<I>Paradise Lost</I>. But she could not read it for herself; and after +turning the leaves languidly over, and smiling a little at the +picture of Charlotte cutting bread and butter in a left-handed +manner, she put it aside on the shelf by the <I>Complete Farrier</I>; and +there Philip saw it, upside down and untouched, the next time he +came to the farm. +</P> + +<P> +Many a time during that summer did he turn to the few verses in +Genesis in which Jacob's twice seven years' service for Rachel is +related, and try and take fresh heart from the reward which came to +the patriarch's constancy at last. After trying books, nosegays, +small presents of pretty articles of dress, such as suited the +notions of those days, and finding them all received with the same +languid gratitude, he set himself to endeavour to please her in some +other way. It was time that he should change his tactics; for the +girl was becoming weary of the necessity for thanking him, every +time he came, for some little favour or other. She wished he would +let her alone and not watch her continually with such sad eyes. Her +father and mother hailed her first signs of impatient petulance +towards him as a return to the old state of things before Kinraid +had come to disturb the tenour of their lives; for even Daniel had +turned against the specksioneer, irritated by the Corneys' loud +moans over the loss of the man to whom their daughter said that she +was attached. If Daniel wished for him to be alive again, it was +mainly that the Corneys might be convinced that his last visit to +the neighbourhood of Monkshaven was for the sake of the pale and +silent Sylvia, and not for that of Bessy, who complained of +Kinraid's untimely death rather as if by it she had been cheated of +a husband than for any overwhelming personal love towards the +deceased. +</P> + +<P> +'If he were after her he were a big black scoundrel, that's what he +were; and a wish he were alive again to be hung. But a dunnot +believe it; them Corney lasses were allays a-talkin' an' a-thinking +on sweethearts, and niver a man crossed t' threshold but they tried +him on as a husband. An' their mother were no better: Kinraid has +spoken civil to Bessy as became a lad to a lass, and she makes an +ado over him as if they'd been to church together not a week sin'.' +</P> + +<P> +'I dunnot uphold t' Corneys; but Molly Corney—as is Molly Brunton +now—used to speak on this dead man to our Sylvie as if he were her +sweetheart in old days. Now there's no smoke without fire, and I'm +thinking it's likely enough he were one of them fellows as is always +after some lass or another, and, as often as not, two or three at a +time. Now look at Philip, what a different one he is! He's niver +thought on a woman but our Sylvie, I'll be bound. I wish he wern't +so old-fashioned and faint-hearted.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! and t' shop's doin' a vast o' business, I've heard say. He's a +deal better company, too, 'n or he used to be. He'd a way o' +preaching wi' him as a couldn't abide; but now he tak's his glass, +an' holds his tongue, leavin' room for wiser men to say their say.' +</P> + +<P> +Such was a conjugal colloquy about this time. Philip was gaining +ground with Daniel, and that was something towards winning Sylvia's +heart; for she was unaware of her father's change of feeling towards +Kinraid, and took all his tenderness towards herself as if they were +marks of his regard for her lost lover and his sympathy in her loss, +instead of which he was rather feeling as if it might be a good +thing after all that the fickle-hearted sailor was dead and drowned. +In fact, Daniel was very like a child in all the parts of his +character. He was strongly affected by whatever was present, and apt +to forget the absent. He acted on impulse, and too often had reason +to be sorry for it; but he hated his sorrow too much to let it teach +him wisdom for the future. With all his many faults, however, he had +something in him which made him be dearly loved, both by the +daughter whom he indulged, and the wife who was in fact superior to +him, but whom he imagined that he ruled with a wise and absolute +sway. +</P> + +<P> +Love to Sylvia gave Philip tact. He seemed to find out that to +please the women of the household he must pay all possible attention +to the man; and though he cared little in comparison for Daniel, yet +this autumn he was continually thinking of how he could please him. +When he had said or done anything to gratify or amuse her father, +Sylvia smiled and was kind. Whatever he did was right with his aunt; +but even she was unusually glad when her husband was pleased. Still +his progress was slow towards his object; and often he sighed +himself to sleep with the words, 'seven years, and maybe seven years +more'. Then in his dreams he saw Kinraid again, sometimes +struggling, sometimes sailing towards land, the only one on board a +swift advancing ship, alone on deck, stern and avenging; till Philip +awoke in remorseful terror. +</P> + +<P> +Such and similar dreams returned with the greater frequency when, in +the November of that year, the coast between Hartlepool and +Monkshaven was overshadowed by the presence of guard-ships, driven +south from their station at North Shields by the resolution which +the sailors of that port had entered into to resist the press-gang, +and the energy with which they had begun to carry out their +determination. For on a certain Tuesday evening yet remembered by +old inhabitants of North Shields, the sailors in the merchant +service met together and overpowered the press-gang, dismissing them +from the town with the highest contempt, and with their jackets +reversed. A numerous mob went with them to Chirton Bar; gave them +three cheers at parting, but vowed to tear them limb from limb +should they seek to re-enter North Shields. But a few days +afterwards some fresh cause of irritation arose, and five hundred +sailors, armed with such swords and pistols as they could collect, +paraded through the town in the most riotous manner, and at last +attempted to seize the tender Eleanor, on some pretext of the +ill-treatment of the impressed men aboard. This endeavour failed, +however, owing to the energetic conduct of the officers in command. +Next day this body of sailors set off for Newcastle; but learning, +before they reached the town, that there was a strong military and +civil force prepared to receive them there, they dispersed for the +time; but not before the good citizens had received a great fright, +the drums of the North Yorkshire militia beating to arms, and the +terrified people rushing out into the streets to learn the reason of +the alarm, and some of them seeing the militia, under the command of +the Earl of Fauconberg, marching from the guard-house adjoining New +Gate to the house of rendezvous for impressed seamen in the Broad +Chase. +</P> + +<P> +But a few weeks after, the impressment service took their revenge +for the insults they had been subjected to in North Shields. In the +dead of night a cordon was formed round that town by a regiment +stationed at Tynemouth barracks; the press-gangs belonging to armed +vessels lying off Shields harbour were let loose; no one within the +circle could escape, and upwards of two hundred and fifty men, +sailors, mechanics, labourers of every description, were forced on +board the armed ships. With that prize they set sail, and wisely +left the place, where deep passionate vengeance was sworn against +them. Not all the dread of an invasion by the French could reconcile +the people of these coasts to the necessity of impressment. Fear and +confusion prevailed after this to within many miles of the +sea-shore. A Yorkshire gentleman of rank said that his labourers +dispersed like a covey of birds, because a press-gang was reported +to have established itself so far inland as Tadcaster; and they only +returned to work on the assurance from the steward of his master's +protection, but even then begged leave to sleep on straw in the +stables or outhouses belonging to their landlord, not daring to +sleep at their own homes. No fish was caught, for the fishermen +dared not venture out to sea; the markets were deserted, as the +press-gangs might come down on any gathering of men; prices were +raised, and many were impoverished; many others ruined. For in the +great struggle in which England was then involved, the navy was +esteemed her safeguard; and men must be had at any price of money, +or suffering, or of injustice. Landsmen were kidnapped and taken to +London; there, in too many instances, to be discharged without +redress and penniless, because they were discovered to be useless +for the purpose for which they had been taken. +</P> + +<P> +Autumn brought back the whaling-ships. But the period of their +return was full of gloomy anxiety, instead of its being the annual +time of rejoicing and feasting; of gladdened households, where brave +steady husbands or sons returned; of unlimited and reckless +expenditure, and boisterous joviality among those who thought that +they had earned unbounded licence on shore by their six months of +compelled abstinence. In other years this had been the time for new +and handsome winter clothing; for cheerful if humble hospitality; +for the shopkeepers to display their gayest and best; for the +public-houses to be crowded; for the streets to be full of blue +jackets, rolling along with merry words and open hearts. In other +years the boiling-houses had been full of active workers, the +staithes crowded with barrels, the ship-carpenters' yards thronged +with seamen and captains; now a few men, tempted by high wages, went +stealthily by back lanes to their work, clustering together, with +sinister looks, glancing round corners, and fearful of every +approaching footstep, as if they were going on some unlawful +business, instead of true honest work. Most of them kept their +whaling-knives about them ready for bloody defence if they were +attacked. The shops were almost deserted; there was no unnecessary +expenditure by the men; they dared not venture out to buy lavish +presents for the wife or sweetheart or little children. The +public-houses kept scouts on the look-out; while fierce men drank +and swore deep oaths of vengeance in the bar—men who did not +maunder in their cups, nor grow foolishly merry, but in whom liquor +called forth all the desperate, bad passions of human nature. +</P> + +<P> +Indeed, all along the coast of Yorkshire, it seemed as if a blight +hung over the land and the people. Men dodged about their daily +business with hatred and suspicion in their eyes, and many a curse +went over the sea to the three fatal ships lying motionless at +anchor three miles off Monkshaven. When first Philip had heard in +his shop that these three men-of-war might be seen lying fell and +still on the gray horizon, his heart sank, and he scarcely dared to +ask their names. For if one should be the <I>Alcestis</I>; if Kinraid +should send word to Sylvia; if he should say he was living, and +loving, and faithful; if it should come to pass that the fact of the +undelivered message sent by her lover through Philip should reach +Sylvia's ears: what would be the position of the latter, not merely +in her love—that, of course, would be hopeless—but in her esteem? +All sophistry vanished; the fear of detection awakened Philip to a +sense of guilt; and, besides, he found out, that, in spite of all +idle talk and careless slander, he could not help believing that +Kinraid was in terrible earnest when he uttered those passionate +words, and entreated that they might be borne to Sylvia. Some +instinct told Philip that if the specksioneer had only flirted with +too many, yet that for Sylvia Robson his love was true and vehement. +Then Philip tried to convince himself that, from all that was said +of his previous character, Kinraid was not capable of an enduring +constant attachment; and with such poor opiate to his conscience as +he could obtain from this notion Philip was obliged to remain +content, until, a day or two after the first intelligence of the +presence of those three ships, he learned, with some trouble and +pains, that their names were the <I>Megoera</I>, the <I>Bellerophon</I>, and +the <I>Hanover</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Then he began to perceive how unlikely it was that the <I>Alcestis</I> +should have been lingering on this shore all these many months. She +was, doubtless, gone far away by this time; she had, probably, +joined the fleet on the war station. Who could tell what had become +of her and her crew? she might have been in battle before now, and +if so—- +</P> + +<P> +So his previous fancies shrank to nothing, rebuked for their +improbability, and with them vanished his self-reproach. Yet there +were times when the popular attention seemed totally absorbed by the +dread of the press-gang; when no other subject was talked about—hardly, +in fact, thought about. At such flows of panic, Philip had his +own private fears lest a flash of light should come upon Sylvia, +and she should suddenly see that Kinraid's absence might be +accounted for in another way besides death. But when he reasoned, +this seemed unlikely. No man-of-war had been seen off the coast, or, +if seen, had never been spoken about, at the time of Kinraid's +disappearance. If he had vanished this winter time, every one would +have been convinced that the press-gang had seized upon him. Philip +had never heard any one breathe the dreaded name of the <I>Alcestis</I>. +Besides, he went on to think, at the farm they are out of hearing of +this one great weary subject of talk. But it was not so, as he +became convinced one evening. His aunt caught him a little aside +while Sylvia was in the dairy, and her husband talking in the +shippen with Kester. +</P> + +<P> +'For good's sake, Philip, dunnot thee bring us talk about t' +press-gang. It's a thing as has got hold on my measter, till thou'd +think him possessed. He's speaking perpetual on it i' such a way, +that thou'd think he were itching to kill 'em a' afore he tasted +bread again. He really trembles wi' rage and passion; an' a' night +it's just as bad. He starts up i' his sleep, swearing and cursing at +'em, till I'm sometimes afeard he'll mak' an end o' me by mistake. +And what mun he do last night but open out on Charley Kinraid, and +tell Sylvie he thought m'appen t' gang had got hold on him. It might +make her cry a' her saut tears o'er again.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip spoke, by no wish of his own, but as if compelled to speak. +</P> + +<P> +'An' who knows but what it's true?' +</P> + +<P> +The instant these words had come out of his lips he could have +bitten his tongue off. And yet afterwards it was a sort of balm to +his conscience that he had so spoken. +</P> + +<P> +'What nonsense, Philip!' said his aunt; 'why, these fearsome ships +were far out o' sight when he went away, good go wi' him, and Sylvie +just getting o'er her trouble so nicely, and even my master went on +for to say if they'd getten hold on him, he were not a chap to stay +wi' 'em; he'd gi'en proofs on his hatred to 'em, time on. He either +ha' made off—an' then sure enough we should ha' heerd on him +somehow—them Corneys is full on him still and they've a deal to wi' +his folk beyond Newcassel—or, as my master says, he were just t' +chap to hang or drown hissel, sooner nor do aught against his will.' +</P> + +<P> +'What did Sylvie say?' asked Philip, in a hoarse low voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Say? why, a' she could say was to burst out crying, and after a +bit, she just repeated her feyther's words, and said anyhow he was +dead, for he'd niver live to go to sea wi' a press-gang. She knowed +him too well for that. Thou sees she thinks a deal on him for a +spirited chap, as can do what he will. I belie' me she first began +to think on him time o' t' fight aboard th' <I>Good Fortune</I>, when +Darley were killed, and he would seem tame-like to her if he +couldn't conquer press-gangs, and men-o'-war. She's sooner think on +him drowned, as she's ne'er to see him again.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's best so,' said Philip, and then, to calm his unusually excited +aunt, he promised to avoid the subject of the press-gang as much as +possible. +</P> + +<P> +But it was a promise very difficult of performance, for Daniel +Robson was, as his wife said, like one possessed. He could hardly +think of anything else, though he himself was occasionally weary of +the same constantly recurring idea, and would fain have banished it +from his mind. He was too old a man to be likely to be taken by +them; he had no son to become their victim; but the terror of them, +which he had braved and defied in his youth, seemed to come back and +take possession of him in his age; and with the terror came +impatient hatred. Since his wife's illness the previous winter he +had been a more sober man until now. He was never exactly drunk, for +he had a strong, well-seasoned head; but the craving to hear the +last news of the actions of the press-gang drew him into Monkshaven +nearly every day at this dead agricultural season of the year; and a +public-house is generally the focus from which gossip radiates; and +probably the amount of drink thus consumed weakened Robson's power +over his mind, and caused the concentration of thought on one +subject. This may be a physiological explanation of what afterwards +was spoken of as a supernatural kind of possession, leading him to +his doom. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +RETALIATION +</H3> + +<P> +The public-house that had been chosen by the leaders of the +press-gang in Monkshaven at this time, for their rendezvous (or +'Randyvowse', as it was generally pronounced), was an inn of poor +repute, with a yard at the back which opened on to the staithe or +quay nearest to the open sea. A strong high stone wall bounded this +grass-grown mouldy yard on two sides; the house, and some unused +out-buildings, formed the other two. The choice of the place was +good enough, both as to situation, which was sufficiently isolated, +and yet near to the widening river; and as to the character of the +landlord, John Hobbs was a failing man, one who seemed as if doomed +to be unfortunate in all his undertakings, and the consequence of +all this was that he was envious of the more prosperous, and willing +to do anything that might bring him in a little present success in +life. His household consisted of his wife, her niece, who acted as +servant, and an out-of-doors man, a brother of Ned Simpson, the +well-doing butcher, who at one time had had a fancy for Sylvia. But +the one brother was prosperous, the other had gone on sinking in +life, like him who was now his master. Neither Hobbs nor his man +Simpson were absolutely bad men; if things had gone well with them +they might each have been as scrupulous and conscientious as their +neighbours, and even now, supposing the gain in money to be equal, +they would sooner have done good than evil; but a very small sum was +enough to turn the balance. And in a greater degree than in most +cases was the famous maxim of Rochefoucault true with them; for in +the misfortunes of their friends they seemed to see some +justification of their own. It was blind fate dealing out events, +not that the events themselves were the inevitable consequences of +folly or misconduct. To such men as these the large sum offered by +the lieutenant of the press-gang for the accommodation of the +Mariners' Arms was simply and immediately irresistible. The best +room in the dilapidated house was put at the service of the +commanding officer of the impress service, and all other +arrangements made at his desire, irrespective of all the former +unprofitable sources of custom and of business. If the relatives +both of Hobbs and of Simpson had not been so well known and so +prosperous in the town, they themselves would have received more +marks of popular ill opinion than they did during the winter the +events of which are now being recorded. As it was, people spoke to +them when they appeared at kirk or at market, but held no +conversation with them; no, not although they each appeared better +dressed than they had either of them done for years past, and +although their whole manner showed a change, inasmuch as they had +been formerly snarling and misanthropic, and were now civil almost +to deprecation. +</P> + +<P> +Every one who was capable of understanding the state of feeling in +Monkshaven at this time must have been aware that at any moment an +explosion might take place; and probably there were those who had +judgment enough to be surprised that it did not take place sooner +than it did. For until February there were only occasional cries and +growls of rage, as the press-gang made their captures first here, +then there; often, apparently, tranquil for days, then heard of at +some distance along the coast, then carrying off a seaman from the +very heart of the town. They seemed afraid of provoking any general +hostility, such as that which had driven them from Shields, and +would have conciliated the inhabitants if they could; the officers +on the service and on board the three men-of-war coming often into +the town, spending largely, talking to all with cheery friendliness, +and making themselves very popular in such society as they could +obtain access to at the houses of the neighbouring magistrates or at +the rectory. But this, however agreeable, did not forward the object +the impress service had in view; and, accordingly, a more decided +step was taken at a time when, although there was no apparent +evidence as to the fact, the town was full of the Greenland mariners +coming quietly in to renew their yearly engagements, which, when +done, would legally entitle them to protection from impressment. One +night—it was on a Saturday, February 23rd, when there was a bitter +black frost, with a north-east wind sweeping through the streets, +and men and women were close shut in their houses—all were startled +in their household content and warmth by the sound of the fire-bell +busily swinging, and pealing out for help. The fire-bell was kept in +the market-house where High Street and Bridge Street met: every one +knew what it meant. Some dwelling, or maybe a boiling-house was on +fire, and neighbourly assistance was summoned with all speed, in a +town where no water was laid on, nor fire-engines kept in readiness. +Men snatched up their hats, and rushed out, wives following, some +with the readiest wraps they could lay hands on, with which to +clothe the over-hasty husbands, others from that mixture of dread +and curiosity which draws people to the scene of any disaster. Those +of the market people who were making the best of their way +homewards, having waited in the town till the early darkness +concealed their path, turned back at the sound of the ever-clanging +fire-bell, ringing out faster and faster as if the danger became +every instant more pressing. +</P> + +<P> +As men ran against or alongside of each other, their breathless +question was ever, 'Where is it?' and no one could tell; so they +pressed onwards into the market-place, sure of obtaining the +information desired there, where the fire-bell kept calling out with +its furious metal tongue. +</P> + +<P> +The dull oil-lamps in the adjoining streets only made darkness +visible in the thronged market-place, where the buzz of many men's +unanswered questions was rising louder and louder. A strange feeling +of dread crept over those nearest to the closed market-house. Above +them in the air the bell was still clanging; but before them was a +door fast shut and locked; no one to speak and tell them why they +were summoned—where they ought to be. They were at the heart of the +mystery, and it was a silent blank! Their unformed dread took shape +at the cry from the outside of the crowd, from where men were still +coming down the eastern side of Bridge Street. 'The gang! the gang!' +shrieked out some one. 'The gang are upon us! Help! help!' Then the +fire-bell had been a decoy; a sort of seething the kid in its +mother's milk, leading men into a snare through their kindliest +feelings. Some dull sense of this added to utter dismay, and made +them struggle and strain to get to all the outlets save that in +which a fight was now going on; the swish of heavy whips, the thud +of bludgeons, the groans, the growls of wounded or infuriated men, +coming with terrible distinctness through the darkness to the +quickened ear of fear. +</P> + +<P> +A breathless group rushed up the blackness of a narrow entry to +stand still awhile, and recover strength for fresh running. For a +time nothing but heavy pants and gasps were heard amongst them. No +one knew his neighbour, and their good feeling, so lately abused and +preyed upon, made them full of suspicion. The first who spoke was +recognized by his voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Is it thee, Daniel Robson?' asked his neighbour, in a low tone. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! Who else should it be?' +</P> + +<P> +'A dunno.' +</P> + +<P> +'If a am to be any one else, I'd like to be a chap of nobbut eight +stun. A'm welly done for!' +</P> + +<P> +'It were as bloody a shame as iver I heerd on. Who's to go t' t' +next fire, a'd like to know!' +</P> + +<P> +'A tell yo' what, lads,' said Daniel, recovering his breath, but +speaking in gasps. 'We were a pack o' cowards to let 'em carry off +yon chaps as easy as they did, a'm reckoning!' +</P> + +<P> +'A think so, indeed,' said another voice. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel went on— +</P> + +<P> +'We was two hunder, if we was a man; an' t' gang has niver numbered +above twelve.' +</P> + +<P> +'But they was armed. A seen t' glitter on their cutlasses,' spoke +out a fresh voice. +</P> + +<P> +'What then!' replied he who had latest come, and who stood at the +mouth of the entry. 'A had my whalin' knife wi' me i' my pea-jacket +as my missus threw at me, and a'd ha' ripped 'em up as soon as +winkin', if a could ha' thought what was best to do wi' that d——d +bell makin' such a din reet above us. A man can but die onest, and +we was ready to go int' t' fire for t' save folks' lives, and yet +we'd none on us t' wit to see as we might ha' saved yon poor chaps +as screeched out for help.' +</P> + +<P> +'They'll ha' getten 'em to t' Randyvowse by now,' said some one. +</P> + +<P> +'They cannot tak' 'em aboard till morning; t' tide won't serve,' +said the last speaker but one. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel Robson spoke out the thought that was surging up into the +brain of every one there. +</P> + +<P> +'There's a chance for us a'. How many be we?' By dint of touching +each other the numbers were counted. Seven. 'Seven. But if us seven +turns out and rouses t' town, there'll be many a score ready to gang +t' Mariners' Arms, and it'll be easy work reskyin' them chaps as is +pressed. Us seven, each man jack on us, go and seek up his friends, +and get him as well as he can to t' church steps; then, mebbe, +there'll be some theere as'll not be so soft as we was, lettin' them +poor chaps be carried off from under our noses, just becase our ears +was busy listenin' to yon confounded bell, whose clip-clappin' +tongue a'll tear out afore this week is out.' +</P> + +<P> +Before Daniel had finished speaking, those nearest to the entrance +muttered their assent to his project, and had stolen off, keeping to +the darkest side of the streets and lanes, which they threaded in +different directions; most of them going straight as sleuth-hounds +to the haunts of the wildest and most desperate portion of the +seafaring population of Monkshaven. For, in the breasts of many, +revenge for the misery and alarm of the past winter took a deeper +and more ferocious form than Daniel had thought of when he made his +proposal of a rescue. To him it was an adventure like many he had +been engaged in in his younger days; indeed, the liquor he had drunk +had given him a fictitious youth for the time; and it was more in +the light of a rough frolic of which he was to be the leader, that +he limped along ( always lame from old attacks of rheumatism), +chuckling to himself at the apparent stillness of the town, which +gave no warning to the press-gang at the Rendezvous of anything in +the wind. Daniel, too, had his friends to summon; old hands like +himself, but 'deep uns', also, like himself, as he imagined. +</P> + +<P> +It was nine o'clock when all who were summoned met at the church +steps; and by nine o'clock, Monkshaven, in those days, was more +quiet and asleep than many a town at present is at midnight. The +church and churchyard above them were flooded with silver light, for +the moon was high in the heavens: the irregular steps were here and +there in pure white clearness, here and there in blackest shadow. +But more than half way up to the top, men clustered like bees; all +pressing so as to be near enough to question those who stood nearest +to the planning of the attack. Here and there, a woman, with wild +gestures and shrill voice, that no entreaty would hush down to the +whispered pitch of the men, pushed her way through the crowd—this +one imploring immediate action, that adjuring those around her to +smite and spare not those who had carried off her 'man',—the +father, the breadwinner. Low down in the darkened silent town were +many whose hearts went with the angry and excited crowd, and who +would bless them and caress them for that night's deeds. Daniel soon +found himself a laggard in planning, compared to some of those +around him. But when, with the rushing sound of many steps and but +few words, they had arrived at the blank, dark, shut-up Mariners' +Arms, they paused in surprise at the uninhabited look of the whole +house: it was Daniel once more who took the lead. +</P> + +<P> +'Speak 'em fair,' said he; 'try good words first. Hobbs 'll mebbe +let 'em out quiet, if we can catch a word wi' him. A say, Hobbs,' +said he, raising his voice, 'is a' shut up for t' neet; for a'd be +glad of a glass. A'm Dannel Robson, thou knows.' +</P> + +<P> +Not one word in reply, any more than from the tomb; but his speech +had been heard nevertheless. The crowd behind him began to jeer and +to threaten; there was no longer any keeping down their voices, +their rage, their terrible oaths. If doors and windows had not of +late been strengthened with bars of iron in anticipation of some +such occasion, they would have been broken in with the onset of the +fierce and now yelling crowd who rushed against them with the force +of a battering-ram, to recoil in baffled rage from the vain assault. +No sign, no sound from within, in that breathless pause. +</P> + +<P> +'Come away round here! a've found a way to t' back o' behint, where +belike it's not so well fenced,' said Daniel, who had made way for +younger and more powerful men to conduct the assault, and had +employed his time meanwhile in examining the back premises. The men +rushed after him, almost knocking him down, as he made his way into +the lane into which the doors of the outbuildings belonging to the +inn opened. Daniel had already broken the fastening of that which +opened into a damp, mouldy-smelling shippen, in one corner of which +a poor lean cow shifted herself on her legs, in an uneasy, restless +manner, as her sleeping-place was invaded by as many men as could +cram themselves into the dark hold. Daniel, at the end farthest from +the door, was almost smothered before he could break down the rotten +wooden shutter, that, when opened, displayed the weedy yard of the +old inn, the full clear light defining the outline of each blade of +grass by the delicate black shadow behind. +</P> + +<P> +This hole, used to give air and light to what had once been a +stable, in the days when horse travellers were in the habit of +coming to the Mariners' Arms, was large enough to admit the passage +of a man; and Daniel, in virtue of its discovery, was the first to +get through. But he was larger and heavier than he had been; his +lameness made him less agile, and the impatient crowd behind him +gave him a helping push that sent him down on the round stones with +which the yard was paved, and for the time disabled him so much that +he could only just crawl out of the way of leaping feet and heavy +nailed boots, which came through the opening till the yard was +filled with men, who now set up a fierce, derisive shout, which, to +their delight, was answered from within. No more silence, no more +dead opposition: a living struggle, a glowing, raging fight; and +Daniel thought he should be obliged to sit there still, leaning +against the wall, inactive, while the strife and the action were +going on in which he had once been foremost. +</P> + +<P> +He saw the stones torn up; he saw them used with good effect on the +unguarded back-door; he cried out in useless warning as he saw the +upper windows open, and aim taken among the crowd; but just then the +door gave way, and there was an involuntary forward motion in the +throng, so that no one was so disabled by the shots as to prevent +his forcing his way in with the rest. And now the sounds came veiled +by the walls as of some raging ravening beast growling over his +prey; the noise came and went—once utterly ceased; and Daniel +raised himself with difficulty to ascertain the cause, when again +the roar came clear and fresh, and men poured into the yard again, +shouting and rejoicing over the rescued victims of the press-gang. +Daniel hobbled up, and shouted, and rejoiced, and shook hands with +the rest, hardly caring to understand that the lieutenant and his +gang had quitted the house by a front window, and that all had +poured out in search of them; the greater part, however, returning +to liberate the prisoners, and then glut their vengeance on the +house and its contents. +</P> + +<P> +From all the windows, upper and lower, furniture was now being +thrown into the yard. The smash of glass, the heavier crash of wood, +the cries, the laughter, the oaths, all excited Daniel to the +utmost; and, forgetting his bruises, he pressed forwards to lend a +helping hand. The wild, rough success of his scheme almost turned +his head. He hurraed at every flagrant piece of destruction; he +shook hands with every one around him, and, at last, when the +destroyers inside paused to take breath, he cried out,— +</P> + +<P> +'If a was as young as onest a was, a'd have t' Randyvowse down, and +mak' a bonfire on it. We'd ring t' fire-bell then t' some purpose.' +</P> + +<P> +No sooner said than done. Their excitement was ready to take the +slightest hint of mischief; old chairs, broken tables, odd drawers, +smashed chests, were rapidly and skilfully heaped into a pyramid, +and one, who at the first broaching of the idea had gone for live +coals the speedier to light up the fire, came now through the crowd +with a large shovelful of red-hot cinders. The rioters stopped to +take breath and look on like children at the uncertain flickering +blaze, which sprang high one moment, and dropped down the next only +to creep along the base of the heap of wreck, and make secure of its +future work. Then the lurid blaze darted up wild, high, and +irrepressible; and the men around gave a cry of fierce exultation, +and in rough mirth began to try and push each other in. In one of +the pauses of the rushing, roaring noise of the flames, the moaning +low and groan of the poor alarmed cow fastened up in the shippen +caught Daniel's ear, and he understood her groans as well as if they +had been words. He limped out of the yard through the now deserted +house, where men were busy at the mad work of destruction, and found +his way back to the lane into which the shippen opened. The cow was +dancing about at the roar, and dazzle, and heat of the fire; but +Daniel knew how to soothe her, and in a few minutes he had a rope +round her neck, and led her gently out from the scene of her alarm. +He was still in the lane when Simpson, the man-of-all-work at the +Mariners' Arms, crept out of some hiding-place in the deserted +outbuilding, and stood suddenly face to face with Robson. +</P> + +<P> +The man was white with fear and rage. +</P> + +<P> +'Here, tak' thy beast, and lead her wheere she'll noane hear yon +cries and shouts. She's fairly moithered wi' heat an' noise.' +</P> + +<P> +'They're brennin' ivery rag I have i' t' world,' gasped out Simpson: +'I niver had much, and now I'm a beggar.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! thou shouldn't ha' turned again' thine own town-folks, and +harboured t' gang. Sarves thee reet. A'd noane be here leadin' +beasts if a were as young as a were; a'd be in t' thick on it.' +</P> + +<P> +'It was thee set 'm on—a heerd thee—a see'd thee a helping on 'em +t' break in; they'd niver ha' thought on attackin' t' house, and +settin' fire to yon things, if thou hadn't spoken on it.' Simpson +was now fairly crying. But Daniel did not realize what the loss of +all the small property he had in the world was to the poor fellow +(rapscallion though he was, broken down, unprosperous +ne'er-do-weel!) in his pride at the good work he believed he had set +on foot. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay,' said he; 'it's a great thing for folk to have a chap for t' +lead 'em wi' a head on his shouthers. A misdoubt me if there were a +felly theere as would ha' thought o' routling out yon wasps' nest; +it tak's a deal o' mother-wit to be up to things. But t' gang'll +niver harbour theere again, one while. A only wish we'd cotched 'em. +An' a should like t' ha' gi'en Hobbs a bit o' my mind.' +</P> + +<P> +'He's had his sauce,' said Simpson, dolefully. 'Him and me is +ruined.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tut, tut, thou's got thy brother, he's rich enough. And Hobbs 'll +do a deal better; he's had his lesson now, and he'll stick to his +own side time to come. Here, tak' thy beast an' look after her, for +my bones is achin'. An' mak' thysel' scarce, for some o' them fellys +has getten their blood up, an' wunnot be for treating thee o'er well +if they fall in wi' thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hobbs ought to be served out; it were him as made t' bargain wi' +lieutenant; and he's off safe wi' his wife and his money bag, and +a'm left a beggar this neet i' Monkshaven street. My brother and me +has had words, and he'll do nought for me but curse me. A had three +crown-pieces, and a good pair o' breeches, and a shirt, and a dare +say better nor two pair o' stockings. A wish t' gang, and thee, and +Hobbs and them mad folk up yonder, were a' down i' hell, a do.' +</P> + +<P> +'Coom, lad,' said Daniel, noways offended at his companion's wish on +his behalf. 'A'm noane flush mysel', but here's half-a-crown and +tuppence; it's a' a've getten wi' me, but it'll keep thee and t' +beast i' food and shelter to-neet, and get thee a glass o' comfort, +too. A had thought o' takin' one mysel', but a shannot ha' a penny +left, so a'll just toddle whoam to my missus.' +</P> + +<P> +Daniel was not in the habit of feeling any emotion at actions not +directly affecting himself; or else he might have despised the poor +wretch who immediately clutched at the money, and overwhelmed that +man with slobbery thanks whom he had not a minute before been +cursing. But all Simpson's stronger passions had been long ago used +up; now he only faintly liked and disliked, where once he loved and +hated; his only vehement feeling was for himself; that cared for, +other men might wither or flourish as best suited them. +</P> + +<P> +Many of the doors which had been close shut when the crowd went down +the High Street, were partially open as Daniel slowly returned; and +light streamed from them on the otherwise dark road. The news of the +successful attempt at rescue had reached those who had sate in +mourning and in desolation an hour or two ago, and several of these +pressed forwards as from their watching corner they recognized +Daniel's approach; they pressed forward into the street to shake him +by the hand, to thank him (for his name had been bruited abroad as +one of those who had planned the affair), and at several places he +was urged to have a dram—urgency that he was loath for many reasons +to refuse, but his increasing uneasiness and pain made him for once +abstinent, and only anxious to get home and rest. But he could not +help being both touched and flattered at the way in which those who +formed his 'world' looked upon him as a hero; and was not +insensible to the words of blessing which a wife, whose husband had +been impressed and rescued this night, poured down upon him as he +passed. +</P> + +<P> +'Theere, theere,—dunnot crack thy throat wi' blessin'. Thy man +would ha' done as much for me, though mebbe he mightn't ha' shown so +much gumption and capability; but them's gifts, and not to be proud +on.' +</P> + +<P> +When Daniel reached the top of the hill on the road home, he turned +to look round; but he was lame and bruised, he had gone along +slowly, the fire had pretty nearly died out, only a red hue in the +air about the houses at the end of the long High Street, and a hot +lurid mist against the hill-side beyond where the Mariners' Arms had +stood, were still left as signs and token of the deed of violence. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel looked and chuckled. 'That comes o' ringin' t' fire-bell,' +said he to himself; 'it were shame for it to be tellin' a lie, poor +oud story-teller.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BRIEF REJOICING +</H3> + +<P> +Daniel's unusually late absence from home disturbed Bell and Sylvia +not a little. He was generally at home between eight and nine on +market days. They expected to see him the worse for liquor at such +times; but this did not shock them; he was no worse than most of his +neighbours, indeed better than several, who went off once or twice a +year, or even oftener, on drinking bouts of two or three days' +duration, returning pale, sodden, and somewhat shame-faced, when all +their money was gone; and, after the conjugal reception was well +over, settling down into hard-working and decently sober men until +the temptation again got power over them. But, on market days, every +man drank more than usual; every bargain or agreement was ratified +by drink; they came from greater or less distances, either afoot or +on horseback, and the 'good accommodation for man and beast' (as the +old inn-signs expressed it) always included a considerable amount of +liquor to be drunk by the man. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel's way of announcing his intention of drinking more than +ordinary was always the same. He would say at the last moment, +'Missus, I've a mind to get fuddled to-neet,' and be off, +disregarding her look of remonstrance, and little heeding the +injunctions she would call after him to beware of such and such +companions, or to attend to his footsteps on his road home. +</P> + +<P> +But this night he had given no such warning. Bell and Sylvia put the +candle on the low window-seat at the usual hour to guide him through +the fields—it was a habit kept up even on moonlight nights like +this—and sate on each side of the fire, at first scarcely caring to +listen, so secure were they of his return. Bell dozed, and Sylvia +sate gazing at the fire with abstracted eyes, thinking of the past +year and of the anniversary which was approaching of the day when +she had last seen the lover whom she believed to be dead, lying +somewhere fathoms deep beneath the surface of that sunny sea on +which she looked day by day without ever seeing his upturned face +through the depths, with whatsoever heart-sick longing for just one +more sight she yearned and inwardly cried. If she could set her eyes +on his bright, handsome face, that face which was fading from her +memory, overtasked in the too frequent efforts to recall it; if she +could but see him once again, coming over the waters beneath which +he lay with supernatural motion, awaiting her at the stile, with the +evening sun shining ruddy into his bonny eyes, even though, after +that one instant of vivid and visible life, he faded into mist; if +she could but see him now, sitting in the faintly flickering +fire-light in the old, happy, careless way, on a corner of the +dresser, his legs dangling, his busy fingers playing with some of +her woman's work;—she wrung her hands tight together as she +implored some, any Power, to let her see him just once again—just +once—for one minute of passionate delight. Never again would she +forget that dear face, if but once more she might set her eyes upon +it. +</P> + +<P> +Her mother's head fell with a sudden jerk, and she roused herself +up; and Sylvia put by her thought of the dead, and her craving after +his presence, into that receptacle of her heart where all such are +kept closed and sacred from the light of common day. +</P> + +<P> +'Feyther's late,' said Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'It's gone eight,' replied Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'But our clock is better nor an hour forrard,' answered Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, but t' wind brings Monkshaven bells clear to-night. I heerd t' +eight o'clock bell ringing not five minutes ago.' +</P> + +<P> +It was the fire-bell, but she had not distinguished the sound. +</P> + +<P> +There was another long silence; both wide awake this time. +</P> + +<P> +'He'll have his rheumatics again,' said Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'It's cold for sartin,' said Sylvia. 'March weather come afore its +time. But I'll make him a treacle-posset, it's a famous thing for +keeping off hoasts.' +</P> + +<P> +The treacle-posset was entertainment enough for both while it was +being made. But once placed in a little basin in the oven, there was +again time for wonder and anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +'He said nought about having a bout, did he, mother?' asked Sylvia +at length. +</P> + +<P> +'No,' said Bell, her face a little contracting. After a while she +added, 'There's many a one as has husbands that goes off drinking +without iver saying a word to their wives. My master is none o' that +mak'.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mother,' broke in Sylvia again, 'I'll just go and get t' lantern +out of t' shippen, and go up t' brow, and mebbe to t' ash-field +end.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do, lass,' said her mother. 'I'll get my wraps and go with thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou shall do niver such a thing,' said Sylvia. 'Thou's too frail +to go out i' t' night air such a night as this.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then call Kester up.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not I. I'm noane afraid o' t' dark.' +</P> + +<P> +'But of what thou mayst meet i' t' dark, lass?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia shivered all over at the sudden thought, suggested by this +speech of her mother's, that the idea that had flashed into her own +mind of going to look for her father might be an answer to the +invocation to the Powers which she had made not long ago, that she +might indeed meet her dead lover at the ash-field stile; but though +she shivered as this superstitious fancy came into her head, her +heart beat firm and regular; not from darkness nor from the spirits +of the dead was she going to shrink; her great sorrow had taken away +all her girlish nervous fear. +</P> + +<P> +She went; and she came back. Neither man nor spirit had she seen; +the wind was blowing on the height enough to sweep all creatures +before it; but no one was coming. +</P> + +<P> +So they sate down again to keep watch. At length his step was heard +close to the door; and it startled them even in their state of +expectation. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, feyther!' cried Sylvia as he entered; while his wife stood up +trembling, but not saying a word. +</P> + +<P> +'A'm a'most done up,' said he, sitting heavily down on the chair +nearest the door. +</P> + +<P> +'Poor old feyther!' said Sylvia, stooping to take off his heavy +clogged shoes; while Bell took the posset out of the oven. +</P> + +<P> +'What's this? posset? what creatures women is for slops,' said he; +but he drank it all the same, while Sylvia fastened the door, and +brought the flaring candle from the window-seat. The fresh +arrangement of light displayed his face blackened with smoke, and +his clothes disarranged and torn. +</P> + +<P> +'Who's been melling wi' thee?' asked Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'No one has melled wi' me; but a've been mellin' wi' t' gang at +last.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thee: they niver were for pressing thee!' exclaimed both the women +at once. +</P> + +<P> +'No! they knowed better. They'n getten their belly-full as it is. +Next time they try it on, a reckon they'll ax if Daniel Robson is +wi'in hearin'. A've led a resky this neet, and saved nine or ten +honest chaps as was pressed, and carried off to t' Randyvowse. Me +and some others did it. And Hobbs' things and t' lieutenant's is a' +burnt; and by this time a reckon t' Randyvowse is pretty nigh four +walls, ready for a parish-pound.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'rt niver for saying thou burnt it down wi' t' gang in it, for +sure?' asked Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'Na, na, not this time. T' 'gang fled up t' hill like coneys; and +Hobbs and his folks carried off a bag o' money; but t' oud +tumbledown place is just a heap o' brick and mortar; an' t' +furniture is smoulderin' int' ashes; and, best of a', t' men is +free, and will niver be cotched wi' a fire-bell again.' +</P> + +<P> +And so he went on to tell of the ruse by which they had been enticed +into the market-place; interrupted from time to time by their eager +questions, and interrupting himself every now and then with +exclamations of weariness and pain, which made him at last say,— +</P> + +<P> +'Now a'm willing to tell yo' a' about it to-morrow, for it's not +ivery day a man can do such great things; but to-neet a mun go to +bed, even if King George were wantin' for to know how a managed it +a'.' +</P> + +<P> +He went wearily upstairs, and wife and daughter both strove their +best to ease his aching limbs, and make him comfortable. The +warming-pan, only used on state occasions, was taken down and +unpapered for his service; and as he got between the warm sheets, he +thanked Sylvia and her mother in a sleepy voice, adding,— +</P> + +<P> +'It's a vast o' comfort to think on yon poor lads as is sleepin' i' +their own homes this neet,' and then slumber fell upon him, and he +was hardly roused by Bell's softly kissing his weather-beaten cheek, +and saying low,— +</P> + +<P> +'God bless thee, my man! Thou was allays for them that was down and +put upon.' +</P> + +<P> +He murmured some monosyllabic reply, unheard by his wife, who stole +away to undress herself noiselessly, and laid herself down on her +side of the bed as gently as her stiffened limbs would permit. +</P> + +<P> +They were late in rising the next morning. Kester was long since up +and at his work among the cattle before he saw the house-door open +to admit the fresh chill morning air; and even then Sylvia brushed +softly, and went about almost on tip-toe. When the porridge was +ready, Kester was called in to his breakfast, which he took sitting +at the dresser with the family. A large wooden platter stood in the +middle; and each had a bowl of the same material filled with milk. +The way was for every one to dip his pewter spoon into the central +dish, and convey as much or as little as he liked at a time of the +hot porridge into his pure fresh milk. But to-day Bell told Kester +to help himself all at once, and to take his bowl up to the master's +room and keep him company. For Daniel was in bed, resting from his +weariness, and bemoaning his painful bruises whenever he thought of +them. But his mind was still so much occupied with the affair of the +previous night, that Bell judged rightly that a new listener would +give ease to his body as well as to his mind, and her proposal of +Kester's carrying up his breakfast had been received by Daniel with +satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +So Kester went up slowly, carrying his over-full basin tenderly, and +seated himself on the step leading down into the bed-room (for +levels had not been calculated when the old house was built) facing +his master, who, half sitting up in the blue check bed, not +unwillingly began his relation again; to which Kester listened so +attentively, that his spoon was often arrested in its progress from +the basin to his mouth, open ready to receive it, while he gazed +with unwinking eyes at Daniel narrating his exploits. +</P> + +<P> +But after Daniel had fought his battle o'er again to every auditor +within his reach, he found the seclusion of his chamber rather +oppressive, without even the usual week-days' noises below; so after +dinner, though far from well, he came down and wandered about the +stable and the fields nearest to the house, consulting with Kester +as to crops and manure for the most part; but every now and then +breaking out into an episodical chuckle over some part of last +night's proceedings. Kester enjoyed the day even more than his +master, for he had no bruises to remind him that, although a hero, +he was also flesh and blood. +</P> + +<P> +When they returned to the house they found Philip there, for it was +already dusk. It was Kester's usual Sunday plan to withdraw to bed +at as early an hour as he could manage to sleep, often in winter +before six; but now he was too full of interest in what Philip might +have to tell of Monkshaven news to forego his Sabbath privilege of +spending the evening sitting on the chair at the end of the dresser +behind the door. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was as close to Sylvia as he could possibly get without +giving her offence, when they came in. Her manner was listless and +civil; she had lost all that active feeling towards him which made +him positively distasteful, and had called out her girlish +irritation and impertinence. She now was rather glad to see him than +otherwise. He brought some change into the heavy monotony of her +life—monotony so peaceful until she had been stirred by passion out +of that content with the small daily events which had now become +burdensome recurrences. Insensibly to herself she was becoming +dependent on his timid devotion, his constant attention; and he, +lover-like, once so attracted, in spite of his judgment, by her +liveliness and piquancy, now doted on her languor, and thought her +silence more sweet than words. +</P> + +<P> +He had only just arrived when master and man came in. He had been to +afternoon chapel; none of them had thought of going to the distant +church; worship with them was only an occasional duty, and this day +their minds had been too full of the events of the night before. +Daniel sate himself heavily down in his accustomed chair, the +three-cornered arm-chair in the fireside corner, which no one +thought of anybody else ever occupying on any occasion whatever. In +a minute or two he interrupted Philip's words of greeting and +inquiry by breaking out into the story of the rescue of last night. +But to the mute surprise of Sylvia, the only one who noticed it, +Philip's face, instead of expressing admiration and pleasant wonder, +lengthened into dismay; once or twice he began to interrupt, but +stopped himself as if he would consider his words again. Kester was +never tired of hearing his master talk; by long living together they +understood every fold of each other's minds, and small expressions +had much significance to them. Bell, too, sate thankful that her +husband should have done such deeds. Only Sylvia was made uneasy by +Philip's face and manner. When Daniel had ended there was a great +silence, instead of the questions and compliments he looked to +receive. He became testy, and turning to Bell, said,— +</P> + +<P> +'My nephew looks as though he was a-thinking more on t' little +profit he has made on his pins an' bobs, than as if he was heeding +how honest men were saved from being haled out to yon tender, an' +carried out o' sight o' wives and little 'uns for iver. Wives an' +little 'uns may go t' workhouse or clem for aught he cares. +</P> + +<P> +Philip went very red, and then more sallow than usual. He had not +been thinking of Charley Kinraid, but of quite another thing, while +Daniel had told his story; but this last speech of the old man's +brought up the remembrance that was always quick, do what he would +to smother or strangle it. He did not speak for a moment or two, +then he said,— +</P> + +<P> +'To-day has not been like Sabbath in Monkshaven. T' rioters, as +folks call 'em, have been about all night. They wanted to give +battle to t' men-o'-war's men; and it were taken up by th' better +end, and they've sent to my Lord Malton for t' militia; and they're +come into t' town, and they're hunting for a justice for t' read th' +act; folk do say there'll be niver a shop opened to-morrow.' +</P> + +<P> +This was rather a more serious account of the progress of the affair +than any one had calculated upon. They looked grave upon it awhile, +then Daniel took heart and said,— +</P> + +<P> +'A think we'd done a'most enough last neet; but men's not to be +stopped wi' a straw when their blood is up; still it's hard lines to +call out t' sojers, even if they be but militia. So what we seven +hatched in a dark entry has ta'en a lord to put a stop to 't!' +continued he, chuckling a little, but more faintly this time. +</P> + +<P> +Philip went on, still graver than before, boldly continuing to say +what he knew would be discordant to the family he loved so well. +</P> + +<P> +'I should ha' telled yo' all about it; I thought on it just as a bit +o' news; I'd niver thought on such a thing as uncle there having +been in it, and I'm main sorry to hear on it, I am.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why?' said Sylvia, breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +'It's niver a thing to be sorry on. I'm proud and glad,' said Bell. +</P> + +<P> +'Let-a-be, let-a-be,' said Daniel, in much dudgeon. 'A were a fool +to tell him o' such-like doings, they're noane i' his line; we'll +talk on yard measures now. +</P> + +<P> +Philip took no notice of this poor attempt at sarcasm: he seemed as +if lost in thought, then he said,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'm vexed to plague yo', but I'd best say all I've got i' my mind. +There was a vast o' folk at our chapel speaking about it—last +night's doings and this morning's work—and how them as set it afoot +was assured o' being clapt int' prison and tried for it; and when I +heered uncle say as he was one, it like ran through me; for they say +as t' justices will be all on t' Government side, and mad for +vengeance.' +</P> + +<P> +For an instant there was dead silence. The women looked at each +other with blank eyes, as if they were as yet unable to take in the +new idea that the conduct which had seemed to them a subject for +such just pride could be regarded by any one as deserving of +punishment or retribution. Daniel spoke before they had recovered +from their amazement. +</P> + +<P> +'A'm noane sorry for what a did, an' a'd do it again to-neet, if +need were. So theere's for thee. Thou may tell t' justices fra' me +that a reckon a did righter nor them, as letten poor fellys be +carried off i' t' very midst o' t' town they're called justices +for.' +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps Philip had better have held his tongue; but he believed in +the danger, which he was anxious to impress upon his uncle, in order +that, knowing what was to be apprehended, the latter might take some +pains to avert it. +</P> + +<P> +He went on. +</P> + +<P> +'But they're making a coil about the Randyvowse being all +destroyed!' +</P> + +<P> +Daniel had taken down his pipe from the shelf in the chimney corner, +and was stuffing tobacco into the bowl. He went on pretending to do +this a little while after it was filled; for, to tell the truth, he +was beginning to feel uncomfortable at the new view of his conduct +presented to him. Still he was not going to let this appear, so +lifting up his head with an indifferent air he lighted the pipe, +blew into it, took it out and examined it as something were wrong +about it, and until that was put to rights he was unable to attend +to anything else; all the while the faithful three who hung upon his +well-being, gazing, breathless, at his proceedings, and anxious for +his reply. +</P> + +<P> +'Randyvowse!' said he at length, 'it were a good job it were brenned +down, for such a harbour for vermin a never seed: t' rats ran across +t' yard by hunders an' thousands; an' it were no man's property as +a've heerd tell, but belonged to Chancery, up i' Lunnon; so wheere's +t' harm done, my fine felly?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip was silent. He did not care to brave any further his uncle's +angry frown and contracted eye. If he had only known of Daniel +Robson's part in the riot before he had left the town, he would have +taken care to have had better authority for the reality of the +danger which he had heard spoken about, and in which he could not +help believing. As it was, he could only keep quiet until he had +ascertained what was the legal peril overhanging the rioters, and +how far his uncle had been recognized. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel went on puffing angrily. Kester sighed audibly, and then was +sorry he had done so, and began to whistle. Bell, full of her new +fear, yet desirous to bring all present into some kind of harmony, +said,— +</P> + +<P> +'It'll ha' been a loss to John Hobbs—all his things burnt, or +trampled on. Mebbe he desarved it all, but one's a kind o' tender +feeling to one's tables and chairs, special if one's had t' +bees-waxing on 'em.' +</P> + +<P> +'A wish he'd been burnt on t' top on 'em, a do,' growled out Daniel, +shaking the ash out of his pipe. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't speak so ill o' thysel',' said his wife. 'Thou'd ha' been t' +first t' pluck him down if he'd screeched out.' +</P> + +<P> +'An' a'll warrant if they come about wi' a paper asking for +feyther's name to make up for what Hobbs has lost by t' fire, +feyther 'll be for giving him summut,' said Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou knows nought about it,' said Daniel. 'Hold thy tongue next +time till thou's axed to speak, my wench.' +</P> + +<P> +His sharp irritated way of speaking was so new to Sylvia, that the +tears sprang to her eyes, and her lip quivered. Philip saw it all, +and yearned over her. He plunged headlong into some other subject to +try and divert attention from her; but Daniel was too ill at ease to +talk much, and Bell was obliged to try and keep up the semblance of +conversation, with an occasional word or two from Kester, who seemed +instinctively to fall into her way of thinking, and to endeavour to +keep the dark thought in the background. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia stole off to bed; more concerned at her father's angry way of +speaking than at the idea of his being amenable to law for what he +had done; the one was a sharp present evil, the other something +distant and unlikely. Yet a dim terror of this latter evil hung over +her, and once upstairs she threw herself on her bed and sobbed. +Philip heard her where he sate near the bottom of the short steep +staircase, and at every sob the cords of love round his heart seemed +tightened, and he felt as if he must there and then do something to +console her. +</P> + +<P> +But, instead, he sat on talking of nothings, a conversation in which +Daniel joined with somewhat of surliness, while Bell, grave and +anxious, kept wistfully looking from one to the other, desirous of +gleaning some further information on the subject, which had begun to +trouble her mind. She hoped some chance would give her the +opportunity of privately questioning Philip, but it seemed to be +equally her husband's wish to thwart any such intention of hers. He +remained in the house-place, till after Philip had left, although he +was evidently so much fatigued as to give some very distinct, though +unintentional, hints to his visitor to be gone. +</P> + +<P> +At length the house-door was locked on Philip, and then Daniel +prepared to go to bed. Kester had left for his loft above the +shippen more than an hour before. Bell had still to rake the fire, +and then she would follow her husband upstairs. +</P> + +<P> +As she was scraping up the ashes, she heard, intermixed with the +noise she was making, the sound of some one rapping gently at the +window. In her then frame of mind she started a little; but on +looking round, she saw Kester's face pressed against the glass, and, +reassured, she softly opened the door. There he stood in the dusk +outer air, distinct against the gray darkness beyond, and in his +hand something which she presently perceived was a pitchfork. +</P> + +<P> +'Missus!' whispered he, 'a've watched t' maister t' bed; an' now a'd +be greatly beholden to yo' if yo'd let me just lay me down i' t' +house-place. A'd warrant niver a constable i' a' Monkshaven should +get sight o' t' maister, an' me below t' keep ward.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell shivered a little. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, Kester,' she said, patting her hand kindly on his shoulder; +'there's nought for t' fear. Thy master is not one for t' hurt +nobody; and I dunnot think they can harm him for setting yon poor +chaps free, as t' gang catched i' their wicked trap.' +</P> + +<P> +Kester stood still; then he shook his head slowly. +</P> + +<P> +'It's t' work at t' Randyvowse as a'm afeared on. Some folks thinks +such a deal o' a bonfire. Then a may lay me down afore t' fire, +missus?' said he, beseechingly. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, Kester—' she began; but suddenly changing, she said, 'God +bless thee, my man; come in and lay thee down on t' settle, and I'll +cover thee up wi' my cloak as hangs behind t' door. We're not many +on us that love him, an' we'll be all on us under one roof, an' +niver a stone wall or a lock betwixt us.' +</P> + +<P> +So Kester took up his rest in the house-place that night, and none +knew of it besides Bell. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +COMING TROUBLES +</H3> + +<P> +The morning brought more peace if it did not entirely dissipate +fear. Daniel seemed to have got over his irritability, and was +unusually kind and tender to wife and daughter, especially striving +by silent little deeds to make up for the sharp words he had said +the night before to the latter. +</P> + +<P> +As if by common consent, all allusion to the Saturday night's +proceedings was avoided. They spoke of the day's work before them; +of the crops to be sown; of the cattle; of the markets; but each one +was conscious of a wish to know more distinctly what were the +chances of the danger that, to judge from Philip's words, hung over +them, falling upon them and cutting them off from all these places +for the coming days. +</P> + +<P> +Bell longed to send Kester down into Monkshaven as a sort of spy to +see how the land lay; but she dared not manifest her anxiety to her +husband, and could not see Kester alone. She wished that she had +told him to go to the town, when she had had him to herself in the +house-place the night before; now it seemed as though Daniel were +resolved not to part from him, and as though both had forgotten that +any peril had been anticipated. Sylvia and her mother, in like +manner, clung together, not speaking of their fears, yet each +knowing that it was ever present in the other's mind. +</P> + +<P> +So things went on till twelve o'clock—dinner-time. If at any time +that morning they had had the courage to speak together on the +thought which was engrossing all their minds, it is possible that +some means might have been found to avert the calamity that was +coming towards them with swift feet. But among the uneducated—the +partially educated—nay, even the weakly educated—the feeling +exists which prompted the futile experiment of the well-known +ostrich. They imagine that, by closing their own eyes to apprehended +evil, they avert it. The expression of fear is supposed to +accelerate the coming of its cause. Yet, on the other hand, they +shrink from acknowledging the long continuance of any blessing, in +the idea that when unusual happiness is spoken about, it disappears. +So, although perpetual complaints of past or present grievances and +sorrows are most common among this class, they shrink from embodying +apprehensions for the future in words, as if it then took shape and +drew near. +</P> + +<P> +They all four sate down to dinner, but not one of them was inclined +to eat. The food was scarcely touched on their plates, yet they were +trying to make talk among themselves as usual; they seemed as though +they dared not let themselves be silent, when Sylvia, sitting +opposite to the window, saw Philip at the top of the brow, running +rapidly towards the farm. She had been so full of the anticipation +of some kind of misfortune all the morning that she felt now as if +this was the very precursive circumstance she had been expecting; +she stood up, turning quite white, and, pointing with her finger, +said,— +</P> + +<P> +'There he is!' +</P> + +<P> +Every one at table stood up too. An instant afterwards, Philip, +breathless, was in the room. +</P> + +<P> +He gasped out, 'They're coming! the warrant is out. You must go. I +hoped you were gone.' +</P> + +<P> +'God help us!' said Bell, and sate suddenly down, as if she had +received a blow that made her collapse into helplessness; but she +got up again directly. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia flew for her father's hat. He really seemed the most unmoved +of the party. +</P> + +<P> +'A'm noane afeared,' said he. 'A'd do it o'er again, a would; an' +a'll tell 'em so. It's a fine time o' day when men's to be trapped +and carried off, an' them as lays traps to set 'em free is to be put +i' t' lock-ups for it.' +</P> + +<P> +'But there was rioting, beside the rescue; t' house was burnt,' +continued eager, breathless Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'An' a'm noane goin' t' say a'm sorry for that, neyther; tho', +mebbe, a wouldn't do it again.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia had his hat on his head by this time; and Bell, wan and +stiff, trembling all over, had his over-coat, and his leather purse +with the few coins she could muster, ready for him to put on. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at these preparations, at his wife and daughter, and his +colour changed from its ruddy brown. +</P> + +<P> +'A'd face lock-ups, an' a fair spell o' jail, but for these,' said +he, hesitating. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh!' said Philip, 'for God's sake, lose no time, but be off.' +</P> + +<P> +'Where mun he go?' asked Bell, as if Philip must decide all. +</P> + +<P> +'Anywhere, anywhere, out of this house—say Haverstone. This +evening, I'll go and meet him there and plan further; only be off +now.' Philip was so keenly eager, he hardly took note at the time of +Sylvia's one vivid look of unspoken thanks, yet he remembered it +afterwards. +</P> + +<P> +'A'll dang 'em dead,' said Kester, rushing to the door, for he saw +what the others did not—that all chance of escape was over; the +constables were already at the top of the little field-path not +twenty yards off. +</P> + +<P> +'Hide him, hide him,' cried Bell, wringing her hands in terror; for +she, indeed they all, knew that flight would now be impossible. +Daniel was heavy, rheumatic, and, moreover, had been pretty severely +bruised on that unlucky night. +</P> + +<P> +Philip, without another word, pushed Daniel before him upstairs, +feeling that his own presence at Haytersbank Farm at that hour of +the day would be a betrayal. They had just time to shut themselves +up in the larger bed-room, before they heard a scuffle and the +constables' entry down-stairs. +</P> + +<P> +'They're in,' said Philip, as Daniel squeezed himself under the bed; +and then they held quite still, Philip as much concealed by the +scanty, blue-check curtain as he could manage to be. They heard a +confusion of voices below, a hasty moving of chairs, a banging of +doors, a further parley, and then a woman's scream, shrill and +pitiful; then steps on the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +'That screech spoiled all,' sighed Philip. +</P> + +<P> +In one instant the door was opened, and each of the hiders was +conscious of the presence of the constables, although at first the +latter stood motionless, surveying the apparently empty room with +disappointment. Then in another moment they had rushed at Philip's +legs, exposed as these were. They drew him out with violence, and +then let him go. +</P> + +<P> +'Measter Hepburn!' said one in amaze. But immediately they put two +and two together; for in so small a place as Monkshaven every one's +relationships and connexions, and even likings, were known; and the +motive of Philip's coming out to Haytersbank was perfectly clear to +these men. +</P> + +<P> +'T' other 'll not be far off,' said the other constable. 'His plate +were down-stairs, full o' victual; a seed Measter Hepburn a-walking +briskly before me as a left Monkshaven.' +</P> + +<P> +'Here he be, here he be,' called out the other man, dragging Daniel +out by his legs, 'we've getten him.' +</P> + +<P> +Daniel kicked violently, and came out from his hiding-place in a +less ignominious way than by being pulled out by his heels. +</P> + +<P> +He shook himself, and then turned, facing his captors. +</P> + +<P> +'A wish a'd niver hidden mysel'; it were his doing,' jerking his +thumb toward Philip: 'a'm ready to stand by what a've done. Yo've +getten a warrant a'll be bound, for them justices is grand at +writin' when t' fight's over.' +</P> + +<P> +He was trying to carry it off with bravado, but Philip saw that he +had received a shock, from his sudden look of withered colour and +shrunken feature. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't handcuff him,' said Philip, putting money into the +constable's hand. 'You'll be able to guard him well enough without +them things.' +</P> + +<P> +Daniel turned round sharp at this whisper. +</P> + +<P> +'Let-a-be, let-a-be, my lad,' he said. 'It 'll be summut to think on +i' t' lock-up how two able-bodied fellys were so afeared on t' chap +as reskyed them honest sailors o' Saturday neet, as they mun put him +i' gyves, and he sixty-two come Martinmas, and sore laid up wi' t' +rheumatics.' +</P> + +<P> +But it was difficult to keep up this tone of bravado when he was led +a prisoner through his own house-place, and saw his poor wife +quivering and shaking all over with her efforts to keep back all +signs of emotion until he was gone; and Sylvia standing by her +mother, her arm round Bell's waist and stroking the poor shrunken +fingers which worked so perpetually and nervously in futile +unconscious restlessness. Kester was in a corner of the room, +sullenly standing. +</P> + +<P> +Bell quaked from head to foot as her husband came down-stairs a +prisoner. She opened her lips several times with an uneasy motion, +as if she would fain say something, but knew not what. Sylvia's +passionate swollen lips and her beautiful defiant eyes gave her face +quite a new aspect; she looked a helpless fury. +</P> + +<P> +'A may kiss my missus, a reckon,' said Daniel, coming to a +standstill as he passed near her. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Dannel, Dannel!' cried she, opening her arms wide to receive +him. 'Dannel, Dannel, my man!' and she shook with her crying, laying +her head on his shoulder, as if he was all her stay and comfort. +</P> + +<P> +'Come, missus! come, missus!' said he, 'there couldn't be more ado +if a'd been guilty of murder, an' yet a say again, as a said afore, +a'm noane ashamed o' my doings. Here, Sylvie, lass, tak' thy mother +off me, for a cannot do it mysel', it like sets me off.' His voice +was quavering as he said this. But he cheered up a little and said, +'Now, good-by, oud wench' (kissing her), 'and keep a good heart, +and let me see thee lookin' lusty and strong when a come back. +Good-by, my lass; look well after mother, and ask Philip for +guidance if it's needed.' +</P> + +<P> +He was taken out of his home, and then arose the shrill cries of the +women; but in a minute or two they were checked by the return of one +of the constables, who, cap in hand at the sight of so much grief, +said,— +</P> + +<P> +'He wants a word wi' his daughter.' +</P> + +<P> +The party had come to a halt about ten yards from the house. Sylvia, +hastily wiping her tears on her apron, ran out and threw her arms +round her father, as if to burst out afresh on his neck. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, nay, my wench, it's thee as mun be a comfort to mother: nay, +nay, or thou'll niver hear what a've got to say. Sylvie, my lass, +a'm main and sorry a were so short wi' thee last neet; a ax thy +pardon, lass, a were cross to thee, and sent thee to thy bed wi' a +sore heart. Thou munnot think on it again, but forgie me, now a'm +leavin' thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, feyther! feyther!' was all Sylvia could say; and at last they +had to make as though they would have used force to separate her +from their prisoner. Philip took her hand, and softly led her back +to her weeping mother. +</P> + +<P> +For some time nothing was to be heard in the little farmhouse +kitchen but the sobbing and wailing of the women. Philip stood by +silent, thinking, as well as he could, for his keen sympathy with +their grief, what had best be done next. Kester, after some growls +at Sylvia for having held back the uplifted arm which he thought +might have saved Daniel by a well-considered blow on his captors as +they entered the house, went back into his shippen—his cell for +meditation and consolation, where he might hope to soothe himself +before going out to his afternoon's work; labour which his master +had planned for him that very morning, with a strange foresight, as +Kester thought, for the job was one which would take him two or +three days without needing any further directions than those he had +received, and by the end of that time he thought that his master +would be at liberty again. So he—so they all thought in their +ignorance and inexperience. +</P> + +<P> +Although Daniel himself was unreasoning, hasty, impulsive—in a +word, often thinking and acting very foolishly—yet, somehow, either +from some quality in his character, or from the loyalty of nature in +those with whom he had to deal in his every-day life, he had made +his place and position clear as the arbiter and law-giver of his +household. On his decision, as that of husband, father, master, +perhaps superior natures waited. So now that he was gone and had +left them in such strange new circumstances so suddenly, it seemed +as though neither Bell nor Sylvia knew exactly what to do when their +grief was spent, so much had every household action and plan been +regulated by the thought of him. Meanwhile Philip had slowly been +arriving at the conclusion that he was more wanted at Monkshaven to +look after Daniel's interests, to learn what were the legal +probabilities in consequence of the old man's arrest, and to arrange +for his family accordingly, than standing still and silent in the +Haytersbank kitchen, too full of fellow-feeling and heavy foreboding +to comfort, awkwardly unsympathetic in appearance from the very +aching of his heart. +</P> + +<P> +So when his aunt, with instinctive sense of regularity and +propriety, began to put away the scarcely tasted dinner, and Sylvia, +blinded with crying, and convulsively sobbing, was yet trying to +help her mother, Philip took his hat, and brushing it round and +round with the sleeve of his coat, said,— +</P> + +<P> +'I think I'll just go back, and see how matters stand.' He had a +more distinct plan in his head than these words implied, but it +depended on so many contingencies of which he was ignorant that he +said only these few words; and with a silent resolution to see them +again that day, but a dread of being compelled to express his fears, +so far beyond theirs, he went off without saying anything more. Then +Sylvia lifted up her voice with a great cry. Somehow she had +expected him to do something—what, she did not know; but he was +gone, and they were left without stay or help. +</P> + +<P> +'Hush thee, hush thee,' said her mother, trembling all over herself; +'it's for the best. The Lord knows.' +</P> + +<P> +'But I niver thought he'd leave us,' moaned Sylvia, half in her +mother's arms, and thinking of Philip. Her mother took the words as +applied to Daniel. +</P> + +<P> +'And he'd niver ha' left us, my wench, if he could ha' stayed.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, mother, mother, it's Philip as has left us, and he could ha' +stayed.' +</P> + +<P> +'He'll come back, or mebbe send, I'll be bound. Leastways he'll be +gone to see feyther, and he'll need comfort most on all, in a fremd +place—in Bridewell—and niver a morsel of victual or a piece o' +money.' And now she sate down, and wept the dry hot tears that come +with such difficulty to the eyes of the aged. And so—first one +grieving, and then the other, and each draining her own heart of +every possible hope by way of comfort, alternately trying to cheer +and console—the February afternoon passed away; the continuous rain +closing in the daylight even earlier than usual, and adding to the +dreariness, with the natural accompaniments of wailing winds, coming +with long sweeps over the moors, and making the sobbings at the +windows that always sound like the gasps of some one in great agony. +Meanwhile Philip had hastened back to Monkshaven. He had no +umbrella, he had to face the driving rain for the greater part of +the way; but he was thankful to the weather, for it kept men +indoors, and he wanted to meet no one, but to have time to think and +mature his plans. The town itself was, so to speak, in mourning. The +rescue of the sailors was a distinctly popular movement; the +subsequent violence (which had, indeed, gone much further than has +been described, after Daniel left it) was, in general, considered as +only a kind of due punishment inflicted in wild justice on the +press-gang and their abettors. The feeling of the Monkshaven people +was, therefore, in decided opposition to the vigorous steps taken by +the county magistrates, who, in consequence of an appeal from the +naval officers in charge of the impressment service, had called out +the militia (from a distant and inland county) stationed within a +few miles, and had thus summarily quenched the riots that were +continuing on the Sunday morning after a somewhat languid fashion; +the greater part of the destruction of property having been +accomplished during the previous night. Still there was little doubt +but that the violence would have been renewed as evening drew on, +and the more desperate part of the population and the enraged +sailors had had the Sabbath leisure to brood over their wrongs, and +to encourage each other in a passionate attempt at redress, or +revenge. So the authorities were quite justified in the decided +steps they had taken, both in their own estimation then, and now, in +ours, looking back on the affair in cold blood. But at the time +feeling ran strongly against them; and all means of expressing +itself in action being prevented, men brooded sullenly in their own +houses. Philip, as the representative of the family, the head of +which was now suffering for his deeds in the popular cause, would +have met with more sympathy, ay, and more respect than he imagined, +as he went along the streets, glancing from side to side, fearful of +meeting some who would shy him as the relation of one who had been +ignominiously taken to Bridewell a few hours before. But in spite of +this wincing of Philip's from observation and remark, he never +dreamed of acting otherwise than as became a brave true friend. And +this he did, and would have done, from a natural faithfulness and +constancy of disposition, without any special regard for Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +He knew his services were needed in the shop; business which he had +left at a moment's warning awaited him, unfinished; but at this time +he could not bear the torture of giving explanations, and alleging +reasons to the languid intelligence and slow sympathies of Coulson. +</P> + +<P> +He went to the offices of Mr. Donkin, the oldest established and most +respected attorney in Monkshaven—he who had been employed to draw +up the law papers and deeds of partnership consequent on Hepburn and +Coulson succeeding to the shop of John and Jeremiah Foster, +Brothers. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Donkin knew Philip from this circumstance. But, indeed, nearly +every one in Monkshaven knew each other; if not enough to speak to, +at least enough to be acquainted with the personal appearance and +reputation of most of those whom they met in the streets. It so +happened that Mr. Donkin had a favourable opinion of Philip; and +perhaps for this reason the latter had a shorter time to wait before +he obtained an interview with the head of the house, than many of +the clients who came for that purpose from town or country for many +miles round. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was ushered in. Mr. Donkin sate with his spectacles pushed up +on his forehead, ready to watch his countenance and listen to his +words. +</P> + +<P> +'Good afternoon, Mr. Hepburn!' +</P> + +<P> +'Good afternoon, sir.' Philip hesitated how to begin. Mr. Donkin +became impatient, and tapped with the fingers of his left hand on +his desk. Philip's sensitive nerves felt and rightly interpreted the +action. +</P> + +<P> +'Please, sir, I'm come to speak to you about Daniel Robson, of +Haytersbank Farm.' +</P> + +<P> +'Daniel Robson?' said Mr. Donkin, after a short pause, to try and +compel Philip into speed in his story. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, sir. He's been taken up on account of this affair, sir, about +the press-gang on Saturday night.' +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure! I thought I knew the name.' And Mr. Donkin's face became +graver, and the expression more concentrated. Looking up suddenly at +Philip, he said, 'You are aware that I am the clerk to the +magistrates?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, sir,' in a tone that indicated the unexpressed 'What then?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, but I am. And so of course, if you want my services or advice +in favour of a prisoner whom they have committed, or are going to +commit, you can't have them, that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am very sorry—very!' said Philip; and then he was again silent +for a period; long enough to make the busy attorney impatient. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, Mr. Hepburn, have you anything else to say to me?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, sir. I've a deal to ask of you; for you see I don't rightly +understand what to do; and yet I'm all as Daniel's wife and daughter +has to look to; and I've their grief heavy on my heart. You could +not tell me what is to be done with Daniel, could you, sir?' +</P> + +<P> +'He'll be brought up before the magistrates to-morrow morning for +final examination, along with the others, you know, before he's sent +to York Castle to take his trial at the spring assizes.' +</P> + +<P> +'To York Castle, sir?' +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Donkin nodded, as if words were too precious to waste. +</P> + +<P> +'And when will he go?' asked poor Philip, in dismay. +</P> + +<P> +'To-morrow: most probably as soon as the examination is over. The +evidence is clear as to his being present, aiding and +abetting,—indicted on the 4th section of 1 George I., statute 1, +chapter 5. I'm afraid it's a bad look-out. Is he a friend of yours, +Mr. Hepburn?' +</P> + +<P> +'Only an uncle, sir,' said Philip, his heart getting full; more from +Mr. Donkin's manner than from his words. 'But what can they do to +him, sir?' +</P> + +<P> +'Do?' Mr. Donkin half smiled at the ignorance displayed. 'Why, hang +him, to be sure; if the judge is in a hanging mood. He's been either +a principal in the offence, or a principal in the second degree, +and, as such, liable to the full punishment. I drew up the warrant +myself this morning, though I left the exact name to be filled up by +my clerk.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, sir! can you do nothing for me?' asked Philip, with sharp +beseeching in his voice. He had never imagined that it was a capital +offence; and the thought of his aunt's and Sylvia's ignorance of the +possible fate awaiting him whom they so much loved, was like a stab +to his heart. +</P> + +<P> +'No, my good fellow. I'm sorry; but, you see, it's my duty to do all +I can to bring criminals to justice.' +</P> + +<P> +'My uncle thought he was doing such a fine deed.' +</P> + +<P> +'Demolishing and pulling down, destroying and burning +dwelling-houses and outhouses,' said Mr. Donkin. 'He must have some +peculiar notions.' +</P> + +<P> +'The people is so mad with the press-gang, and Daniel has been at +sea hisself; and took it so to heart when he heard of mariners and +seafaring folk being carried off, and just cheated into doing what +was kind and helpful—leastways, what would have been kind and +helpful, if there had been a fire. I'm against violence and riots +myself, sir, I'm sure; but I cannot help thinking as Daniel had a +deal to justify him on Saturday night, sir.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well; you must try and get a good lawyer to bring out all that side +of the question. There's a good deal to be said on it; but it's my +duty to get up all the evidence to prove that he and others were +present on the night in question; so, as you'll perceive, I can give +you no help in defending him.' +</P> + +<P> +'But who can, sir? I came to you as a friend who, I thought, would +see me through it. And I don't know any other lawyer; leastways, to +speak to.' +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Donkin was really more concerned for the misguided rioters than +he was aware; and he was aware of more interest than he cared to +express. So he softened his tone a little, and tried to give the +best advice in his power. +</P> + +<P> +'You'd better go to Edward Dawson on the other side of the river; he +that was articled clerk with me two years ago, you know. He's a +clever fellow, and has not too much practice; he'll do the best he +can for you. He'll have to be at the court-house, tell him, +to-morrow morning at ten, when the justices meet. He'll watch the +case for you; and then he'll give you his opinion, and tell you what +to do. You can't do better than follow his advice. I must do all I +can to collect evidence for a conviction, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip stood up, looked at his hat, and then came forward and laid +down six and eightpence on the desk in a blushing, awkward way. +</P> + +<P> +'Pooh! pooh!' said Mr. Donkin, pushing the money away. 'Don't be a +fool; you'll need it all before the trial's over. I've done nothing, +man. It would be a pretty thing for me to be feed by both parties.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip took up the money, and left the room. In an instant he came +back again, glanced furtively at Mr. Donkin's face, and then, once +more having recourse to brushing his hat, he said, in a low voice— +</P> + +<P> +'You'll not be hard upon him, sir, I hope?' +</P> + +<P> +'I must do my duty,' replied Mr. Donkin, a little sternly, 'without +any question of hardness.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip, discomfited, left the room; an instant of thought and Mr +Donkin had jumped up, and hastening to the door he opened it and +called after Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'Hepburn—Hepburn—I say, he'll be taken to York as soon as may be +to-morrow morning; if any one wants to see him before then, they'd +better look sharp about it.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip went quickly along the streets towards Mr. Dawson's, pondering +upon the meaning of all that he had heard, and what he had better +do. He had made his plans pretty clearly out by the time he arrived +at Mr. Dawson's smart door in one of the new streets on the other +side of the river. A clerk as smart as the door answered Philip's +hesitating knock, and replied to his inquiry as to whether Mr. Dawson +was at home, in the negative, adding, after a moment's pause— +</P> + +<P> +'He'll be at home in less than an hour; he's only gone to make Mrs +Dawson's will—Mrs. Dawson, of Collyton—she's not expected to get +better.' +</P> + +<P> +Probably the clerk of an older-established attorney would not have +given so many particulars as to the nature of his master's +employment; but, as it happened it was of no consequence, the +unnecessary information made no impression on Philip's mind; he +thought the matter over and then said— +</P> + +<P> +'I'll be back in an hour, then. It's gone a quarter to four; I'll be +back before five, tell Mr. Dawson.' +</P> + +<P> +He turned on his heel and went back to the High Street as fast as he +could, with a far more prompt and decided step than before. He +hastened through the streets, emptied by the bad weather, to the +principal inn of the town, the George—the sign of which was +fastened to a piece of wood stretched across the narrow street; and +going up to the bar with some timidity (for the inn was frequented +by the gentry of Monkshaven and the neighbourhood, and was +considered as a touch above such customers as Philip), he asked if +he could have a tax-cart made ready in a quarter of an hour, and +sent up to the door of his shop. +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure he could; how far was it to go?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip hesitated before he replied— +</P> + +<P> +'Up the Knotting Lane, to the stile leading down to Haytersbank +Farm; they'll have to wait there for some as are coming.' +</P> + +<P> +'They must not wait long such an evening as this; standing in such +rain and wind as there'll be up there, is enough to kill a horse.' +</P> + +<P> +'They shan't wait long,' said Philip, decisively: 'in a quarter of +an hour, mind.' +</P> + +<P> +He now went back to the shop, beating against the storm, which was +increasing as the tide came in and the night hours approached. +</P> + +<P> +Coulson had no word for him, but he looked reproachfully at his +partner for his long, unexplained absence. Hester was putting away +the ribbons and handkerchiefs, and bright-coloured things which had +been used to deck the window; for no more customers were likely to +come this night through the blustering weather to a shop dimly +lighted by two tallow candles and an inefficient oil-lamp. Philip +came up to her, and stood looking at her with unseeing eyes; but the +strange consciousness of his fixed stare made her uncomfortable, and +called the faint flush to her pale cheeks, and at length compelled +her, as it were, to speak, and break the spell of the silence. So, +curiously enough, all three spoke at once. Hester asked (without +looking at Philip)— +</P> + +<P> +'Yo're sadly wet, I'm feared?' +</P> + +<P> +Coulson said— +</P> + +<P> +'Thou might have a bit o' news to tell one after being on the gad +all afternoon.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip whispered to Hester— +</P> + +<P> +'Wilt come into t' parlour? I want a word wi' thee by oursel's.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester quietly finished rolling up the ribbon she had in her hands +when he spoke, and then followed him into the room behind the shop +before spoken of. +</P> + +<P> +Philip set down on the table the candle which he had brought out of +the shop, and turning round to Hester, took her trembling hand into +both of his, and gripping it nervously, said— +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! Hester, thou must help me—thou will, will not thou?' +</P> + +<P> +Hester gulped down something that seemed to rise in her throat and +choke her, before she answered. +</P> + +<P> +'Anything, thou knows, Philip.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, yes, I know. Thou sees the matter is this: Daniel Robson—he +who married my aunt—is taken up for yon riot on Saturday night at +t' Mariners' Arms——' +</P> + +<P> +'They spoke on it this afternoon; they said the warrant was out,' +said Hester, filling up the sentence as Philip hesitated, lost for +an instant in his own thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! the warrant is out, and he's in t' lock-up, and will be carried +to York Castle to-morrow morn; and I'm afeared it will go bad with +him; and they at Haytersbank is not prepared, and they must see him +again before he goes. Now, Hester, will thou go in a tax-cart as +will be here in less than ten minutes from t' George, and bring them +back here, and they must stay all night for to be ready to see him +to-morrow before he goes? It's dree weather for them, but they'll +not mind that.' +</P> + +<P> +He had used words as if he was making a request to Hester; but he +did not seem to await her answer, so sure was he that she would go. +She noticed this, and noticed also that the rain was spoken of in +reference to them, not to her. A cold shadow passed over her heart, +though it was nothing more than she already knew—that Sylvia was +the one centre of his thoughts and his love. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll go put on my things at once,' said she, gently. +</P> + +<P> +Philip pressed her hand tenderly, a glow of gratitude overspread +him. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou's a real good one, God bless thee!' said he. 'Thou must take +care of thyself, too,' continued he; 'there's wraps and plenty i' +th' house, and if there are not, there's those i' the shop as 'll be +none the worse for once wearing at such a time as this; and wrap +thee well up, and take shawls and cloaks for them, and mind as they +put 'em on. Thou'll have to get out at a stile, I'll tell t' driver +where; and thou must get over t' stile and follow t' path down two +fields, and th' house is right before ye, and bid 'em make haste and +lock up th' house, for they mun stay all night here. Kester 'll look +after things.' +</P> + +<P> +All this time Hester was hastily putting on her hat and cloak, which +she had fetched from the closet where they usually hung through the +day; now she stood listening, as it were, for final directions. +</P> + +<P> +'But suppose they will not come,' said she; 'they dunnot know me, +and mayn't believe my words.' +</P> + +<P> +'They must,' said he, impatiently. 'They don't know what awaits +'em,' he continued. 'I'll tell thee, because thou 'll not let out, +and it seems as if I mun tell some one—it were such a shock—he's +to be tried for 's life. They know not it's so serious; and, +Hester,' said he, going on in his search after sympathy, 'she's +like as if she was bound up in her father.' +</P> + +<P> +His lips quivered as he looked wistfully into Hester's face at these +words. No need to tell her who was <I>she</I>. No need to put into words +the fact, told plainer than words could have spoken it, that his +heart was bound up in Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +Hester's face, instead of responding to his look, contracted a +little, and, for the life of her, she could not have helped +saying,— +</P> + +<P> +'Why don't yo' go yourself, Philip?' +</P> + +<P> +'I can't, I can't,' said he, impatiently. 'I'd give the world to go, +for I might be able to comfort her; but there's lawyers to see, and +iver so much to do, and they've niver a man friend but me to do it +all. You'll tell her,' said Philip, insinuatingly, as if a fresh +thought had struck him, 'as how I would ha' come. I would fain ha' +come for 'em, myself, but I couldn't, because of th' lawyer,—mind +yo' say because of th' lawyer. I'd be loath for her to think I was +minding any business of my own at this time; and, whatever yo' do, +speak hopeful, and, for t' life of yo', don't speak of th' hanging, +it's likely it's a mistake o' Donkin's; and anyhow—there's t' +cart—anyhow I should perhaps not ha' telled thee, but it's a comfort +to make a clean breast to a friend at times. God bless thee, Hester. I +don't know what I should ha' done without thee,' said he, as he +wrapped her well up in the cart, and placed the bundles of cloaks +and things by her side. +</P> + +<P> +Along the street, in the jolting cart, as long as Hester could see +the misty light streaming out of the shop door, so long was Philip +standing bareheaded in the rain looking after her. But she knew that +it was not her own poor self that attracted his lingering gaze. It +was the thought of the person she was bound to. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A DREARY VIGIL +</H3> + +<P> +Through the dark rain, against the cold wind, shaken over the rough +stones, went Hester in the little tax-cart. Her heart kept rising +against her fate; the hot tears came unbidden to her eyes. But +rebellious heart was soothed, and hot tears were sent back to their +source before the time came for her alighting. +</P> + +<P> +The driver turned his horse in the narrow lane, and shouted after +her an injunction to make haste as, with her head bent low, she +struggled down to the path to Haytersbank Farm. She saw the light in +the window from the top of the brow, and involuntarily she slackened +her pace. She had never seen Bell Robson, and would Sylvia recollect +her? If she did not how awkward it would be to give the explanation +of who she was, and what her errand was, and why she was sent. +Nevertheless, it must be done; so on she went, and standing within +the little porch, she knocked faintly at the door; but in the +bluster of the elements the sound was lost. Again she knocked, and +now the murmur of women's voices inside was hushed, and some one +came quickly to the door, and opened it sharply. +</P> + +<P> +It was Sylvia. Although her face was completely in shadow, of course +Hester knew her well; but she, if indeed she would have recognized +Hester less disguised, did not know in the least who the woman, +muffled up in a great cloak, with her hat tied down with a silk +handkerchief, standing in the porch at this time of night, could be. +Nor, indeed, was she in a mood to care or to inquire. She said +hastily, in a voice rendered hoarse and arid with grief: +</P> + +<P> +'Go away. This is no house for strangers to come to. We've enough on +our own to think on;' and she hastily shut the door in Hester's +face, before the latter could put together the right words in which +to explain her errand. Hester stood outside in the dark, wet porch +discomfited, and wondering how next to obtain a hearing through the +shut and bolted door. Not long did she stand, however; some one was +again at the door, talking in a voice of distress and remonstrance, +and slowly unbarring the bolts. A tall, thin figure of an elderly +woman was seen against the warm fire-light inside as soon as the +door was opened; a hand was put out, like that which took the dove +into the ark, and Hester was drawn into the warmth and the light, +while Bell's voice went on speaking to Sylvia before addressing the +dripping stranger— +</P> + +<P> +'It's not a night to turn a dog fra' t' door; it's ill letting our +grief harden our hearts. But oh! missus (to Hester), yo' mun forgive +us, for a great sorrow has fallen upon us this day, an' we're like +beside ourselves wi' crying an' plaining.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell sate down, and threw her apron over her poor worn face, as if +decently to shield the signs of her misery from a stranger's gaze. +Sylvia, all tear-swollen, and looking askance and almost fiercely at +the stranger who had made good her intrusion, was drawn, as it were, +to her mother's side, and, kneeling down by her, put her arms round +her waist, and almost lay across her lap, still gazing at Hester +with cold, distrustful eyes, the expression of which repelled and +daunted that poor, unwilling messenger, and made her silent for a +minute or so after her entrance. Bell suddenly put down her apron. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo're cold and drenched,' said she. 'Come near to t' fire and warm +yo'rsel'; yo' mun pardon us if we dunnot think on everything at +onest.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo're very kind, very kind indeed,' said Hester, touched by the +poor woman's evident effort to forget her own grief in the duties of +hospitality, and loving Bell from that moment. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm Hester Rose,' she continued, half addressing Sylvia, who she +thought might remember the name, 'and Philip Hepburn has sent me in +a tax-cart to t' stile yonder, to fetch both on yo' back to +Monkshaven.' Sylvia raised her head and looked intently at Hester. +Bell clasped her hands tight together and leant forwards. +</P> + +<P> +'It's my master as wants us?' said she, in an eager, questioning +tone. +</P> + +<P> +'It's for to see yo'r master,' said Hester. 'Philip says he'll be +sent to York to-morrow, and yo'll be fain to see him before he goes; +and if yo'll come down to Monkshaven to-night, yo'll be on t' spot +again' the time comes when t' justices will let ye.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell was up and about, making for the place where she kept her +out-going things, almost before Hester had begun to speak. She +hardly understood about her husband's being sent to York, in the +possession of the idea that she might go and see him. She did not +understand or care how, in this wild night, she was to get to +Monkshaven; all she thought of was, that she might go and see her +husband. But Sylvia took in more points than her mother, and, almost +suspiciously, began to question Hester. +</P> + +<P> +'Why are they sending him to York? What made Philip leave us? Why +didn't he come hissel'?' +</P> + +<P> +'He couldn't come hissel', he bade me say; because he was bound to +be at the lawyer's at five, about yo'r father's business. I think +yo' might ha' known he would ha' come for any business of his own; +and, about York, it's Philip as telled me, and I never asked why. I +never thought on yo'r asking me so many questions. I thought yo'd be +ready to fly on any chance o' seeing your father.' Hester spoke out +the sad reproach that ran from her heart to her lips. To distrust +Philip! to linger when she might hasten! +</P> + +<P> +'Oh!' said Sylvia, breaking out into a wild cry, that carried with +it more conviction of agony than much weeping could have done. 'I +may be rude and hard, and I may ask strange questions, as if I cared +for t' answers yo' may gi' me; an', in my heart o' hearts, I care +for nought but to have father back wi' us, as love him so dear. I +can hardly tell what I say, much less why I say it. Mother is so +patient, it puts me past mysel', for I could fight wi' t' very +walls, I'm so mad wi' grieving. Sure, they'll let him come back wi' +us to-morrow, when they hear from his own sel' why he did it?' +</P> + +<P> +She looked eagerly at Hester for an answer to this last question, +which she had put in a soft, entreating tone, as if with Hester +herself the decision rested. Hester shook her head. Sylvia came up +to her and took her hands, almost fondling them. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' dunnot think they'll be hard wi' him when they hear all about +it, done yo'? Why, York Castle's t' place they send a' t' thieves +and robbers to, not honest men like feyther.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester put her hand on Sylvia's shoulder with a soft, caressing +gesture. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip will know,' she said, using Philip's name as a kind of +spell—it would have been so to her. 'Come away to Philip,' said she +again, urging Sylvia, by her looks and manner, to prepare for the +little journey. Sylvia moved away for this purpose, saying to +herself,— +</P> + +<P> +'It's going to see feyther: he will tell me all.' +</P> + +<P> +Poor Mrs. Robson was collecting a few clothes for her husband with an +eager, trembling hand, so trembling that article after article fell +to the floor, and it was Hester who picked them up; and at last, +after many vain attempts by the grief-shaken woman, it was Hester +who tied the bundle, and arranged the cloak, and fastened down the +hood; Sylvia standing by, not unobservant, though apparently +absorbed in her own thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +At length, all was arranged, and the key given over to Kester. As +they passed out into the storm, Sylvia said to Hester,— +</P> + +<P> +'Thou's a real good wench. Thou's fitter to be about mother than me. +I'm but a cross-patch at best, an' now it's like as if I was no good +to nobody.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia began to cry, but Hester had no time to attend to her, even +had she the inclination: all her care was needed to help the hasty, +tottering steps of the wife who was feebly speeding up the wet and +slippery brow to her husband. All Bell thought of was that 'he' was +at the end of her toil. She hardly understood when she was to see +him; her weary heart and brain had only received one idea—that each +step she was now taking was leading her to him. Tired and exhausted +with her quick walk up hill, battling all the way with wind and +rain, she could hardly have held up another minute when they reached +the tax-cart in the lane, and Hester had almost to lift her on to +the front seat by the driver. She covered and wrapped up the poor +old woman, and afterwards placed herself in the straw at the back of +the cart, packed up close by the shivering, weeping Sylvia. Neither +of them spoke a word at first; but Hester's tender conscience smote +her for her silence before they had reached Monkshaven. She wanted +to say some kind word to Sylvia, and yet knew not how to begin. +Somehow, without knowing why, or reasoning upon it, she hit upon +Philip's message as the best comfort in her power to give. She had +delivered it before, but it had been apparently little heeded. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip bade me say it was business as kept him from fetchin' yo' +hissel'—business wi' the lawyer, about—about yo'r father.' +</P> + +<P> +'What do they say?' said Sylvia, suddenly, lifting her bowed head, +as though she would read her companion's face in the dim light. +</P> + +<P> +'I dunnot know,' said Hester, sadly. They were now jolting over the +paved streets, and not a word could be spoken. They were now at +Philip's door, which was opened to receive them even before they +arrived, as if some one had been watching and listening. The old +servant, Phoebe, the fixture in the house, who had belonged to it +and to the shop for the last twenty years, came out, holding a +candle and sheltering it in her hand from the weather, while Philip +helped the tottering steps of Mrs. Robson as she descended behind. As +Hester had got in last, so she had now to be the first to move. Just +as she was moving, Sylvia's cold little hand was laid on her arm. +</P> + +<P> +'I am main and thankful to yo'. I ask yo'r pardon for speaking +cross, but, indeed, my heart's a'most broken wi' fear about +feyther.' +</P> + +<P> +The voice was so plaintive, so full of tears, that Hester could not +but yearn towards the speaker. She bent over and kissed her cheek, +and then clambered unaided down by the wheel on the dark side of the +cart. Wistfully she longed for one word of thanks or recognition +from Philip, in whose service she had performed this hard task; but +he was otherwise occupied, and on casting a further glance back as +she turned the corner of the street, she saw Philip lifting Sylvia +carefully down in his arms from her footing on the top of the wheel, +and then they all went into the light and the warmth, the door was +shut, the lightened cart drove briskly away, and Hester, in rain, +and cold, and darkness, went homewards with her tired sad heart. +</P> + +<P> +Philip had done all he could, since his return from lawyer Dawson's, +to make his house bright and warm for the reception of his beloved. +He had a strong apprehension of the probable fate of poor Daniel +Robson; he had a warm sympathy with the miserable distress of the +wife and daughter; but still at the back of his mind his spirits +danced as if this was to them a festal occasion. He had even taken +unconscious pleasure in Phoebe's suspicious looks and tones, as he +had hurried and superintended her in her operations. A fire blazed +cheerily in the parlour, almost dazzling to the travellers brought +in from the darkness and the rain; candles burned—two candles, much +to Phoebe's discontent. Poor Bell Robson had to sit down almost as +soon as she entered the room, so worn out was she with fatigue and +excitement; yet she grudged every moment which separated her, as she +thought, from her husband. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm ready now,' said she, standing up, and rather repulsing +Sylvia's cares; 'I'm ready now,' said she, looking eagerly at +Philip, as if for him to lead the way. +</P> + +<P> +'It's not to-night,' replied he, almost apologetically. 'You can't +see him to-night; it's to-morrow morning before he goes to York; it +was better for yo' to be down here in town ready; and beside I +didn't know when I sent for ye that he was locked up for the night.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well-a-day, well-a-day,' said Bell, rocking herself backwards and +forwards, and trying to soothe herself with these words. Suddenly +she said,— +</P> + +<P> +'But I've brought his comforter wi' me—his red woollen comforter as +he's allays slept in this twelvemonth past; he'll get his rheumatiz +again; oh, Philip, cannot I get it to him?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll send it by Phoebe,' said Philip, who was busy making tea, +hospitable and awkward. +</P> + +<P> +'Cannot I take it mysel'?' repeated Bell. 'I could make surer nor +anybody else; they'd maybe not mind yon woman—Phoebe d'ye call +her?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, mother,' said Sylvia, 'thou's not fit to go.' +</P> + +<P> +'Shall I go?' asked Philip, hoping she would say 'no', and be +content with Phoebe, and leave him where he was. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Philip, would yo'?' said Sylvia, turning round. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay,' said Bell, 'if thou would take it they'd be minding yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +So there was nothing for it but for him to go, in the first flush of +his delightful rites of hospitality. +</P> + +<P> +'It's not far,' said he, consoling himself rather than them. 'I'll +be back in ten minutes, the tea is maskit, and Phoebe will take yo'r +wet things and dry 'em by t' kitchen fire; and here's the stairs,' +opening a door in the corner of the room, from which the stairs +immediately ascended. 'There's two rooms at the top; that to t' left +is all made ready, t' other is mine,' said he, reddening a little as +he spoke. Bell was busy undoing her bundle with trembling fingers. +</P> + +<P> +'Here,' said she; 'and oh, lad, here's a bit o' peppermint cake; +he's main and fond on it, and I catched sight on it by good luck +just t' last minute.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip was gone, and the excitement of Bell and Sylvia flagged once +more, and sank into wondering despondency. Sylvia, however, roused +herself enough to take off her mother's wet clothes, and she took +them timidly into the kitchen and arranged them before Phoebe's +fire. +</P> + +<P> +Phoebe opened her lips once or twice to speak in remonstrance, and +then, with an effort, gulped her words down; for her sympathy, like +that of all the rest of the Monkshaven world, was in favour of +Daniel Robson; and his daughter might place her dripping cloak this +night wherever she would, for Phoebe. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia found her mother still sitting on the chair next the door, +where she had first placed herself on entering the room. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll gi'e you some tea, mother,' said she, struck with the shrunken +look of Bell's face. +</P> + +<P> +'No, no' said her mother. 'It's not manners for t' help oursel's.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure Philip would ha' wished yo' for to take it,' said Sylvia, +pouring out a cup. +</P> + +<P> +Just then he returned, and something in his look, some dumb +expression of delight at her occupation, made her blush and hesitate +for an instant; but then she went on, and made a cup of tea ready, +saying something a little incoherent all the time about her mother's +need of it. After tea Bell Robson's weariness became so extreme, +that Philip and Sylvia urged her to go to bed. She resisted a +little, partly out of 'manners,' and partly because she kept +fancying, poor woman, that somehow or other her husband might send +for her. But about seven o'clock Sylvia persuaded her to come +upstairs. Sylvia, too, bade Philip good-night, and his look followed +the last wave of her dress as she disappeared up the stairs; then +leaning his chin on his hand, he gazed at vacancy and thought +deeply—for how long he knew not, so intent was his mind on the +chances of futurity. +</P> + +<P> +He was aroused by Sylvia's coming down-stairs into the sitting-room +again. He started up. +</P> + +<P> +'Mother is so shivery,' said she. 'May I go in there,' indicating +the kitchen, 'and make her a drop of gruel?' +</P> + +<P> +'Phoebe shall make it, not you,' said Philip, eagerly preventing +her, by going to the kitchen door and giving his orders. When he +turned round again, Sylvia was standing over the fire, leaning her +head against the stone mantel-piece for the comparative coolness. +She did not speak at first, or take any notice of him. He watched +her furtively, and saw that she was crying, the tears running down +her cheeks, and she too much absorbed in her thoughts to wipe them +away with her apron. +</P> + +<P> +While he was turning over in his mind what he could best say to +comfort her (his heart, like hers, being almost too full for words), +she suddenly looked him full in the face, saying,— +</P> + +<P> +'Philip! won't they soon let him go? what can they do to him?' Her +open lips trembled while awaiting his answer, the tears came up and +filled her eyes. It was just the question he had most dreaded; it +led to the terror that possessed his own mind, but which he had +hoped to keep out of hers. He hesitated. 'Speak, lad!' said she, +impatiently, with a little passionate gesture. 'I can see thou +knows!' +</P> + +<P> +He had only made it worse by consideration; he rushed blindfold at a +reply. +</P> + +<P> +'He's ta'en up for felony.' +</P> + +<P> +'Felony,' said she. 'There thou're out; he's in for letting yon men +out; thou may call it rioting if thou's a mind to set folks again' +him, but it's too bad to cast such hard words at him as +yon—felony,' she repeated, in a half-offended tone. +</P> + +<P> +'It's what the lawyers call it,' said Philip, sadly; 'it's no word +o' mine.' +</P> + +<P> +'Lawyers is allays for making the worst o' things,' said she, a +little pacified, 'but folks shouldn't allays believe them.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's lawyers as has to judge i' t' long run.' +</P> + +<P> +'Cannot the justices, Mr. Harter and them as is no lawyers, give him +a sentence to-morrow, wi'out sending him to York?' +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said Philip, shaking his head. He went to the kitchen door and +asked if the gruel was not ready, so anxious was he to stop the +conversation at this point; but Phoebe, who held her young master in +but little respect, scolded him for a stupid man, who thought, like +all his sex, that gruel was to be made in a minute, whatever the +fire was, and bade him come and make it for himself if he was in +such a hurry. +</P> + +<P> +He had to return discomfited to Sylvia, who meanwhile had arranged +her thoughts ready to return to the charge. +</P> + +<P> +'And say he's sent to York, and say he's tried theere, what's t' +worst they can do again' him?' asked she, keeping down her agitation +to look at Philip the more sharply. Her eyes never slackened their +penetrating gaze at his countenance, until he replied, with the +utmost unwillingness, and most apparent confusion,— +</P> + +<P> +'They may send him to Botany Bay.' +</P> + +<P> +He knew that he held back a worse contingency, and he was mortally +afraid that she would perceive this reserve. But what he did say was +so much beyond her utmost apprehension, which had only reached to +various terms of imprisonment, that she did not imagine the dark +shadow lurking behind. What he had said was too much for her. Her +eyes dilated, her lips blanched, her pale cheeks grew yet paler. +After a minute's look into his face, as if fascinated by some +horror, she stumbled backwards into the chair in the chimney comer, +and covered her face with her hands, moaning out some inarticulate +words. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was on his knees by her, dumb from excess of sympathy, +kissing her dress, all unfelt by her; he murmured half-words, he +began passionate sentences that died away upon his lips; and +she—she thought of nothing but her father, and was possessed and +rapt out of herself by the dread of losing him to that fearful +country which was almost like the grave to her, so all but +impassable was the gulf. But Philip knew that it was possible that +the separation impending might be that of the dark, mysterious +grave—that the gulf between the father and child might indeed be +that which no living, breathing, warm human creature can ever cross. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie, Sylvie!' said he,—and all their conversation had to be +carried on in low tones and whispers, for fear of the listening ears +above,—'don't,—don't, thou'rt rending my heart. Oh, Sylvie, +hearken. There's not a thing I'll not do; there's not a penny I've +got,—th' last drop of blood that's in me,—I'll give up my life for +his.' +</P> + +<P> +'Life,' said she, putting down her hands, and looking at him as if +her looks could pierce his soul; 'who talks o' touching his life? +Thou're going crazy, Philip, I think;' but she did not think so, +although she would fain have believed it. In her keen agony she read +his thoughts as though they were an open page; she sate there, +upright and stony, the conviction creeping over her face like the +grey shadow of death. No more tears, no more trembling, almost no +more breathing. He could not bear to see her, and yet she held his +eyes, and he feared to make the effort necessary to move or to turn +away, lest the shunning motion should carry conviction to her heart. +Alas! conviction of the probable danger to her father's life was +already there: it was that that was calming her down, tightening her +muscles, bracing her nerves. In that hour she lost all her early +youth. +</P> + +<P> +'Then he may be hung,' said she, low and solemnly, after a long +pause. Philip turned away his face, and did not utter a word. Again +deep silence, broken only by some homely sound in the kitchen. +'Mother must not know on it,' said Sylvia, in the same tone in which +she had spoken before. +</P> + +<P> +'It's t' worst as can happen to him,' said Philip. 'More likely +he'll be transported: maybe he'll be brought in innocent after all.' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' said Sylvia, heavily, as one without hope—as if she were +reading some dreadful doom in the tablets of the awful future. +'They'll hang him. Oh, feyther! feyther!' she choked out, almost +stuffing her apron into her mouth to deaden the sound, and catching +at Philip's hand, and wringing it with convulsive force, till the +pain that he loved was nearly more than he could bear. No words of +his could touch such agony; but irrepressibly, and as he would have +done it to a wounded child, he bent over her, and kissed her with a +tender, trembling kiss. She did not repulse it, probably she did not +even perceive it. +</P> + +<P> +At that moment Phoebe came in with the gruel. Philip saw her, and +knew, in an instant, what the old woman's conclusion must needs be; +but Sylvia had to be shaken by the now standing Philip, before she +could be brought back to the least consciousness of the present +time. She lifted up her white face to understand his words, then she +rose up like one who slowly comes to the use of her limbs. +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose I mun go,' she said; 'but I'd sooner face the dead. If +she asks me, Philip, what mun I say?' +</P> + +<P> +'She'll not ask yo',' said he, 'if yo' go about as common. She's +never asked yo' all this time, an' if she does, put her on to me. +I'll keep it from her as long as I can; I'll manage better nor I've +done wi' thee, Sylvie,' said he, with a sad, faint smile, looking +with fond penitence at her altered countenance. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou mustn't blame thysel',' said Sylvia, seeing his regret. 'I +brought it on me mysel'; I thought I would ha' t' truth, whativer +came on it, and now I'm not strong enough to stand it, God help me!' +she continued, piteously. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Sylvie, let me help yo'! I cannot do what God can,—I'm not +meaning that, but I can do next to Him of any man. I have loved yo' +for years an' years, in a way it's terrible to think on, if my love +can do nought now to comfort yo' in your sore distress.' +</P> + +<P> +'Cousin Philip,' she replied, in the same measured tone in which she +had always spoken since she had learnt the extent of her father's +danger, and the slow stillness of her words was in harmony with the +stony look of her face, 'thou's a comfort to me, I couldn't bide my +life without thee; but I cannot take in the thought o' love, it +seems beside me quite; I can think on nought but them that is quick +and them that is dead.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GLOOMY DAYS +</H3> + +<P> +Philip had money in the Fosters' bank, not so much as it might have +been if he had not had to pay for the furniture in his house. Much +of this furniture was old, and had belonged to the brothers Foster, +and they had let Philip have it at a very reasonable rate; but still +the purchase of it had diminished the amount of his savings. But on +the sum which he possessed he drew largely—he drew all—nay, he +overdrew his account somewhat, to his former masters' dismay, +although the kindness of their hearts overruled the harder arguments +of their heads. +</P> + +<P> +All was wanted to defend Daniel Robson at the approaching York +assizes. His wife had handed over to Philip all the money or money's +worth she could lay her hands upon. Daniel himself was not one to be +much beforehand with the world; but to Bell's thrifty imagination +the round golden guineas, tied up in the old stocking-foot against +rent-day, seemed a mint of money on which Philip might draw +infinitely. As yet she did not comprehend the extent of her +husband's danger. Sylvia went about like one in a dream, keeping +back the hot tears that might interfere with the course of life she +had prescribed for herself in that terrible hour when she first +learnt all. Every penny of money either she or her mother could save +went to Philip. Kester's hoard, too, was placed in Hepburn's hands +at Sylvia's earnest entreaty; for Kester had no great opinion of +Philip's judgment, and would rather have taken his money straight +himself to Mr. Dawson, and begged him to use it for his master's +behoof. +</P> + +<P> +Indeed, if anything, the noiseless breach between Kester and Philip +had widened of late. It was seed-time, and Philip, in his great +anxiety for every possible interest that might affect Sylvia, and +also as some distraction from his extreme anxiety about her father, +had taken to study agriculture of an evening in some old books which +he had borrowed—<I>The Farmer's Complete Guide</I>, and such like; and +from time to time he came down upon the practical dogged Kester with +directions gathered from the theories in his books. Of course the +two fell out, but without many words. Kester persevered in his old +ways, making light of Philip and his books in manner and action, +till at length Philip withdrew from the contest. 'Many a man may +lead a horse to water, but there's few can make him drink,' and +Philip certainly was not one of those few. Kester, indeed, looked +upon him with jealous eyes on many accounts. He had favoured Charley +Kinraid as a lover of Sylvia's; and though he had no idea of the +truth—though he believed in the drowning of the specksioneer as +much as any one—yet the year which had elapsed since Kinraid's +supposed death was but a very short while to the middle-aged man, +who forgot how slowly time passes with the young; and he could often +have scolded Sylvia, if the poor girl had been a whit less heavy at +heart than she was, for letting Philip come so much about her—come, +though it was on her father's business. For the darkness of their +common dread drew them together, occasionally to the comparative +exclusion of Bell and Kester, which the latter perceived and +resented. Kester even allowed himself to go so far as to wonder what +Philip could want with all the money, which to him seemed +unaccountable; and once or twice the ugly thought crossed his mind, +that shops conducted by young men were often not so profitable as +when guided by older heads, and that some of the coin poured into +Philip's keeping might have another destination than the defence of +his master. Poor Philip! and he was spending all his own, and more +than all his own money, and no one ever knew it, as he had bound +down his friendly bankers to secrecy. +</P> + +<P> +Once only Kester ventured to speak to Sylvia on the subject of +Philip. She had followed her cousin to the field just in front of +their house, just outside the porch, to ask him some question she +dared not put in her mother's presence—(Bell, indeed, in her +anxiety, usually absorbed all the questions when Philip came)—and +stood, after Philip had bid her good-by, hardly thinking about him +at all, but looking unconsciously after him as he ascended the brow; +and at the top he had turned to take a last glance at the place his +love inhabited, and, seeing her, he had waved his hat in gratified +farewell. She, meanwhile, was roused from far other thoughts than of +him, and of his now acknowledged love, by the motion against the +sky, and was turning back into the house when she heard Kester's low +hoarse call, and saw him standing at the shippen door. +</P> + +<P> +'Come hither, wench,' said he, indignantly; 'is this a time for +courtin'?' +</P> + +<P> +'Courting?' said she, drawing up her head, and looking back at him +with proud defiance. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, courtin'! what other mak' o' thing is't when thou's gazin' +after yon meddlesome chap, as if thou'd send thy eyes after him, and +he making marlocks back at thee? It's what we ca'ed courtin' i' my +young days anyhow. And it's noane a time for a wench to go courtin' +when her feyther's i' prison,' said he, with a consciousness as he +uttered these last words that he was cruel and unjust and going too +far, yet carried on to say them by his hot jealousy against Philip. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia continued looking at him without speaking: she was too much +offended for expression. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou may glower an' thou may look, lass,' said he, 'but a'd thought +better on thee. It's like last week thy last sweetheart were +drowned; but thou's not one to waste time i' rememberin' them as is +gone—if, indeed, thou iver cared a button for yon Kinraid—if it +wasn't a make-believe.' +</P> + +<P> +Her lips were contracted and drawn up, showing her small glittering +teeth, which were scarcely apart as she breathed out— +</P> + +<P> +'Thou thinks so, does thou, that I've forgetten <I>him</I>? Thou'd better +have a care o' thy tongue.' +</P> + +<P> +Then, as if fearful that her self-command might give way, she turned +into the house; and going through the kitchen like a blind person, +she went up to her now unused chamber, and threw herself, face +downwards, flat on her bed, almost smothering herself. +</P> + +<P> +Ever since Daniel's committal, the decay that had imperceptibly +begun in his wife's bodily and mental strength during her illness of +the previous winter, had been making quicker progress. She lost her +reticence of speech, and often talked to herself. She had not so +much forethought as of old; slight differences, it is true, but +which, with some others of the same description, gave foundation for +the homely expression which some now applied to Bell, 'She'll never +be t' same woman again. +</P> + +<P> +This afternoon she had cried herself to sleep in her chair after +Philip's departure. She had not heard Sylvia's sweeping passage +through the kitchen; but half an hour afterwards she was startled up +by Kester's abrupt entry. +</P> + +<P> +'Where's Sylvie?' asked he. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know,' said Bell, looking scared, and as if she was ready +to cry. 'It's no news about him?' said she, standing up, and +supporting herself on the stick she was now accustomed to use. +</P> + +<P> +'Bless yo', no, dunnot be afeared, missus; it's only as a spoke +hasty to t' wench, an' a want t' tell her as a'm sorry,' said +Kester, advancing into the kitchen, and looking round for Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie, Sylvie!' shouted he; 'she mun be i' t' house.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia came slowly down the stairs, and stood before him. Her face +was pale, her mouth set and determined; the light of her eyes veiled +in gloom. Kester shrank from her look, and even more from her +silence. +</P> + +<P> +'A'm come to ax pardon,' said he, after a little pause. +</P> + +<P> +She was still silent. +</P> + +<P> +'A'm noane above axing pardon, though a'm fifty and more, and thee's +but a silly wench, as a've nursed i' my arms. A'll say before thy +mother as a ought niver to ha' used them words, and as how a'm sorry +for 't.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't understand it all,' said Bell, in a hurried and perplexed +tone. 'What has Kester been saying, my lass?' she added, turning to +Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia went a step or two nearer to her mother, and took hold of her +hand as if to quieten her; then facing once more round, she said +deliberately to Kester,— +</P> + +<P> +'If thou wasn't Kester, I'd niver forgive thee. Niver,' she added, +with bitterness, as the words he had used recurred to her mind. +'It's in me to hate thee now, for saying what thou did; but thou're +dear old Kester after all, and I can't help mysel', I mun needs +forgive thee,' and she went towards him. He took her little head +between his horny hands and kissed it. She looked up with tears in +her eyes, saying softly,— +</P> + +<P> +'Niver say things like them again. Niver speak on——' +</P> + +<P> +'A'll bite my tongue off first,' he interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +He kept his word. +</P> + +<P> +In all Philip's comings and goings to and from Haytersbank Farm at +this time, he never spoke again of his love. In look, words, manner, +he was like a thoughtful, tender brother; nothing more. He could be +nothing more in the presence of the great dread which loomed larger +upon him after every conversation with the lawyer. +</P> + +<P> +For Mr. Donkin had been right in his prognostication. Government took +up the attack on the Rendezvous with a high and heavy hand. It was +necessary to assert authority which had been of late too often +braved. An example must be made, to strike dismay into those who +opposed and defied the press-gang; and all the minor authorities who +held their powers from Government were in a similar manner severe +and relentless in the execution of their duty. So the attorney, who +went over to see the prisoner in York Castle, told Philip. He added +that Daniel still retained his pride in his achievement, and could +not be brought to understand the dangerous position in which he was +placed; that when pressed and questioned as to circumstances that +might possibly be used in his defence, he always wandered off to +accounts of previous outrages committed by the press-gang, or to +passionate abuse of the trick by which men had been lured from their +homes on the night in question to assist in putting out an imaginary +fire, and then seized and carried off. Some of this very natural +indignation might possibly have some effect on the jury; and this +seemed the only ground of hope, and was indeed a slight one, as the +judge was likely to warn the jury against allowing their natural +sympathy in such a case to divert their minds from the real +question. +</P> + +<P> +Such was the substance of what Philip heard, and heard repeatedly, +during his many visits to Mr. Dawson. And now the time of trial drew +near; for the York assizes opened on March the twelfth; not much +above three weeks since the offence was committed which took Daniel +from his home and placed him in peril of death. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was glad that, the extremity of his danger never having been +hinted to Bell, and travelling some forty miles being a most unusual +exertion at that time to persons of her class, the idea of going to +see her husband at York had never suggested itself to Bell's mind. +Her increasing feebleness made this seem a step only to be taken in +case of the fatal extreme necessity; such was the conclusion that +both Sylvia and he had come to; and it was the knowledge of this +that made Sylvia strangle her own daily longing to see her father. +Not but that her hopes were stronger than her fears. Philip never +told her the causes for despondency; she was young, and she, like +her father, could not understand how fearful sometimes is the +necessity for prompt and severe punishment of rebellion against +authority. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was to be in York during the time of the assizes; and it was +understood, almost without words, that if the terrible worst +occurred, the wife and daughter were to come to York as soon as +might be. For this end Philip silently made all the necessary +arrangements before leaving Monkshaven. The sympathy of all men was +with him; it was too large an occasion for Coulson to be anything +but magnanimous. He urged Philip to take all the time requisite; to +leave all business cares to him. And as Philip went about pale and +sad, there was another cheek that grew paler still, another eye that +filled with quiet tears as his heaviness of heart became more and +more apparent. The day for opening the assizes came on. Philip was +in York Minster, watching the solemn antique procession in which the +highest authority in the county accompanies the judges to the House +of the Lord, to be there admonished as to the nature of their +duties. As Philip listened to the sermon with a strained and beating +heart, his hopes rose higher than his fears for the first time, and +that evening he wrote his first letter to Sylvia. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'DEAR SYLVIA, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'It will be longer first than I thought for. Mr. Dawson says Tuesday +in next week. But keep up your heart. I have been hearing the sermon +to-day which is preached to the judges; and the clergyman said so +much in it about mercy and forgiveness, I think they cannot fail to +be lenient this assize. I have seen uncle, who looks but thin, but +is in good heart: only he will keep saying he would do it over again +if he had the chance, which neither Mr. Dawson nor I think is wise in +him, in especial as the gaoler is by and hears every word as is +said. He was very fain of hearing all about home; and wants you to +rear Daisy's calf, as he thinks she will prove a good one. He bade +me give his best love to you and my aunt, and his kind duty to +Kester. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'Sylvia, will you try and forget how I used to scold you about your +writing and spelling, and just write me two or three lines. I think +I would rather have them badly spelt than not, because then I shall +be sure they are yours. And never mind about capitals; I was a fool +to say such a deal about them, for a man does just as well without +them. A letter from you would do a vast to keep me patient all these +days till Tuesday. Direct— +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'Mr. Philip Hepburn, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> + 'Care of Mr. Fraser, Draper,<BR> + 'Micklegate, York.<BR> + 'My affectionate duty to my aunt.<BR> + 'Your respectful cousin and servant,<BR> + 'PHILIP HEPBURN.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'P.S. The sermon was grand. The text was Zechariah vii. 9, "Execute +true judgment and show mercy." God grant it may have put mercy into +the judge's heart as is to try my uncle.' +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Heavily the days passed over. On Sunday Bell and Sylvia went to +church, with a strange, half-superstitious feeling, as if they could +propitiate the Most High to order the events in their favour by +paying Him the compliment of attending to duties in their time of +sorrow which they had too often neglected in their prosperous days. +</P> + +<P> +But He 'who knoweth our frame, and remembereth that we are dust,' +took pity upon His children, and sent some of His blessed peace into +their hearts, else they could scarce have endured the agony of +suspense of those next hours. For as they came slowly and wearily +home from church, Sylvia could no longer bear her secret, but told +her mother of the peril in which Daniel stood. Cold as the March +wind blew, they had not felt it, and had sate down on a hedge bank +for Bell to rest. And then Sylvia spoke, trembling and sick for +fear, yet utterly unable to keep silence any longer. Bell heaved up +her hands, and let them fall down on her knees before she replied. +</P> + +<P> +'The Lord is above us,' said she, solemnly. 'He has sent a fear o' +this into my heart afore now. I niver breathed it to thee, my +lass——' +</P> + +<P> +'And I niver spoke on it to thee, mother, because——' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia choked with crying, and laid her head on her mother's lap, +feeling that she was no longer the strong one, and the protector, +but the protected. Bell went on, stroking her head, +</P> + +<P> +'The Lord is like a tender nurse as weans a child to look on and to +like what it lothed once. He has sent me dreams as has prepared me +for this, if so be it comes to pass. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip is hopeful,' said Sylvia, raising her head and looking +through her tears at her mother. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, he is. And I cannot tell, but I think it's not for nought as +the Lord has ta'en away all fear o' death out o' my heart. I think +He means as Daniel and me is to go hand-in-hand through the +valley—like as we walked up to our wedding in Crosthwaite Church. I +could never guide th' house without Daniel, and I should be feared +he'd take a deal more nor is good for him without me.' +</P> + +<P> +'But me, mother, thou's forgetting me,' moaned out Sylvia. 'Oh, +mother, mother, think on me!' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, my lass, I'm noane forgetting yo'. I'd a sore heart a' last +winter a-thinking on thee, when that chap Kinraid were hanging about +thee. I'll noane speak ill on the dead, but I were uneasylike. But +sin' Philip and thee seem to ha' made it up——' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia shivered, and opened her mouth to speak, but did not say a +word. +</P> + +<P> +'And sin' the Lord has been comforting me, and talking to me many a +time when thou's thought I were asleep, things has seemed to redd +theirselves up, and if Daniel goes, I'm ready to follow. I could +niver stand living to hear folks say he'd been hung; it seems so +unnatural and shameful.' +</P> + +<P> +'But, mother, he won't!—he shan't be hung!' said Sylvia, springing +to her feet. 'Philip says he won't.' +</P> + +<P> +Bell shook her head. They walked on, Sylvia both disheartened and +almost irritated at her mother's despondency. But before they went +to bed at night Bell said things which seemed as though the +morning's feelings had been but temporary, and as if she was +referring every decision to the period of her husband's return. +'When father comes home,' seemed a sort of burden at the beginning +or end of every sentence, and this reliance on his certain coming +back to them was almost as great a trial to Sylvia as the absence of +all hope had been in the morning. But that instinct told her that +her mother was becoming incapable of argument, she would have asked +her why her views were so essentially changed in so few hours. This +inability of reason in poor Bell made Sylvia feel very desolate. +</P> + +<P> +Monday passed over—how, neither of them knew, for neither spoke of +what was filling the thoughts of both. Before it was light on +Tuesday morning, Bell was astir. +</P> + +<P> +'It's very early, mother,' said weary, sleepy Sylvia, dreading +returning consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, lass!' said Bell, in a brisk, cheerful tone; 'but he'll, maybe, +be home to-night, and I'se bound to have all things ready for him.' +</P> + +<P> +'Anyhow,' said Sylvia, sitting up in bed, 'he couldn't come home +to-night.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tut, lass! thou doesn't know how quick a man comes home to wife and +child. I'll be a' ready at any rate.' +</P> + +<P> +She hurried about in a way which Sylvia wondered to see; till at +length she fancied that perhaps her mother did so to drive away +thought. Every place was cleaned; there was scarce time allowed for +breakfast; till at last, long before mid-day, all the work was done, +and the two sat down to their spinning-wheels. Sylvia's spirits sank +lower and lower at each speech of her mother's, from whose mind all +fear seemed to have disappeared, leaving only a strange restless +kind of excitement. +</P> + +<P> +'It's time for t' potatoes,' said Bell, after her wool had snapped +many a time from her uneven tread. +</P> + +<P> +'Mother,' said Sylvia, 'it's but just gone ten!' +</P> + +<P> +'Put 'em on,' said Bell, without attending to the full meaning of +her daughter's words. 'It'll, maybe, hasten t' day on if we get +dinner done betimes.' +</P> + +<P> +'But Kester is in t' Far Acre field, and he'll not be home till +noon.' +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to settle matters for a while; but then Bell pushed her +wheel away, and began searching for her hood and cloak. Sylvia found +them for her, and then asked sadly— +</P> + +<P> +'What does ta want 'em for, mother?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll go up t' brow and through t' field, and just have a look down +t' lane.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll go wi' thee,' said Sylvia, feeling all the time the +uselessness of any looking for intelligence from York so early in +the day. Very patiently did she wait by her mother's side during the +long half-hour which Bell spent in gazing down the road for those +who never came. +</P> + +<P> +When they got home Sylvia put the potatoes on to boil; but when +dinner was ready and the three were seated at the dresser, Bell +pushed her plate away from her, saying it was so long after dinner +time that she was past eating. Kester would have said something +about its being only half-past twelve, but Sylvia gave him a look +beseeching silence, and he went on with his dinner without a word, +only brushing away the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand +from time to time. +</P> + +<P> +'A'll noane go far fra' home t' rest o' t' day,' said he, in a +whisper to Sylvia, as he went out. +</P> + +<P> +'Will this day niver come to an end?' cried Bell, plaintively. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, mother! it'll come to an end some time, never fear. I've heerd +say— +"Be the day weary or be the day long, +At length it ringeth to even-song."' +</P> + +<P> +'To even-song—to even-song,' repeated Bell. 'D'ye think now that +even-song means death, Sylvie?' +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot tell—I cannot bear it. Mother,' said Sylvia, in despair, +'I'll make some clap-bread: that's a heavy job, and will while away +t' afternoon.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, do!' replied the mother. 'He'll like it fresh—he'll like it +fresh.' +</P> + +<P> +Murmuring and talking to herself, she fell into a doze, from which +Sylvia was careful not to disturb her. +</P> + +<P> +The days were now getting long, although as cold as ever; and at +Haytersbank Farm the light lingered, as there was no near horizon to +bring on early darkness. Sylvia had all ready for her mother's tea +against she wakened; but she slept on and on, the peaceful sleep of +a child, and Sylvia did not care to waken her. Just after the sun +had set, she saw Kester outside the window making signs to her to +come out. She stole out on tip-toe by the back-kitchen, the door of +which was standing open. She almost ran against Philip, who did not +perceive her, as he was awaiting her coming the other way round the +corner of the house, and who turned upon her a face whose import she +read in an instant. 'Philip!' was all she said, and then she fainted +at his feet, coming down with a heavy bang on the round paving +stones of the yard. +</P> + +<P> +'Kester! Kester!' he cried, for she looked like one dead, and with +all his strength the wearied man could not lift her and carry her +into the house. +</P> + +<P> +With Kester's help she was borne into the back-kitchen, and Kester +rushed to the pump for some cold water to throw over her. +</P> + +<P> +While Philip, kneeling at her head, was partly supporting her in his +arms, and heedless of any sight or sound, the shadow of some one +fell upon him. He looked up and saw his aunt; the old dignified, +sensible expression on her face, exactly like her former self, +composed, strong, and calm. +</P> + +<P> +'My lass,' said she, sitting down by Philip, and gently taking her +out of his arms into her own. 'Lass, bear up! we mun bear up, and be +agait on our way to him, he'll be needing us now. Bear up, my lass! +the Lord will give us strength. We mun go to him; ay, time's +precious; thou mun cry thy cry at after!' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia opened her dim eyes, and heard her mother's voice; the ideas +came slowly into her mind, and slowly she rose up, standing still, +like one who has been stunned, to regain her strength; and then, +taking hold of her mother's arm, she said, in a soft, strange +voice— +</P> + +<P> +'Let's go. I'm ready.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE ORDEAL +</H3> + +<P> +It was the afternoon of an April day in that same year, and the sky +was blue above, with little sailing white clouds catching the +pleasant sunlight. The earth in that northern country had scarcely +yet put on her robe of green. The few trees grew near brooks running +down from the moors and the higher ground. The air was full of +pleasant sounds prophesying of the coming summer. The rush, and +murmur, and tinkle of the hidden watercourses; the song of the lark +poised high up in the sunny air; the bleat of the lambs calling to +their mothers—everything inanimate was full of hope and gladness. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time for a mournful month the front door of +Haytersbank Farm was open; the warm spring air might enter, and +displace the sad dark gloom, if it could. There was a newly-lighted +fire in the unused grate; and Kester was in the kitchen, with his +clogs off his feet, so as not to dirty the spotless floor, stirring +here and there, and trying in his awkward way to make things look +home-like and cheerful. He had brought in some wild daffodils which +he had been to seek in the dawn, and he placed them in a jug on the +dresser. Dolly Reid, the woman who had come to help Sylvia during +her mother's illness a year ago, was attending to something in the +back-kitchen, making a noise among the milk-cans, and singing a +ballad to herself as she worked; yet every now and then she checked +herself in her singing, as if a sudden recollection came upon her +that this was neither the time nor the place for songs. Once or +twice she took up the funeral psalm which is sung by the bearers of +the body in that country— +</P> + +<P> +Our God, our help in ages past. +</P> + +<P> +But it was of no use: the pleasant April weather out of doors, and +perhaps the natural spring in the body, disposed her nature to +cheerfulness, and insensibly she returned to her old ditty. +</P> + +<P> +Kester was turning over many things in his rude honest mind as he +stood there, giving his finishing touches every now and then to the +aspect of the house-place, in preparation for the return of the +widow and daughter of his old master. +</P> + +<P> +It was a month and more since they had left home; more than a +fortnight since Kester, with three halfpence in his pocket, had set +out after his day's work to go to York—to walk all night long, and +to wish Daniel Robson his last farewell. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel had tried to keep up and had brought out one or two familiar, +thread-bare, well-worn jokes, such as he had made Kester chuckle +over many a time and oft, when the two had been together afield or +in the shippen at the home which he should never more see. But no +'Old Grouse in the gunroom' could make Kester smile, or do anything +except groan in but a heart-broken sort of fashion, and presently +the talk had become more suitable to the occasion, Daniel being up +to the last the more composed of the two; for Kester, when turned +out of the condemned cell, fairly broke down into the heavy sobbing +he had never thought to sob again on earth. He had left Bell and +Sylvia in their lodging at York, under Philip's care; he dared not +go to see them; he could not trust himself; he had sent them his +duty, and bade Philip tell Sylvia that the game-hen had brought out +fifteen chickens at a hatch. +</P> + +<P> +Yet although Kester sent this message through Philip—although he +saw and recognized all that Philip was doing in their behalf, in the +behalf of Daniel Robson, the condemned felon, his honoured master—he +liked Hepburn not a whit better than he had done before all this +sorrow had come upon them. +</P> + +<P> +Philip had, perhaps, shown a want of tact in his conduct to Kester. +Acute with passionate keenness in one direction, he had a sort of +dull straightforwardness in all others. For instance, he had +returned Kester the money which the latter had so gladly advanced +towards the expenses incurred in defending Daniel. Now the money +which Philip gave him back was part of an advance which Foster +Brothers had made on Philip's own account. Philip had thought that +it was hard on Kester to lose his savings in a hopeless cause, and +had made a point of repaying the old man; but Kester would far +rather have felt that the earnings of the sweat of his brow had gone +in the attempt to save his master's life than have had twice ten +times as many golden guineas. +</P> + +<P> +Moreover, it seemed to take his action in lending his hoard out of +the sphere of love, and make it but a leaden common loan, when it +was Philip who brought him the sum, not Sylvia, into whose hands he +had given it. +</P> + +<P> +With these feelings Kester felt his heart shut up as he saw the +long-watched-for two coming down the little path with a third +person; with Philip holding up the failing steps of poor Bell +Robson, as, loaded with her heavy mourning, and feeble from the +illness which had detained her in York ever since the day of her +husband's execution, she came faltering back to her desolate home. +Sylvia was also occupied in attending to her mother; one or twice, +when they paused a little, she and Philip spoke, in the familiar way +in which there is no coyness nor reserve. Kester caught up his +clogs, and went quickly out through the back-kitchen into the +farm-yard, not staying to greet them, as he had meant to do; and yet +it was dull-sighted of him not to have perceived that whatever might +be the relations between Philip and Sylvia, he was sure to have +accompanied them home; for, alas! he was the only male protector of +their blood remaining in the world. Poor Kester, who would fain have +taken that office upon himself, chose to esteem himself cast off, +and went heavily about the farmyard, knowing that he ought to go in +and bid such poor welcome as he had to offer, yet feeling too much +to like to show himself before Philip. +</P> + +<P> +It was long, too, before any one had leisure to come and seek him. +Bell's mind had flashed up for a time, till the fatal day, only to +be reduced by her subsequent illness into complete and hopeless +childishness. It was all Philip and Sylvia could do to manage her in +the first excitement of returning home; her restless inquiry for him +who would never more be present in the familiar scene, her feverish +weariness and uneasiness, all required tender soothing and most +patient endurance of her refusals to be satisfied with what they +said or did. +</P> + +<P> +At length she took some food, and, refreshed by it, and warmed by +the fire, she sank asleep in her chair. Then Philip would fain have +spoken with Sylvia before the hour came at which he must return to +Monkshaven, but she eluded him, and went in search of Kester, whose +presence she had missed. +</P> + +<P> +She had guessed some of the causes which kept him from greeting them +on their first return. But it was not as if she had shaped these +causes into the definite form of words. It is astonishing to look +back and find how differently constituted were the minds of most +people fifty or sixty years ago; they felt, they understood, without +going through reasoning or analytic processes, and if this was the +case among the more educated people, of course it was still more so +in the class to which Sylvia belonged. She knew by some sort of +intuition that if Philip accompanied them home (as, indeed, under +the circumstances, was so natural as to be almost unavoidable), the +old servant and friend of the family would absent himself; and so +she slipped away at the first possible moment to go in search of +him. There he was in the farm-yard, leaning over the gate that +opened into the home-field, apparently watching the poultry that +scratched and pecked at the new-springing grass with the utmost +relish. A little farther off were the ewes with their new-dropped +lambs, beyond that the great old thorn-tree with its round fresh +clusters of buds, again beyond that there was a glimpse of the vast +sunny rippling sea; but Sylvia knew well that Kester was looking at +none of these things. She went up to him and touched his arm. He +started from his reverie, and turned round upon her with his dim +eyes full of unshed tears. When he saw her black dress, her deep +mourning, he had hard work to keep from breaking out, but by dint of +a good brush of his eyes with the back of his hand, and a moment's +pause, he could look at her again with tolerable calmness. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, Kester: why didst niver come to speak to us?' said Sylvia, +finding it necessary to be cheerful if she could. +</P> + +<P> +'A dun know; niver ax me. A say, they'n gi'en Dick Simpson' (whose +evidence had been all material against poor Daniel Robson at the +trial) 'a' t' rotten eggs and fou' things they could o' Saturday, +they did,' continued he, in a tone of satisfaction; 'ay, and they +niver stopped t' see whether t' eggs were rotten or fresh when their +blood was up—nor whether stones was hard or soft,' he added, in a +lower tone, and chuckling a little. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was silent. He looked at her now, chuckling still. Her face +was white, her lips tightened, her eyes a-flame. She drew a long +breath. +</P> + +<P> +'I wish I'd been theere! I wish I could do him an ill turn,' sighed +she, with some kind of expression on her face that made Kester quail +a little. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, lass! he'll get it fra' others. Niver fret thysel' about sich +rubbish. A'n done ill to speak on him.' +</P> + +<P> +'No! thou hasn't. Then as was friends o' father's I'll love for iver +and iver; them as helped for t' hang him' (she shuddered from head +to foot—a sharp irrepressible shudder!) 'I'll niver +forgive—niver!' +</P> + +<P> +'Niver's a long word,' said Kester, musingly. 'A could horsewhip +him, or cast stones at him, or duck him mysel'; but, lass! niver's a +long word!' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! niver heed if it is—it's me as said it, and I'm turned +savage late days. Come in, Kester, and see poor mother.' +</P> + +<P> +'A cannot,' said he, turning his wrinkled puckered face away, that +she might not see the twitchings of emotion on it. 'There's kine to +be fetched up, and what not, and he's theere, isn't he, Sylvie?' +facing round upon her with inquisitiveness. Under his peering eyes +she reddened a little. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, if it's Philip thou means; he's been all we've had to look to +sin'.' Again the shudder. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, now he'll be seein' after his shop, a reckon?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was calling to the old mare nibbling tufts of early-springing +grass here and there, and half unconsciously coaxing the creature to +come up to the gate to be stroked. But she heard Kester's words well +enough, and so he saw, although she made this excuse not to reply. +But Kester was not to be put off. +</P> + +<P> +'Folks is talkin' about thee and him; thou'll ha' to mind lest thee +and him gets yo'r names coupled together.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's right down cruel on folks, then,' said she, crimsoning from +some emotion. 'As if any man as was a man wouldn't do all he could +for two lone women at such a time—and he a cousin, too! Tell me who +said so,' continued she, firing round at Kester, 'and I'll niver +forgive 'em—that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hoots!' said Kester, a little conscious that he himself was the +principal representative of that name of multitude folk. 'Here's a +pretty lass; she's' got "a'll niver forgi'e" at her tongue's end wi' +a vengeance.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was a little confused. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Kester, man,' said she, 'my heart is sore again' every one, for +feyther's sake.' +</P> + +<P> +And at length the natural relief of plentiful tears came; and +Kester, with instinctive wisdom, let her weep undisturbed; indeed, +he cried not a little himself. They were interrupted by Philip's +voice from the back-door. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie, your mother's awake, and wants you!' +</P> + +<P> +'Come, Kester, come,' and taking hold of him she drew him with her +into the house. +</P> + +<P> +Bell rose as they came in, holding by the arms of the chair. At +first she received Kester as though he had been a stranger. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad to see yo', sir; t' master's out, but he'll be in afore +long. It'll be about t' lambs yo're come, mebbe?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mother!' said Sylvia, 'dunnot yo' see? it's Kester,—Kester, wi' +his Sunday clothes on.' +</P> + +<P> +'Kester! ay, sure it is; my eyes have getten so sore and dim of +late; just as if I'd been greeting. I'm sure, lad, I'm glad to see +thee! It's a long time I've been away, but it were not +pleasure-seeking as took me, it were business o' some mak'—tell +him, Sylvie, what it were, for my head's clean gone. I only know I +wouldn't ha' left home if I could ha' helped it; for I think I +should ha' kept my health better if I'd bided at home wi' my master. +I wonder as he's not comed in for t' bid me welcome? Is he far +afield, think ye, Kester?' +</P> + +<P> +Kester looked at Sylvia, mutely imploring her to help him out in the +dilemma of answering, but she was doing all she could to help +crying. Philip came to the rescue. +</P> + +<P> +'Aunt,' said he, 'the clock has stopped; can you tell me where t' +find t' key, and I'll wind it up.' +</P> + +<P> +'T' key,' said she, hurriedly, 't' key, it's behind th' big Bible on +yon shelf. But I'd rayther thou wouldn't touch it, lad; it's t' +master's work, and he distrusts folk meddling wi' it.' +</P> + +<P> +Day after day there was this constant reference to her dead husband. +In one sense it was a blessing; all the circumstances attendant on +his sad and untimely end were swept out of her mind along with the +recollection of the fact itself. She referred to him as absent, and +had always some plausible way of accounting for it, which satisfied +her own mind; and, accordingly they fell into the habit of humouring +her, and speaking of him as gone to Monkshaven, or afield, or +wearied out, and taking a nap upstairs, as her fancy led her to +believe for the moment. But this forgetfulness, though happy for +herself, was terrible for her child. It was a constant renewing of +Sylvia's grief, while her mother could give her no sympathy, no +help, or strength in any circumstances that arose out of this grief. +She was driven more and more upon Philip; his advice and his +affection became daily more necessary to her. +</P> + +<P> +Kester saw what would be the end of all this more clearly than +Sylvia did herself; and, impotent to hinder what he feared and +disliked, he grew more and more surly every day. Yet he tried to +labour hard and well for the interests of the family, as if they +were bound up in his good management of the cattle and land. He was +out and about by the earliest dawn, working all day long with might +and main. He bought himself a pair of new spectacles, which might, +he fancied, enable him to read the <I>Farmer's Complete Guide</I>, his +dead master's <I>vade-mecum</I>. But he had never learnt more than his +capital letters, and had forgotten many of them; so the spectacles +did him but little good. Then he would take the book to Sylvia, and +ask her to read to him the instructions he needed; instructions, be +it noted, that he would formerly have despised as mere +book-learning: but his present sense of responsibility had made him +humble. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia would find the place with all deliberation: and putting her +finger under the line to keep the exact place of the word she was +reading, she would strive in good earnest to read out the directions +given; but when every fourth word had to be spelt, it was rather +hopeless work, especially as all these words were unintelligible to +the open-mouthed listener, however intent he might be. He had +generally to fall back on his own experience; and, guided by that, +things were not doing badly in his estimation, when, one day, Sylvia +said to him, as they were in the hay-field, heaping up the hay into +cocks with Dolly Reid's assistance— +</P> + +<P> +'Kester—I didn't tell thee—there were a letter from Measter Hall, +Lord Malton's steward, that came last night and that Philip read +me.' +</P> + +<P> +She stopped for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, lass! Philip read it thee, and whatten might it say?' +</P> + +<P> +'Only that he had an offer for Haytersbank Farm, and would set +mother free to go as soon as t' crops was off t' ground.' +</P> + +<P> +She sighed a little as she said this. +</P> + +<P> +"'Only!" sayst ta? Whatten business has he for to go an' offer to +let t' farm afore iver he were told as yo' wished to leave it?' +observed Kester, in high dudgeon. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh!' replied Sylvia, throwing down her rake, as if weary of life. +'What could we do wi' t' farm and land? If it were all dairy I might +ha' done, but wi' so much on it arable.' +</P> + +<P> +'And if 'tis arable is not I allays to t' fore?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, man, dunnot find fault wi' me! I'm just fain to lie down and +die, if it were not for mother.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! thy mother will be sore unsettled if thou's for quitting +Haytersbank,' said merciless Kester. +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot help it; I cannot help it! What can I do? It would take +two pair o' men's hands to keep t' land up as Measter Hall likes it; +and beside——' +</P> + +<P> +'Beside what?' said Kester, looking up at her with his sudden odd +look, one eye shut, the other open: there she stood, her two hands +clasped tight together, her eyes filling with tears, her face pale +and sad. 'Beside what?' he asked again, sharply. +</P> + +<P> +'T' answer's sent to Measter Hall—Philip wrote it last night; so +there's no use planning and fretting, it were done for t' best, and +mun be done.' She stooped and picked up her rake, and began tossing +the hay with energy, the tears streaming down her cheeks unheeded. +It was Kester's turn to throw down his rake. She took no notice, he +did not feel sure that she had observed his action. He began to walk +towards the field-gate; this movement did catch her eye, for in a +minute her hand was on his arm, and she was stooping forward to look +into his face. It was working and twitching with emotion. 'Kester! +oh, man! speak out, but dunnot leave me a this-ns. What could I ha' +done? Mother is gone dateless wi' sorrow, and I am but a young lass, +i' years I mean; for I'm old enough wi' weeping.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'd ha' put up for t' farm mysel', sooner than had thee turned +out,' said Kester, in a low voice; then working himself up into a +passion, as a new suspicion crossed his mind, he added, 'An' what +for didn't yo' tell me on t' letter? Yo' were in a mighty hurry to +settle it a', and get rid on t' oud place.' +</P> + +<P> +'Measter Hall had sent a notice to quit on Midsummer day; but Philip +had answered it hisself. Thou knows I'm not good at reading writing, +'special when a letter's full o' long words, and Philip had ta'en it +in hand to answer.' +</P> + +<P> +'Wi'out asking thee?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia went on without minding the interruption. +</P> + +<P> +'And Measter Hall makes a good offer, for t' man as is going to come +in will take t' stock and a' t' implements; and if mother—if we—if +I—like, th' furniture and a'——' +</P> + +<P> +'Furniture!' said Kester, in grim surprise. 'What's to come o' t' +missus and thee, that yo'll not need a bed to lie on, or a pot to +boil yo'r vittel in?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia reddened, but kept silence. +</P> + +<P> +'Cannot yo' speak?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Kester, I didn't think thou'd turn again' me, and me so +friendless. It's as if I'd been doin' something wrong, and I have so +striven to act as is best; there's mother as well as me to be +thought on.' +</P> + +<P> +'Cannot yo' answer a question?' said Kester, once more. 'Whatten's +up that t' missus and yo'll not need bed and table, pots and pans?' +</P> + +<P> +'I think I'm going to marry Philip,' said Sylvia, in so low a tone, +that if Kester had not suspected what her answer was to be, he could +not have understood it. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment's pause he recommenced his walk towards the +field-gate. But she went after him and held him tight by the arm, +speaking rapidly. +</P> + +<P> +'Kester, what could I do? What can I do? He's my cousin, and mother +knows him, and likes him; and he's been so good to us in a' this +time o' trouble and heavy grief, and he'll keep mother in comfort +all t' rest of her days.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, and thee in comfort. There's a deal in a well-filled purse in a +wench's eyes, or one would ha' thought it weren't so easy forgettin' +yon lad as loved thee as t' apple on his eye.' +</P> + +<P> +'Kester, Kester,' she cried, 'I've niver forgotten Charley; I think +on him, I see him ivery night lying drowned at t' bottom o' t' sea. +Forgetten him! Man! it's easy talking!' She was like a wild creature +that sees its young, but is unable to reach it without a deadly +spring, and yet is preparing to take that fatal leap. Kester himself +was almost startled, and yet it was as if he must go on torturing +her. +</P> + +<P> +'An' who telled thee so sure and certain as he were drowned? He +might ha' been carried off by t' press-gang as well as other men.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! if I were but dead that I might know all!' cried she, flinging +herself down on the hay. +</P> + +<P> +Kester kept silence. Then she sprang up again, and looking with +eager wistfulness into his face, she said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Tell me t' chances. Tell me quick! Philip's very good, and kind, +and he says he shall die if I will not marry him, and there's no +home for mother and me,—no home for her, for as for me I dunnot +care what becomes on me; but if Charley's alive I cannot marry +Philip—no, not if he dies for want o' me—and as for mother, poor +mother, Kester, it's an awful strait; only first tell me if there's +a chance, just one in a thousand, only one in a hundred thousand, as +Charley were ta'en by t' gang?' She was breathless by this time, +what with her hurried words, and what with the beating of her heart. +Kester took time to answer. He had spoken before too hastily, this +time he weighed his words. +</P> + +<P> +'Kinraid went away from this here place t' join his ship. An' he +niver joined it no more; an' t' captain an' all his friends at +Newcassel as iver were, made search for him, on board t' king's +ships. That's more nor fifteen month ago, an' nought has iver been +heerd on him by any man. That's what's to be said on one side o' t' +matter. Then on t' other there's this as is known. His hat were cast +up by t' sea wi' a ribbon in it, as there's reason t' think as he'd +not ha' parted wi' so quick if he'd had his own will.' +</P> + +<P> +'But yo' said as he might ha' been carried off by t' gang—yo' did, +Kester, tho' now yo're a' for t' other side.' +</P> + +<P> +'My lass, a'd fain have him alive, an' a dunnot fancy Philip for thy +husband; but it's a serious judgment as thou's put me on, an' a'm +trying it fair. There's allays one chance i' a thousand as he's +alive, for no man iver saw him dead. But t' gang were noane about +Monkshaven then: there were niver a tender on t' coast nearer than +Shields, an' those theere were searched.' +</P> + +<P> +He did not say any more, but turned back into the field, and took up +his hay-making again. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia stood quite still, thinking, and wistfully longing for some +kind of certainty. +</P> + +<P> +Kester came up to her. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie, thou knows Philip paid me back my money, and it were eight +pound fifteen and three-pence; and t' hay and stock 'll sell for +summat above t' rent; and a've a sister as is a decent widow-woman, +tho' but badly off, livin' at Dale End; and if thee and thy mother +'ll go live wi' her, a'll give thee well on to all a can earn, and +it'll be a matter o' five shilling a week. But dunnot go and marry a +man as thou's noane taken wi', and another as is most like for t' be +dead, but who, mebbe, is alive, havin' a pull on thy heart.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia began to cry as if her heart was broken. She had promised +herself more fully to Philip the night before than she had told +Kester; and, with some pains and much patience, her cousin, her +lover, alas! her future husband, had made the fact clear to the +bewildered mind of her poor mother, who had all day long shown that +her mind and heart were full of the subject, and that the +contemplation of it was giving her as much peace as she could ever +know. And now Kester's words came to call up echoes in the poor +girl's heart. Just as she was in this miserable state, wishing that +the grave lay open before her, and that she could lie down, and be +covered up by the soft green turf from all the bitter sorrows and +carking cares and weary bewilderments of this life; wishing that her +father was alive, that Charley was once more here; that she had not +repeated the solemn words by which she had promised herself to +Philip only the very evening before, she heard a soft, low whistle, +and, looking round unconsciously, there was her lover and affianced +husband, leaning on the gate, and gazing into the field with +passionate eyes, devouring the fair face and figure of her, his +future wife. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Kester,' said she once more, 'what mun I do? I'm pledged to him +as strong as words can make it, and mother blessed us both wi' more +sense than she's had for weeks. Kester, man, speak! Shall I go and +break it all off?—say.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, it's noane for me t' say; m'appen thou's gone too far. Them +above only knows what is best.' +</P> + +<P> +Again that long, cooing whistle. 'Sylvie!' +</P> + +<P> +'He's been very kind to us all,' said Sylvia, laying her rake down +with slow care, 'and I'll try t' make him happy.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap29"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WEDDING RAIMENT +</H3> + +<P> +Philip and Sylvia were engaged. It was not so happy a state of +things as Philip had imagined. He had already found that out, +although it was not twenty-four hours since Sylvia had promised to +be his. He could not have defined why he was dissatisfied; if he had +been compelled to account for his feeling, he would probably have +alleged as a reason that Sylvia's manner was so unchanged by her new +position towards him. She was quiet and gentle; but no shyer, no +brighter, no coyer, no happier, than she had been for months before. +When she joined him at the field-gate, his heart was beating fast, +his eyes were beaming out love at her approach. She neither blushed +nor smiled, but seemed absorbed in thought of some kind. But she +resisted his silent effort to draw her away from the path leading to +the house, and turned her face steadily homewards. He murmured soft +words, which she scarcely heard. Right in their way was the stone +trough for the fresh bubbling water, that, issuing from a roadside +spring, served for all the household purposes of Haytersbank Farm. +By it were the milk-cans, glittering and clean. Sylvia knew she +should have to stop for these, and carry them back home in readiness +for the evening's milking; and at this time, during this action, she +resolved to say what was on her mind. +</P> + +<P> +They were there. Sylvia spoke. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip, Kester has been saying as how it might ha' been——' +</P> + +<P> +'Well!' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia sate down on the edge of the trough, and dipped her hot +little hand in the water. Then she went on quickly, and lifting her +beautiful eyes to Philip's face, with a look of inquiry—'He thinks +as Charley Kinraid may ha' been took by t' press-gang.' +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time she had named the name of her former lover to +her present one since the day, long ago now, when they had +quarrelled about him; and the rosy colour flushed her all over; but +her sweet, trustful eyes never flinched from their steady, +unconscious gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Philip's heart stopped beating; literally, as if he had come to a +sudden precipice, while he had thought himself securely walking on +sunny greensward. He went purple all over from dismay; he dared not +take his eyes away from that sad, earnest look of hers, but he was +thankful that a mist came before them and drew a veil before his +brain. He heard his own voice saying words he did not seem to have +framed in his own mind. +</P> + +<P> +'Kester's a d—d fool,' he growled. +</P> + +<P> +'He says there's mebbe but one chance i' a hundred,' said Sylvia, +pleading, as it were, for Kester; 'but oh! Philip, think yo' there's +just that one chance?' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, there's a chance, sure enough,' said Philip, in a kind of +fierce despair that made him reckless what he said or did. 'There's +a chance, I suppose, for iverything i' life as we have not seen with +our own eyes as it may not ha' happened. Kester may say next as +there's a chance as your father is not dead, because we none on us +saw him——' +</P> + +<P> +'Hung,' he was going to have said, but a touch of humanity came back +into his stony heart. Sylvia sent up a little sharp cry at his +words. He longed at the sound to take her in his arms and hush her +up, as a mother hushes her weeping child. But the very longing, +having to be repressed, only made him more beside himself with +guilt, anxiety, and rage. They were quite still now. Sylvia looking +sadly down into the bubbling, merry, flowing water: Philip glaring +at her, wishing that the next word were spoken, though it might stab +him to the heart. But she did not speak. +</P> + +<P> +At length, unable to bear it any longer, he said, 'Thou sets a deal +o' store on that man, Sylvie.' +</P> + +<P> +If 'that man' had been there at the moment, Philip would have +grappled with him, and not let go his hold till one or the other +were dead. Sylvia caught some of the passionate meaning of the +gloomy, miserable tone of Philip's voice as he said these words. She +looked up at him. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought yo' knowed that I cared a deal for him.' +</P> + +<P> +There was something so pleading and innocent in her pale, troubled +face, so pathetic in her tone, that Philip's anger, which had been +excited against her, as well as against all the rest of the world, +melted away into love; and once more he felt that have her for his +own he must, at any cost. He sate down by her, and spoke to her in +quite a different manner to that which he had used before, with a +ready tact and art which some strange instinct or tempter 'close at +his ear' supplied. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, darling, I knew yo' cared for him. I'll not say ill of him +that is—dead—ay, dead and drowned—whativer Kester may +say—before now; but if I chose I could tell tales.' +</P> + +<P> +'No! tell no tales; I'll not hear them,' said she, wrenching herself +out of Philip's clasping arm. 'They may misca' him for iver, and +I'll not believe 'em.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll niver miscall one who is dead,' said Philip; each new +unconscious sign of the strength of Sylvia's love for her former +lover only making him the more anxious to convince her that he was +dead, only rendering him more keen at deceiving his own conscience +by repeating to it the lie that long ere this Kinraid was in all +probability dead—killed by either the chances of war or tempestuous +sea; that, even if not, he was as good as dead to her; so that the +word 'dead' might be used in all honest certainty, as in one of its +meanings Kinraid was dead for sure. +</P> + +<P> +'Think yo' that if he were not dead he wouldn't ha' written ere this +to some one of his kin, if not to thee? Yet none of his folk +Newcassel-way but believe him dead.' +</P> + +<P> +'So Kester says,' sighed Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +Philip took heart. He put his arm softly round her again, and +murmured— +</P> + +<P> +'My lassie, try not to think on them as is gone, as is dead, but t' +think a bit more on him as loves yo' wi' heart, and soul, and might, +and has done iver sin' he first set eyes on yo'. Oh, Sylvie, my love +for thee is just terrible.' +</P> + +<P> +At this moment Dolly Reid was seen at the back-door of the +farmhouse, and catching sight of Sylvia, she called out— +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia, thy mother is axing for thee, and I cannot make her mind +easy.' +</P> + +<P> +In a moment Sylvia had sprung up from her seat, and was running in +to soothe and comfort her mother's troubled fancies. +</P> + +<P> +Philip sate on by the well-side, his face buried in his two hands. +Presently he lifted himself up, drank some water eagerly out of his +hollowed palm, sighed, and shook himself, and followed his cousin +into the house. Sometimes he came unexpectedly to the limits of his +influence over her. In general she obeyed his expressed wishes with +gentle indifference, as if she had no preferences of her own; once +or twice he found that she was doing what he desired out of the +spirit of obedience, which, as her mother's daughter, she believed +to be her duty towards her affianced husband. And this last motive +for action depressed her lover more than anything. He wanted the old +Sylvia back again; captious, capricious, wilful, haughty, merry, +charming. Alas! that Sylvia was gone for ever. +</P> + +<P> +But once especially his power, arising from whatever cause, was +stopped entirely short—was utterly of no avail. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the occasion of Dick Simpson's mortal illness. Sylvia and +her mother kept aloof from every one. They had never been intimate +with any family but the Corneys, and even this friendship had +considerably cooled since Molly's marriage, and most especially +since Kinraid's supposed death, when Bessy Corney and Sylvia had +been, as it were, rival mourners. But many people, both in +Monkshaven and the country round about, held the Robson family in +great respect, although Mrs. Robson herself was accounted 'high' and +'distant;' and poor little Sylvia, in her heyday of beautiful youth +and high spirits, had been spoken of as 'a bit flighty,' and 'a +set-up lassie.' Still, when their great sorrow fell upon them, there +were plenty of friends to sympathize deeply with them; and, as +Daniel had suffered in a popular cause, there were even more who, +scarcely knowing them personally, were ready to give them all the +marks of respect and friendly feeling in their power. But neither +Bell nor Sylvia were aware of this. The former had lost all +perception of what was not immediately before her; the latter shrank +from all encounters of any kind with a sore heart, and sensitive +avoidance of everything that could make her a subject of remark. So +the poor afflicted people at Haytersbank knew little of Monkshaven +news. What little did come to their ears came through Dolly Reid, +when she returned from selling the farm produce of the week; and +often, indeed, even then she found Sylvia too much absorbed in other +cares or thoughts to listen to her gossip. So no one had ever named +that Simpson was supposed to be dying till Philip began on the +subject one evening. Sylvia's face suddenly flashed into glow and +life. +</P> + +<P> +'He's dying, is he? t' earth is well rid on such a fellow!' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh, Sylvie, that's a hard speech o' thine!' said Philip; 'it gives +me but poor heart to ask a favour of thee!' +</P> + +<P> +'If it's aught about Simpson,' replied she, and then she interrupted +herself. 'But say on; it were ill-mannered in me for t' interrupt +yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou would be sorry to see him, I think, Sylvie. He cannot get over +the way, t' folk met him, and pelted him when he came back fra' +York,—and he's weak and faint, and beside himself at times; and +he'll lie a dreaming, and a-fancying they're all at him again, +hooting, and yelling, and pelting him.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad on 't,' said Sylvia; 'it's t' best news I've heered for +many a day,—he, to turn again' feyther, who gave him money fo t' +get a lodging that night, when he'd no place to go to. It were his +evidence as hung feyther; and he's rightly punished for it now.' +</P> + +<P> +'For a' that,—and he's done a vast o' wrong beside, he's dying now, +Sylvie!' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! let him die—it's t' best thing he could do!' +</P> + +<P> +'But he's lying i' such dree poverty,—and niver a friend to go near +him,—niver a person to speak a kind word t' him.' +</P> + +<P> +'It seems as yo've been speaking wi' him, at any rate,' said Sylvia, +turning round on Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay. He sent for me by Nell Manning, th' old beggar-woman, who +sometimes goes in and makes his bed for him, poor wretch,—he's +lying in t' ruins of th' cow-house of th' Mariners' Arms, Sylvie.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well!' said she, in the same hard, dry tone. +</P> + +<P> +'And I went and fetched th' parish doctor, for I thought he'd ha' +died before my face,—he was so wan, and ashen-grey, so thin, too, +his eyes seem pushed out of his bony face.' +</P> + +<P> +'That last time—feyther's eyes were starting, wild-like, and as if +he couldn't meet ours, or bear the sight on our weeping.' +</P> + +<P> +It was a bad look-out for Philip's purpose; but after a pause he +went bravely on. +</P> + +<P> +'He's a poor dying creature, anyhow. T' doctor said so, and told him +he hadn't many hours, let alone days, to live.' +</P> + +<P> +'And he'd shrink fra' dying wi' a' his sins on his head?' said +Sylvia, almost exultingly. +</P> + +<P> +Philip shook his head. 'He said this world had been too strong for +him, and men too hard upon him; he could niver do any good here, and +he thought he should, maybe, find folks i' t' next place more +merciful.' +</P> + +<P> +'He'll meet feyther theere,' said Sylvia, still hard and bitter. +</P> + +<P> +'He's a poor ignorant creature, and doesn't seem to know rightly who +he's like to meet; only he seems glad to get away fra' Monkshaven +folks; he were really hurt, I am afeared, that night, Sylvie,—and +he speaks as if he'd had hard times of it ever since he were a +child,—and he talks as if he were really grieved for t' part t' +lawyers made him take at th' trial,—they made him speak, against +his will, he says.' +</P> + +<P> +'Couldn't he ha' bitten his tongue out?' asked Sylvia. 'It's fine +talking o' sorrow when the thing is done!' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, anyhow he's sorry now; and he's not long for to live. And, +Sylvie, he bid me ask thee, if, for the sake of all that is dear to +thee both here, and i' th' world to come, thou'd go wi' me, and just +say to him that thou forgives him his part that day.' +</P> + +<P> +'He sent thee on that errand, did he? And thou could come and ask +me? I've a mind to break it off for iver wi' thee, Philip.' She kept +gasping, as if she could not say any more. Philip watched and waited +till her breath came, his own half choked. +</P> + +<P> +'Thee and me was niver meant to go together. It's not in me to +forgive,—I sometimes think it's not in me to forget. I wonder, +Philip, if thy feyther had done a kind deed—and a right deed—and a +merciful deed—and some one as he'd been good to, even i' t' midst +of his just anger, had gone and let on about him to th' judge, as +was trying to hang him,—and had getten him hanged,—hanged dead, so +that his wife were a widow, and his child fatherless for +ivermore,—I wonder if thy veins would run milk and water, so that +thou could go and make friends, and speak soft wi' him as had caused +thy feyther's death?' +</P> + +<P> +'It's said in t' Bible, Sylvie, that we're to forgive.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, there's some things as I know I niver forgive; and there's +others as I can't—and I won't, either.' +</P> + +<P> +'But, Sylvie, yo' pray to be forgiven your trespasses, as you +forgive them as trespass against you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, if I'm to be taken at my word, I'll noane pray at all, that's +all. It's well enough for them as has but little to forgive to use +them words; and I don't reckon it's kind, or pretty behaved in yo', +Philip, to bring up Scripture again' me. Thou may go about thy +business.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'rt vexed with me, Sylvie; and I'm not meaning but that it +would go hard with thee to forgive him; but I think it would be +right and Christian-like i' thee, and that thou'd find thy comfort +in thinking on it after. If thou'd only go, and see his wistful +eyes—I think they'd plead wi' thee more than his words, or mine +either.' +</P> + +<P> +'I tell thee my flesh and blood wasn't made for forgiving and +forgetting. Once for all, thou must take my word. When I love I +love, and when I hate I hate; and him as has done hard to me, or to +mine, I may keep fra' striking or murdering, but I'll niver forgive. +I should be just a monster, fit to be shown at a fair, if I could +forgive him as got feyther hanged.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip was silent, thinking what more he could urge. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'd better be off,' said Sylvia, in a minute or two. 'Yo' and me +has got wrong, and it'll take a night's sleep to set us right. Yo've +said all yo' can for him; and perhaps it's not yo' as is to blame, +but yo'r nature. But I'm put out wi' thee, and want thee out o' my +sight for awhile.' +</P> + +<P> +One or two more speeches of this kind convinced him that it would be +wise in him to take her at her word. He went back to Simpson, and +found him, though still alive, past the understanding of any words +of human forgiveness. Philip had almost wished he had not troubled +or irritated Sylvia by urging the dying man's request: the +performance of this duty seemed now to have been such a useless +office. +</P> + +<P> +After all, the performance of a duty is never a useless office, +though we may not see the consequences, or they may be quite +different to what we expected or calculated on. In the pause of +active work, when daylight was done, and the evening shades came on, +Sylvia had time to think; and her heart grew sad and soft, in +comparison to what it had been when Philip's urgency had called out +all her angry opposition. She thought of her father—his sharp +passions, his frequent forgiveness, or rather his forgetfulness that +he had even been injured. All Sylvia's persistent or enduring +qualities were derived from her mother, her impulses from her +father. It was her dead father whose example filled her mind this +evening in the soft and tender twilight. She did not say to herself +that she would go and tell Simpson that she forgave him; but she +thought that if Philip asked her again that she should do so. +</P> + +<P> +But when she saw Philip again he told her that Simpson was dead; and +passed on from what he had reason to think would be an unpleasant +subject to her. Thus he never learnt how her conduct might have been +more gentle and relenting than her words—words which came up into +his memory at a future time, with full measure of miserable +significance. +</P> + +<P> +In general, Sylvia was gentle and good enough; but Philip wanted her +to be shy and tender with him, and this she was not. She spoke to +him, her pretty eyes looking straight and composedly at him. She +consulted him like the family friend that he was: she met him +quietly in all the arrangements for the time of their marriage, +which she looked upon more as a change of home, as the leaving of +Haytersbank, as it would affect her mother, than in any more +directly personal way. Philip was beginning to feel, though not as +yet to acknowledge, that the fruit he had so inordinately longed for +was but of the nature of an apple of Sodom. +</P> + +<P> +Long ago, lodging in widow Rose's garret, he had been in the habit +of watching some pigeons that were kept by a neighbour; the flock +disported themselves on the steep tiled roofs just opposite to the +attic window, and insensibly Philip grew to know their ways, and one +pretty, soft little dove was somehow perpetually associated in his +mind with his idea of his cousin Sylvia. The pigeon would sit in one +particular place, sunning herself, and puffing out her feathered +breast, with all the blue and rose-coloured lights gleaming in the +morning rays, cooing softly to herself as she dressed her plumage. +Philip fancied that he saw the same colours in a certain piece of +shot silk—now in the shop; and none other seemed to him so suitable +for his darling's wedding-dress. He carried enough to make a gown, +and gave it to her one evening, as she sate on the grass just +outside the house, half attending to her mother, half engaged in +knitting stockings for her scanty marriage outfit. He was glad that +the sun was not gone down, thus allowing him to display the changing +colours in fuller light. Sylvia admired it duly; even Mrs. Robson was +pleased and attracted by the soft yet brilliant hues. Philip +whispered to Sylvia—(he took delight in whispers,—she, on the +contrary, always spoke to him in her usual tone of voice)— +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'lt look so pretty in it, sweetheart,—o' Thursday fortnight!' +</P> + +<P> +'Thursday fortnight. On the fourth yo're thinking on. But I cannot +wear it then,—I shall be i' black.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not on that day, sure!' said Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'Why not? There's nought t' happen on that day for t' make me forget +feyther. I couldn't put off my black, Philip,—no, not to save my +life! Yon silk is just lovely, far too good for the likes of +me,—and I'm sure I'm much beholden to yo'; and I'll have it made up +first of any gown after last April come two years,—but, oh, Philip, +I cannot put off my mourning!' +</P> + +<P> +'Not for our wedding-day!' said Philip, sadly. +</P> + +<P> +'No, lad, I really cannot. I'm just sorry about it, for I see +thou'rt set upon it; and thou'rt so kind and good, I sometimes think +I can niver be thankful enough to thee. When I think on what would +ha' become of mother and me if we hadn't had thee for a friend i' +need, I'm noane ungrateful, Philip; tho' I sometimes fancy thou'rt +thinking I am.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't want yo' to be grateful, Sylvie,' said poor Philip, +dissatisfied, yet unable to explain what he did want; only knowing +that there was something he lacked, yet fain would have had. +</P> + +<P> +As the marriage-day drew near, all Sylvia's care seemed to be for +her mother; all her anxiety was regarding the appurtenances of the +home she was leaving. In vain Philip tried to interest her in +details of his improvements or contrivances in the new home to which +he was going to take her. She did not tell him; but the idea of the +house behind the shop was associated in her mind with two times of +discomfort and misery. The first time she had gone into the parlour +about which Philip spoke so much was at the time of the press-gang +riot, when she had fainted from terror and excitement; the second +was on that night of misery when she and her mother had gone in to +Monkshaven, to bid her father farewell before he was taken to York; +in that room, on that night, she had first learnt something of the +fatal peril in which he stood. She could not show the bright shy +curiosity about her future dwelling that is common enough with girls +who are going to be married. All she could do was to restrain +herself from sighing, and listen patiently, when he talked on the +subject. In time he saw that she shrank from it; so he held his +peace, and planned and worked for her in silence,—smiling to +himself as he looked on each completed arrangement for her pleasure +or comfort; and knowing well that her happiness was involved in what +fragments of peace and material comfort might remain to her mother. +</P> + +<P> +The wedding-day drew near apace. It was Philip's plan that after +they had been married in Kirk Moorside church, he and his Sylvia, +his cousin, his love, his wife, should go for the day to Robin +Hood's Bay, returning in the evening to the house behind the shop in +the market-place. There they were to find Bell Robson installed in +her future home; for Haytersbank Farm was to be given up to the new +tenant on the very day of the wedding. Sylvia would not be married +any sooner; she said that she must stay there till the very last; +and had said it with such determination that Philip had desisted +from all urgency at once. +</P> + +<P> +He had told her that all should be settled for her mother's comfort +during their few hours' absence; otherwise Sylvia would not have +gone at all. He told her he should ask Hester, who was always so +good and kind—who never yet had said him nay, to go to church with +them as bridesmaid—for Sylvia would give no thought or care to +anything but her mother—and that they would leave her at +Haytersbank as they returned from church; she would manage Mrs +Robson's removal—she would do this—do that—do everything. Such +friendly confidence had Philip in Hester's willingness and tender +skill. Sylvia acquiesced at length, and Philip took upon himself to +speak to Hester on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +'Hester,' said he, one day when he was preparing to go home after +the shop was closed; 'would yo' mind stopping a bit? I should like +to show yo' the place now it's done up; and I've a favour to ask on +yo' besides.' He was so happy he did not see her shiver all over. +She hesitated just a moment before she answered,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'll stay, if thou wishes it, Philip. But I'm no judge o' fashions +and such like.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'rt a judge o' comfort, and that's what I've been aiming at. I +were niver so comfortable in a' my life as when I were a lodger at +thy house,' said he, with brotherly tenderness in his tone. 'If my +mind had been at ease I could ha' said I niver were happier in all +my days than under thy roof; and I know it were thy doing for the +most part. So come along, Hester, and tell me if there's aught more +I can put in for Sylvie.' +</P> + +<P> +It might not have been a very appropriate text, but such as it was +the words, 'From him that would ask of thee turn not thou away,' +seemed the only source of strength that could have enabled her to go +patiently through the next half-hour. As it was, she unselfishly +brought all her mind to bear upon the subject; admired this, thought +and decided upon that, as one by one Philip showed her all his +alterations and improvements. Never was such a quiet little bit of +unconscious and unrecognized heroism. She really ended by such a +conquest of self that she could absolutely sympathize with the proud +expectant lover, and had quenched all envy of the beloved, in +sympathy with the delight she imagined Sylvia must experience when +she discovered all these proofs of Philip's fond consideration and +care. But it was a great strain on the heart, that source of life; +and when Hester returned into the parlour, after her deliberate +survey of the house, she felt as weary and depressed in bodily +strength as if she had gone through an illness of many days. She +sate down on the nearest chair, and felt as though she never could +rise again. Philip, joyous and content, stood near her talking. +</P> + +<P> +'And, Hester,' said he, 'Sylvie has given me a message for thee—she +says thou must be her bridesmaid—she'll have none other.' +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot,' said Hester, with sudden sharpness. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, yes, but yo' must. It wouldn't be like my wedding if thou +wasn't there: why I've looked upon thee as a sister iver since I +came to lodge with thy mother.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester shook her head. Did her duty require her not to turn away +from this asking, too? Philip saw her reluctance, and, by intuition +rather than reason, he knew that what she would not do for gaiety or +pleasure she would consent to, if by so doing she could render any +service to another. So he went on. +</P> + +<P> +'Besides, Sylvie and me has planned to go for our wedding jaunt to +Robin Hood's Bay. I ha' been to engage a shandry this very morn, +before t' shop was opened; and there's no one to leave wi' my aunt. +Th' poor old body is sore crushed with sorrow; and is, as one may +say, childish at times; she's to come down here, that we may find +her when we come back at night; and there's niver a one she'll come +with so willing and so happy as with thee, Hester. Sylvie and me has +both said so.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester looked up in his face with her grave honest eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot go to church wi' thee, Philip; and thou must not ask me +any further. But I'll go betimes to Haytersbank Farm, and I'll do my +best to make the old lady happy, and to follow out thy directions in +bringing her here before nightfall.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip was on the point of urging her afresh to go with them to +church; but something in her eyes brought a thought across his mind, +as transitory as a breath passes over a looking-glass, and he +desisted from his entreaty, and put away his thought as a piece of +vain coxcombry, insulting to Hester. He passed rapidly on to all the +careful directions rendered necessary by her compliance with the +latter part of his request, coupling Sylvia's name with his +perpetually; so that Hester looked upon her as a happy girl, as +eager in planning all the details of her marriage as though no heavy +shameful sorrow had passed over her head not many months ago. +</P> + +<P> +Hester did not see Sylvia's white, dreamy, resolute face, that +answered the solemn questions of the marriage service in a voice +that did not seem her own. Hester was not with them to notice the +heavy abstraction that made the bride as if unconscious of her +husband's loving words, and then start and smile, and reply with a +sad gentleness of tone. No! Hester's duty lay in conveying the poor +widow and mother down from Haytersbank to the new home in +Monkshaven; and for all Hester's assistance and thoughtfulness, it +was a dreary, painful piece of work—the poor old woman crying like +a child, with bewilderment at the confused bustle which, in spite of +all Sylvia's careful forethought, could not be avoided on this final +day, when her mother had to be carried away from the homestead over +which she had so long presided. But all this was as nothing to the +distress which overwhelmed poor Bell Robson when she entered +Philip's house; the parlour—the whole place so associated with the +keen agony she had undergone there, that the stab of memory +penetrated through her deadened senses, and brought her back to +misery. In vain Hester tried to console her by telling her the fact +of Sylvia's marriage with Philip in every form of words that +occurred to her. Bell only remembered her husband's fate, which +filled up her poor wandering mind, and coloured everything; insomuch +that Sylvia not being at hand to reply to her mother's cry for her, +the latter imagined that her child, as well as her husband, was in +danger of trial and death, and refused to be comforted by any +endeavour of the patient sympathizing Hester. In a pause of Mrs +Robson's sobs, Hester heard the welcome sound of the wheels of the +returning shandry, bearing the bride and bridegroom home. It stopped +at the door—an instant, and Sylvia, white as a sheet at the sound +of her mother's wailings, which she had caught while yet at a +distance, with the quick ears of love, came running in; her mother +feebly rose and tottered towards her, and fell into her arms, +saying, 'Oh! Sylvie, Sylvie, take me home, and away from this cruel +place!' +</P> + +<P> +Hester could not but be touched with the young girl's manner to her +mother—as tender, as protecting as if their relation to each other +had been reversed, and she was lulling and tenderly soothing a +wayward, frightened child. She had neither eyes nor ears for any one +till her mother was sitting in trembling peace, holding her +daughter's hand tight in both of hers, as if afraid of losing sight +of her: then Sylvia turned to Hester, and, with the sweet grace +which is a natural gift to some happy people, thanked her; in common +words enough she thanked her, but in that nameless manner, and with +that strange, rare charm which made Hester feel as if she had never +been thanked in all her life before; and from that time forth she +understood, if she did not always yield to, the unconscious +fascination which Sylvia could exercise over others at times. +</P> + +<P> +Did it enter into Philip's heart to perceive that he had wedded his +long-sought bride in mourning raiment, and that the first sounds +which greeted them as they approached their home were those of +weeping and wailing? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap30"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HAPPY DAYS +</H3> + +<P> +And now Philip seemed as prosperous as his heart could desire. The +business flourished, and money beyond his moderate wants came in. As +for himself he required very little; but he had always looked +forward to placing his idol in a befitting shrine; and means for +this were now furnished to him. The dress, the comforts, the +position he had desired for Sylvia were all hers. She did not need +to do a stroke of household work if she preferred to 'sit in her +parlour and sew up a seam'. Indeed Phoebe resented any interference +in the domestic labour, which she had performed so long, that she +looked upon the kitchen as a private empire of her own. 'Mrs +Hepburn' (as Sylvia was now termed) had a good dark silk gown-piece +in her drawers, as well as the poor dove-coloured, against the day +when she chose to leave off mourning; and stuff for either gray or +scarlet cloaks was hers at her bidding. +</P> + +<P> +What she cared for far more were the comforts with which it was in +her power to surround her mother. In this Philip vied with her; for +besides his old love, and new pity for his aunt Bell, he never +forgot how she had welcomed him to Haytersbank, and favoured his +love to Sylvia, in the yearning days when he little hoped he should +ever win his cousin to be his wife. But even if he had not had these +grateful and affectionate feelings towards the poor woman, he would +have done much for her if only to gain the sweet, rare smiles which +his wife never bestowed upon him so freely as when she saw him +attending to 'mother,' for so both of them now called Bell. For her +creature comforts, her silk gowns, and her humble luxury, Sylvia did +not care; Philip was almost annoyed at the indifference she often +manifested to all his efforts to surround her with such things. It +was even a hardship to her to leave off her country dress, her +uncovered hair, her linsey petticoat, and loose bed-gown, and to don +a stiff and stately gown for her morning dress. Sitting in the dark +parlour at the back of the shop, and doing 'white work,' was much +more wearying to her than running out into the fields to bring up +the cows, or spinning wool, or making up butter. She sometimes +thought to herself that it was a strange kind of life where there +were no out-door animals to look after; the 'ox and the ass' had +hitherto come into all her ideas of humanity; and her care and +gentleness had made the dumb creatures round her father's home into +mute friends with loving eyes, looking at her as if wistful to speak +in words the grateful regard that she could read without the poor +expression of language. +</P> + +<P> +She missed the free open air, the great dome of sky above the +fields; she rebelled against the necessity of 'dressing' (as she +called it) to go out, although she acknowledged that it was a +necessity where the first step beyond the threshold must be into a +populous street. +</P> + +<P> +It is possible that Philip was right at one time when he had thought +to win her by material advantages; but the old vanities had been +burnt out of her by the hot iron of acute suffering. A great deal of +passionate feeling still existed, concealed and latent; but at this +period it appeared as though she were indifferent to most things, +and had lost the power of either hoping or fearing much. She was +stunned into a sort of temporary numbness on most points; those on +which she was sensitive being such as referred to the injustice and +oppression of her father's death, or anything that concerned her +mother. +</P> + +<P> +She was quiet even to passiveness in all her dealings with Philip; +he would have given not a little for some of the old bursts of +impatience, the old pettishness, which, naughty as they were, had +gone to form his idea of the former Sylvia. Once or twice he was +almost vexed with her for her docility; he wanted her so much to +have a will of her own, if only that he might know how to rouse her +to pleasure by gratifying it. Indeed he seldom fell asleep at nights +without his last thoughts being devoted to some little plan for the +morrow, that he fancied she would like; and when he wakened in the +early dawn he looked to see if she were indeed sleeping by his side, +or whether it was not all a dream that he called Sylvia 'wife.' +</P> + +<P> +He was aware that her affection for him was not to be spoken of in +the same way as his for her, but he found much happiness in only +being allowed to love and cherish her; and with the patient +perseverance that was one remarkable feature in his character, he +went on striving to deepen and increase her love when most other men +would have given up the endeavour, made themselves content with half +a heart, and turned to some other object of attainment. All this +time Philip was troubled by a dream that recurred whenever he was +over-fatigued, or otherwise not in perfect health. Over and over +again in this first year of married life he dreamt this dream; +perhaps as many as eight or nine times, and it never varied. It was +always of Kinraid's return; Kinraid was full of life in Philip's +dream, though in his waking hours he could and did convince himself +by all the laws of probability that his rival was dead. He never +remembered the exact sequence of events in that terrible dream after +he had roused himself, with a fight and a struggle, from his +feverish slumbers. He was generally sitting up in bed when he found +himself conscious, his heart beating wildly, with a conviction of +Kinraid's living presence somewhere near him in the darkness. +Occasionally Sylvia was disturbed by his agitation, and would +question him about his dreams, having, like most of her class at +that time, great faith in their prophetic interpretation; but Philip +never gave her any truth in his reply. +</P> + +<P> +After all, and though he did not acknowledge it even to himself, the +long-desired happiness was not so delicious and perfect as he had +anticipated. Many have felt the same in their first year of married +life; but the faithful, patient nature that still works on, striving +to gain love, and capable itself of steady love all the while, is a +gift not given to all. +</P> + +<P> +For many weeks after their wedding, Kester never came near them: a +chance word or two from Sylvia showed Philip that she had noticed +this and regretted it; and, accordingly, he made it his business at +the next leisure opportunity to go to Haytersbank (never saying a +word to his wife of his purpose), and seek out Kester. +</P> + +<P> +All the whole place was altered! It was new white-washed, new +thatched: the patches of colour in the surrounding ground were +changed with altered tillage; the great geraniums were gone from the +window, and instead, was a smart knitted blind. Children played +before the house-door; a dog lying on the step flew at Philip; all +was so strange, that it was even the strangest thing of all for +Kester to appear where everything else was so altered! +</P> + +<P> +Philip had to put up with a good deal of crabbed behaviour on the +part of the latter before he could induce Kester to promise to come +down into the town and see Sylvia in her new home. +</P> + +<P> +Somehow, the visit when paid was but a failure; at least, it seemed +so at the time, though probably it broke the ice of restraint which +was forming over the familiar intercourse between Kester and Sylvia. +The old servant was daunted by seeing Sylvia in a strange place, and +stood, sleeking his hair down, and furtively looking about him, +instead of seating himself on the chair Sylvia had so eagerly +brought forward for him. +</P> + +<P> +Then his sense of the estrangement caused by their new positions +infected her, and she began to cry pitifully, saying,— +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Kester! Kester! tell me about Haytersbank! Is it just as it +used to be in feyther's days?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, a cannot say as it is,' said Kester, thankful to have a +subject started. 'They'n pleughed up t' oud pasture-field, and are +settin' it for 'taters. They're not for much cattle, isn't +Higginses. They'll be for corn in t' next year, a reckon, and +they'll just ha' their pains for their payment. But they're allays +so pig-headed, is folk fra' a distance.' +</P> + +<P> +So they went on discoursing on Haytersbank and the old days, till +Bell Robson, having finished her afternoon nap, came slowly +down-stairs to join them; and after that the conversation became so +broken up, from the desire of the other two to attend and reply as +best they could to her fragmentary and disjointed talk, that Kester +took his leave before long; falling, as he did so, into the formal +and unnaturally respectful manner which he had adopted on first +coming in. +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia ran after him, and brought him back from the door. +</P> + +<P> +'To think of thy going away, Kester, without either bit or drink; +nay, come back wi' thee, and taste wine and cake.' +</P> + +<P> +Kester stood at the door, half shy, half pleased, while Sylvia, in +all the glow and hurry of a young housekeeper's hospitality, sought +for the decanter of wine, and a wine-glass in the corner cupboard, +and hastily cut an immense wedge of cake, which she crammed into his +hand in spite of his remonstrances; and then she poured him out an +overflowing glass of wine, which Kester would far rather have gone +without, as he knew manners too well to suppose that he might taste +it without having gone through the preliminary ceremony of wishing +the donor health and happiness. He stood red and half smiling, with +his cake in one hand, his wine in the other, and then began,— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + 'Long may ye live,<BR> + Happy may ye he,<BR> + And blest with a num'rous<BR> + Pro-ge-ny.'<BR> +</P> + +<P> +'Theere, that's po'try for yo' as I larnt i' my youth. But there's a +deal to be said as cannot be put int' po'try, an' yet a cannot say +it, somehow. It 'd tax a parson t' say a' as a've getten i' my mind. +It's like a heap o' woo' just after shearin' time; it's worth a +deal, but it tak's a vast o' combin', an' cardin', an' spinnin' +afore it can be made use on. If a were up to t' use o' words, a +could say a mighty deal; but somehow a'm tongue-teed when a come to +want my words most, so a'll only just mak' bold t' say as a think +yo've done pretty well for yo'rsel', getten a house-full o' +furniture' (looking around him as he said this), 'an' vittle an' +clothin' for t' axing, belike, an' a home for t' missus in her time +o' need; an' mebbe not such a bad husband as a once thought yon man +'ud mak'; a'm not above sayin' as he's, mebbe, better nor a took him +for;—so here's to ye both, and wishin' ye health and happiness, ay, +and money to buy yo' another, as country folk say.' +</P> + +<P> +Having ended his oration, much to his own satisfaction, Kester +tossed off his glass of wine, smacked his lips, wiped his mouth with +the back of his hand, pocketed his cake, and made off. +</P> + +<P> +That night Sylvia spoke of his visit to her husband. Philip never +said how he himself had brought it to pass, nor did he name the fact +that he had heard the old man come in just as he himself had +intended going into the parlour for tea, but had kept away, as he +thought Sylvia and Kester would most enjoy their interview +undisturbed. And Sylvia felt as if her husband's silence was +unsympathizing, and shut up the feelings that were just beginning to +expand towards him. She sank again into the listless state of +indifference from which nothing but some reference to former days, +or present consideration for her mother, could rouse her. +</P> + +<P> +Hester was almost surprised at Sylvia's evident liking for her. By +slow degrees Hester was learning to love the woman, whose position +as Philip's wife she would have envied so keenly had she not been so +truly good and pious. But Sylvia seemed as though she had given +Hester her whole affection all at once. Hester could not understand +this, while she was touched and melted by the trust it implied. For +one thing Sylvia remembered and regretted—her harsh treatment of +Hester the rainy, stormy night on which the latter had come to +Haytersbank to seek her and her mother, and bring them into +Monkshaven to see the imprisoned father and husband. Sylvia had been +struck with Hester's patient endurance of her rudeness, a rudeness +which she was conscious that she herself should have immediately and +vehemently resented. Sylvia did not understand how a totally +different character from hers might immediately forgive the anger +she could not forget; and because Hester had been so meek at the +time, Sylvia, who knew how passing and transitory was her own anger, +thought that all was forgotten; while Hester believed that the +words, which she herself could not have uttered except under deep +provocation, meant much more than they did, and admired and wondered +at Sylvia for having so entirely conquered her anger against her. +</P> + +<P> +Again, the two different women were divergently affected by the +extreme fondness which Bell had shown towards Hester ever since +Sylvia's wedding-day. Sylvia, who had always received more love from +others than she knew what to do with, had the most entire faith in +her own supremacy in her mother's heart, though at times Hester +would do certain things more to the poor old woman's satisfaction. +Hester, who had craved for the affection which had been withheld +from her, and had from that one circumstance become distrustful of +her own power of inspiring regard, while she exaggerated the delight +of being beloved, feared lest Sylvia should become jealous of her +mother's open display of great attachment and occasional preference +for Hester. But such a thought never entered Sylvia's mind. She was +more thankful than she knew how to express towards any one who made +her mother happy; as has been already said, the contributing to Bell +Robson's pleasures earned Philip more of his wife's smiles than +anything else. And Sylvia threw her whole heart into the words and +caresses she lavished on Hester whenever poor Mrs. Robson spoke of +the goodness and kindness of the latter. Hester attributed more +virtue to these sweet words and deeds of gratitude than they +deserved; they did not imply in Sylvia any victory over evil +temptation, as they would have done in Hester. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to be Sylvia's fate to captivate more people than she +cared to like back again. She turned the heads of John and Jeremiah +Foster, who could hardly congratulate Philip enough on his choice of +a wife. +</P> + +<P> +They had been prepared to be critical on one who had interfered with +their favourite project of a marriage between Philip and Hester; +and, though full of compassion for the cruelty of Daniel Robson's +fate, they were too completely men of business not to have some +apprehension that the connection of Philip Hepburn with the daughter +of a man who was hanged, might injure the shop over which both his +and their name appeared. But all the possible proprieties demanded +that they should pay attention to the bride of their former shopman +and present successor; and the very first visitors whom Sylvia had +received after her marriage had been John and Jeremiah Foster, in +their sabbath-day clothes. They found her in the parlour (so +familiar to both of them!) clear-starching her mother's caps, which +had to be got up in some particular fashion that Sylvia was afraid +of dictating to Phoebe. +</P> + +<P> +She was a little disturbed at her visitors discovering her at this +employment; but she was on her own ground, and that gave her +self-possession; and she welcomed the two old men so sweetly and +modestly, and looked so pretty and feminine, and, besides, so +notable in her handiwork, that she conquered all their prejudices at +one blow; and their first thought on leaving the shop was how to do +her honour, by inviting her to a supper party at Jeremiah Foster's +house. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was dismayed when she was bidden to this wedding feast, and +Philip had to use all his authority, though tenderly, to make her +consent to go at all. She had been to merry country parties like the +Corneys', and to bright haymaking romps in the open air; but never +to a set stately party at a friend's house. +</P> + +<P> +She would fain have made attendance on her mother an excuse; but +Philip knew he must not listen to any such plea, and applied to +Hester in the dilemma, asking her to remain with Mrs. Robson while he +and Sylvia went out visiting; and Hester had willingly, nay, eagerly +consented—it was much more to her taste than going out. +</P> + +<P> +So Philip and Sylvia set out, arm-in-arm, down Bridge Street, across +the bridge, and then clambered up the hill. On the way he gave her +the directions she asked for about her behaviour as bride and most +honoured guest; and altogether succeeded, against his intention and +will, in frightening her so completely as to the grandeur and +importance of the occasion, and the necessity of remembering certain +set rules, and making certain set speeches and attending to them +when the right time came, that, if any one so naturally graceful +could have been awkward, Sylvia would have been so that night. +</P> + +<P> +As it was, she sate, pale and weary-looking, on the very edge of her +chair; she uttered the formal words which Philip had told her were +appropriate to the occasion, and she heartily wished herself safe at +home and in bed. Yet she left but one unanimous impression on the +company when she went away, namely, that she was the prettiest and +best-behaved woman they had ever seen, and that Philip Hepburn had +done well in choosing her, felon's daughter though she might be. +</P> + +<P> +Both the hosts had followed her into the lobby to help Philip in +cloaking her, and putting on her pattens. They were full of +old-fashioned compliments and good wishes; one speech of theirs came +up to her memory in future years:— +</P> + +<P> +'Now, Sylvia Hepburn,' said Jeremiah, 'I've known thy husband long, +and I don't say but what thou hast done well in choosing him; but if +he ever neglects or ill-uses thee, come to me, and I'll give him a +sound lecture on his conduct. Mind, I'm thy friend from this day +forrards, and ready to take thy part against him!' +</P> + +<P> +Philip smiled as if the day would never come when he should neglect +or ill-use his darling; Sylvia smiled a little, without much +attending to, or caring for, the words that were detaining her, +tired as she was; John and Jeremiah chuckled over the joke; but the +words came up again in after days, as words idly spoken sometimes +do. +</P> + +<P> +Before the end of that first year, Philip had learnt to be jealous +of his wife's new love for Hester. To the latter, Sylvia gave the +free confidence on many things which Philip fancied she withheld +from him. A suspicion crossed his mind, from time to time, that +Sylvia might speak of her former lover to Hester. It would be not +unnatural, he thought, if she did so, believing him to be dead; but +the idea irritated him. +</P> + +<P> +He was entirely mistaken, however; Sylvia, with all her apparent +frankness, kept her deep sorrows to herself. She never mentioned her +father's name, though he was continually present to her mind. Nor +did she speak of Kinraid to human being, though, for his sake, her +voice softened when, by chance, she spoke to a passing sailor; and +for his sake her eyes lingered on such men longer than on others, +trying to discover in them something of the old familiar gait; and +partly for his dead sake, and partly because of the freedom of the +outlook and the freshness of the air, she was glad occasionally to +escape from the comfortable imprisonment of her 'parlour', and the +close streets around the market-place, and to mount the cliffs and +sit on the turf, gazing abroad over the wide still expanse of the +open sea; for, at that height, even breaking waves only looked like +broken lines of white foam on the blue watery plain. +</P> + +<P> +She did not want any companion on these rambles, which had somewhat +of the delight of stolen pleasures; for all the other respectable +matrons and town-dwellers whom she knew were content to have always +a business object for their walk, or else to stop at home in their +own households; and Sylvia was rather ashamed of her own yearnings +for solitude and open air, and the sight and sound of the +mother-like sea. She used to take off her hat, and sit there, her +hands clasping her knees, the salt air lifting her bright curls, +gazing at the distant horizon over the sea, in a sad dreaminess of +thought; if she had been asked on what she meditated, she could not +have told you. +</P> + +<P> +But, by-and-by, the time came when she was a prisoner in the house; +a prisoner in her room, lying in bed with a little baby by her +side—her child, Philip's child. His pride, his delight knew no +bounds; this was a new fast tie between them; this would reconcile +her to the kind of life that, with all its respectability and +comfort, was so different from what she had lived before, and which +Philip had often perceived that she felt to be dull and restraining. +He already began to trace in the little girl, only a few days old, +the lovely curves that he knew so well by heart in the mother's +face. Sylvia, too, pale, still, and weak, was very happy; yes, +really happy for the first time since her irrevocable marriage. For +its irrevocableness had weighed much upon her with a sense of dull +hopelessness; she felt all Philip's kindness, she was grateful to +him for his tender regard towards her mother, she was learning to +love him as well as to like and respect him. She did not know what +else she could have done but marry so true a friend, and she and her +mother so friendless; but, at the same time, it was like lead on her +morning spirits when she awoke and remembered that the decision was +made, the dead was done, the choice taken which comes to most people +but once in their lives. Now the little baby came in upon this state +of mind like a ray of sunlight into a gloomy room. +</P> + +<P> +Even her mother was rejoiced and proud; even with her crazed brain +and broken heart, the sight of sweet, peaceful infancy brought light +to her. All the old ways of holding a baby, of hushing it to sleep, +of tenderly guarding its little limbs from injury, came back, like +the habits of her youth, to Bell; and she was never so happy or so +easy in her mind, or so sensible and connected in her ideas, as when +she had Sylvia's baby in her arms. +</P> + +<P> +It was a pretty sight to see, however familiar to all of us such +things may be—the pale, worn old woman, in her quaint, +old-fashioned country dress, holding the little infant on her knees, +looking at its open, unspeculative eyes, and talking the little +language to it as though it could understand; the father on his +knees, kept prisoner by a small, small finger curled round his +strong and sinewy one, and gazing at the tiny creature with +wondering idolatry; the young mother, fair, pale, and smiling, +propped up on pillows in order that she, too, might see the +wonderful babe; it was astonishing how the doctor could come and go +without being drawn into the admiring vortex, and look at this baby +just as if babies came into the world every day. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip,' said Sylvia, one night, as he sate as still as a mouse in +her room, imagining her to be asleep. He was by her bed-side in a +moment. +</P> + +<P> +'I've been thinking what she's to be called. Isabella, after mother; +and what were yo'r mother's name?' +</P> + +<P> +'Margaret,' said he. +</P> + +<P> +'Margaret Isabella; Isabella Margaret. Mother's called Bell. She +might be called Bella.' +</P> + +<P> +'I could ha' wished her to be called after thee.' +</P> + +<P> +She made a little impatient movement. +</P> + +<P> +'Nay; Sylvia's not a lucky name. Best be called after thy mother and +mine. And I want for to ask Hester to be godmother.' +</P> + +<P> +'Anything thou likes, sweetheart. Shall we call her Rose, after +Hester Rose?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no!' said Sylvia; 'she mun be called after my mother, or thine, +or both. I should like her to be called Bella, after mother, because +she's so fond of baby.' +</P> + +<P> +'Anything to please thee, darling.' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't say that as if it didn't signify; there's a deal in having a +pretty name,' said Sylvia, a little annoyed. 'I ha' allays hated +being called Sylvia. It were after father's mother, Sylvia Steele.' +</P> + +<P> +'I niver thought any name in a' the world so sweet and pretty as +Sylvia,' said Philip, fondly; but she was too much absorbed in her +own thoughts to notice either his manner or his words. +</P> + +<P> +'There, yo'll not mind if it is Bella, because yo' see my mother is +alive to be pleased by its being named after her, and Hester may be +godmother, and I'll ha' t' dove-coloured silk as yo' gave me afore +we were married made up into a cloak for it to go to church in.' +</P> + +<P> +'I got it for thee,' said Philip, a little disappointed. 'It'll be +too good for the baby.' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! but I'm so careless, I should be spilling something on it? But +if thou got it for me I cannot find i' my heart for t' wear it on +baby, and I'll have it made into a christening gown for mysel'. But +I'll niver feel at my ease in it, for fear of spoiling it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well! an' if thou does spoil it, love, I'll get thee another. I +make account of riches only for thee; that I may be able to get thee +whativer thou's a fancy for, for either thysel', or thy mother.' +</P> + +<P> +She lifted her pale face from her pillow, and put up her lips to +kiss him for these words. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps on that day Philip reached the zenith of his life's +happiness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap31"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +EVIL OMENS +</H3> + +<P> +The first step in Philip's declension happened in this way. Sylvia +had made rapid progress in her recovery; but now she seemed at a +stationary point of weakness; wakeful nights succeeding to languid +days. Occasionally she caught a little sleep in the afternoons, but +she usually awoke startled and feverish. +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon Philip had stolen upstairs to look at her and his +child; but the efforts he made at careful noiselessness made the +door creak on its hinges as he opened it. The woman employed to +nurse her had taken the baby into another room that no sound might +rouse her from her slumber; and Philip would probably have been +warned against entering the chamber where his wife lay sleeping had +he been perceived by the nurse. As it was, he opened the door, made +a noise, and Sylvia started up, her face all one flush, her eyes +wild and uncertain; she looked about her as if she did not know +where she was; pushed the hair off her hot forehead; all which +actions Philip saw, dismayed and regretful. But he kept still, +hoping that she would lie down and compose herself. Instead she +stretched out her arms imploringly, and said, in a voice full of +yearning and tears,— +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! Charley! come to me—come to me!' and then as she more fully +became aware of the place where she was, her actual situation, she +sank back and feebly began to cry. Philip's heart boiled within him; +any man's would under the circumstances, but he had the sense of +guilty concealment to aggravate the intensity of his feelings. Her +weak cry after another man, too, irritated him, partly through his +anxious love, which made him wise to know how much physical harm she +was doing herself. At this moment he stirred, or unintentionally +made some sound: she started up afresh, and called out,— +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, who's theere? Do, for God's sake, tell me who yo' are!' +</P> + +<P> +'It's me,' said Philip, coming forwards, striving to keep down the +miserable complication of love and jealousy, and remorse and anger, +that made his heart beat so wildly, and almost took him out of +himself. Indeed, he must have been quite beside himself for the +time, or he could never have gone on to utter the unwise, cruel +words he did. But she spoke first, in a distressed and plaintive +tone of voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Philip, I've been asleep, and yet I think I was awake! And I +saw Charley Kinraid as plain as iver I see thee now, and he wasn't +drowned at all. I'm sure he's alive somewheere; he were so clear and +life-like. Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?' +</P> + +<P> +She wrung her hands in feverish distress. Urged by passionate +feelings of various kinds, and also by his desire to quench the +agitation which was doing her harm, Philip spoke, hardly knowing +what he said. +</P> + +<P> +'Kinraid's dead, I tell yo', Sylvie! And what kind of a woman are +yo' to go dreaming of another man i' this way, and taking on so +about him, when yo're a wedded wife, with a child as yo've borne to +another man?' +</P> + +<P> +In a moment he could have bitten out his tongue. She looked at him +with the mute reproach which some of us see (God help us!) in the +eyes of the dead, as they come before our sad memories in the +night-season; looked at him with such a solemn, searching look, +never saying a word of reply or defence. Then she lay down, +motionless and silent. He had been instantly stung with remorse for +his speech; the words were not beyond his lips when an agony had +entered his heart; but her steady, dilated eyes had kept him dumb +and motionless as if by a spell. +</P> + +<P> +Now he rushed to the bed on which she lay, and half knelt, half +threw himself upon it, imploring her to forgive him; regardless for +the time of any evil consequences to her, it seemed as if he must +have her pardon—her relenting—at any price, even if they both died +in the act of reconciliation. But she lay speechless, and, as far as +she could be, motionless, the bed trembling under her with the +quivering she could not still. +</P> + +<P> +Philip's wild tones caught the nurse's ears, and she entered full of +the dignified indignation of wisdom. +</P> + +<P> +'Are yo' for killing yo'r wife, measter?' she asked. 'She's noane so +strong as she can bear flytin' and scoldin', nor will she be for +many a week to come. Go down wi' ye, and leave her i' peace if yo're +a man as can be called a man!' +</P> + +<P> +Her anger was rising as she caught sight of Sylvia's averted face. +It was flushed crimson, her eyes full of intense emotion of some +kind, her lips compressed; but an involuntary twitching +overmastering her resolute stillness from time to time. Philip, who +did not see the averted face, nor understand the real danger in +which he was placing his wife, felt as though he must have one word, +one responsive touch of the hand which lay passive in his, which was +not even drawn away from the kisses with which he covered it, any +more than if it had been an impassive stone. The nurse had fairly to +take him by the shoulders, and turn him out of the room. +</P> + +<P> +In half an hour the doctor had to be summoned. Of course, the nurse +gave him her version of the events of the afternoon, with much +<I>animus</I> against Philip; and the doctor thought it his duty to have +some very serious conversation with him. +</P> + +<P> +'I do assure you, Mr. Hepburn, that, in the state your wife has been +in for some days, it was little less than madness on your part to +speak to her about anything that could give rise to strong emotion.' +</P> + +<P> +'It was madness, sir!' replied Philip, in a low, miserable tone of +voice. The doctor's heart was touched, in spite of the nurse's +accusations against the scolding husband. Yet the danger was now too +serious for him to mince matters. +</P> + +<P> +'I must tell you that I cannot answer for her life, unless the +greatest precautions are taken on your part, and unless the measures +I shall use have the effect I wish for in the next twenty-four +hours. She is on the verge of a brain fever. Any allusion to the +subject which has been the final cause of the state in which she now +is must be most cautiously avoided, even to a chance word which may +bring it to her memory.' +</P> + +<P> +And so on; but Philip seemed to hear only this: then he might not +express contrition, or sue for pardon, he must go on unforgiven +through all this stress of anxiety; and even if she recovered the +doctor warned him of the undesirableness of recurring to what had +passed! +</P> + +<P> +Heavy miserable times of endurance and waiting have to be passed +through by all during the course of their lives; and Philip had had +his share of such seasons, when the heart, and the will, and the +speech, and the limbs, must be bound down with strong resolution to +patience. +</P> + +<P> +For many days, nay, for weeks, he was forbidden to see Sylvia, as +the very sound of his footstep brought on a recurrence of the fever +and convulsive movement. Yet she seemed, from questions she feebly +asked the nurse, to have forgotten all that had happened on the day +of her attack from the time when she dropped off to sleep. But how +much she remembered of after occurrences no one could ascertain. She +was quiet enough when, at length, Philip was allowed to see her. But +he was half jealous of his child, when he watched how she could +smile at it, while she never changed a muscle of her face at all he +could do or say. +</P> + +<P> +And of a piece with this extreme quietude and reserve was her +behaviour to him when at length she had fully recovered, and was +able to go about the house again. Philip thought many a time of the +words she had used long before—before their marriage. Ominous words +they were. +</P> + +<P> +'It's not in me to forgive; I sometimes think it's not in me to +forget.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip was tender even to humility in his conduct towards her. But +nothing stirred her from her fortress of reserve. And he knew she +was so different; he knew how loving, nay, passionate, was her +nature—vehement, demonstrative—oh! how could he stir her once more +into expression, even if the first show or speech she made was of +anger? Then he tried being angry with her himself; he was sometimes +unjust to her consciously and of a purpose, in order to provoke her +into defending herself, and appealing against his unkindness. He +only seemed to drive her love away still more. +</P> + +<P> +If any one had known all that was passing in that household, while +yet the story of it was not ended, nor, indeed, come to its crisis, +their hearts would have been sorry for the man who lingered long at +the door of the room in which his wife sate cooing and talking to +her baby, and sometimes laughing back to it, or who was soothing the +querulousness of failing age with every possible patience of love; +sorry for the poor listener who was hungering for the profusion of +tenderness thus scattered on the senseless air, yet only by stealth +caught the echoes of what ought to have been his. +</P> + +<P> +It was so difficult to complain, too; impossible, in fact. +Everything that a wife could do from duty she did; but the love +seemed to have fled, and, in such cases, no reproaches or complaints +can avail to bring it back. So reason outsiders, and are convinced +of the result before the experiment is made. But Philip could not +reason, or could not yield to reason; and so he complained and +reproached. She did not much answer him; but he thought that her +eyes expressed the old words,— +</P> + +<P> +'It's not in me to forgive; I sometimes think it's not in me to +forget.' +</P> + +<P> +However, it is an old story, an ascertained fact, that, even in the +most tender and stable masculine natures, at the supremest season of +their lives, there is room for other thoughts and passions than such +as are connected with love. Even with the most domestic and +affectionate men, their emotions seem to be kept in a cell distinct +and away from their actual lives. Philip had other thoughts and +other occupations than those connected with his wife during all this +time. +</P> + +<P> +An uncle of his mother's, a Cumberland 'statesman', of whose +existence he was barely conscious, died about this time, leaving to +his unknown great-nephew four or five hundred pounds, which put him +at once in a different position with regard to his business. +Henceforward his ambition was roused,—such humble ambition as +befitted a shop-keeper in a country town sixty or seventy years ago. +To be respected by the men around him had always been an object with +him, and was, perhaps, becoming more so than ever now, as a sort of +refuge from his deep, sorrowful mortification in other directions. +He was greatly pleased at being made a sidesman; and, in preparation +for the further honour of being churchwarden, he went regularly +twice a day to church on Sundays. There was enough religious feeling +in him to make him disguise the worldly reason for such conduct from +himself. He believed that he went because he thought it right to +attend public worship in the parish church whenever it was offered +up; but it may be questioned of him, as of many others, how far he +would have been as regular in attendance in a place where he was not +known. With this, however, we have nothing to do. The fact was that +he went regularly to church, and he wished his wife to accompany him +to the pew, newly painted, with his name on the door, where he sate +in full sight of the clergyman and congregation. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia had never been in the habit of such regular church-going, and +she felt it as a hardship, and slipped out of the duty as often as +ever she could. In her unmarried days, she and her parents had gone +annually to the mother-church of the parish in which Haytersbank was +situated: on the Monday succeeding the Sunday next after the Romish +Saint's Day, to whom the church was dedicated, there was a great +feast or wake held; and, on the Sunday, all the parishioners came to +church from far and near. Frequently, too, in the course of the +year, Sylvia would accompany one or other of her parents to Scarby +Moorside afternoon service,—when the hay was got in, and the corn +not ready for cutting, or the cows were dry and there was no +afternoon milking. Many clergymen were languid in those days, and +did not too curiously inquire into the reasons which gave them such +small congregations in country parishes. +</P> + +<P> +Now she was married, this weekly church-going which Philip seemed to +expect from her, became a tie and a small hardship, which connected +itself with her life of respectability and prosperity. 'A crust of +bread and liberty' was much more accordant to Sylvia's nature than +plenty of creature comforts and many restraints. Another wish of +Philip's, against which she said no word, but constantly rebelled in +thought and deed, was his desire that the servant he had engaged +during the time of her illness to take charge of the baby, should +always carry it whenever it was taken out for a walk. Sylvia often +felt, now she was strong, as if she would far rather have been +without the responsibility of having this nursemaid, of whom she +was, in reality, rather afraid. The good side of it was that it set +her at liberty to attend to her mother at times when she would have +been otherwise occupied with her baby; but Bell required very little +from any one: she was easily pleased, unexacting, and methodical +even in her dotage; preserving the quiet, undemonstrative habits of +her earlier life now that the faculty of reason, which had been at +the basis of the formation of such habits, was gone. She took great +delight in watching the baby, and was pleased to have it in her care +for a short time; but she dozed so much that it prevented her having +any strong wish on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +So Sylvia contrived to get her baby as much as possible to herself, +in spite of the nursemaid; and, above all, she would carry it out, +softly cradled in her arms, warm pillowed on her breast, and bear it +to the freedom and solitude of the sea-shore on the west side of the +town where the cliffs were not so high, and there was a good space +of sand and shingle at all low tides. +</P> + +<P> +Once here, she was as happy as she ever expected to be in this +world. The fresh sea-breeze restored something of the colour of +former days to her cheeks, the old buoyancy to her spirits; here she +might talk her heart-full of loving nonsense to her baby; here it +was all her own; no father to share in it, no nursemaid to dispute +the wisdom of anything she did with it. She sang to it, she tossed +it; it crowed and it laughed back again, till both were weary; and +then she would sit down on a broken piece of rock, and fall to +gazing on the advancing waves catching the sunlight on their crests, +advancing, receding, for ever and for ever, as they had done all her +life long—as they did when she had walked with them that once by +the side of Kinraid; those cruel waves that, forgetful of the happy +lovers' talk by the side of their waters, had carried one away, and +drowned him deep till he was dead. Every time she sate down to look +at the sea, this process of thought was gone through up to this +point; the next step would, she knew, bring her to the question she +dared not, must not ask. He was dead; he must be dead; for was she +not Philip's wife? Then came up the recollection of Philip's speech, +never forgotten, only buried out of sight: 'What kind of a woman are +yo' to go on dreaming of another man, and yo' a wedded wife?' She +used to shudder as if cold steel had been plunged into her warm, +living body as she remembered these words; cruel words, harmlessly +provoked. They were too much associated with physical pains to be +dwelt upon; only their memory was always there. She paid for these +happy rambles with her baby by the depression which awaited her on +her re-entrance into the dark, confined house that was her home; its +very fulness of comfort was an oppression. Then, when her husband +saw her pale and fatigued, he was annoyed, and sometimes upbraided +her for doing what was so unnecessary as to load herself with her +child. She knew full well it was not that that caused her weariness. +By-and-by, when he inquired and discovered that all these walks were +taken in one direction, out towards the sea, he grew jealous of her +love for the inanimate ocean. Was it connected in her mind with the +thought of Kinraid? Why did she so perseveringly, in wind or cold, +go out to the sea-shore; the western side, too, where, if she went +but far enough, she would come upon the mouth of the Haytersbank +gully, the point at which she had last seen Kinraid? Such fancies +haunted Philip's mind for hours after she had acknowledged the +direction of her walks. But he never said a word that could +distinctly tell her he disliked her going to the sea, otherwise she +would have obeyed him in this, as in everything else; for absolute +obedience to her husband seemed to be her rule of life at this +period—obedience to him who would so gladly have obeyed her +smallest wish had she but expressed it! She never knew that Philip +had any painful association with the particular point on the +sea-shore that she instinctively avoided, both from a consciousness +of wifely duty, and also because the sight of it brought up so much +sharp pain. +</P> + +<P> +Philip used to wonder if the dream that preceded her illness was the +suggestive cause that drew her so often to the shore. Her illness +consequent upon that dream had filled his mind, so that for many +months he himself had had no haunting vision of Kinraid to disturb +his slumbers. But now the old dream of Kinraid's actual presence by +Philip's bedside began to return with fearful vividness. Night after +night it recurred; each time with some new touch of reality, and +close approach; till it was as if the fate that overtakes all men +were then, even then, knocking at his door. +</P> + +<P> +In his business Philip prospered. Men praised him because he did +well to himself. He had the perseverance, the capability for +head-work and calculation, the steadiness and general forethought +which might have made him a great merchant if he had lived in a +large city. Without any effort of his own, almost, too, without +Coulson's being aware of it, Philip was now in the position of +superior partner; the one to suggest and arrange, while Coulson only +carried out the plans that emanated from Philip. The whole work of +life was suited to the man: he did not aspire to any different +position, only to the full development of the capabilities of that +which he already held. He had originated several fresh schemes with +regard to the traffic of the shop; and his old masters, with all +their love of tried ways, and distrust of everything new, had been +candid enough to confess that their successors' plans had resulted +in success. 'Their successors.' Philip was content with having the +power when the exercise of it was required, and never named his own +important share in the new improvements. Possibly, if he had, +Coulson's vanity might have taken the alarm, and he might not have +been so acquiescent for the future. As it was, he forgot his own +subordinate share, and always used the imperial 'we', 'we thought', +'it struck us,' &c. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap32"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +RESCUED FROM THE WAVES +</H3> + +<P> +Meanwhile Hester came and went as usual; in so quiet and methodical +a way, with so even and undisturbed a temper, that she was almost +forgotten when everything went well in the shop or household. She +was a star, the brightness of which was only recognized in times of +darkness. She herself was almost surprised at her own increasing +regard for Sylvia. She had not thought she should ever be able to +love the woman who had been such a laggard in acknowledging Philip's +merits; and from all she had ever heard of Sylvia before she came to +know her, from the angry words with which Sylvia had received her +when she had first gone to Haytersbank Farm, Hester had intended to +remain on friendly terms, but to avoid intimacy. But her kindness to +Bell Robson had won both the mother's and daughter's hearts; and in +spite of herself, certainly against her own mother's advice, she had +become the familiar friend and welcome guest of the household. +</P> + +<P> +Now the very change in Sylvia's whole manner and ways, which grieved +and vexed Philip, made his wife the more attractive to Hester. +Brought up among Quakers, although not one herself, she admired and +respected the staidness and outward peacefulness common amongst the +young women of that sect. Sylvia, whom she had expected to find +volatile, talkative, vain, and wilful, was quiet and still, as if +she had been born a Friend: she seemed to have no will of her own; +she served her mother and child for love; she obeyed her husband in +all things, and never appeared to pine after gaiety or pleasure. And +yet at times Hester thought, or rather a flash came across her mind, +as if all things were not as right as they seemed. Philip looked +older, more care-worn; nay, even Hester was obliged to allow to +herself that she had heard him speak to his wife in sharp, aggrieved +tones. Innocent Hester! she could not understand how the very +qualities she so admired in Sylvia were just what were so foreign to +her nature that the husband, who had known her from a child, felt +what an unnatural restraint she was putting upon herself, and would +have hailed petulant words or wilful actions with an unspeakable +thankfulness for relief. +</P> + +<P> +One day—it was in the spring of 1798—Hester was engaged to stay to +tea with the Hepburns, in order that after that early meal she might +set to again in helping Philip and Coulson to pack away the winter +cloths and flannels, for which there was no longer any use. The +tea-time was half-past four; about four o'clock a heavy April shower +came on, the hail pattering against the window-panes so as to awaken +Mrs. Robson from her afternoon's nap. She came down the corkscrew +stairs, and found Phoebe in the parlour arranging the tea-things. +</P> + +<P> +Phoebe and Mrs. Robson were better friends than Phoebe and her young +mistress; and so they began to talk a little together in a +comfortable, familiar way. Once or twice Philip looked in, as if he +would be glad to see the tea-table in readiness; and then Phoebe +would put on a spurt of busy bustle, which ceased almost as soon as +his back was turned, so eager was she to obtain Mrs. Robson's +sympathy in some little dispute that had occurred between her and +the nurse-maid. The latter had misappropriated some hot water, +prepared and required by Phoebe, to the washing of the baby's +clothes; it was a long story, and would have tired the patience of +any one in full possession of their senses; but the details were +just within poor Bell's comprehension, and she was listening with +the greatest sympathy. Both the women were unaware of the lapse of +time; but it was of consequence to Philip, as the extra labour was +not to be begun until after tea, and the daylight hours were +precious. +</P> + +<P> +At a quarter to five Hester and he came in, and then Phoebe began to +hurry. Hester went up to sit by Bell and talk to her. Philip spoke +to Phoebe in the familiar words of country-folk. Indeed, until his +marriage, Phoebe had always called him by his Christian name, and +had found it very difficult to change it into 'master.' +</P> + +<P> +'Where's Sylvie?' said he. +</P> + +<P> +'Gone out wi' t' babby,' replied Phoebe. +</P> + +<P> +'Why can't Nancy carry it out?' asked Philip. +</P> + +<P> +It was touching on the old grievance: he was tired, and he spoke +with sharp annoyance. Phoebe might easily have told him the real +state of the case; Nancy was busy at her washing, which would have +been reason enough. But the nursemaid had vexed her, and she did not +like Philip's sharpness, so she only said,— +</P> + +<P> +'It's noane o' my business; it's yo' t' look after yo'r own wife and +child; but yo'r but a lad after a'.' +</P> + +<P> +This was not conciliatory speech, and just put the last stroke to +Philip's fit of ill-temper. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not for my tea to-night,' said he, to Hester, when all was +ready. 'Sylvie's not here, and nothing is nice, or as it should be. +I'll go and set to on t' stock-taking. Don't yo' hurry, Hester; stop +and chat a bit with th' old lady.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, Philip,' said Hester, 'thou's sadly tired; just take this cup +o' tea; Sylvia 'll be grieved if yo' haven't something.' +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia doesn't care whether I'm full or fasting,' replied he, +impatiently putting aside the cup. 'If she did she'd ha' taken care +to be in, and ha' seen to things being as I like them.' +</P> + +<P> +Now in general Philip was the least particular of men about meals; +and to do Sylvia justice, she was scrupulously attentive to every +household duty in which old Phoebe would allow her to meddle, and +always careful to see after her husband's comforts. But Philip was +too vexed at her absence to perceive the injustice of what he was +saying, nor was he aware how Bell Robson had been attending to what +he said. But she was sadly discomfited by it, understanding just +enough of the grievance in hand to think that her daughter was +neglectful of those duties which she herself had always regarded as +paramount to all others; nor could Hester convince her that Philip +had not meant what he said; neither could she turn the poor old +woman's thoughts from the words which had caused her distress. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Sylvia came in, bright and cheerful, although breathless +with hurry. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh,' said she, taking off her wet shawl, 'we've had to shelter from +such a storm of rain, baby and me—but see! she's none the worse for +it, as bonny as iver, bless her.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester began some speech of admiration for the child in order to +prevent Bell from delivering the lecture she felt sure was coming +down on the unsuspecting Sylvia; but all in vain. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip's been complaining on thee, Sylvie,' said Bell, in the way +in which she had spoken to her daughter when she was a little child; +grave and severe in tone and look, more than in words. 'I forget +justly what about, but he spoke on thy neglecting him continual. +It's not right, my lass, it's not right; a woman should—but my +head's very tired, and all I can think on to say is, it's not +right.' +</P> + +<P> +'Philip been complaining of me, and to mother!' said Sylvia, ready +to burst into tears, so grieved and angry was she. +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said Hester, 'thy mother has taken it a little too strong; he +were vexed like at his tea not being ready.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia said no more, but the bright colour faded from her cheek, and +the contraction of care returned to her brow. She occupied herself +with taking off her baby's walking things. Hester lingered, anxious +to soothe and make peace; she was looking sorrowfully at Sylvia, +when she saw tears dropping on the baby's cloak, and then it seemed +as if she must speak a word of comfort before going to the +shop-work, where she knew she was expected by both Philip and +Coulson. She poured out a cup of tea, and coming close up to Sylvia, +and kneeling down by her, she whispered,— +</P> + +<P> +'Just take him this into t' ware-room; it'll put all to rights if +thou'll take it to him wi' thy own hands.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia looked up, and Hester then more fully saw how she had been +crying. She whispered in reply, for fear of disturbing her mother,— +</P> + +<P> +'I don't mind anything but his speaking ill on me to mother. I know +I'm for iver trying and trying to be a good wife to him, an' it's +very dull work; harder than yo' think on, Hester,—an' I would ha' +been home for tea to-night only I was afeared of baby getting wet +wi' t' storm o' hail as we had down on t' shore; and we sheltered +under a rock. It's a weary coming home to this dark place, and to +find my own mother set against me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Take him his tea, like a good lassie. I'll answer for it he'll be +all right. A man takes it hardly when he comes in tired, a-thinking +his wife 'll be there to cheer him up a bit, to find her off, and +niver know nought of t' reason why.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad enough I've getten a baby,' said Sylvia, 'but for aught +else I wish I'd niver been married, I do!' +</P> + +<P> +'Hush thee, lass!' said Hester, rising up indignant; 'now that is a +sin. Eh! if thou only knew the lot o' some folk. But let's talk no +more on that, that cannot be helped; go, take him his tea, for it's +a sad thing to think on him fasting all this time.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester's voice was raised by the simple fact of her change of +position; and the word fasting caught Mrs. Robson's ear, as she sate +at her knitting by the chimney-corner. +</P> + +<P> +'Fasting? he said thou didn't care if he were full or fasting. +Lassie! it's not right in thee, I say; go, take him his tea at +once.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia rose, and gave up the baby, which she had been suckling, to +Nancy, who having done her washing, had come for her charge, to put +it to bed. Sylvia kissed it fondly, making a little moan of sad, +passionate tenderness as she did so. Then she took the cup of tea; +but she said, rather defiantly, to Hester,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'll go to him with it, because mother bids me, and it'll ease her +mind.' +</P> + +<P> +Then louder to her mother, she added,— +</P> + +<P> +'Mother, I'll take him his tea, though I couldn't help the being +out.' +</P> + +<P> +If the act itself was conciliatory, the spirit in which she was +going to do it was the reverse. Hester followed her slowly into the +ware-room, with intentional delay, thinking that her presence might +be an obstacle to their mutually understanding one another. Sylvia +held the cup and plate of bread and butter out to Philip, but +avoided meeting his eye, and said not a word of explanation, or +regret, or self-justification. If she had spoken, though ever so +crossly, Philip would have been relieved, and would have preferred +it to her silence. He wanted to provoke her to speech, but did not +know how to begin. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou's been out again wandering on that sea-shore!' said he. She +did not answer him. 'I cannot think what's always taking thee there, +when one would ha' thought a walk up to Esdale would be far more +sheltered, both for thee and baby in such weather as this. Thou'll +be having that baby ill some of these days.' +</P> + +<P> +At this, she looked up at him, and her lips moved as though she were +going to say something. Oh, how he wished she would, that they might +come to a wholesome quarrel, and a making friends again, and a +tender kissing, in which he might whisper penitence for all his +hasty words, or unreasonable vexation. But she had come resolved not +to speak, for fear of showing too much passion, too much emotion. +Only as she was going away she turned and said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Philip, mother hasn't many more years to live; dunnot grieve her, +and set her again' me by finding fault wi' me afore her. Our being +wed were a great mistake; but before t' poor old widow woman let us +make as if we were happy.' +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie! Sylvie!' he called after her. She must have heard, but she +did not turn. He went after her, and seized her by the arm rather +roughly; she had stung him to the heart with her calm words, which +seemed to reveal a long-formed conviction. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie!' said he, almost fiercely, 'what do yo' mean by what you've +said? Speak! I will have an answer.' +</P> + +<P> +He almost shook her: she was half frightened by his vehemence of +behaviour, which she took for pure anger, while it was the outburst +of agonized and unrequited love. +</P> + +<P> +'Let me go! Oh, Philip, yo' hurt me!' +</P> + +<P> +Just at this moment Hester came up; Philip was ashamed of his +passionate ways in her serene presence, and loosened his grasp of +his wife, and she ran away; ran into her mother's empty room, as to +a solitary place, and there burst into that sobbing, miserable +crying which we instinctively know is too surely lessening the +length of our days on earth to be indulged in often. +</P> + +<P> +When she had exhausted that first burst and lay weak and quiet for a +time, she listened in dreading expectation of the sound of his +footstep coming in search of her to make friends. But he was +detained below on business, and never came. Instead, her mother came +clambering up the stairs; she was now in the habit of going to bed +between seven and eight, and to-night she was retiring at even an +earlier hour. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia sprang up and drew down the window-blind, and made her face +and manner as composed as possible, in order to soothe and comfort +her mother's last waking hours. She helped her to bed with gentle +patience; the restraint imposed upon her by her tender filial love +was good for her, though all the time she was longing to be alone to +have another wild outburst. When her mother was going off to sleep, +Sylvia went to look at her baby, also in a soft sleep. Then she +gazed out at the evening sky, high above the tiled roofs of the +opposite houses, and the longing to be out under the peaceful +heavens took possession of her once more. +</P> + +<P> +'It's my only comfort,' said she to herself; 'and there's no earthly +harm in it. I would ha' been at home to his tea, if I could; but +when he doesn't want me, and mother doesn't want me, and baby is +either in my arms or asleep; why, I'll go any cry my fill out under +yon great quiet sky. I cannot stay in t' house to be choked up wi' +my tears, nor yet to have him coming about me either for scolding or +peace-making.' +</P> + +<P> +So she put on her things and went out again; this time along the +High Street, and up the long flights of steps towards the parish +church, and there she stood and thought that here she had first met +Kinraid, at Darley's burying, and she tried to recall the very look +of all the sad, earnest faces round the open grave—the whole scene, +in fact; and let herself give way to the miserable regrets she had +so often tried to control. Then she walked on, crying bitterly, +almost unawares to herself; on through the high, bleak fields at the +summit of the cliffs; fields bounded by loose stone fences, and far +from all sight of the habitation of man. But, below, the sea rose +and raged; it was high water at the highest tide, and the wind blew +gustily from the land, vainly combating the great waves that came +invincibly up with a roar and an impotent furious dash against the +base of the cliffs below. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia heard the sound of the passionate rush and rebound of many +waters, like the shock of mighty guns, whenever the other sound of +the blustering gusty wind was lulled for an instant. She was more +quieted by this tempest of the elements than she would have been had +all nature seemed as still as she had imagined it to be while she +was yet in-doors and only saw a part of the serene sky. +</P> + +<P> +She fixed on a certain point, in her own mind, which she would +reach, and then turn back again. It was where the outline of the +land curved inwards, dipping into a little bay. Here the field-path +she had hitherto followed descended somewhat abruptly to a cluster +of fishermen's cottages, hardly large enough to be called a village; +and then the narrow roadway wound up the rising ground till it again +reached the summit of the cliffs that stretched along the coast for +many and many a mile. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia said to herself that she would turn homewards when she came +within sight of this cove,—Headlington Cove, they called it. All +the way along she had met no one since she had left the town, but +just as she had got over the last stile, or ladder of +stepping-stones, into the field from which the path descended, she +came upon a number of people—quite a crowd, in fact; men moving +forward in a steady line, hauling at a rope, a chain, or something +of that kind; boys, children, and women holding babies in their +arms, as if all were fain to come out and partake in some general +interest. +</P> + +<P> +They kept within a certain distance from the edge of the cliff, and +Sylvia, advancing a little, now saw the reason why. The great cable +the men held was attached to some part of a smack, which could now +be seen by her in the waters below, half dismantled, and all but a +wreck, yet with her deck covered with living men, as far as the +waning light would allow her to see. The vessel strained to get free +of the strong guiding cable; the tide was turning, the wind was +blowing off shore, and Sylvia knew without being told, that almost +parallel to this was a line of sunken rocks that had been fatal to +many a ship before now, if she had tried to take the inner channel +instead of keeping out to sea for miles, and then steering in +straight for Monkshaven port. And the ships that had been thus lost +had been in good plight and order compared to this vessel, which +seemed nothing but a hull without mast or sail. +</P> + +<P> +By this time, the crowd—the fishermen from the hamlet down below, +with their wives and children—all had come but the bedridden—had +reached the place where Sylvia stood. The women, in a state of wild +excitement, rushed on, encouraging their husbands and sons by words, +even while they hindered them by actions; and, from time to time, +one of them would run to the edge of the cliff and shout out some +brave words of hope in her shrill voice to the crew on the deck +below. Whether these latter heard it or not, no one could tell; but +it seemed as if all human voice must be lost in the tempestuous stun +and tumult of wind and wave. It was generally a woman with a child +in her arms who so employed herself. As the strain upon the cable +became greater, and the ground on which they strove more uneven, +every hand was needed to hold and push, and all those women who were +unencumbered held by the dear rope on which so many lives were +depending. On they came, a long line of human beings, black against +the ruddy sunset sky. As they came near Sylvia, a woman cried out,— +</P> + +<P> +'Dunnot stand idle, lass, but houd on wi' us; there's many a bonny +life at stake, and many a mother's heart a-hangin' on this bit o' +hemp. Tak' houd, lass, and give a firm grip, and God remember thee +i' thy need.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia needed no second word; a place was made for her, and in an +instant more the rope was pulling against her hands till it seemed +as though she was holding fire in her bare palms. Never a one of +them thought of letting go for an instant, though when all was over +many of their hands were raw and bleeding. Some strong, experienced +fishermen passed a word along the line from time to time, giving +directions as to how it should be held according to varying +occasions; but few among the rest had breath or strength enough to +speak. The women and children that accompanied them ran on before, +breaking down the loose stone fences, so as to obviate delay or +hindrance; they talked continually, exhorting, encouraging, +explaining. From their many words and fragmentary sentences, Sylvia +learnt that the vessel was supposed to be a Newcastle smack sailing +from London, that had taken the dangerous inner channel to save +time, and had been caught in the storm, which she was too crazy to +withstand; and that if by some daring contrivance of the fishermen +who had first seen her the cable had not been got ashore, she would +have been cast upon the rocks before this, and 'all on board +perished'. +</P> + +<P> +'It were dayleet then,' quoth one woman; 'a could see their faces, +they were so near. They were as pale as dead men, an' one was +prayin' down on his knees. There was a king's officer aboard, for I +saw t' gowd about him.' +</P> + +<P> +'He'd maybe come from these hom'ard parts, and be comin' to see his +own folk; else it's no common for king's officers to sail in aught +but king's ships.' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! but it's gettin' dark! See there's t' leeghts in t' houses in +t' New Town! T' grass is crispin' wi' t' white frost under out feet. +It'll be a hard tug round t' point, and then she'll be gettin' into +still waters.' +</P> + +<P> +One more great push and mighty strain, and the danger was past; the +vessel—or what remained of her—was in the harbour, among the +lights and cheerful sounds of safety. The fishermen sprang down the +cliff to the quay-side, anxious to see the men whose lives they had +saved; the women, weary and over-excited, began to cry. Not Sylvia, +however; her fount of tears had been exhausted earlier in the day: +her principal feeling was of gladness and high rejoicing that they +were saved who had been so near to death not half an hour before. +</P> + +<P> +She would have liked to have seen the men, and shaken hands with +them all round. But instead she must go home, and well would it be +with her if she was in time for her husband's supper, and escaped +any notice of her absence. So she separated herself from the groups +of women who sate on the grass in the churchyard, awaiting the +return of such of their husbands as could resist the fascinations of +the Monkshaven public houses. As Sylvia went down the church steps, +she came upon one of the fishermen who had helped to tow the vessel +into port. +</P> + +<P> +'There was seventeen men and boys aboard her, and a navy-lieutenant +as had comed as passenger. It were a good job as we could manage +her. Good-neet to thee, thou'll sleep all t' sounder for havin' lent +a hand.' +</P> + +<P> +The street air felt hot and close after the sharp keen atmosphere of +the heights above; the decent shops and houses had all their +shutters put up, and were preparing for their early bed-time. +Already lights shone here and there in the upper chambers, and +Sylvia scarcely met any one. +</P> + +<P> +She went round up the passage from the quay-side, and in by the +private door. All was still; the basins of bread and milk that she +and her husband were in the habit of having for supper stood in the +fender before the fire, each with a plate upon them. Nancy had gone +to bed, Phoebe dozed in the kitchen; Philip was still in the +ware-room, arranging goods and taking stock along with Coulson, for +Hester had gone home to her mother. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was not willing to go and seek out Philip, after the manner +in which they had parted. All the despondency of her life became +present to her again as she sate down within her home. She had +forgotten it in her interest and excitement, but now it came back +again. +</P> + +<P> +Still she was hungry, and youthful, and tired. She took her basin +up, and was eating her supper when she heard a cry of her baby +upstairs, and ran away to attend to it. When it had been fed and +hushed away to sleep, she went in to see her mother, attracted by +some unusual noise in her room. +</P> + +<P> +She found Mrs. Robson awake, and restless, and ailing; dwelling much +on what Philip had said in his anger against Sylvia. It was really +necessary for her daughter to remain with her; so Sylvia stole out, +and went quickly down-stairs to Philip—now sitting tired and worn +out, and eating his supper with little or no appetite—and told him +she meant to pass the night with her mother. +</P> + +<P> +His answer of acquiescence was so short and careless, or so it +seemed to her, that she did not tell him any more of what she had +done or seen that evening, or even dwell upon any details of her +mother's indisposition. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as she had left the room, Philip set down his half-finished +basin of bread and milk, and sate long, his face hidden in his +folded arms. The wick of the candle grew long and black, and fell, +and sputtered, and guttered; he sate on, unheeding either it or the +pale gray fire that was dying out—dead at last. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap33"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN APPARITION +</H3> + +<P> +Mrs. Robson was very poorly all night long. Uneasy thoughts seemed +to haunt and perplex her brain, and she neither slept nor woke, but +was restless and uneasy in her talk and movements. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia lay down by her, but got so little sleep, that at length she +preferred sitting in the easy-chair by the bedside. Here she dropped +off to slumber in spite of herself; the scene of the evening before +seemed to be repeated; the cries of the many people, the heavy roar +and dash of the threatening waves, were repeated in her ears; and +something was said to her through all the conflicting noises,—what +it was she could not catch, though she strained to hear the hoarse +murmur that, in her dream, she believed to convey a meaning of the +utmost importance to her. +</P> + +<P> +This dream, that mysterious, only half-intelligible sound, recurred +whenever she dozed, and her inability to hear the words uttered +distressed her so much, that at length she sate bolt upright, +resolved to sleep no more. Her mother was talking in a +half-conscious way; Philip's speech of the evening before was +evidently running in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie, if thou're not a good wife to him, it'll just break my +heart outright. A woman should obey her husband, and not go her own +gait. I never leave the house wi'out telling father, and getting his +leave.' +</P> + +<P> +And then she began to cry pitifully, and to say unconnected things, +till Sylvia, to soothe her, took her hand, and promised never to +leave the house without asking her husband's permission, though in +making this promise, she felt as if she were sacrificing her last +pleasure to her mother's wish; for she knew well enough that Philip +would always raise objections to the rambles which reminded her of +her old free open-air life. +</P> + +<P> +But to comfort and cherish her mother she would have done anything; +yet this very morning that was dawning, she must go and ask his +permission for a simple errand, or break her word. +</P> + +<P> +She knew from experience that nothing quieted her mother so well as +balm-tea; it might be that the herb really possessed some sedative +power; it might be only early faith, and often repeated experience, +but it had always had a tranquillizing effect; and more than once, +during the restless hours of the night, Mrs. Robson had asked for it; +but Sylvia's stock of last year's dead leaves was exhausted. Still +she knew where a plant of balm grew in the sheltered corner of +Haytersbank Farm garden; she knew that the tenants who had succeeded +them in the occupation of the farm had had to leave it in +consequence of a death, and that the place was unoccupied; and in +the darkness she had planned that if she could leave her mother +after the dawn came, and she had attended to her baby, she would +walk quickly to the old garden, and gather the tender sprigs which +she was sure to find there. +</P> + +<P> +Now she must go and ask Philip; and till she held her baby to her +breast, she bitterly wished that she were free from the duties and +chains of matrimony. But the touch of its waxen fingers, the hold of +its little mouth, made her relax into docility and gentleness. She +gave it back to Nancy to be dressed, and softly opened the door of +Philip's bed-room. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip!' said she, gently. 'Philip!' +</P> + +<P> +He started up from dreams of her; of her, angry. He saw her there, +rather pale with her night's watch and anxiety, but looking meek, +and a little beseeching. +</P> + +<P> +'Mother has had such a bad night! she fancied once as some balm-tea +would do her good—it allays used to: but my dried balm is all gone, +and I thought there'd be sure to be some in t' old garden at +Haytersbank. Feyther planted a bush just for mother, wheere it +allays came up early, nigh t' old elder-tree; and if yo'd not mind, +I could run theere while she sleeps, and be back again in an hour, +and it's not seven now.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou's not wear thyself out with running, Sylvie,' said Philip, +eagerly; 'I'll get up and go myself, or, perhaps,' continued he, +catching the shadow that was coming over her face, 'thou'd rather go +thyself: it's only that I'm so afraid of thy tiring thyself.' +</P> + +<P> +'It'll not tire me,' said Sylvia. 'Afore I was married, I was out +often far farther than that, afield to fetch up t' kine, before my +breakfast.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, go if thou will,' said Philip. 'But get somewhat to eat +first, and don't hurry; there's no need for that.' +</P> + +<P> +She had got her hat and shawl, and was off before he had finished +his last words. +</P> + +<P> +The long High Street was almost empty of people at that early hour; +one side was entirely covered by the cool morning shadow which lay +on the pavement, and crept up the opposite houses till only the +topmost story caught the rosy sunlight. Up the hill-road, through +the gap in the stone wall, across the dewy fields, Sylvia went by +the very shortest path she knew. +</P> + +<P> +She had only once been at Haytersbank since her wedding-day. On that +occasion the place had seemed strangely and dissonantly changed by +the numerous children who were diverting themselves before the open +door, and whose playthings and clothes strewed the house-place, and +made it one busy scene of confusion and untidiness, more like the +Corneys' kitchen in former times, than her mother's orderly and +quiet abode. Those little children were fatherless now; and the +house was shut up, awaiting the entry of some new tenant. There were +no shutters to shut; the long low window was blinking in the rays of +the morning sun; the house and cow-house doors were closed, and no +poultry wandered about the field in search of stray grains of corn, +or early worms. It was a strange and unfamiliar silence, and struck +solemnly on Sylvia's mind. Only a thrush in the old orchard down in +the hollow, out of sight, whistled and gurgled with continual shrill +melody. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia went slowly past the house and down the path leading to the +wild, deserted bit of garden. She saw that the last tenants had had +a pump sunk for them, and resented the innovation, as though the +well she was passing could feel the insult. Over it grew two +hawthorn trees; on the bent trunk of one of them she used to sit, +long ago: the charm of the position being enhanced by the possible +danger of falling into the well and being drowned. The rusty unused +chain was wound round the windlass; the bucket was falling to pieces +from dryness. A lean cat came from some outhouse, and mewed +pitifully with hunger; accompanying Sylvia to the garden, as if glad +of some human companionship, yet refusing to allow itself to be +touched. Primroses grew in the sheltered places, just as they +formerly did; and made the uncultivated ground seem less deserted +than the garden, where the last year's weeds were rotting away, and +cumbering the ground. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia forced her way through the berry bushes to the herb-plot, and +plucked the tender leaves she had come to seek; sighing a little all +the time. Then she retraced her steps; paused softly before the +house-door, and entered the porch and kissed the senseless wood. +</P> + +<P> +She tried to tempt the poor gaunt cat into her arms, meaning to +carry it home and befriend it; but it was scared by her endeavour +and ran back to its home in the outhouse, making a green path across +the white dew of the meadow. Then Sylvia began to hasten home, +thinking, and remembering—at the stile that led into the road she +was brought short up. +</P> + +<P> +Some one stood in the lane just on the other side of the gap; his +back was to the morning sun; all she saw at first was the uniform of +a naval officer, so well known in Monkshaven in those days. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia went hurrying past him, not looking again, although her +clothes almost brushed his, as he stood there still. She had not +gone a yard—no, not half a yard—when her heart leaped up and fell +again dead within her, as if she had been shot. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia!' he said, in a voice tremulous with joy and passionate +love. 'Sylvia!' +</P> + +<P> +She looked round; he had turned a little, so that the light fell +straight on his face. It was bronzed, and the lines were +strengthened; but it was the same face she had last seen in +Haytersbank Gully three long years ago, and had never thought to see +in life again. +</P> + +<P> +He was close to her and held out his fond arms; she went fluttering +towards their embrace, as if drawn by the old fascination; but when +she felt them close round her, she started away, and cried out with +a great pitiful shriek, and put her hands up to her forehead as if +trying to clear away some bewildering mist. +</P> + +<P> +Then she looked at him once more, a terrible story in her eyes, if +he could but have read it. +</P> + +<P> +Twice she opened her stiff lips to speak, and twice the words were +overwhelmed by the surges of her misery, which bore them back into +the depths of her heart. +</P> + +<P> +He thought that he had come upon her too suddenly, and he attempted +to soothe her with soft murmurs of love, and to woo her to his +outstretched hungry arms once more. But when she saw this motion of +his, she made a gesture as though pushing him away; and with an +inarticulate moan of agony she put her hands to her head once more, +and turning away began to run blindly towards the town for +protection. +</P> + +<P> +For a minute or so he was stunned with surprise at her behaviour; +and then he thought it accounted for by the shock of his accost, and +that she needed time to understand the unexpected joy. So he +followed her swiftly, ever keeping her in view, but not trying to +overtake her too speedily. +</P> + +<P> +'I have frightened my poor love,' he kept thinking. And by this +thought he tried to repress his impatience and check the speed he +longed to use; yet he was always so near behind that her quickened +sense heard his well-known footsteps following, and a mad notion +flashed across her brain that she would go to the wide full river, +and end the hopeless misery she felt enshrouding her. There was a +sure hiding-place from all human reproach and heavy mortal woe +beneath the rushing waters borne landwards by the morning tide. +</P> + +<P> +No one can tell what changed her course; perhaps the thought of her +sucking child; perhaps her mother; perhaps an angel of God; no one +on earth knows, but as she ran along the quay-side she all at once +turned up an entry, and through an open door. +</P> + +<P> +He, following all the time, came into a quiet dark parlour, with a +cloth and tea-things on the table ready for breakfast; the change +from the bright sunny air out of doors to the deep shadow of this +room made him think for the first moment that she had passed on, and +that no one was there, and he stood for an instant baffled, and +hearing no sound but the beating of his own heart; but an +irrepressible sobbing gasp made him look round, and there he saw her +cowered behind the door, her face covered tight up, and sharp +shudders going through her whole frame. +</P> + +<P> +'My love, my darling!' said he, going up to her, and trying to raise +her, and to loosen her hands away from her face. 'I've been too +sudden for thee: it was thoughtless in me; but I have so looked +forward to this time, and seeing thee come along the field, and go +past me, but I should ha' been more tender and careful of thee. Nay! +let me have another look of thy sweet face.' +</P> + +<P> +All this he whispered in the old tones of manoeuvring love, in that +voice she had yearned and hungered to hear in life, and had not +heard, for all her longing, save in her dreams. +</P> + +<P> +She tried to crouch more and more into the corner, into the hidden +shadow—to sink into the ground out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +Once more he spoke, beseeching her to lift up her face, to let him +hear her speak. +</P> + +<P> +But she only moaned. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia!' said he, thinking he could change his tactics, and pique +her into speaking, that he would make a pretence of suspicion and +offence. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia! one would think you weren't glad to see me back again at +length. I only came in late last night, and my first thought on +wakening was of you; it has been ever since I left you.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia took her hands away from her face; it was gray as the face of +death; her awful eyes were passionless in her despair. +</P> + +<P> +'Where have yo' been?' she asked, in slow, hoarse tones, as if her +voice were half strangled within her. +</P> + +<P> +'Been!' said he, a red light coming into his eyes, as he bent his +looks upon her; now, indeed, a true and not an assumed suspicion +entering his mind. +</P> + +<P> +'Been!' he repeated; then, coming a step nearer to her, and taking +her hand, not tenderly this time, but with a resolution to be +satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +'Did not your cousin—Hepburn, I mean—did not he tell you?—he saw +the press-gang seize me,—I gave him a message to you—I bade you +keep true to me as I would be to you.' +</P> + +<P> +Between every clause of this speech he paused and gasped for her +answer; but none came. Her eyes dilated and held his steady gaze +prisoner as with a magical charm—neither could look away from the +other's wild, searching gaze. When he had ended, she was silent for +a moment, then she cried out, shrill and fierce,— +</P> + +<P> +'Philip!' No answer. +</P> + +<P> +Wilder and shriller still, 'Philip!' she cried. +</P> + +<P> +He was in the distant ware-room completing the last night's work +before the regular shop hours began; before breakfast, also, that +his wife might not find him waiting and impatient. +</P> + +<P> +He heard her cry; it cut through doors, and still air, and great +bales of woollen stuff; he thought that she had hurt herself, that +her mother was worse, that her baby was ill, and he hastened to the +spot whence the cry proceeded. +</P> + +<P> +On opening the door that separated the shop from the sitting-room, +he saw the back of a naval officer, and his wife on the ground, +huddled up in a heap; when she perceived him come in, she dragged +herself up by means of a chair, groping like a blind person, and +came and stood facing him. +</P> + +<P> +The officer turned fiercely round, and would have come towards +Philip, who was so bewildered by the scene that even yet he did not +understand who the stranger was, did not perceive for an instant +that he saw the realization of his greatest dread. +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia laid her hand on Kinraid's arm, and assumed to herself +the right of speech. Philip did not know her voice, it was so +changed. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip,' she said, 'this is Kinraid come back again to wed me. He +is alive; he has niver been dead, only taken by t' press-gang. And +he says yo' saw it, and knew it all t' time. Speak, was it so?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip knew not what to say, whither to turn, under what refuge of +words or acts to shelter. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia's influence was keeping Kinraid silent, but he was rapidly +passing beyond it. +</P> + +<P> +'Speak!' he cried, loosening himself from Sylvia's light grasp, and +coming towards Philip, with a threatening gesture. 'Did I not bid +you tell her how it was? Did I not bid you say how I would be +faithful to her, and she was to be faithful to me? Oh! you damned +scoundrel! have you kept it from her all that time, and let her +think me dead, or false? Take that!' +</P> + +<P> +His closed fist was up to strike the man, who hung his head with +bitterest shame and miserable self-reproach; but Sylvia came swift +between the blow and its victim. +</P> + +<P> +'Charley, thou shan't strike him,' she said. 'He is a damned +scoundrel' (this was said in the hardest, quietest tone) 'but he is +my husband.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! thou false heart!' exclaimed Kinraid, turning sharp on her. 'If +ever I trusted woman, I trusted you, Sylvia Robson.' +</P> + +<P> +He made as though throwing her from him, with a gesture of contempt +that stung her to life. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Charley!' she cried, springing to him, 'dunnot cut me to the +quick; have pity on me, though he had none. I did so love thee; it +was my very heart-strings as gave way when they told me thou was +drowned—feyther, and th' Corneys, and all, iverybody. Thy hat and +t' bit o' ribbon I gave thee were found drenched and dripping wi' +sea-water; and I went mourning for thee all the day long—dunnot +turn away from me; only hearken this once, and then kill me dead, +and I'll bless yo',—and have niver been mysel' since; niver ceased +to feel t' sun grow dark and th' air chill and dreary when I thought +on t' time when thou was alive. I did, my Charley, my own love! And +I thought thou was dead for iver, and I wished I were lying beside +thee. Oh, Charley! Philip, theere, where he stands, could tell yo' +this was true. Philip, wasn't it so?' +</P> + +<P> +'Would God I were dead!' moaned forth the unhappy, guilty man. But +she had turned to Kinraid, and was speaking again to him, and +neither of them heard or heeded him—they were drawing closer and +closer together—she, with her cheeks and eyes aflame, talking +eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +'And feyther was taken up, and all for setting some free as t' +press-gang had gotten by a foul trick; and he were put i' York +prison, and tried, and hung!—hung! Charley!—good kind feyther was +hung on a gallows; and mother lost her sense and grew silly in +grief, and we were like to be turned out on t' wide world, and poor +mother dateless—and I thought yo' were dead—oh! I thought yo' were +dead, I did—oh, Charley, Charley!' +</P> + +<P> +By this time they were in each other's arms, she with her head on +his shoulder, crying as if her heart would break. +</P> + +<P> +Philip came forwards and took hold of her to pull her away; but +Charley held her tight, mutely defying Philip. Unconsciously she was +Philip's protection, in that hour of danger, from a blow which might +have been his death if strong will could have aided it to kill. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvie!' said he, grasping her tight. 'Listen to me. He didn't love +yo' as I did. He had loved other women. I, yo'—yo' alone. He loved +other girls before yo', and had left off loving 'em. I—I wish God +would free my heart from the pang; but it will go on till I die, +whether yo' love me or not. And then—where was I? Oh! that very +night that he was taken, I was a-thinking on yo' and on him; and I +might ha' given yo' his message, but I heard them speaking of him as +knew him well; talking of his false fickle ways. How was I to know +he would keep true to thee? It might be a sin in me, I cannot say; +my heart and my sense are gone dead within me. I know this, I've +loved yo' as no man but me ever loved before. Have some pity and +forgiveness on me, if it's only because I've been so tormented with +my love.' +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with feverish eager wistfulness; it faded away into +despair as she made no sign of having even heard his words. He let +go his hold of her, and his arm fell loosely by his side. +</P> + +<P> +'I may die,' he said, 'for my life is ended!' +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia!' spoke out Kinraid, bold and fervent, 'your marriage is no +marriage. You were tricked into it. You are my wife, not his. I am +your husband; we plighted each other our troth. See! here is my half +of the sixpence.' +</P> + +<P> +He pulled it out from his bosom, tied by a black ribbon round his +neck. +</P> + +<P> +'When they stripped me and searched me in th' French prison, I +managed to keep this. No lies can break the oath we swore to each +other. I can get your pretence of a marriage set aside. I'm in +favour with my admiral, and he'll do a deal for me, and back me out. +Come with me; your marriage shall be set aside, and we'll be married +again, all square and above-board. Come away. Leave that damned +fellow to repent of the trick he played an honest sailor; we'll be +true, whatever has come and gone. Come, Sylvia.' +</P> + +<P> +His arm was round her waist, and he was drawing her towards the +door, his face all crimson with eagerness and hope. Just then the +baby cried. +</P> + +<P> +'Hark!' said she, starting away from Kinraid, 'baby's crying for me. +His child—yes, it is his child—I'd forgotten that—forgotten all. +I'll make my vow now, lest I lose mysel' again. I'll never forgive +yon man, nor live with him as his wife again. All that's done and +ended. He's spoilt my life,—he's spoilt it for as long as iver I +live on this earth; but neither yo' nor him shall spoil my soul. It +goes hard wi' me, Charley, it does indeed. I'll just give yo' one +kiss—one little kiss—and then, so help me God, I'll niver see nor +hear till—no, not that, not that is needed—I'll niver see—sure +that's enough—I'll never see yo' again on this side heaven, so help +me God! I'm bound and tied, but I've sworn my oath to him as well as +yo': there's things I will do, and there's things I won't. Kiss me +once more. God help me, he's gone!' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap34"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A RECKLESS RECRUIT +</H3> + +<P> +She lay across a chair, her arms helplessly stretched out, her face +unseen. Every now and then a thrill ran through her body: she was +talking to herself all the time with incessant low incontinence of +words. +</P> + +<P> +Philip stood near her, motionless: he did not know whether she was +conscious of his presence; in fact, he knew nothing but that he and +she were sundered for ever; he could only take in that one idea, and +it numbed all other thought. +</P> + +<P> +Once more her baby cried for the comfort she alone could give. +</P> + +<P> +She rose to her feet, but staggered when she tried to walk; her +glazed eyes fell upon Philip as he instinctively made a step to hold +her steady. No light came into her eyes any more than if she had +looked upon a perfect stranger; not even was there the contraction +of dislike. Some other figure filled her mind, and she saw him no +more than she saw the inanimate table. That way of looking at him +withered him up more than any sign of aversion would have done. +</P> + +<P> +He watched her laboriously climb the stairs, and vanish out of +sight; and sat down with a sudden feeling of extreme bodily +weakness. +</P> + +<P> +The door of communication between the parlour and the shop was +opened. That was the first event of which Philip took note; but +Phoebe had come in unawares to him, with the intention of removing +the breakfast things on her return from market, and seeing them +unused, and knowing that Sylvia had sate up all night with her +mother, she had gone back to the kitchen. Philip had neither seen +nor heard her. +</P> + +<P> +Now Coulson came in, amazed at Hepburn's non-appearance in the shop. +</P> + +<P> +'Why! Philip, what's ado? How ill yo' look, man!' exclaimed he, +thoroughly alarmed by Philip's ghastly appearance. 'What's the +matter?' +</P> + +<P> +'I!' said Philip, slowly gathering his thoughts. 'Why should there +be anything the matter?' +</P> + +<P> +His instinct, quicker to act than his reason, made him shrink from +his misery being noticed, much more made any subject for explanation +or sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +'There may be nothing the matter wi' thee,' said Coulson, 'but +thou's the look of a corpse on thy face. I was afeared something was +wrong, for it's half-past nine, and thee so punctual!' +</P> + +<P> +He almost guarded Philip into the shop, and kept furtively watching +him, and perplexing himself with Philip's odd, strange ways. +</P> + +<P> +Hester, too, observed the heavy broken-down expression on Philip's +ashen face, and her heart ached for him; but after that first +glance, which told her so much, she avoided all appearance of +noticing or watching. Only a shadow brooded over her sweet, calm +face, and once or twice she sighed to herself. +</P> + +<P> +It was market-day, and people came in and out, bringing their store +of gossip from the country, or the town—from the farm or the +quay-side. +</P> + +<P> +Among the pieces of news, the rescue of the smack the night before +furnished a large topic; and by-and-by Philip heard a name that +startled him into attention. +</P> + +<P> +The landlady of a small public-house much frequented by sailors was +talking to Coulson. +</P> + +<P> +'There was a sailor aboard of her as knowed Kinraid by sight, in +Shields, years ago; and he called him by his name afore they were +well out o' t' river. And Kinraid was no ways set up, for all his +lieutenant's uniform (and eh! but they say he looks handsome in +it!); but he tells 'm all about it—how he was pressed aboard a +man-o'-war, an' for his good conduct were made a warrant officer, +boatswain, or something!' +</P> + +<P> +All the people in the shop were listening now; Philip alone seemed +engrossed in folding up a piece of cloth, so as to leave no possible +chance of creases in it; yet he lost not a syllable of the good +woman's narration. +</P> + +<P> +She, pleased with the enlarged audience her tale had attracted, went +on with fresh vigour. +</P> + +<P> +'An' there's a gallant captain, one Sir Sidney Smith, and he'd a +notion o' goin' smack into a French port, an' carryin' off a vessel +from right under their very noses; an' says he, "Which of yo' +British sailors 'll go along with me to death or glory?" So Kinraid +stands up like a man, an' "I'll go with yo', captain," he says. So +they, an' some others as brave, went off, an' did their work, an' +choose whativer it was, they did it famously; but they got caught by +them French, an' were clapped into prison i' France for iver so +long; but at last one Philip—Philip somethin' (he were a Frenchman, +I know)—helped 'em to escape, in a fishin'-boat. But they were +welcomed by th' whole British squadron as was i' t' Channel for t' +piece of daring they'd done i' cuttin' out t' ship from a French +port; an' Captain Sir Sidney Smith was made an admiral, an' him as +we used t' call Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, is made a +lieutenant, an' a commissioned officer i' t' King's service; and is +come to great glory, and slep in my house this very blessed night as +is just past!' +</P> + +<P> +A murmur of applause and interest and rejoicing buzzed all around +Philip. All this was publicly known about Kinraid,—and how much +more? All Monkshaven might hear tomorrow—nay, to-day—of Philip's +treachery to the hero of the hour; how he had concealed his fate, +and supplanted him in his love. +</P> + +<P> +Philip shrank from the burst of popular indignation which he knew +must follow. Any wrong done to one who stands on the pinnacle of the +people's favour is resented by each individual as a personal injury; +and among a primitive set of country-folk, who recognize the wild +passion in love, as it exists untamed by the trammels of reason and +self-restraint, any story of baulked affections, or treachery in +such matters, spreads like wildfire. +</P> + +<P> +Philip knew this quite well; his doom of disgrace lay plain before +him, if only Kinraid spoke the word. His head was bent down while he +thus listened and reflected. He half resolved on doing something; he +lifted up his head, caught the reflection of his face in the little +strip of glass on the opposite side, in which the women might look +at themselves in their contemplated purchases, and quite resolved. +</P> + +<P> +The sight he saw in the mirror was his own long, sad, pale face, +made plainer and grayer by the heavy pressure of the morning's +events. He saw his stooping figure, his rounded shoulders, with +something like a feeling of disgust at his personal appearance as he +remembered the square, upright build of Kinraid; his fine uniform, +with epaulette and sword-belt; his handsome brown face; his dark +eyes, splendid with the fire of passion and indignation; his white +teeth, gleaming out with the terrible smile of scorn. +</P> + +<P> +The comparison drove Philip from passive hopelessness to active +despair. +</P> + +<P> +He went abruptly from the crowded shop into the empty parlour, and +on into the kitchen, where he took up a piece of bread, and heedless +of Phoebe's look and words, began to eat it before he even left the +place; for he needed the strength that food would give; he needed it +to carry him out of the sight and the knowledge of all who might +hear what he had done, and point their fingers at him. +</P> + +<P> +He paused a moment in the parlour, and then, setting his teeth tight +together, he went upstairs. +</P> + +<P> +First of all he went into the bit of a room opening out of theirs, +in which his baby slept. He dearly loved the child, and many a time +would run in and play a while with it; and in such gambols he and +Sylvia had passed their happiest moments of wedded life. +</P> + +<P> +The little Bella was having her morning slumber; Nancy used to tell +long afterwards how he knelt down by the side of her cot, and was so +strange she thought he must have prayed, for all it was nigh upon +eleven o'clock, and folk in their senses only said their prayers +when they got up, and when they went to bed. +</P> + +<P> +Then he rose, and stooped over, and gave the child a long, +lingering, soft, fond kiss. And on tip-toe he passed away into the +room where his aunt lay; his aunt who had been so true a friend to +him! He was thankful to know that in her present state she was safe +from the knowledge of what was past, safe from the sound of the +shame to come. +</P> + +<P> +He had not meant to see Sylvia again; he dreaded the look of her +hatred, her scorn, but there, outside her mother's bed, she lay, +apparently asleep. Mrs. Robson, too, was sleeping, her face towards +the wall. Philip could not help it; he went to have one last look at +his wife. She was turned towards her mother, her face averted from +him; he could see the tear-stains, the swollen eyelids, the lips yet +quivering: he stooped down, and bent to kiss the little hand that +lay listless by her side. As his hot breath neared that hand it was +twitched away, and a shiver ran through the whole prostrate body. +And then he knew that she was not asleep, only worn out by her +misery,—misery that he had caused. +</P> + +<P> +He sighed heavily; but he went away, down-stairs, and away for ever. +Only as he entered the parlour his eyes caught on two silhouettes, +one of himself, one of Sylvia, done in the first month of their +marriage, by some wandering artist, if so he could be called. They +were hanging against the wall in little oval wooden frames; black +profiles, with the lights done in gold; about as poor semblances of +humanity as could be conceived; but Philip went up, and after +looking for a minute or so at Sylvia's, he took it down, and +buttoned his waistcoat over it. +</P> + +<P> +It was the only thing he took away from his home. +</P> + +<P> +He went down the entry on to the quay. The river was there, and +waters, they say, have a luring power, and a weird promise of rest +in their perpetual monotony of sound. But many people were there, if +such a temptation presented itself to Philip's mind; the sight of +his fellow-townsmen, perhaps of his acquaintances, drove him up +another entry—the town is burrowed with such—back into the High +Street, which he straightway crossed into a well-known court, out of +which rough steps led to the summit of the hill, and on to the fells +and moors beyond. +</P> + +<P> +He plunged and panted up this rough ascent. From the top he could +look down on the whole town lying below, severed by the bright +shining river into two parts. To the right lay the sea, shimmering +and heaving; there were the cluster of masts rising out of the +little port; the irregular roofs of the houses; which of them, +thought he, as he carried his eye along the quay-side to the +market-place, which of them was his? and he singled it out in its +unfamiliar aspect, and saw the thin blue smoke rising from the +kitchen chimney, where even now Phoebe was cooking the household +meal that he never more must share. +</P> + +<P> +Up at that thought and away, he knew not nor cared not whither. He +went through the ploughed fields where the corn was newly springing; +he came down upon the vast sunny sea, and turned his back upon it +with loathing; he made his way inland to the high green pastures; +the short upland turf above which the larks hung poised 'at heaven's +gate'. He strode along, so straight and heedless of briar and bush, +that the wild black cattle ceased from grazing, and looked after him +with their great blank puzzled eyes. +</P> + +<P> +He had passed all enclosures and stone fences now, and was fairly on +the desolate brown moors; through the withered last year's ling and +fern, through the prickly gorse, he tramped, crushing down the +tender shoots of this year's growth, and heedless of the startled +plover's cry, goaded by the furies. His only relief from thought, +from the remembrance of Sylvia's looks and words, was in violent +bodily action. +</P> + +<P> +So he went on till evening shadows and ruddy evening lights came out +upon the wild fells. +</P> + +<P> +He had crossed roads and lanes, with a bitter avoidance of men's +tracks; but now the strong instinct of self-preservation came out, +and his aching limbs, his weary heart, giving great pants and beats +for a time, and then ceasing altogether till a mist swam and +quivered before his aching eyes, warned him that he must find some +shelter and food, or lie down to die. He fell down now, often; +stumbling over the slightest obstacle. He had passed the cattle +pastures; he was among the black-faced sheep; and they, too, ceased +nibbling, and looked after him, and somehow, in his poor wandering +imagination, their silly faces turned to likenesses of Monkshaven +people—people who ought to be far, far away. +</P> + +<P> +'Thou'll be belated on these fells, if thou doesn't tak' heed,' +shouted some one. +</P> + +<P> +Philip looked abroad to see whence the voice proceeded. +</P> + +<P> +An old stiff-legged shepherd, in a smock-frock, was within a couple +of hundred yards. Philip did not answer, but staggered and stumbled +towards him. +</P> + +<P> +'Good lork!' said the man, 'wheere hast ta been? Thou's seen Oud +Harry, I think, thou looks so scared.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip rallied himself, and tried to speak up to the old standard of +respectability; but the effort was pitiful to see, had any one been +by, who could have understood the pain it caused to restrain cries +of bodily and mental agony. +</P> + +<P> +'I've lost my way, that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +''Twould ha' been enough, too, I'm thinkin', if I hadn't come out +after t' ewes. There's t' Three Griffins near at hand: a sup o' +Hollands 'll set thee to reeghts.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip followed faintly. He could not see before him, and was guided +by the sound of footsteps rather than by the sight of the figure +moving onwards. He kept stumbling; and he knew that the old shepherd +swore at him; but he also knew such curses proceeded from no +ill-will, only from annoyance at the delay in going and 'seem' after +t' ewes.' But had the man's words conveyed the utmost expression of +hatred, Philip would neither have wondered at them, nor resented +them. +</P> + +<P> +They came into a wild mountain road, unfenced from the fells. A +hundred yards off, and there was a small public-house, with a broad +ruddy oblong of firelight shining across the tract. +</P> + +<P> +'Theere!' said the old man. 'Thee cannot well miss that. A dunno +tho', thee bees sich a gawby.' +</P> + +<P> +So he went on, and delivered Philip safely up to the landlord. +</P> + +<P> +'Here's a felly as a fund on t' fell side, just as one as if he were +drunk; but he's sober enough, a reckon, only summat's wrong i' his +head, a'm thinkin'.' +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said Philip, sitting down on the first chair he came to. 'I'm +right enough; just fairly wearied out: lost my way,' and he fainted. +</P> + +<P> +There was a recruiting sergeant of marines sitting in the +house-place, drinking. He, too, like Philip, had lost his way; but +was turning his blunder to account by telling all manner of +wonderful stories to two or three rustics who had come in ready to +drink on any pretence; especially if they could get good liquor +without paying for it. +</P> + +<P> +The sergeant rose as Philip fell back, and brought up his own mug of +beer, into which a noggin of gin had been put (called in Yorkshire +'dog's-nose'). He partly poured and partly spilt some of this +beverage on Philip's face; some drops went through the pale and +parted lips, and with a start the worn-out man revived. +</P> + +<P> +'Bring him some victual, landlord,' called out the recruiting +sergeant. 'I'll stand shot.' +</P> + +<P> +They brought some cold bacon and coarse oat-cake. The sergeant asked +for pepper and salt; minced the food fine and made it savoury, and +kept administering it by teaspoonfuls; urging Philip to drink from +time to time from his own cup of dog's-nose. +</P> + +<P> +A burning thirst, which needed no stimulant from either pepper or +salt, took possession of Philip, and he drank freely, scarcely +recognizing what he drank. It took effect on one so habitually +sober; and he was soon in that state when the imagination works +wildly and freely. +</P> + +<P> +He saw the sergeant before him, handsome, and bright, and active, in +his gay red uniform, without a care, as it seemed to Philip, taking +life lightly; admired and respected everywhere because of his cloth. +</P> + +<P> +If Philip were gay, and brisk, well-dressed like him, returning with +martial glory to Monkshaven, would not Sylvia love him once more? +Could not he win her heart? He was brave by nature, and the prospect +of danger did not daunt him, if ever it presented itself to his +imagination. +</P> + +<P> +He thought he was cautious in entering on the subject of enlistment +with his new friend, the sergeant; but the latter was twenty times +as cunning as he, and knew by experience how to bait his hook. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was older by some years than the regulation age; but, at that +time of great demand for men, the question of age was lightly +entertained. The sergeant was profuse in statements of the +advantages presented to a man of education in his branch of the +service; how such a one was sure to rise; in fact, it would have +seemed from the sergeant's account, as though the difficulty +consisted in remaining in the ranks. +</P> + +<P> +Philip's dizzy head thought the subject over and over again, each +time with failing power of reason. +</P> + +<P> +At length, almost, as it would seem, by some sleight of hand, he +found the fatal shilling in his palm, and had promised to go before +the nearest magistrate to be sworn in as one of his Majesty's +marines the next morning. And after that he remembered nothing more. +</P> + +<P> +He wakened up in a little truckle-bed in the same room as the +sergeant, who lay sleeping the sleep of full contentment; while +gradually, drop by drop, the bitter recollections of the day before +came, filling up Philip's cup of agony. +</P> + +<P> +He knew that he had received the bounty-money; and though he was +aware that he had been partly tricked into it, and had no hope, no +care, indeed, for any of the advantages so liberally promised him +the night before, yet he was resigned, with utterly despondent +passiveness, to the fate to which he had pledged himself. Anything +was welcome that severed him from his former life, that could make +him forget it, if that were possible; and also welcome anything +which increased the chances of death without the sinfulness of his +own participation in the act. He found in the dark recess of his +mind the dead body of his fancy of the previous night; that he might +come home, handsome and glorious, to win the love that had never +been his. +</P> + +<P> +But he only sighed over it, and put it aside out of his sight—so +full of despair was he. He could eat no breakfast, though the +sergeant ordered of the best. The latter kept watching his new +recruit out of the corner of his eye, expecting a remonstrance, or +dreading a sudden bolt. +</P> + +<P> +But Philip walked with him the two or three miles in the most +submissive silence, never uttering a syllable of regret or +repentance; and before Justice Cholmley, of Holm-Fell Hall, he was +sworn into his Majesty's service, under the name of Stephen Freeman. +With a new name, he began a new life. Alas! the old life lives for +ever! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap35"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THINGS UNUTTERABLE +</H3> + +<P> +After Philip had passed out of the room, Sylvia lay perfectly still, +from very exhaustion. Her mother slept on, happily unconscious of +all the turmoil that had taken place; yes, happily, though the heavy +sleep was to end in death. But of this her daughter knew nothing, +imagining that it was refreshing slumber, instead of an ebbing of +life. Both mother and daughter lay motionless till Phoebe entered +the room to tell Sylvia that dinner was on the table. +</P> + +<P> +Then Sylvia sate up, and put back her hair, bewildered and uncertain +as to what was to be done next; how she should meet the husband to +whom she had discarded all allegiance, repudiated the solemn promise +of love and obedience which she had vowed. +</P> + +<P> +Phoebe came into the room, with natural interest in the invalid, +scarcely older than herself. +</P> + +<P> +'How is t' old lady?' asked she, in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia turned her head round to look; her mother had never moved, +but was breathing in a loud uncomfortable manner, that made her +stoop over her to see the averted face more nearly. +</P> + +<P> +'Phoebe!' she cried, 'come here! She looks strange and odd; her eyes +are open, but don't see me. Phoebe! Phoebe!' +</P> + +<P> +'Sure enough, she's in a bad way!' said Phoebe, climbing stiffly on +to the bed to have a nearer view. 'Hold her head a little up t' ease +her breathin' while I go for master; he'll be for sendin' for t' +doctor, I'll be bound.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia took her mother's head and laid it fondly on her breast, +speaking to her and trying to rouse her; but it was of no avail: the +hard, stertorous breathing grew worse and worse. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia cried out for help; Nancy came, the baby in her arms. They +had been in several times before that morning; and the child came +smiling and crowing at its mother, who was supporting her own dying +parent. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Nancy!' said Sylvia; 'what is the matter with mother? yo' can +see her face; tell me quick!' +</P> + +<P> +Nancy set the baby on the bed for all reply, and ran out of the +room, crying out, +</P> + +<P> +'Master! master! Come quick! T' old missus is a-dying!' +</P> + +<P> +This appeared to be no news to Sylvia, and yet the words came on her +with a great shock, but for all that she could not cry; she was +surprised herself at her own deadness of feeling. +</P> + +<P> +Her baby crawled to her, and she had to hold and guard both her +mother and her child. It seemed a long, long time before any one +came, and then she heard muffled voices, and a heavy tramp: it was +Phoebe leading the doctor upstairs, and Nancy creeping in behind to +hear his opinion. +</P> + +<P> +He did not ask many questions, and Phoebe replied more frequently to +his inquiries than did Sylvia, who looked into his face with a +blank, tearless, speechless despair, that gave him more pain than +the sight of her dying mother. +</P> + +<P> +The long decay of Mrs. Robson's faculties and health, of which he was +well aware, had in a certain manner prepared him for some such +sudden termination of the life whose duration was hardly desirable, +although he gave several directions as to her treatment; but the +white, pinched face, the great dilated eye, the slow comprehension +of the younger woman, struck him with alarm; and he went on asking +for various particulars, more with a view of rousing Sylvia, if even +it were to tears, than for any other purpose that the information +thus obtained could answer. +</P> + +<P> +'You had best have pillows propped up behind her—it will not be +for long; she does not know that you are holding her, and it is only +tiring you to no purpose!' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia's terrible stare continued: he put his advice into action, +and gently tried to loosen her clasp, and tender hold. This she +resisted; laying her cheek against her poor mother's unconscious +face. +</P> + +<P> +'Where is Hepburn?' said he. 'He ought to be here!' +</P> + +<P> +Phoebe looked at Nancy, Nancy at Phoebe. It was the latter who +replied, +</P> + +<P> +'He's neither i' t' house nor i' t' shop. A seed him go past t' +kitchen window better nor an hour ago; but neither William Coulson +or Hester Rose knows where he's gone to. +</P> + +<P> +Dr Morgan's lips were puckered up into a whistle, but he made no +sound. +</P> + +<P> +'Give me baby!' he said, suddenly. Nancy had taken her up off the +bed where she had been sitting, encircled by her mother's arm. The +nursemaid gave her to the doctor. He watched the mother's eye, it +followed her child, and he was rejoiced. He gave a little pinch to +the baby's soft flesh, and she cried out piteously; again the same +action, the same result. Sylvia laid her mother down, and stretched +out her arms for her child, hushing it, and moaning over it. +</P> + +<P> +'So far so good!' said Dr Morgan to himself. 'But where is the +husband? He ought to be here.' He went down-stairs to make inquiry +for Philip; that poor young creature, about whose health he had +never felt thoroughly satisfied since the fever after her +confinement, was in an anxious condition, and with an inevitable +shock awaiting her. Her husband ought to be with her, and supporting +her to bear it. +</P> + +<P> +Dr Morgan went into the shop. Hester alone was there. Coulson had +gone to his comfortable dinner at his well-ordered house, with his +common-place wife. If he had felt anxious about Philip's looks and +strange disappearance, he had also managed to account for them in +some indifferent way. +</P> + +<P> +Hester was alone with the shop-boy; few people came in during the +universal Monkshaven dinner-hour. She was resting her head on her +hand, and puzzled and distressed about many things—all that was +implied by the proceedings of the evening before between Philip and +Sylvia; and that was confirmed by Philip's miserable looks and +strange abstracted ways to-day. Oh! how easy Hester would have found +it to make him happy! not merely how easy, but what happiness it +would have been to her to merge her every wish into the one great +object of fulfiling his will. To her, an on-looker, the course of +married life, which should lead to perfect happiness, seemed to +plain! Alas! it is often so! and the resisting forces which make all +such harmony and delight impossible are not recognized by the +bystanders, hardly by the actors. But if these resisting forces are +only superficial, or constitutional, they are but the necessary +discipline here, and do not radically affect the love which will +make all things right in heaven. +</P> + +<P> +Some glimmering of this latter comforting truth shed its light on +Hester's troubled thoughts from time to time. But again, how easy +would it have been to her to tread the maze that led to Philip's +happiness; and how difficult it seemed to the wife he had chosen! +</P> + +<P> +She was aroused by Dr Morgan's voice. +</P> + +<P> +'So both Coulson and Hepburn have left the shop to your care, +Hester. I want Hepburn, though; his wife is in a very anxious state. +Where is he? can you tell me?' +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia in an anxious state! I've not seen her to-day, but last +night she looked as well as could be.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay; but many a thing happens in four-and-twenty hours. Her +mother is dying, may be dead by this time; and her husband should be +there with her. Can't you send for him?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know where he is,' said Hester. 'He went off from here all +on a sudden, when there was all the market-folks in t' shop; I +thought he'd maybe gone to John Foster's about th' money, for they +was paying a deal in. I'll send there and inquire.' +</P> + +<P> +No! the messenger brought back word that he had not been seen at +their bank all morning. Further inquiries were made by the anxious +Hester, by the doctor, by Coulson; all they could learn was that +Phoebe had seen him pass the kitchen window about eleven o'clock, +when she was peeling the potatoes for dinner; and two lads playing +on the quay-side thought they had seen him among a group of sailors; +but these latter, as far as they could be identified, had no +knowledge of his appearance among them. +</P> + +<P> +Before night the whole town was excited about his disappearance. +Before night Bell Robson had gone to her long home. And Sylvia still +lay quiet and tearless, apparently more unmoved than any other +creature by the events of the day, and the strange vanishing of her +husband. +</P> + +<P> +The only thing she seemed to care for was her baby; she held it +tight in her arms, and Dr Morgan bade them leave it there, its touch +might draw the desired tears into her weary, sleepless eyes, and +charm the aching pain out of them. +</P> + +<P> +They were afraid lest she should inquire for her husband, whose +non-appearance at such a time of sorrow to his wife must (they +thought) seem strange to her. And night drew on while they were all +in this state. She had gone back to her own room without a word when +they had desired her to do so; caressing her child in her arms, and +sitting down on the first chair she came to, with a heavy sigh, as +if even this slight bodily exertion had been too much for her. They +saw her eyes turn towards the door every time it was opened, and +they thought it was with anxious expectation of one who could not be +found, though many were seeking for him in all probable places. +</P> + +<P> +When night came some one had to tell her of her husband's +disappearance; and Dr Morgan was the person who undertook this. +</P> + +<P> +He came into her room about nine o'clock; her baby was sleeping in +her arms; she herself pale as death, still silent and tearless, +though strangely watchful of gestures and sounds, and probably +cognizant of more than they imagined. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, Mrs. Hepburn,' said he, as cheerfully as he could, 'I should +advise your going to bed early; for I fancy your husband won't come +home to-night. Some journey or other, that perhaps Coulson can +explain better than I can, will most likely keep him away till +to-morrow. It's very unfortunate that he should be away at such a +sad time as this, as I'm sure he'll feel when he returns; but we +must make the best of it.' +</P> + +<P> +He watched her to see the effect of his words. +</P> + +<P> +She sighed, that was all. He still remained a little while. She +lifted her head up a little and asked, +</P> + +<P> +'How long do yo' think she was unconscious, doctor? Could she hear +things, think yo', afore she fell into that strange kind o' +slumber?' +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot tell,' said he, shaking his head. 'Was she breathing in +that hard snoring kind of way when you left her this morning?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I think so; I cannot tell, so much has happened.' +</P> + +<P> +'When you came back to her, after your breakfast, I think you said +she was in much the same position?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, and yet I may be telling yo' lies; if I could but think: but +it's my head as is aching so; doctor, I wish yo'd go, for I need +being alone, I'm so mazed.' +</P> + +<P> +'Good-night, then, for you're a wise woman, I see, and mean to go to +bed, and have a good night with baby there.' +</P> + +<P> +But he went down to Phoebe, and told her to go in from time to time, +and see how her mistress was. +</P> + +<P> +He found Hester Rose and the old servant together; both had been +crying, both were evidently in great trouble about the death and the +mystery of the day. +</P> + +<P> +Hester asked if she might go up and see Sylvia, and the doctor gave +his leave, talking meanwhile with Phoebe over the kitchen fire. +Hester came down again without seeing Sylvia. The door of the room +was bolted, and everything quiet inside. +</P> + +<P> +'Does she know where her husband is, think you?' asked the doctor at +this account of Hester's. 'She's not anxious about him at any rate: +or else the shock of her mother's death has been too much for her. +We must hope for some change in the morning; a good fit of crying, +or a fidget about her husband, would be more natural. Good-night to +you both,' and off he went. +</P> + +<P> +Phoebe and Hester avoided looking at each other at these words. Both +were conscious of the probability of something having gone seriously +wrong between the husband and wife. Hester had the recollection of +the previous night, Phoebe the untasted breakfast of to-day to go +upon. +</P> + +<P> +She spoke first. +</P> + +<P> +'A just wish he'd come home to still folks' tongues. It need niver +ha' been known if t' old lady hadn't died this day of all others. +It's such a thing for t' shop t' have one o' t' partners missin', +an' no one for t' know what's comed on him. It niver happened i' +Fosters' days, that's a' I know.' +</P> + +<P> +'He'll maybe come back yet,' said Hester. 'It's not so very late.' +</P> + +<P> +'It were market day, and a',' continued Phoebe, 'just as if +iverything mun go wrong together; an' a' t' country customers'll go +back wi' fine tale i' their mouths, as Measter Hepburn was strayed +an' missin' just like a beast o' some kind.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hark! isn't that a step?' said Hester suddenly, as a footfall +sounded in the now quiet street; but it passed the door, and the +hope that had arisen on its approach fell as the sound died away. +</P> + +<P> +'He'll noane come to-night,' said Phoebe, who had been as eager a +listener as Hester, however. 'Thou'd best go thy ways home; a shall +stay up, for it's not seemly for us a' t' go to our beds, an' a +corpse in t' house; an' Nancy, as might ha' watched, is gone to her +bed this hour past, like a lazy boots as she is. A can hear, too, if +t' measter does come home; tho' a'll be bound he wunnot; choose +wheere he is, he'll be i' bed by now, for it's well on to eleven. +I'll let thee out by t' shop-door, and stand by it till thou's close +at home, for it's ill for a young woman to be i' t' street so late.' +</P> + +<P> +So she held the door open, and shaded the candle from the flickering +outer air, while Hester went to her home with a heavy heart. +</P> + +<P> +Heavily and hopelessly did they all meet in the morning. No news of +Philip, no change in Sylvia; an unceasing flow of angling and +conjecture and gossip radiating from the shop into the town. +</P> + +<P> +Hester could have entreated Coulson on her knees to cease from +repeating the details of a story of which every word touched on a +raw place in her sensitive heart; moreover, when they talked +together so eagerly, she could not hear the coming footsteps on the +pavement without. +</P> + +<P> +Once some one hit very near the truth in a chance remark. +</P> + +<P> +'It seems strange,' she said, 'how as one man turns up, another just +disappears. Why, it were but upo' Tuesday as Kinraid come back, as +all his own folk had thought to be dead; and next day here's Measter +Hepburn as is gone no one knows wheere!' +</P> + +<P> +'That's t' way i' this world,' replied Coulson, a little +sententiously. 'This life is full o' changes o' one kind or another; +them that's dead is alive; and as for poor Philip, though he was +alive, he looked fitter to be dead when he came into t' shop o' +Wednesday morning.' +</P> + +<P> +'And how does she take it?' nodding to where Sylvia was supposed to +be. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! she's not herself, so to say. She were just stunned by finding +her mother was dying in her very arms when she thought as she were +only sleeping; yet she's never been able to cry a drop; so that t' +sorrow's gone inwards on her brain, and from all I can hear, she +doesn't rightly understand as her husband is missing. T' doctor says +if she could but cry, she'd come to a juster comprehension of +things.' +</P> + +<P> +'And what do John and Jeremiah Foster say to it all?' +</P> + +<P> +'They're down here many a time in t' day to ask if he's come back, +or how she is; for they made a deal on 'em both. They're going t' +attend t' funeral to-morrow, and have given orders as t' shop is to +be shut up in t' morning.' +</P> + +<P> +To the surprise of every one, Sylvia, who had never left her room +since the night of her mother's death, and was supposed to be almost +unconscious of all that was going on in the house, declared her +intention of following her mother to the grave. No one could do more +than remonstrate: no one had sufficient authority to interfere with +her. Dr Morgan even thought that she might possibly be roused to +tears by the occasion; only he begged Hester to go with her, that +she might have the solace of some woman's company. +</P> + +<P> +She went through the greater part of the ceremony in the same hard, +unmoved manner in which she had received everything for days past. +</P> + +<P> +But on looking up once, as they formed round the open grave, she saw +Kester, in his Sunday clothes, with a bit of new crape round his +hat, crying as if his heart would break over the coffin of his good, +kind mistress. +</P> + +<P> +His evident distress, the unexpected sight, suddenly loosed the +fountain of Sylvia's tears, and her sobs grew so terrible that +Hester feared she would not be able to remain until the end of the +funeral. But she struggled hard to stay till the last, and then she +made an effort to go round by the place where Kester stood. +</P> + +<P> +'Come and see me,' was all she could say for crying: and Kester only +nodded his head—he could not speak a word. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap36"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MYSTERIOUS TIDINGS +</H3> + +<P> +That very evening Kester came, humbly knocking at the kitchen-door. +Phoebe opened it. He asked to see Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'A know not if she'll see thee,' said Phoebe. 'There's no makin' her +out; sometimes she's for one thing, sometimes she's for another.' +</P> + +<P> +'She bid me come and see her,' said Kester. 'Only this mornin', at +missus' buryin', she telled me to come.' +</P> + +<P> +So Phoebe went off to inform Sylvia that Kester was there; and +returned with the desire that he would walk into the parlour. An +instant after he was gone, Phoebe heard him return, and carefully +shut the two doors of communication between the kitchen and +sitting-room. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was in the latter when Kester came in, holding her baby close +to her; indeed, she seldom let it go now-a-days to any one else, +making Nancy's place quite a sinecure, much to Phoebe's indignation. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia's face was shrunk, and white, and thin; her lovely eyes alone +retained the youthful, almost childlike, expression. She went up to +Kester, and shook his horny hand, she herself trembling all over. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't talk to me of her,' she said hastily. 'I cannot stand it. +It's a blessing for her to be gone, but, oh——' +</P> + +<P> +She began to cry, and then cheered herself up, and swallowed down +her sobs. +</P> + +<P> +'Kester,' she went on, hastily, 'Charley Kinraid isn't dead; dost ta +know? He's alive, and he were here o' Tuesday—no, Monday, was it? I +cannot tell—but he were here!' +</P> + +<P> +'A knowed as he weren't dead. Every one is a-speaking on it. But a +didn't know as thee'd ha' seen him. A took comfort i' thinkin' as +thou'd ha' been wi' thy mother a' t' time as he were i' t' place.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then he's gone?' said Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Gone; ay, days past. As far as a know, he but stopped a' neet. A +thought to mysel' (but yo' may be sure a said nought to nobody), +he's heerd as our Sylvia were married, and has put it in his pipe, +and ta'en hissel' off to smoke it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Kester!' said Sylvia, leaning forwards, and whispering. 'I saw him. +He was here. Philip saw him. Philip had known as he wasn't dead a' +this time!' +</P> + +<P> +Kester stood up suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +'By goom, that chap has a deal t' answer for.' +</P> + +<P> +A bright red spot was on each of Sylvia's white cheeks; and for a +minute or so neither of them spoke. +</P> + +<P> +Then she went on, still whispering out her words. +</P> + +<P> +'Kester, I'm more afeared than I dare tell any one: can they ha' +met, think yo'? T' very thought turns me sick. I told Philip my +mind, and took a vow again' him—but it would be awful to think on +harm happening to him through Kinraid. Yet he went out that morning, +and has niver been seen or heard on sin'; and Kinraid were just fell +again' him, and as for that matter, so was I; but——' +</P> + +<P> +The red spot vanished as she faced her own imagination. +</P> + +<P> +Kester spoke. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a thing as can be easy looked into. What day an' time were it +when Philip left this house?' +</P> + +<P> +'Tuesday—the day she died. I saw him in her room that morning +between breakfast and dinner; I could a'most swear to it's being +close after eleven. I mind counting t' clock. It was that very morn +as Kinraid were here.' +</P> + +<P> +'A'll go an' have a pint o' beer at t' King's Arms, down on t' +quay-side; it were theere he put up at. An' a'm pretty sure as he +only stopped one night, and left i' t' morning betimes. But a'll go +see.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do,' said Sylvia, 'and go out through t' shop; they're all watching +and watching me to see how I take things; and daren't let on about +t' fire as is burning up my heart. Coulson is i' t' shop, but he'll +not notice thee like Phoebe.' +</P> + +<P> +By-and-by Kester came back. It seemed as though Sylvia had never +stirred; she looked eagerly at him, but did not speak. +</P> + +<P> +'He went away i' Rob Mason's mail-cart, him as tak's t' letters to +Hartlepool. T' lieutenant (as they ca' him down at t' King's Arms; +they're as proud on his uniform as if it had been a new-painted sign +to swing o'er their doors), t' lieutenant had reckoned upo' stayin' +longer wi' 'em; but he went out betimes o' Tuesday morn', an' came +back a' ruffled up, an paid his bill—paid for his breakfast, though +he touched noane on it—an' went off i' Rob postman's mail-cart, as +starts reg'lar at ten o'clock. Corneys has been theere askin' for +him, an' makin' a piece o' work, as he niver went near em; and they +bees cousins. Niver a one among 'em knows as he were here as far as +a could mak' out.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thank yo', Kester,' said Sylvia, falling back in her chair, as if +all the energy that had kept her stiff and upright was gone now that +her anxiety was relieved. +</P> + +<P> +She was silent for a long time; her eyes shut, her cheek laid on her +child's head. Kester spoke next. +</P> + +<P> +'A think it's pretty clear as they'n niver met. But it's a' t' more +wonder where thy husband's gone to. Thee and him had words about it, +and thou telled him thy mind, thou said?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' said Sylvia, not moving. 'I'm afeared lest mother knows what +I said to him, there, where she's gone to—I am-' the tears filled +her shut eyes, and came softly overflowing down her cheeks; 'and yet +it were true, what I said, I cannot forgive him; he's just spoilt my +life, and I'm not one-and-twenty yet, and he knowed how wretched, +how very wretched, I were. A word fra' him would ha' mended it a'; +and Charley had bid him speak the word, and give me his faithful +love, and Philip saw my heart ache day after day, and niver let on +as him I was mourning for was alive, and had sent me word as he'd +keep true to me, as I were to do to him.' +</P> + +<P> +'A wish a'd been theere; a'd ha' felled him to t' ground,' said +Kester, clenching his stiff, hard hand with indignation. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was silent again: pale and weary she sate, her eyes still +shut. +</P> + +<P> +Then she said, +</P> + +<P> +'Yet he were so good to mother; and mother loved him so. Oh, +Kester!' lifting herself up, opening her great wistful eyes, 'it's +well for folks as can die; they're spared a deal o' misery.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay!' said he. 'But there's folk as one 'ud like to keep fra' +shirkin' their misery. Think yo' now as Philip is livin'?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia shivered all over, and hesitated before she replied. +</P> + +<P> +'I dunnot know. I said such things; he deserved 'em all——' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well, lass!' said Kester, sorry that he had asked the +question which was producing so much emotion of one kind or another. +'Neither thee nor me can tell; we can neither help nor hinder, +seein' as he's ta'en hissel' off out on our sight, we'd best not +think on him. A'll try an' tell thee some news, if a can think on it +wi' my mind so full. Thou knows Haytersbank folk ha' flitted, and t' +oud place is empty?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes!' said Sylvia, with the indifference of one wearied out with +feeling. +</P> + +<P> +'A only telled yo' t' account like for me bein' at a loose end i' +Monkshaven. My sister, her as lived at Dale End an' is a widow, has +comed int' town to live; an' a'm lodging wi' her, an' jobbin' about. +A'm gettin' pretty well to do, an' a'm noane far t' seek, an' a'm +going now: only first a just wanted for t' say as a'm thy oldest +friend, a reckon, and if a can do a turn for thee, or go an errand, +like as a've done to-day, or if it's any comfort to talk a bit to +one who's known thy life from a babby, why yo've only t' send for +me, an' a'd come if it were twenty mile. A'm lodgin' at Peggy +Dawson's, t' lath and plaster cottage at t' right hand o' t' bridge, +a' among t' new houses, as they're thinkin' o' buildin' near t' sea: +no one can miss it.' +</P> + +<P> +He stood up and shook hands with her. As he did so, he looked at her +sleeping baby. +</P> + +<P> +'She's liker yo' than him. A think a'll say, God bless her.' +</P> + +<P> +With the heavy sound of his out-going footsteps, baby awoke. She +ought before this time to have been asleep in her bed, and the +disturbance made her cry fretfully. +</P> + +<P> +'Hush thee, darling, hush thee!' murmured her mother; 'there's no +one left to love me but thee, and I cannot stand thy weeping, my +pretty one. Hush thee, my babe, hush thee!' +</P> + +<P> +She whispered soft in the little one's ear as she took her upstairs +to bed. +</P> + +<P> +About three weeks after the miserable date of Bell Robson's death +and Philip's disappearance, Hester Rose received a letter from him. +She knew the writing on the address well; and it made her tremble so +much that it was many minutes before she dared to open it, and make +herself acquainted with the facts it might disclose. +</P> + +<P> +But she need not have feared; there were no facts told, unless the +vague date of 'London' might be something to learn. Even that much +might have been found out by the post-mark, only she had been too +much taken by surprise to examine it. +</P> + +<P> +It ran as follows:— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'DEAR HESTER,— +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'Tell those whom it may concern, that I have left Monkshaven for +ever. No one need trouble themselves about me; I am provided for. +Please to make my humble apologies to my kind friends, the Messrs +Foster, and to my partner, William Coulson. Please to accept of my +love, and to join the same to your mother. Please to give my +particular and respectful duty and kind love to my aunt Isabella +Robson. Her daughter Sylvia knows what I have always felt, and shall +always feel, for her better than I can ever put into language, so I +send her no message; God bless and keep my child. You must all look +on me as one dead; as I am to you, and maybe shall soon be in +reality. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'Your affectionate and obedient friend to command, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'PHILIP HEPBURN. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +'P.S.—Oh, Hester! for God's sake and mine, look +after ('my wife,' scratched out) Sylvia and my child. I think +Jeremiah Foster will help you to be a friend to them. This is the +last solemn request of P. H. She is but very young.' +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Hester read this letter again and again, till her heart caught the +echo of its hopelessness, and sank within her. She put it in her +pocket, and reflected upon it all the day long as she served in the +shop. +</P> + +<P> +The customers found her as gentle, but far more inattentive than +usual. She thought that in the evening she would go across the +bridge, and consult with the two good old brothers Foster. But +something occurred to put off the fulfilment of this plan. +</P> + +<P> +That same morning Sylvia had preceded her, with no one to consult, +because consultation would have required previous confidence, and +confidence would have necessitated such a confession about Kinraid +as it was most difficult for Sylvia to make. The poor young wife yet +felt that some step must be taken by her; and what it was to be she +could not imagine. +</P> + +<P> +She had no home to go to; for as Philip was gone away, she remained +where she was only on sufferance; she did not know what means of +livelihood she had; she was willing to work, nay, would be thankful +to take up her old life of country labour; but with her baby, what +could she do? +</P> + +<P> +In this dilemma, the recollection of the old man's kindly speech and +offer of assistance, made, it is true, half in joke, at the end of +her wedding visit, came into her mind; and she resolved to go and +ask for some of the friendly counsel and assistance then offered. +</P> + +<P> +It would be the first time of her going out since her mother's +funeral, and she dreaded the effort on that account. More even than +on that account did she shrink from going into the streets again. +She could not get over the impression that Kinraid must be lingering +near; and she distrusted herself so much that it was a positive +terror to think of meeting him again. She felt as though, if she but +caught a sight of him, the glitter of his uniform, or heard his +well-known voice in only a distant syllable of talk, her heart would +stop, and she should die from very fright of what would come next. +Or rather so she felt, and so she thought before she took her baby +in her arms, as Nancy gave it to her after putting on its +out-of-door attire. +</P> + +<P> +With it in her arms she was protected, and the whole current of her +thoughts was changed. The infant was wailing and suffering with its +teething, and the mother's heart was so occupied in soothing and +consoling her moaning child, that the dangerous quay-side and the +bridge were passed almost before she was aware; nor did she notice +the eager curiosity and respectful attention of those she met who +recognized her even through the heavy veil which formed part of the +draping mourning provided for her by Hester and Coulson, in the +first unconscious days after her mother's death. +</P> + +<P> +Though public opinion as yet reserved its verdict upon Philip's +disappearance—warned possibly by Kinraid's story against hasty +decisions and judgments in such times as those of war and general +disturbance—yet every one agreed that no more pitiful fate could +have befallen Philip's wife. +</P> + +<P> +Marked out by her striking beauty as an object of admiring interest +even in those days when she sate in girlhood's smiling peace by her +mother at the Market Cross—her father had lost his life in a +popular cause, and ignominious as the manner of his death might be, +he was looked upon as a martyr to his zeal in avenging the wrongs of +his townsmen; Sylvia had married amongst them too, and her quiet +daily life was well known to them; and now her husband had been +carried off from her side just on the very day when she needed his +comfort most. +</P> + +<P> +For the general opinion was that Philip had been 'carried off'—in +seaport towns such occurrences were not uncommon in those +days—either by land-crimps or water-crimps. +</P> + +<P> +So Sylvia was treated with silent reverence, as one sorely +afflicted, by all the unheeded people she met in her faltering walk +to Jeremiah Foster's. +</P> + +<P> +She had calculated her time so as to fall in with him at his dinner +hour, even though it obliged her to go to his own house rather than +to the bank where he and his brother spent all the business hours of +the day. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was so nearly exhausted by the length of her walk and the +weight of her baby, that all she could do when the door was opened +was to totter into the nearest seat, sit down, and begin to cry. +</P> + +<P> +In an instant kind hands were about her, loosening her heavy cloak, +offering to relieve her of her child, who clung to her all the more +firmly, and some one was pressing a glass of wine against her lips. +</P> + +<P> +'No, sir, I cannot take it! wine allays gives me th' headache; if I +might have just a drink o' water. Thank you, ma'am' (to the +respectable-looking old servant), 'I'm well enough now; and perhaps, +sir, I might speak a word with yo', for it's that I've come for.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a pity, Sylvia Hepburn, as thee didst not come to me at the +bank, for it's been a long toil for thee all this way in the heat, +with thy child. But if there's aught I can do or say for thee, thou +hast but to name it, I am sure. Martha! wilt thou relieve her of her +child while she comes with me into the parlour?' +</P> + +<P> +But the wilful little Bella stoutly refused to go to any one, and +Sylvia was not willing to part with her, tired though she was. +</P> + +<P> +So the baby was carried into the parlour, and much of her after-life +depended on this trivial fact. +</P> + +<P> +Once installed in the easy-chair, and face to face with Jeremiah, +Sylvia did not know how to begin. +</P> + +<P> +Jeremiah saw this, and kindly gave her time to recover herself, by +pulling out his great gold watch, and letting the seal dangle before +the child's eyes, almost within reach of the child's eager little +fingers. +</P> + +<P> +'She favours you a deal,' said he, at last. 'More than her father,' +he went on, purposely introducing Philip's name, so as to break the +ice; for he rightly conjectured she had come to speak to him about +something connected with her husband. +</P> + +<P> +Still Sylvia said nothing; she was choking down tears and shyness, +and unwillingness to take as confidant a man of whom she knew so +little, on such slight ground (as she now felt it to be) as the +little kindly speech with which she had been dismissed from that +house the last time that she entered it. +</P> + +<P> +'It's no use keeping yo', sir,' she broke out at last. 'It's about +Philip as I comed to speak. Do yo' know any thing whatsomever about +him? He niver had a chance o' saying anything, I know; but maybe +he's written?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not a line, my poor young woman!' said Jeremiah, hastily putting an +end to that vain idea. +</P> + +<P> +'Then he's either dead or gone away for iver,' she whispered. 'I mun +be both feyther and mother to my child.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! thee must not give it up,' replied he. 'Many a one is carried +off to the wars, or to the tenders o' men-o'-war; and then they turn +out to be unfit for service, and are sent home. Philip 'll come back +before the year's out; thee'll see that.' +</P> + +<P> +'No; he'll niver come back. And I'm not sure as I should iver wish +him t' come back, if I could but know what was gone wi' him. Yo' +see, sir, though I were sore set again' him, I shouldn't like harm +to happen him.' +</P> + +<P> +'There is something behind all this that I do not understand. Can +thee tell me what it is?' +</P> + +<P> +'I must, sir, if yo're to help me wi' your counsel; and I came up +here to ask for it.' +</P> + +<P> +Another long pause, during which Jeremiah made a feint of playing +with the child, who danced and shouted with tantalized impatience at +not being able to obtain possession of the seal, and at length +stretched out her soft round little arms to go to the owner of the +coveted possession. Surprise at this action roused Sylvia, and she +made some comment upon it. +</P> + +<P> +'I niver knew her t' go to any one afore. I hope she'll not be +troublesome to yo', sir?' +</P> + +<P> +The old man, who had often longed for a child of his own in days +gone by, was highly pleased by this mark of baby's confidence, and +almost forgot, in trying to strengthen her regard by all the winning +wiles in his power, how her poor mother was still lingering over +some painful story which she could not bring herself to tell. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afeared of speaking wrong again' any one, sir. And mother were +so fond o' Philip; but he kept something from me as would ha' made +me a different woman, and some one else, happen, a different man. I +were troth-plighted wi' Kinraid the specksioneer, him as was cousin +to th' Corneys o' Moss Brow, and comed back lieutenant i' t' navy +last Tuesday three weeks, after ivery one had thought him dead and +gone these three years.' +</P> + +<P> +She paused. +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' said Jeremiah, with interest; although his attention +appeared to be divided between the mother's story and the eager +playfulness of the baby on his knee. +</P> + +<P> +'Philip knew he were alive; he'd seen him taken by t' press-gang, +and Charley had sent a message to me by Philip.' +</P> + +<P> +Her white face was reddening, her eyes flashing at this point of her +story. +</P> + +<P> +'And he niver told me a word on it, not when he saw me like to break +my heart in thinking as Kinraid were dead; he kept it a' to hissel'; +and watched me cry, and niver said a word to comfort me wi' t' +truth. It would ha' been a great comfort, sir, only t' have had his +message if I'd niver ha' been to see him again. But Philip niver let +on to any one, as I iver heared on, that he'd seen Charley that +morning as t' press-gang took him. Yo' know about feyther's death, +and how friendless mother and me was left? and so I married him; for +he were a good friend to us then, and I were dazed like wi' sorrow, +and could see naught else to do for mother. He were allays very +tender and good to her, for sure.' +</P> + +<P> +Again a long pause of silent recollection, broken by one or two deep +sighs. +</P> + +<P> +'If I go on, sir, now, I mun ask yo' to promise as yo'll niver tell. +I do so need some one to tell me what I ought to do, and I were led +here, like, else I would ha' died wi' it all within my teeth. Yo'll +promise, sir?' +</P> + +<P> +Jeremiah Foster looked in her face, and seeing the wistful, eager +look, he was touched almost against his judgment into giving the +promise required; she went on. +</P> + +<P> +'Upon a Tuesday morning, three weeks ago, I think, tho' for t' +matter o' time it might ha' been three years, Kinraid come home; +come back for t' claim me as his wife, and I were wed to Philip! I +met him i' t' road at first; and I couldn't tell him theere. He +followed me into t' house—Philip's house, sir, behind t' shop—and +somehow I told him all, how I were a wedded wife to another. Then he +up and said I'd a false heart—me false, sir, as had eaten my daily +bread in bitterness, and had wept t' nights through, all for sorrow +and mourning for his death! Then he said as Philip knowed all t' +time he were alive and coming back for me; and I couldn't believe +it, and I called Philip, and he come, and a' that Charley had said +were true; and yet I were Philip's wife! So I took a mighty oath, +and I said as I'd niver hold Philip to be my lawful husband again, +nor iver forgive him for t' evil he'd wrought us, but hold him as a +stranger and one as had done me a heavy wrong.' +</P> + +<P> +She stopped speaking; her story seemed to her to end there. But her +listener said, after a pause, +</P> + +<P> +'It were a cruel wrong, I grant thee that; but thy oath were a sin, +and thy words were evil, my poor lass. What happened next?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't justly remember,' she said, wearily. 'Kinraid went away, +and mother cried out; and I went to her. She were asleep, I thought, +so I lay down by her, to wish I were dead, and to think on what +would come on my child if I died; and Philip came in softly, and I +made as if I were asleep; and that's t' very last as I've iver seen +or heared of him.' +</P> + +<P> +Jeremiah Foster groaned as she ended her story. Then he pulled +himself up, and said, in a cheerful tone of voice, +</P> + +<P> +'He'll come back, Sylvia Hepburn. He'll think better of it: never +fear!' +</P> + +<P> +'I fear his coming back!' said she. 'That's what I'm feared on; I +would wish as I knew on his well-doing i' some other place; but him +and me can niver live together again.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay,' pleaded Jeremiah. 'Thee art sorry what thee said; thee were +sore put about, or thee wouldn't have said it.' +</P> + +<P> +He was trying to be a peace-maker, and to heal over conjugal +differences; but he did not go deep enough. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not sorry,' said she, slowly. 'I were too deeply wronged to be +"put about"; that would go off wi' a night's sleep. It's only the +thought of mother (she's dead and happy, and knows nought of all +this, I trust) that comes between me and hating Philip. I'm not +sorry for what I said.' +</P> + +<P> +Jeremiah had never met with any one so frank and undisguised in +expressions of wrong feeling, and he scarcely knew what to say. +</P> + +<P> +He looked extremely grieved, and not a little shocked. So pretty and +delicate a young creature to use such strong relentless language! +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to read his thoughts, for she made answer to them. +</P> + +<P> +'I dare say you think I'm very wicked, sir, not to be sorry. Perhaps +I am. I can't think o' that for remembering how I've suffered; and +he knew how miserable I was, and might ha' cleared my misery away +wi' a word; and he held his peace, and now it's too late! I'm sick +o' men and their cruel, deceitful ways. I wish I were dead.' +</P> + +<P> +She was crying before she had ended this speech, and seeing her +tears, the child began to cry too, stretching out its little arms to +go back to its mother. The hard stony look on her face melted away +into the softest, tenderest love as she clasped the little one to +her, and tried to soothe its frightened sobs. +</P> + +<P> +A bright thought came into the old man's mind. +</P> + +<P> +He had been taking a complete dislike to her till her pretty way +with her baby showed him that she had a heart of flesh within her. +</P> + +<P> +'Poor little one!' said he, 'thy mother had need love thee, for +she's deprived thee of thy father's love. Thou'rt half-way to being +an orphan; yet I cannot call thee one of the fatherless to whom God +will be a father. Thou'rt a desolate babe, thou may'st well cry; +thine earthly parents have forsaken thee, and I know not if the Lord +will take thee up.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia looked up at him affrighted; holding her baby tighter to her, +she exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't speak so, sir! it's cursing, sir! I haven't forsaken her! Oh, +sir! those are awful sayings.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thee hast sworn never to forgive thy husband, nor to live with him +again. Dost thee know that by the law of the land, he may claim his +child; and then thou wilt have to forsake it, or to be forsworn? +Poor little maiden!' continued he, once more luring the baby to him +with the temptation of the watch and chain. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia thought for a while before speaking. Then she said, +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot tell what ways to take. Whiles I think my head is crazed. +It were a cruel turn he did me!' +</P> + +<P> +'It was. I couldn't have thought him guilty of such baseness.' +</P> + +<P> +This acquiescence, which was perfectly honest on Jeremiah's part, +almost took Sylvia by surprise. Why might she not hate one who had +been both cruel and base in his treatment of her? And yet she +recoiled from the application of such hard terms by another to +Philip, by a cool-judging and indifferent person, as she esteemed +Jeremiah to be. From some inscrutable turn in her thoughts, she +began to defend him, or at least to palliate the harsh judgment +which she herself had been the first to pronounce. +</P> + +<P> +'He were so tender to mother; she were dearly fond on him; he niver +spared aught he could do for her, else I would niver ha' married +him.' +</P> + +<P> +'He was a good and kind-hearted lad from the time he was fifteen. +And I never found him out in any falsehood, no more did my brother.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it were all the same as a lie,' said Sylvia, swiftly changing +her ground, 'to leave me to think as Charley were dead, when he +knowed all t' time he were alive.' +</P> + +<P> +'It was. It was a self-seeking lie; putting thee to pain to get his +own ends. And the end of it has been that he is driven forth like +Cain.' +</P> + +<P> +'I niver told him to go, sir.' +</P> + +<P> +'But thy words sent him forth, Sylvia.' +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot unsay them, sir; and I believe as I should say them +again.' +</P> + +<P> +But she said this as one who rather hopes for a contradiction. +</P> + +<P> +All Jeremiah replied, however, was, 'Poor wee child!' in a pitiful +tone, addressed to the baby. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia's eyes filled with tears. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, sir, I'll do anything as iver yo' can tell me for her. That's +what I came for t' ask yo'. I know I mun not stay theere, and Philip +gone away; and I dunnot know what to do: and I'll do aught, only I +must keep her wi' me. Whativer can I do, sir?' +</P> + +<P> +Jeremiah thought it over for a minute or two. Then he replied, +</P> + +<P> +'I must have time to think. I must talk it over with brother John.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you've given me yo'r word, sir!' exclaimed she. +</P> + +<P> +'I have given thee my word never to tell any one of what has passed +between thee and thy husband, but I must take counsel with my +brother as to what is to be done with thee and thy child, now that +thy husband has left the shop.' +</P> + +<P> +This was said so gravely as almost to be a reproach, and he got up, +as a sign that the interview was ended. +</P> + +<P> +He gave the baby back to its mother; but not without a solemn +blessing, so solemn that, to Sylvia's superstitious and excited +mind, it undid the terrors of what she had esteemed to be a curse. +</P> + +<P> +'The Lord bless thee and keep thee! The Lord make His face to shine +upon thee!' +</P> + +<P> +All the way down the hill-side, Sylvia kept kissing the child, and +whispering to its unconscious ears,— +</P> + +<P> +'I'll love thee for both, my treasure, I will. I'll hap thee round +wi' my love, so as thou shall niver need a feyther's.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap37"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BEREAVEMENT +</H3> + +<P> +Hester had been prevented by her mother's indisposition from taking +Philip's letter to the Fosters, to hold a consultation with them +over its contents. +</P> + +<P> +Alice Rose was slowly failing, and the long days which she had to +spend alone told much upon her spirits, and consequently upon her +health. +</P> + +<P> +All this came out in the conversation which ensued after reading +Hepburn's letter in the little parlour at the bank on the day after +Sylvia had had her confidential interview with Jeremiah Foster. +</P> + +<P> +He was a true man of honour, and never so much as alluded to her +visit to him; but what she had then told him influenced him very +much in the formation of the project which he proposed to his +brother and Hester. +</P> + +<P> +He recommended her remaining where she was, living still in the +house behind the shop; for he thought within himself that she might +have exaggerated the effect of her words upon Philip; that, after +all, it might have been some cause totally disconnected with them, +which had blotted out her husband's place among the men of +Monkshaven; and that it would be so much easier for both to resume +their natural relations, both towards each other and towards the +world, if Sylvia remained where her husband had left her—in an +expectant attitude, so to speak. +</P> + +<P> +Jeremiah Foster questioned Hester straitly about her letter: whether +she had made known its contents to any one. No, not to any one. +Neither to her mother nor to William Coulson? No, to neither. +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him as she replied to his inquiries, and he looked at +her, each wondering if the other could be in the least aware that a +conjugal quarrel might be at the root of the dilemma in which they +were placed by Hepburn's disappearance. +</P> + +<P> +But neither Hester, who had witnessed the misunderstanding between +the husband and wife on the evening, before the morning on which +Philip went away, nor Jeremiah Foster, who had learnt from Sylvia +the true reason of her husband's disappearance, gave the slightest +reason to the other to think that they each supposed they had a clue +to the reason of Hepburn's sudden departure. +</P> + +<P> +What Jeremiah Foster, after a night's consideration, had to propose +was this; that Hester and her mother should come and occupy the +house in the market-place, conjointly with Sylvia and her child. +Hester's interest in the shop was by this time acknowledged. +Jeremiah had made over to her so much of his share in the business, +that she had a right to be considered as a kind of partner; and she +had long been the superintendent of that department of goods which +were exclusively devoted to women. So her daily presence was +requisite for more reasons than one. +</P> + +<P> +Yet her mother's health and spirits were such as to render it +unadvisable that the old woman should be too much left alone; and +Sylvia's devotion to her own mother seemed to point her out as the +very person who could be a gentle and tender companion to Alice Rose +during those hours when her own daughter would necessarily be +engaged in the shop. +</P> + +<P> +Many desirable objects seemed to be gained by this removal of Alice: +an occupation was provided for Sylvia, which would detain her in the +place where her husband had left her, and where (Jeremiah Foster +fairly expected in spite of his letter) he was likely to come back +to find her; and Alice Rose, the early love of one of the brothers, +the old friend of the other, would be well cared for, and under her +daughter's immediate supervision during the whole of the time that +she was occupied in the shop. +</P> + +<P> +Philip's share of the business, augmented by the money which he had +put in from the legacy of his old Cumberland uncle, would bring in +profits enough to support Sylvia and her child in ease and comfort +until that time, which they all anticipated, when he should return +from his mysterious wandering—mysterious, whether his going forth +had been voluntary or involuntary. +</P> + +<P> +Thus far was settled; and Jeremiah Foster went to tell Sylvia of the +plan. +</P> + +<P> +She was too much a child, too entirely unaccustomed to any +independence of action, to do anything but leave herself in his +hands. Her very confession, made to him the day before, when she +sought his counsel, seemed to place her at his disposal. Otherwise, +she had had notions of the possibility of a free country life once +more—how provided for and arranged she hardly knew; but Haytersbank +was to let, and Kester disengaged, and it had just seemed possible +that she might have to return to her early home, and to her old +life. She knew that it would take much money to stock the farm +again, and that her hands were tied from much useful activity by the +love and care she owed to her baby. But still, somehow, she hoped +and she fancied, till Jeremiah Foster's measured words and +carefully-arranged plan made her silently relinquish her green, +breezy vision. +</P> + +<P> +Hester, too, had her own private rebellion—hushed into submission +by her gentle piety. If Sylvia had been able to make Philip happy, +Hester could have felt lovingly and almost gratefully towards her; +but Sylvia had failed in this. +</P> + +<P> +Philip had been made unhappy, and was driven forth a wanderer into +the wide world—never to come back! And his last words to Hester, +the postscript of his letter, containing the very pith of it, was to +ask her to take charge and care of the wife whose want of love +towards him had uprooted him from the place where he was valued and +honoured. +</P> + +<P> +It cost Hester many a struggle and many a self-reproach before she +could make herself feel what she saw all along—that in everything +Philip treated her like a sister. But even a sister might well be +indignant if she saw her brother's love disregarded and slighted, +and his life embittered by the thoughtless conduct of a wife! Still +Hester fought against herself, and for Philip's sake she sought to +see the good in Sylvia, and she strove to love her as well as to +take care of her. +</P> + +<P> +With the baby, of course, the case was different. Without thought or +struggle, or reason, every one loved the little girl. Coulson and +his buxom wife, who were childless, were never weary of making much +of her. Hester's happiest hours were spent with that little child. +Jeremiah Foster almost looked upon her as his own from the day when +she honoured him by yielding to the temptation of the chain and +seal, and coming to his knee; not a customer to the shop but knew +the smiling child's sad history, and many a country-woman would save +a rosy-cheeked apple from out her store that autumn to bring it on +next market-day for 'Philip Hepburn's baby, as had lost its father, +bless it.' +</P> + +<P> +Even stern Alice Rose was graciously inclined towards the little +Bella; and though her idea of the number of the elect was growing +narrower and narrower every day, she would have been loth to exclude +the innocent little child, that stroked her wrinkled cheeks so +softly every night in return for her blessing, from the few that +should be saved. Nay, for the child's sake, she relented towards the +mother; and strove to have Sylvia rescued from the many castaways +with fervent prayer, or, as she phrased it, 'wrestling with the +Lord'. +</P> + +<P> +Alice had a sort of instinct that the little child, so tenderly +loved by, so fondly loving, the mother whose ewe-lamb she was, could +not be even in heaven without yearning for the creature she had +loved best on earth; and the old woman believed that this was the +principal reason for her prayers for Sylvia; but unconsciously to +herself, Alice Rose was touched by the filial attentions she +constantly received from the young mother, whom she believed to be +foredoomed to condemnation. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia rarely went to church or chapel, nor did she read her Bible; +for though she spoke little of her ignorance, and would fain, for +her child's sake, have remedied it now it was too late, she had lost +what little fluency of reading she had ever had, and could only make +out her words with much spelling and difficulty. So the taking her +Bible in hand would have been a mere form; though of this Alice Rose +knew nothing. +</P> + +<P> +No one knew much of what was passing in Sylvia; she did not know +herself. Sometimes in the nights she would waken, crying, with a +terrible sense of desolation; every one who loved her, or whom she +had loved, had vanished out of her life; every one but her child, +who lay in her arms, warm and soft. +</P> + +<P> +But then Jeremiah Foster's words came upon her; words that she had +taken for cursing at the time; and she would so gladly have had some +clue by which to penetrate the darkness of the unknown region from +whence both blessing and cursing came, and to know if she had indeed +done something which should cause her sin to be visited on that +soft, sweet, innocent darling. +</P> + +<P> +If any one would teach her to read! If any one would explain to her +the hard words she heard in church or chapel, so that she might find +out the meaning of sin and godliness!—words that had only passed +over the surface of her mind till now! For her child's sake she +should like to do the will of God, if she only knew what that was, +and how to be worked out in her daily life. +</P> + +<P> +But there was no one she dared confess her ignorance to and ask +information from. Jeremiah Foster had spoken as if her child, sweet +little merry Bella, with a loving word and a kiss for every one, was +to suffer heavily for the just and true words her wronged and +indignant mother had spoken. Alice always spoke as if there were no +hope for her; and blamed her, nevertheless, for not using the means +of grace that it was not in her power to avail herself of. +</P> + +<P> +And Hester, that Sylvia would fain have loved for her uniform +gentleness and patience with all around her, seemed so cold in her +unruffled and undemonstrative behaviour; and moreover, Sylvia felt +that Hester blamed her perpetual silence regarding Philip's absence +without knowing how bitter a cause Sylvia had for casting him off. +</P> + +<P> +The only person who seemed to have pity upon her was Kester; and his +pity was shown in looks rather than words; for when he came to see +her, which he did from time to time, by a kind of mutual tacit +consent, they spoke but little of former days. +</P> + +<P> +He was still lodging with his sister, widow Dobson, working at odd +jobs, some of which took him into the country for weeks at a time. +But on his returns to Monkshaven he was sure to come and see her and +the little Bella; indeed, when his employment was in the immediate +neighbourhood of the town, he never allowed a week to pass away +without a visit. +</P> + +<P> +There was not much conversation between him and Sylvia at such +times. They skimmed over the surface of the small events in which +both took an interest; only now and then a sudden glance, a checked +speech, told each that there were deeps not forgotten, although they +were never mentioned. +</P> + +<P> +Twice Sylvia—below her breath—had asked Kester, just as she was +holding the door open for his departure, if anything had ever been +heard of Kinraid since his one night's visit to Monkshaven: each +time (and there was an interval of some months between the +inquiries) the answer had been simply, no. +</P> + +<P> +To no one else would Sylvia ever have named his name. But indeed she +had not the chance, had she wished it ever so much, of asking any +questions about him from any one likely to know. The Corneys had +left Moss Brow at Martinmas, and gone many miles away towards +Horncastle. Bessy Corney, it is true was married and left behind in +the neighbourhood; but with her Sylvia had never been intimate; and +what girlish friendship there might have been between them had +cooled very much at the time of Kinraid's supposed death three years +before. +</P> + +<P> +One day before Christmas in this year, 1798, Sylvia was called into +the shop by Coulson, who, with his assistant, was busy undoing the +bales of winter goods supplied to them from the West Riding, and +other places. He was looking at a fine Irish poplin dress-piece when +Sylvia answered to his call. +</P> + +<P> +'Here! do you know this again?' asked he, in the cheerful tone of +one sure of giving pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +'No! have I iver seen it afore?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not this, but one for all t' world like it.' +</P> + +<P> +She did not rouse up to much interest, but looked at it as if trying +to recollect where she could have seen its like. +</P> + +<P> +'My missus had one on at th' party at John Foster's last March, and +yo' admired it a deal. And Philip, he thought o' nothing but how he +could get yo' just such another, and he set a vast o' folk agait for +to meet wi' its marrow; and what he did just the very day afore he +went away so mysterious was to write through Dawson Brothers, o' +Wakefield, to Dublin, and order that one should be woven for yo'. +Jemima had to cut a bit off hers for to give him t' exact colour.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia did not say anything but that it was very pretty, in a low +voice, and then she quickly left the shop, much to Coulson's +displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +All the afternoon she was unusually quiet and depressed. +</P> + +<P> +Alice Rose, sitting helpless in her chair, watched her with keen +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +At length, after one of Sylvia's deep, unconscious sighs, the old +woman spoke: +</P> + +<P> +'It's religion as must comfort thee, child, as it's done many a one +afore thee.' +</P> + +<P> +'How?' said Sylvia, looking up, startled to find herself an object +of notice. +</P> + +<P> +'How?' (The answer was not quite so ready as the precept had been.) +'Read thy Bible, and thou wilt learn.' +</P> + +<P> +'But I cannot read,' said Sylvia, too desperate any longer to +conceal her ignorance. +</P> + +<P> +'Not read! and thee Philip's wife as was such a great scholar! Of a +surety the ways o' this life are crooked! There was our Hester, as +can read as well as any minister, and Philip passes over her to go +and choose a young lass as cannot read her Bible.' +</P> + +<P> +'Was Philip and Hester——' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia paused, for though a new curiosity had dawned upon her, she +did not know how to word her question. +</P> + +<P> +'Many a time and oft have I seen Hester take comfort in her Bible +when Philip was following after thee. She knew where to go for +consolation.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'd fain read,' said Sylvia, humbly, 'if anybody would learn me; +for perhaps it might do me good; I'm noane so happy.' +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes, as she looked up at Alice's stern countenance, were full +of tears. +</P> + +<P> +The old woman saw it, and was touched, although she did not +immediately show her sympathy. But she took her own time, and made +no reply. +</P> + +<P> +The next day, however, she bade Sylvia come to her, and then and +there, as if her pupil had been a little child, she began to teach +Sylvia to read the first chapter of Genesis; for all other reading +but the Scriptures was as vanity to her, and she would not +condescend to the weakness of other books. Sylvia was now, as ever, +slow at book-learning; but she was meek and desirous to be taught, +and her willingness in this respect pleased Alice, and drew her +singularly towards one who, from being a pupil, might become a +convert. +</P> + +<P> +All this time Sylvia never lost the curiosity that had been excited +by the few words Alice had let drop about Hester and Philip, and by +degrees she approached the subject again, and had the idea then +started confirmed by Alice, who had no scruple in using the past +experience of her own, of her daughter's, or of any one's life, as +an instrument to prove the vanity of setting the heart on anything +earthly. +</P> + +<P> +This knowledge, unsuspected before, sank deep into Sylvia's +thoughts, and gave her a strange interest in Hester—poor Hester, +whose life she had so crossed and blighted, even by the very +blighting of her own. She gave Hester her own former passionate +feelings for Kinraid, and wondered how she herself should have felt +towards any one who had come between her and him, and wiled his love +away. When she remembered Hester's unfailing sweetness and kindness +towards herself from the very first, she could better bear the +comparative coldness of her present behaviour. +</P> + +<P> +She tried, indeed, hard to win back the favour she had lost; but the +very means she took were blunders, and only made it seem to her as +if she could never again do right in Hester's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +For instance, she begged her to accept and wear the pretty poplin +gown which had been Philip's especial choice; feeling within herself +as if she should never wish to put it on, and as if the best thing +she could do with it was to offer it to Hester. But Hester rejected +the proffered gift with as much hardness of manner as she was +capable of assuming; and Sylvia had to carry it upstairs and lay it +by for the little daughter, who, Hester said, might perhaps learn to +value things that her father had given especial thought to. +</P> + +<P> +Yet Sylvia went on trying to win Hester to like her once more; it +was one of her great labours, and learning to read from Hester's +mother was another. +</P> + +<P> +Alice, indeed, in her solemn way, was becoming quite fond of Sylvia; +if she could not read or write, she had a deftness and gentleness of +motion, a capacity for the household matters which fell into her +department, that had a great effect on the old woman, and for her +dear mother's sake Sylvia had a stock of patient love ready in her +heart for all the aged and infirm that fell in her way. She never +thought of seeking them out, as she knew that Hester did; but then +she looked up to Hester as some one very remarkable for her +goodness. If only she could have liked her! +</P> + +<P> +Hester tried to do all she could for Sylvia; Philip had told her to +take care of his wife and child; but she had the conviction that +Sylvia had so materially failed in her duties as to have made her +husband an exile from his home—a penniless wanderer, wifeless and +childless, in some strange country, whose very aspect was +friendless, while the cause of all lived on in the comfortable home +where he had placed her, wanting for nothing—an object of interest +and regard to many friends—with a lovely little child to give her +joy for the present, and hope for the future; while he, the poor +outcast, might even lie dead by the wayside. How could Hester love +Sylvia? +</P> + +<P> +Yet they were frequent companions that ensuing spring. Hester was +not well; and the doctors said that the constant occupation in the +shop was too much for her, and that she must, for a time at least, +take daily walks into the country. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia used to beg to accompany her; she and the little girl often +went with Hester up the valley of the river to some of the nestling +farms that were hidden in the more sheltered nooks—for Hester was +bidden to drink milk warm from the cow; and to go into the familiar +haunts about a farm was one of the few things in which Sylvia seemed +to take much pleasure. She would let little Bella toddle about while +Hester sate and rested: and she herself would beg to milk the cow +destined to give the invalid her draught. +</P> + +<P> +One May evening the three had been out on some such expedition; the +country side still looked gray and bare, though the leaves were +showing on the willow and blackthorn and sloe, and by the tinkling +runnels, making hidden music along the copse side, the pale delicate +primrose buds were showing amid their fresh, green, crinkled leaves. +The larks had been singing all the afternoon, but were now dropping +down into their nests in the pasture fields; the air had just the +sharpness in it which goes along with a cloudless evening sky at +that time of the year. +</P> + +<P> +But Hester walked homewards slowly and languidly, speaking no word. +Sylvia noticed this at first without venturing to speak, for Hester +was one who disliked having her ailments noticed. But after a while +Hester stood still in a sort of weary dreamy abstraction; and Sylvia +said to her, +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afeared yo're sadly tired. Maybe we've been too far.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester almost started. +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said she, 'it's only my headache which is worse to-night. It +has been bad all day; but since I came out it has felt just as if +there were great guns booming, till I could almost pray 'em to be +quiet. I am so weary o' th' sound.' +</P> + +<P> +She stepped out quickly towards home after she had said this, as if +she wished for neither pity nor comment on what she had said. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap38"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RECOGNITION +</H3> + +<P> +Far away, over sea and land, over sunny sea again, great guns were +booming on that 7th of May, 1799. +</P> + +<P> +The Mediterranean came up with a long roar on a beach glittering +white with snowy sand, and the fragments of innumerable sea-shells, +delicate and shining as porcelain. Looking at that shore from the +sea, a long ridge of upland ground, beginning from an inland depth, +stretched far away into the ocean on the right, till it ended in a +great mountainous bluff, crowned with the white buildings of a +convent sloping rapidly down into the blue water at its base. +</P> + +<P> +In the clear eastern air, the different characters of the foliage +that clothed the sides of that sea-washed mountain might be +discerned from a long distance by the naked eye; the silver gray of +the olive-trees near its summit; the heavy green and bossy forms of +the sycamores lower down; broken here and there by a solitary +terebinth or ilex tree, of a deeper green and a wider spread; till +the eye fell below on the maritime plain, edged with the white +seaboard and the sandy hillocks; with here and there feathery +palm-trees, either isolated or in groups—motionless and distinct +against the hot purple air. +</P> + +<P> +Look again; a little to the left on the sea-shore there are the +white walls of a fortified town, glittering in sunlight, or black in +shadow. +</P> + +<P> +The fortifications themselves run out into the sea, forming a port +and a haven against the wild Levantine storms; and a lighthouse +rises out of the waves to guide mariners into safety. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond this walled city, and far away to the left still, there is +the same wide plain shut in by the distant rising ground, till the +upland circuit comes closing in to the north, and the great white +rocks meet the deep tideless ocean with its intensity of blue +colour. +</P> + +<P> +Above, the sky is literally purple with heat; and the pitiless light +smites the gazer's weary eye as it comes back from the white shore. +Nor does the plain country in that land offer the refuge and rest of +our own soft green. The limestone rock underlies the vegetation, and +gives a glittering, ashen hue to all the bare patches, and even to +the cultivated parts which are burnt up early in the year. In +spring-time alone does the country look rich and fruitful; then the +corn-fields of the plain show their capability of bearing, 'some +fifty, some an hundred fold'; down by the brook Kishon, flowing not +far from the base of the mountainous promontory to the south, there +grow the broad green fig-trees, cool and fresh to look upon; the +orchards are full of glossy-leaved cherry-trees; the tall amaryllis +puts forth crimson and yellow glories in the fields, rivalling the +pomp of King Solomon; the daisies and the hyacinths spread their +myriad flowers; the anemones, scarlet as blood, run hither and +thither over the ground like dazzling flames of fire. +</P> + +<P> +A spicy odour lingers in the heated air; it comes from the multitude +of aromatic flowers that blossom in the early spring. Later on they +will have withered and faded, and the corn will have been gathered, +and the deep green of the eastern foliage will have assumed a kind +of gray-bleached tint. +</P> + +<P> +Even now in May, the hot sparkle of the everlasting sea, the +terribly clear outline of all objects, whether near or distant, the +fierce sun right overhead, the dazzling air around, were +inexpressibly wearying to the English eyes that kept their skilled +watch, day and night, on the strongly-fortified coast-town that lay +out a little to the northward of where the British ships were +anchored. +</P> + +<P> +They had kept up a flanking fire for many days in aid of those +besieged in St Jean d'Acre; and at intervals had listened, +impatient, to the sound of the heavy siege guns, or the sharper +rattle of the French musketry. +</P> + +<P> +In the morning, on the 7th of May, a man at the masthead of the +<I>Tigre</I> sang out that he saw ships in the offing; and in reply to +the signal that was hastily run up, he saw the distant vessels hoist +friendly flags. That May morning was a busy time. The besieged Turks +took heart of grace; the French outside, under the command of their +great general, made hasty preparations for a more vigorous assault +than all many, both vigorous and bloody, that had gone before (for +the siege was now at its fifty-first day), in hopes of carrying the +town by storm before the reinforcement coming by sea could arrive; +and Sir Sidney Smith, aware of Buonaparte's desperate intention, +ordered all the men, both sailors and marines, that could be spared +from the necessity of keeping up a continual flanking fire from the +ships upon the French, to land, and assist the Turks and the British +forces already there in the defence of the old historic city. +</P> + +<P> +Lieutenant Kinraid, who had shared his captain's daring adventure +off the coast of France three years before, who had been a prisoner +with him and Westley Wright, in the Temple at Paris, and had escaped +with them, and, through Sir Sidney's earnest recommendation, been +promoted from being a warrant officer to the rank of lieutenant, +received on this day the honour from his admiral of being appointed +to an especial post of danger. His heart was like a war-horse, and +said, Ha, ha! as the boat bounded over the waves that were to land +him under the ancient machicolated walls where the Crusaders made +their last stand in the Holy Land. Not that Kinraid knew or cared +one jot about those gallant knights of old: all he knew was, that +the French, under Boney, were trying to take the town from the +Turks, and that his admiral said they must not, and so they should +not. +</P> + +<P> +He and his men landed on that sandy shore, and entered the town by +the water-port gate; he was singing to himself his own country +song,— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Weel may the keel row, the keel row, &C. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +and his men, with sailors' aptitude for music, caught up the air, +and joined in the burden with inarticulate sounds. +</P> + +<P> +So, with merry hearts, they threaded the narrow streets of Acre, +hemmed in on either side by the white walls of Turkish houses, with +small grated openings high up, above all chance of peeping +intrusion. +</P> + +<P> +Here and there they met an ample-robed and turbaned Turk going along +with as much haste as his stately self-possession would allow. But +the majority of the male inhabitants were gathered together to +defend the breach, where the French guns thundered out far above the +heads of the sailors. +</P> + +<P> +They went along none the less merrily for the sound to Djezzar +Pacha's garden, where the old Turk sate on his carpet, beneath the +shade of a great terebinth tree, listening to the interpreter, who +made known to him the meaning of the eager speeches of Sir Sidney +Smith and the colonel of the marines. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as the admiral saw the gallant sailors of H.M.S. <I>Tigre</I>, he +interrupted the council of war without much ceremony, and going to +Kinraid, he despatched them, as before arranged, to the North +Ravelin, showing them the way with rapid, clear directions. +</P> + +<P> +Out of respect to him, they had kept silent while in the strange, +desolate garden; but once more in the streets, the old Newcastle +song rose up again till the men were, perforce, silenced by the +haste with which they went to the post of danger. +</P> + +<P> +It was three o'clock in the afternoon. For many a day these very men +had been swearing at the terrific heat at this hour—even when at +sea, fanned by the soft breeze; but now, in the midst of hot smoke, +with former carnage tainting the air, and with the rush and whizz of +death perpetually whistling in their ears, they were uncomplaining +and light-hearted. Many an old joke, and some new ones, came brave +and hearty, on their cheerful voices, even though the speaker was +veiled from sight in great clouds of smoke, cloven only by the +bright flames of death. +</P> + +<P> +A sudden message came; as many of the crew of the <I>Tigre</I> as were +under Lieutenant Kinraid's command were to go down to the Mole, to +assist the new reinforcements (seen by the sailor from the masthead +at day-dawn), under command of Hassan Bey, to land at the Mole, +where Sir Sidney then was. +</P> + +<P> +Off they went, almost as bright and thoughtless as before, though +two of their number lay silent for ever at the North +Ravelin—silenced in that one little half-hour. And one went along +with the rest, swearing lustily at his ill-luck in having his right +arm broken, but ready to do good business with his left. +</P> + +<P> +They helped the Turkish troops to land more with good-will than +tenderness; and then, led by Sir Sidney, they went under the shelter +of English guns to the fatal breach, so often assailed, so gallantly +defended, but never so fiercely contested as on this burning +afternoon. The ruins of the massive wall that here had been broken +down by the French, were used by them as stepping stones to get on a +level with the besieged, and so to escape the heavy stones which the +latter hurled down; nay, even the dead bodies of the morning's +comrades were made into ghastly stairs. +</P> + +<P> +When Djezzar Pacha heard that the British sailors were defending the +breach, headed by Sir Sidney Smith, he left his station in the +palace garden, gathered up his robes in haste, and hurried to the +breach; where, with his own hands, and with right hearty good-will, +he pulled the sailors down from the post of danger, saying that if +he lost his English friends he lost all! +</P> + +<P> +But little recked the crew of the <I>Tigre</I> of the one old man—Pacha +or otherwise—who tried to hold them back from the fight; they were +up and at the French assailants clambering over the breach in an +instant; and so they went on, as if it were some game at play +instead of a deadly combat, until Kinraid and his men were called +off by Sir Sidney, as the reinforcement of Turkish troops under +Hassan Bey were now sufficient for the defence of that old breach in +the walls, which was no longer the principal object of the French +attack; for the besiegers had made a new and more formidable breach +by their incessant fire, knocking down whole streets of the city +walls. +</P> + +<P> +'Fight your best Kinraid!' said Sir Sidney; 'for there's Boney on +yonder hill looking at you.' +</P> + +<P> +And sure enough, on a rising ground, called Richard Coeur de Lion's +Mount, there was a half-circle of French generals, on horseback, all +deferentially attending to the motions, and apparently to the words, +of a little man in their centre; at whose bidding the aide-de-camp +galloped swift with messages to the more distant French camp. +</P> + +<P> +The two ravelins which Kinraid and his men had to occupy, for the +purpose of sending a flanking fire upon the enemy, were not ten +yards from that enemy's van. +</P> + +<P> +But at length there was a sudden rush of the French to that part of +the wall where they imagined they could enter unopposed. +</P> + +<P> +Surprised at this movement, Kinraid ventured out of the shelter of +the ravelin to ascertain the cause; he, safe and untouched during +that long afternoon of carnage, fell now, under a stray musket-shot, +and lay helpless and exposed upon the ground undiscerned by his men, +who were recalled to help in the hot reception which had been +planned for the French; who, descending the city walls into the +Pacha's garden, were attacked with sabre and dagger, and lay +headless corpses under the flowering rose-bushes, and by the +fountain side. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid lay beyond the ravelins, many yards outside the city walls. +</P> + +<P> +He was utterly helpless, for the shot had broken his leg. Dead +bodies of Frenchmen lay strewn around him; no Englishman had +ventured out so far. +</P> + +<P> +All the wounded men that he could see were French; and many of +these, furious with pain, gnashed their teeth at him, and cursed him +aloud, till he thought that his best course was to assume the +semblance of death; for some among these men were still capable of +dragging themselves up to him, and by concentrating all their +failing energies into one blow, put him to a speedy end. +</P> + +<P> +The outlying pickets of the French army were within easy rifle shot; +and his uniform, although less conspicuous in colour than that of +the marines, by whose sides he had been fighting, would make him a +sure mark if he so much as moved his arm. Yet how he longed to turn, +if ever so slightly, so that the cruel slanting sun might not beat +full into his aching eyes. Fever, too, was coming upon him; the pain +in his leg was every moment growing more severe; the terrible thirst +of the wounded, added to the heat and fatigue of the day, made his +lips and tongue feel baked and dry, and his whole throat seemed +parched and wooden. Thoughts of other days, of cool Greenland seas, +where ice abounded, of grassy English homes, began to make the past +more real than the present. +</P> + +<P> +With a great effort he brought his wandering senses back; he knew +where he was now, and could weigh the chances of his life, which +were but small; the unwonted tears came to his eyes as he thought of +the newly-made wife in her English home, who might never know how he +died thinking of her. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he saw a party of English marines advance, under shelter of +the ravelin, to pick up the wounded, and bear them within the walls +for surgical help. They were so near he could see their faces, could +hear them speak; yet he durst not make any sign to them when he lay +within range of the French picket's fire. +</P> + +<P> +For one moment he could not resist raising his head, to give himself +a chance for life; before the unclean creatures that infest a camp +came round in the darkness of the night to strip and insult the dead +bodies, and to put to death such as had yet the breath of life +within them. But the setting sun came full into his face, and he saw +nothing of what he longed to see. +</P> + +<P> +He fell back in despair; he lay there to die. +</P> + +<P> +That strong clear sunbeam had wrought his salvation. +</P> + +<P> +He had been recognized as men are recognized when they stand in the +red glare of a house on fire; the same despair of help, of hopeless +farewell to life, stamped on their faces in blood-red light. +</P> + +<P> +One man left his fellows, and came running forwards, forwards in +among the enemy's wounded, within range of their guns; he bent down +over Kinraid; he seemed to understand without a word; he lifted him +up, carrying him like a child; and with the vehement energy that is +more from the force of will than the strength of body, he bore him +back to within the shelter of the ravelin—not without many shots +being aimed at them, one of which hit Kinraid in the fleshy part of +his arm. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid was racked with agony from his dangling broken leg, and his +very life seemed leaving him; yet he remembered afterwards how the +marine recalled his fellows, and how, in the pause before they +returned, his face became like one formerly known to the sick senses +of Kinraid; yet it was too like a dream, too utterly improbable to +be real. +</P> + +<P> +Yet the few words this man said, as he stood breathless and alone by +the fainting Kinraid, fitted in well with the belief conjured up by +his personal appearance. He panted out,— +</P> + +<P> +'I niver thought you'd ha' kept true to her!' +</P> + +<P> +And then the others came up; and while they were making a sling of +their belts, Kinraid fainted utterly away, and the next time that he +was fully conscious, he was lying in his berth in the <I>Tigre</I>, with +the ship surgeon setting his leg. After that he was too feverish for +several days to collect his senses. When he could first remember, +and form a judgment upon his recollections, he called the man +especially charged to attend upon him, and bade him go and make +inquiry in every possible manner for a marine named Philip Hepburn, +and, when he was found, to entreat him to come and see Kinraid. +</P> + +<P> +The sailor was away the greater part of the day, and returned +unsuccessful in his search; he had been from ship to ship, hither +and thither; he had questioned all the marines he had met with, no +one knew anything of any Philip Hepburn. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid passed a miserably feverish night, and when the doctor +exclaimed the next morning at his retrogression, he told him, with +some irritation, of the ill-success of his servant; he accused the +man of stupidity, and wished fervently that he were able to go +himself. +</P> + +<P> +Partly to soothe him, the doctor promised that he would undertake +the search for Hepburn, and he engaged faithfully to follow all +Kinraid's eager directions; not to be satisfied with men's careless +words, but to look over muster-rolls and ships' books. +</P> + +<P> +He, too, brought the same answer, however unwillingly given. +</P> + +<P> +He had set out upon the search so confident of success, that he felt +doubly discomfited by failure. However, he had persuaded himself +that the lieutenant had been partially delirious from the effects of +his wound, and the power of the sun shining down just where he lay. +There had, indeed, been slight symptoms of Kinraid's having received +a sun-stroke; and the doctor dwelt largely on these in his endeavour +to persuade his patient that it was his imagination which had endued +a stranger with the lineaments of some former friend. +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid threw his arms out of bed with impatience at all this +plausible talk, which was even more irritating than the fact that +Hepburn was still undiscovered. +</P> + +<P> +'The man was no friend of mine; I was like to have killed him when +last I saw him. He was a shopkeeper in a country town in England. I +had seen little enough of him; but enough to make me able to swear +to him anywhere, even in a marine's uniform, and in this sweltering +country.' +</P> + +<P> +'Faces once seen, especially in excitement, are apt to return upon +the memory in cases of fever,' quoth the doctor, sententiously. +</P> + +<P> +The attendant sailor, reinstalled to some complacency by the failure +of another in the search in which he himself had been unsuccessful, +now put in his explanation. +</P> + +<P> +'Maybe it was a spirit. It's not th' first time as I've heared of a +spirit coming upon earth to save a man's life i' time o' need. My +father had an uncle, a west-country grazier. He was a-coming over +Dartmoor in Devonshire one moonlight night with a power o' money as +he'd got for his sheep at t' fair. It were stowed i' leather bags +under th' seat o' th' gig. It were a rough kind o' road, both as a +road and in character, for there'd been many robberies there of +late, and th' great rocks stood convenient for hiding-places. All at +once father's uncle feels as if some one were sitting beside him on +th' empty seat; and he turns his head and looks, and there he sees +his brother sitting—his brother as had been dead twelve year and +more. So he turns his head back again, eyes right, and never say a +word, but wonders what it all means. All of a sudden two fellows +come out upo' th' white road from some black shadow, and they +looked, and they let th' gig go past, father's uncle driving hard, +I'll warrant him. But for all that he heard one say to t' other, +"By——, there's <I>two</I> on 'em!" Straight on he drove faster than +ever, till he saw th' far lights of some town or other. I forget its +name, though I've heared it many a time; and then he drew a long +breath, and turned his head to look at his brother, and ask him how +he'd managed to come out of his grave i' Barum churchyard, and th' +seat was as empty as it had been when he set out; and then he knew +that it were a spirit come to help him against th' men who thought +to rob him, and would likely enough ha' murdered him.' +</P> + +<P> +Kinraid had kept quiet through this story. But when the sailor began +to draw the moral, and to say, 'And I think I may make bold to say, +sir, as th' marine who carried you out o' th' Frenchy's gun-shot was +just a spirit come to help you,' he exclaimed impatiently, swearing +a great oath as he did so, 'It was no spirit, I tell you; and I was +in my full senses. It was a man named Philip Hepburn. He said words +to me, or over me, as none but himself would have said. Yet we hated +each other like poison; and I can't make out why he should be there +and putting himself in danger to save me. But so it was; and as you +can't find him, let me hear no more of your nonsense. It was him, +and not my fancy, doctor. It was flesh and blood, and not a spirit, +Jack. So get along with you, and leave me quiet.' +</P> + +<P> +All this time Stephen Freeman lay friendless, sick, and shattered, +on board the <I>Theseus</I>. +</P> + +<P> +He had been about his duty close to some shells that were placed on +her deck; a gay young midshipman was thoughtlessly striving to get +the fusee out of one of these by a mallet and spike-nail that lay +close at hand; and a fearful explosion ensued, in which the poor +marine, cleaning his bayonet near, was shockingly burnt and +disfigured, the very skin of all the lower part of his face being +utterly destroyed by gunpowder. They said it was a mercy that his +eyes were spared; but he could hardly feel anything to be a mercy, +as he lay tossing in agony, burnt by the explosion, wounded by +splinters, and feeling that he was disabled for life, if life itself +were preserved. Of all that suffered by that fearful accident (and +they were many) none was so forsaken, so hopeless, so desolate, as +the Philip Hepburn about whom such anxious inquiries were being made +at that very time. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap39"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CONFIDENCES +</H3> + +<P> +It was a little later on in that same summer that Mrs. Brunton came +to visit her sister Bessy. +</P> + +<P> +Bessy was married to a tolerably well-to-do farmer who lived at an +almost equal distance between Monkshaven and Hartswell; but from old +habit and convenience the latter was regarded as the Dawsons' +market-town; so Bessy seldom or never saw her old friends in +Monkshaven. +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Brunton was far too flourishing a person not to speak out +her wishes, and have her own way. She had no notion, she said, of +coming such a long journey only to see Bessy and her husband, and +not to have a sight of her former acquaintances at Monkshaven. She +might have added, that her new bonnet and cloak would be as good as +lost if it was not displayed among those who, knowing her as Molly +Corney, and being less fortunate in matrimony than she was, would +look upon it with wondering admiration, if not with envy. +</P> + +<P> +So one day farmer Dawson's market-cart deposited Mrs. Brunton in all +her bravery at the shop in the market-place, over which Hepburn and +Coulson's names still flourished in joint partnership. +</P> + +<P> +After a few words of brisk recognition to Coulson and Hester, Mrs +Brunton passed on into the parlour and greeted Sylvia with +boisterous heartiness. +</P> + +<P> +It was now four years and more since the friends had met; and each +secretly wondered how they had ever come to be friends. Sylvia had a +country, raw, spiritless look to Mrs. Brunton's eye; Molly was loud +and talkative, and altogether distasteful to Sylvia, trained in +daily companionship with Hester to appreciate soft slow speech, and +grave thoughtful ways. +</P> + +<P> +However, they kept up the forms of their old friendship, though +their hearts had drifted far apart. They sat hand in hand while each +looked at the other with eyes inquisitive as to the changes which +time had made. Molly was the first to speak. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, to be sure! how thin and pale yo've grown, Sylvia! Matrimony +hasn't agreed wi' yo' as well as it's done wi me. Brunton is allays +saying (yo' know what a man he is for his joke) that if he'd ha' +known how many yards o' silk I should ha' ta'en for a gown, he'd ha' +thought twice afore he'd ha' married me. Why, I've gained a matter +o' thirty pound o' flesh sin' I were married!' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' do look brave and hearty!' said Sylvia, putting her sense of +her companion's capacious size and high colour into the prettiest +words she could. +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! Sylvia! but I know what it is,' said Molly, shaking her head. +'It's just because o' that husband o' thine as has gone and left +thee; thou's pining after him, and he's not worth it. Brunton said, +when he heared on it—I mind he was smoking at t' time, and he took +his pipe out of his mouth, and shook out t' ashes as grave as any +judge—"The man," says he, "as can desert a wife like Sylvia Robson +as was, deserves hanging!" That's what he says! Eh! Sylvia, but +speakin' o' hanging I was so grieved for yo' when I heared of yo'r +poor feyther! Such an end for a decent man to come to! Many a one +come an' called on me o' purpose to hear all I could tell 'em about +him!' +</P> + +<P> +'Please don't speak on it!' said Sylvia, trembling all over. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, poor creature, I wunnot. It is hard on thee, I grant. But to +give t' devil his due, it were good i' Hepburn to marry thee, and so +soon after there was a' that talk about thy feyther. Many a man +would ha' drawn back, choose howiver far they'd gone. I'm noane so +sure about Charley Kinraid. Eh, Sylvia! only think on his being +alive after all. I doubt if our Bessy would ha' wed Frank Dawson if +she'd known as he wasn't drowned. But it's as well she did, for +Dawson's a man o' property, and has getten twelve cows in his +cow-house, beside three right down good horses; and Kinraid were +allays a fellow wi' two strings to his bow. I've allays said and do +maintain, that he went on pretty strong wi' yo', Sylvie; and I will +say I think he cared more for yo' than for our Bessy, though it were +only yesterday at e'en she were standing out that he liked her +better than yo'. Yo'll ha' heared on his grand marriage?' +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said Sylvia, with eager painful curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +'No! It was in all t' papers! I wonder as yo' didn't see it. Wait a +minute! I cut it out o' t' <I>Gentleman's Magazine</I>, as Brunton bought +o' purpose, and put it i' my pocket-book when I were a-coming here: +I know I've got it somewheere.' +</P> + +<P> +She took out her smart crimson pocket-book, and rummaged in the +pocket until she produced a little crumpled bit of printed paper, +from which she read aloud, +</P> + +<P> +'On January the third, at St Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, Charles +Kinraid, Esq., lieutenant Royal Navy, to Miss Clarinda Jackson, with +a fortune of 10,000<I>l</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +'Theere!' said she, triumphantly, 'it's something as Brunton says, +to be cousin to that.' +</P> + +<P> +'Would yo' let me see it?' said Sylvia, timidly. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brunton graciously consented; and Sylvia brought her newly +acquired reading-knowledge, hitherto principally exercised on the +Old Testament, to bear on these words. +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing wonderful in them, nothing that she might not have +expected; and yet the surprise turned her giddy for a moment or two. +She never thought of seeing him again, never. But to think of his +caring for another woman as much as he had done for her, nay, +perhaps more! +</P> + +<P> +The idea was irresistibly forced upon her that Philip would not have +acted so; it would have taken long years before he could have been +induced to put another on the throne she had once occupied. For the +first time in her life she seemed to recognize the real nature of +Philip's love. +</P> + +<P> +But she said nothing but 'Thank yo',' when she gave the scrap of +paper back to Molly Brunton. And the latter continued giving her +information about Kinraid's marriage. +</P> + +<P> +'He were down in t' west, Plymouth or somewheere, when he met wi' +her. She's no feyther; he'd been in t' sugar-baking business; but +from what Kinraid wrote to old Turner, th' uncle as brought him up +at Cullercoats, she's had t' best of edications: can play on t' +instrument and dance t' shawl dance; and Kinraid had all her money +settled on her, though she said she'd rayther give it all to him, +which I must say, being his cousin, was very pretty on her. He's +left her now, having to go off in t' <I>Tigre</I>, as is his ship, to t' +Mediterranean seas; and she's written to offer to come and see old +Turner, and make friends with his relations, and Brunton is going to +gi'e me a crimson satin as soon as we know for certain when she's +coming, for we're sure to be asked out to Cullercoats.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wonder if she's very pretty?' asked Sylvia, faintly, in the first +pause in this torrent of talk. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! she's a perfect beauty, as I understand. There was a traveller +as come to our shop as had been at York, and knew some of her +cousins theere that were in t' grocery line—her mother was a York +lady—and they said she was just a picture of a woman, and iver so +many gentlemen had been wantin' to marry her, but she just waited +for Charley Kinraid, yo' see!' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I hope they'll be happy; I'm sure I do!' said Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'That's just luck. Some folks is happy i' marriage, and some isn't. +It's just luck, and there's no forecasting it. Men is such +unaccountable animals, there's no prophesyin' upon 'em. Who'd ha' +thought of yo'r husband, him as was so slow and sure—steady Philip, +as we lasses used to ca' him—makin' a moonlight flittin', and +leavin' yo' to be a widow bewitched?' +</P> + +<P> +'He didn't go at night,' said Sylvia, taking the words 'moonlight +flitting' in their literal sense. +</P> + +<P> +'No! Well, I only said "moonlight flittin'" just because it come +uppermost and I knowed no better. Tell me all about it, Sylvie, for +I can't mak' it out from what Bessy says. Had he and yo' had +words?—but in course yo' had.' +</P> + +<P> +At this moment Hester came into the room; and Sylvia joyfully +availed herself of the pretext for breaking off the conversation +that had reached this painful and awkward point. She detained Hester +in the room for fear lest Mrs. Brunton should repeat her inquiry as +to how it all happened that Philip had gone away; but the presence +of a third person seemed as though it would be but little restraint +upon the inquisitive Molly, who repeatedly bore down upon the same +questions till she nearly drove Sylvia distracted, between her +astonishment at the news of Kinraid's marriage; her wish to be alone +and quiet, so as to realize the full meaning of that piece of +intelligence; her desire to retain Hester in the conversation; her +efforts to prevent Molly's recurrence to the circumstances of +Philip's disappearance, and the longing—more vehement every +minute—for her visitor to go away and leave her in peace. She +became so disturbed with all these thoughts and feelings that she +hardly knew what she was saying, and assented or dissented to +speeches without there being either any reason or truth in her +words. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brunton had arranged to remain with Sylvia while the horse +rested, and had no compunction about the length of her visit. She +expected to be asked to tea, as Sylvia found out at last, and this +she felt would be the worst of all, as Alice Rose was not one to +tolerate the coarse, careless talk of such a woman as Mrs. Brunton +without uplifting her voice in many a testimony against it. Sylvia +sate holding Hester's gown tight in order to prevent her leaving the +room, and trying to arrange her little plans so that too much +discordance should not arise to the surface. Just then the door +opened, and little Bella came in from the kitchen in all the pretty, +sturdy dignity of two years old, Alice following her with careful +steps, and protecting, outstretched arms, a slow smile softening the +sternness of her grave face; for the child was the unconscious +darling of the household, and all eyes softened into love as they +looked on her. She made straight for her mother with something +grasped in her little dimpled fist; but half-way across the room she +seemed to have become suddenly aware of the presence of a stranger, +and she stopped short, fixing her serious eyes full on Mrs. Brunton, +as if to take in her appearance, nay, as if to penetrate down into +her very real self, and then, stretching out her disengaged hand, +the baby spoke out the words that had been hovering about her +mother's lips for an hour past. +</P> + +<P> +'Do away!' said Bella, decisively. +</P> + +<P> +'What a perfect love!' said Mrs. Brunton, half in real admiration, +half in patronage. As she spoke, she got up and went towards the +child, as if to take her up. +</P> + +<P> +'Do away! do away!' cried Bella, in shrill affright at this +movement. +</P> + +<P> +'Dunnot,' said Sylvia; 'she's shy; she doesn't know strangers.' +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Brunton had grasped the struggling, kicking child by this +time, and her reward for this was a vehement little slap in the +face. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' naughty little spoilt thing!' said she, setting Bella down in a +hurry. 'Yo' deserve a good whipping, yo' do, and if yo' were mine +yo' should have it.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia had no need to stand up for the baby who had run to her arms, +and was soothing herself with sobbing on her mother's breast; for +Alice took up the defence. +</P> + +<P> +'The child said, as plain as words could say, "go away," and if thou +wouldst follow thine own will instead of heeding her wish, thou mun +put up with the wilfulness of the old Adam, of which it seems to me +thee hast getten thy share at thirty as well as little Bella at +two.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thirty!' said Mrs. Brunton, now fairly affronted. 'Thirty! why, +Sylvia, yo' know I'm but two years older than yo'; speak to that +woman an' tell her as I'm only four-and-twenty. Thirty, indeed!' +</P> + +<P> +'Molly's but four-and-twenty,' said Sylvia, in a pacificatory tone. +</P> + +<P> +'Whether she be twenty, or thirty, or forty, is alike to me,' said +Alice. 'I meant no harm. I meant but for t' say as her angry words +to the child bespoke her to be one of the foolish. I know not who +she is, nor what her age may be.' +</P> + +<P> +'She's an old friend of mine,' said Sylvia. 'She's Mrs. Brunton now, +but when I knowed her she was Molly Corney.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay! and yo' were Sylvia Robson, and as bonny and light-hearted a +lass as any in a' t' Riding, though now yo're a poor widow +bewitched, left wi' a child as I mustn't speak a word about, an' +living wi' folk as talk about t' old Adam as if he wasn't dead and +done wi' long ago! It's a change, Sylvia, as makes my heart ache for +yo', to think on them old days when yo' were so thought on yo' might +have had any man, as Brunton often says; it were a great mistake as +yo' iver took up wi' yon man as has run away. But seven year 'll +soon be past fro' t' time he went off, and yo'll only be +six-and-twenty then; and there'll be a chance of a better husband +for yo' after all, so keep up yo'r heart, Sylvia.' +</P> + +<P> +Molly Brunton had put as much venom as she knew how into this +speech, meaning it as a vengeful payment for the supposition of her +being thirty, even more than for the reproof for her angry words +about the child. She thought that Alice Rose must be either mother +or aunt to Philip, from the serious cast of countenance that was +remarkable in both; and she rather exulted in the allusion to a +happier second marriage for Sylvia, with which she had concluded her +speech. It roused Alice, however, as effectually as if she had been +really a blood relation to Philip; but for a different reason. She +was not slow to detect the intentional offensiveness to herself in +what had been said; she was indignant at Sylvia for suffering the +words spoken to pass unanswered; but in truth they were too much in +keeping with Molly Brunton's character to make as much impression on +Sylvia as they did on a stranger; and besides, she felt as if the +less reply Molly received, the less likely would it be that she +would go on in the same strain. So she coaxed and chattered to her +child and behaved like a little coward in trying to draw out of the +conversation, while at the same time listening attentively. +</P> + +<P> +'As for Sylvia Hepburn as was Sylvia Robson, she knows my mind,' +said Alice, in grim indignation. 'She's humbling herself now, I +trust and pray, but she was light-minded and full of vanity when +Philip married her, and it might ha' been a lift towards her +salvation in one way; but it pleased the Lord to work in a different +way, and she mun wear her sackcloth and ashes in patience. So I'll +say naught more about her. But for him as is absent, as thee hast +spoken on so lightly and reproachfully, I'd have thee to know he +were one of a different kind to any thee ever knew, I reckon. If he +were led away by a pretty face to slight one as was fitter for him, +and who had loved him as the apple of her eye, it's him as is +suffering for it, inasmuch as he's a wanderer from his home, and an +outcast from wife and child.' +</P> + +<P> +To the surprise of all, Molly's words of reply were cut short even +when they were on her lips, by Sylvia. Pale, fire-eyed, and excited, +with Philip's child on one arm, and the other stretched out, she +said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Noane can tell—noane know. No one shall speak a judgment 'twixt +Philip and me. He acted cruel and wrong by me. But I've said my +words to him hissel', and I'm noane going to make any plaint to +others; only them as knows should judge. And it's not fitting, it's +not' (almost sobbing), 'to go on wi' talk like this afore me.' +</P> + +<P> +The two—for Hester, who was aware that her presence had only been +desired by Sylvia as a check to an unpleasant <I>tete-a-tete</I> +conversation, had slipped back to her business as soon as her mother +came in—the two looked with surprise at Sylvia; her words, her +whole manner, belonged to a phase of her character which seldom came +uppermost, and which had not been perceived by either of them +before. +</P> + +<P> +Alice Rose, though astonished, rather approved of Sylvia's speech; +it showed that she had more serious thought and feeling on the +subject than the old woman had given her credit for; her general +silence respecting her husband's disappearance had led Alice to +think that she was too childish to have received any deep impression +from the event. Molly Brunton gave vent to her opinion on Sylvia's +speech in the following words:— +</P> + +<P> +'Hoighty-toighty! That tells tales, lass. If yo' treated steady +Philip to many such looks an' speeches as yo'n given us now, it's +easy t' see why he took hisself off. Why, Sylvia, I niver saw it in +yo' when yo' was a girl; yo're grown into a regular little vixen, +theere wheere yo' stand!' +</P> + +<P> +Indeed she did look defiant, with the swift colour flushing her +cheeks to crimson on its return, and the fire in her eyes not yet +died away. But at Molly's jesting words she sank back into her usual +look and manner, only saying quietly,— +</P> + +<P> +'It's for noane to say whether I'm vixen or not, as doesn't know th' +past things as is buried in my heart. But I cannot hold them as my +friends as go on talking on either my husband or me before my very +face. What he was, I know; and what I am, I reckon he knows. And now +I'll go hurry tea, for yo'll be needing it, Molly!' +</P> + +<P> +The last clause of this speech was meant to make peace; but Molly +was in twenty minds as to whether she should accept the olive-branch +or not. Her temper, however, was of that obtuse kind which is not +easily ruffled; her mind, stagnant in itself, enjoyed excitement +from without; and her appetite was invariably good, so she stayed, +in spite of the inevitable <I>tete-a-tete</I> with Alice. The latter, +however, refused to be drawn into conversation again; replying to +Mrs. Brunton's speeches with a curt yes or no, when, indeed, she +replied at all. +</P> + +<P> +When all were gathered at tea, Sylvia was quite calm again; rather +paler than usual, and very attentive and subduced in her behaviour +to Alice; she would evidently fain have been silent, but as Molly +was her own especial guest, that could not be, so all her endeavours +went towards steering the conversation away from any awkward points. +But each of the four, let alone little Bella, was thankful when the +market-cart drew up at the shop door, that was to take Mrs. Brunton +back to her sister's house. +</P> + +<P> +When she was fairly off, Alice Rose opened her mouth in strong +condemnation; winding up with— +</P> + +<P> +'And if aught in my words gave thee cause for offence, Sylvia, it +was because my heart rose within me at the kind of talk thee and she +had been having about Philip; and her evil and light-minded counsel +to thee about waiting seven years, and then wedding another.' +</P> + +<P> +Hard as these words may seem when repeated, there was something of a +nearer approach to an apology in Mrs. Rose's manner than Sylvia had +ever seen in it before. She was silent for a few moments, then she +said,— +</P> + +<P> +'I ha' often thought of telling yo' and Hester, special-like, when +yo've been so kind to my little Bella, that Philip an' me could +niver come together again; no, not if he came home this very +night——' +</P> + +<P> +She would have gone on speaking, but Hester interrupted her with a +low cry of dismay. +</P> + +<P> +Alice said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Hush thee, Hester. It's no business o' thine. Sylvia Hepburn, +thou'rt speaking like a silly child.' +</P> + +<P> +'No. I'm speaking like a woman; like a woman as finds out she's been +cheated by men as she trusted, and as has no help for it. I'm noane +going to say any more about it. It's me as has been wronged, and as +has to bear it: only I thought I'd tell yo' both this much, that yo' +might know somewhat why he went away, and how I said my last word +about it.' +</P> + +<P> +So indeed it seemed. To all questions and remonstrances from Alice, +Sylvia turned a deaf ear. She averted her face from Hester's sad, +wistful looks; only when they were parting for the night, at the top +of the little staircase, she turned, and putting her arms round +Hester's neck she laid her head on her neck, and whispered,— +</P> + +<P> +'Poor Hester—poor, poor Hester! if yo' an' he had but been married +together, what a deal o' sorrow would ha' been spared to us all!' +</P> + +<P> +Hester pushed her away as she finished these words; looked +searchingly into her face, her eyes, and then followed Sylvia into +her room, where Bella lay sleeping, shut the door, and almost knelt +down at Sylvia's feet, clasping her, and hiding her face in the +folds of the other's gown. +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia, Sylvia,' she murmured, 'some one has told you—I thought no +one knew—it's no sin—it's done away with now—indeed it is—it was +long ago—before yo' were married; but I cannot forget. It was a +shame, perhaps, to have thought on it iver, when he niver thought o' +me; but I niver believed as any one could ha' found it out. I'm just +fit to sink into t' ground, what wi' my sorrow and my shame.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester was stopped by her own rising sobs, immediately she was in +Sylvia's arms. Sylvia was sitting on the ground holding her, and +soothing her with caresses and broken words. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm allays saying t' wrong things,' said she. 'It seems as if I +were all upset to-day; and indeed I am;' she added, alluding to the +news of Kinraid's marriage she had yet to think upon. +</P> + +<P> +'But it wasn't yo', Hester: it were nothing yo' iver said, or did, +or looked, for that matter. It were yo'r mother as let it out.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, mother! mother!' wailed out Hester; 'I niver thought as any one +but God would ha' known that I had iver for a day thought on his +being more to me than a brother.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia made no reply, only went on stroking Hester's smooth brown +hair, off which her cap had fallen. Sylvia was thinking how strange +life was, and how love seemed to go all at cross purposes; and was +losing herself in bewilderment at the mystery of the world; she was +almost startled when Hester rose up, and taking Sylvia's hands in +both of hers, and looking solemnly at her, said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Sylvia, yo' know what has been my trouble and my shame, and I'm +sure yo're sorry for me—for I will humble myself to yo', and own +that for many months before yo' were married, I felt my +disappointment like a heavy burden laid on me by day and by night; +but now I ask yo', if yo've any pity for me for what I went through, +or if yo've any love for me because of yo'r dead mother's love for +me, or because of any fellowship, or daily breadliness between us +two,—put the hard thoughts of Philip away from out yo'r heart; he +may ha' done yo' wrong, anyway yo' think that he has; I niver knew +him aught but kind and good; but if he comes back from wheriver in +th' wide world he's gone to (and there's not a night but I pray God +to keep him, and send him safe back), yo' put away the memory of +past injury, and forgive it all, and be, what yo' can be, Sylvia, if +you've a mind to, just the kind, good wife he ought to have.' +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot; yo' know nothing about it, Hester.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tell me, then,' pleaded Hester. +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said Sylvia, after a moment's hesitation; 'I'd do a deal for +yo', I would, but I daren't forgive Philip, even if I could; I took +a great oath again' him. Ay, yo' may look shocked at me, but it's +him as yo' ought for to be shocked at if yo' knew all. I said I'd +niver forgive him; I shall keep to my word.' +</P> + +<P> +'I think I'd better pray for his death, then,' said Hester, +hopelessly, and almost bitterly, loosing her hold of Sylvia's hands. +</P> + +<P> +'If it weren't for baby theere, I could think as it were my death as +'ud be best. Them as one thinks t' most on, forgets one soonest.' +</P> + +<P> +It was Kinraid to whom she was alluding; but Hester did not +understand her; and after standing for a moment in silence, she +kissed her, and left her for the night. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap40"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XL +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN UNEXPECTED MESSENGER +</H3> + +<P> +After this agitation, and these partial confidences, no more was +said on the subject of Philip for many weeks. They avoided even the +slightest allusion to him; and none of them knew how seldom or how +often he might be present in the minds of the others. +</P> + +<P> +One day the little Bella was unusually fractious with some slight +childish indisposition, and Sylvia was obliged to have recourse to a +never-failing piece of amusement; namely, to take the child into the +shop, when the number of new, bright-coloured articles was sure to +beguile the little girl out of her fretfulness. She was walking +along the high terrace of the counter, kept steady by her mother's +hand, when Mr. Dawson's market-cart once more stopped before the +door. But it was not Mrs. Brunton who alighted now; it was a very +smartly-dressed, very pretty young lady, who put one dainty foot +before the other with care, as if descending from such a primitive +vehicle were a new occurrence in her life. Then she looked up at the +names above the shop-door, and after ascertaining that this was +indeed the place she desired to find, she came in blushing. +</P> + +<P> +'Is Mrs. Hepburn at home?' she asked of Hester, whose position in the +shop brought her forwards to receive the customers, while Sylvia +drew Bella out of sight behind some great bales of red flannel. +</P> + +<P> +'Can I see her?' the sweet, south-country voice went on, still +addressing Hester. Sylvia heard the inquiry, and came forwards, with +a little rustic awkwardness, feeling both shy and curious. +</P> + +<P> +'Will yo' please walk this way, ma'am?' said she, leading her +visitor back into her own dominion of the parlour, and leaving Bella +to Hester's willing care. +</P> + +<P> +'You don't know me!' said the pretty young lady, joyously. 'But I +think you knew my husband. I am Mrs. Kinraid!' +</P> + +<P> +A sob of surprise rose to Sylvia's lips—she choked it down, +however, and tried to conceal any emotion she might feel, in placing +a chair for her visitor, and trying to make her feel welcome, +although, if the truth must be told, Sylvia was wondering all the +time why her visitor came, and how soon she would go. +</P> + +<P> +'You knew Captain Kinraid, did you not?' said the young lady, with +innocent inquiry; to which Sylvia's lips formed the answer, 'Yes,' +but no clear sound issued therefrom. +</P> + +<P> +'But I know your husband knew the captain; is he at home yet? Can I +speak to him? I do so want to see him.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was utterly bewildered; Mrs. Kinraid, this pretty, joyous, +prosperous little bird of a woman, Philip, Charley's wife, what +could they have in common? what could they know of each other? All +she could say in answer to Mrs. Kinraid's eager questions, and still +more eager looks, was, that her husband was from home, had been long +from home: she did not know where he was, she did not know when he +would come back. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Kinraid's face fell a little, partly from her own real +disappointment, partly out of sympathy with the hopeless, +indifferent tone of Sylvia's replies. +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Dawson told me he had gone away rather suddenly a year ago, but +I thought he might be come home by now. I am expecting the captain +early next month. Oh! how I should have liked to see Mr. Hepburn, and +to thank him for saving the captain's life!' +</P> + +<P> +'What do yo' mean?' asked Sylvia, stirred out of all assumed +indifference. 'The captain! is that' (not 'Charley', she could not +use that familiar name to the pretty young wife before her) 'yo'r +husband?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, you knew him, didn't you? when he used to be staying with Mr +Corney, his uncle?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I knew him; but I don't understand. Will yo' please to tell me +all about it, ma'am?' said Sylvia, faintly. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought your husband would have told you all about it; I hardly +know where to begin. You know my husband is a sailor?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia nodded assent, listening greedily, her heart beating thick +all the time. +</P> + +<P> +'And he's now a Commander in the Royal Navy, all earned by his own +bravery! Oh! I am so proud of him!' +</P> + +<P> +So could Sylvia have been if she had been his wife; as it was, she +thought how often she had felt sure that he would be a great man +some day. +</P> + +<P> +'And he has been at the siege of Acre.' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia looked perplexed at these strange words, and Mrs. Kinraid +caught the look. +</P> + +<P> +'St Jean d'Acre, you know—though it's fine saying "you know", when +I didn't know a bit about it myself till the captain's ship was +ordered there, though I was the head girl at Miss Dobbin's in the +geography class—Acre is a seaport town, not far from Jaffa, which +is the modern name for Joppa, where St Paul went to long ago; you've +read of that, I'm sure, and Mount Carmel, where the prophet Elijah +was once, all in Palestine, you know, only the Turks have got it +now?' +</P> + +<P> +'But I don't understand yet,' said Sylvia, plaintively; 'I daresay +it's all very true about St Paul, but please, ma'am, will yo' tell +me about yo'r husband and mine—have they met again?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, at Acre, I tell you,' said Mrs. Kinraid, with pretty petulance. +'The Turks held the town, and the French wanted to take it; and we, +that is the British Fleet, wouldn't let them. So Sir Sidney Smith, a +commodore and a great friend of the captain's, landed in order to +fight the French; and the captain and many of the sailors landed +with him; and it was burning hot; and the poor captain was wounded, +and lay a-dying of pain and thirst within the enemy's—that is the +French—fire; so that they were ready to shoot any one of his own +side who came near him. They thought he was dead himself, you see, +as he was very near; and would have been too, if your husband had +not come out of shelter, and taken him up in his arms or on his back +(I couldn't make out which), and carried him safe within the walls.' +</P> + +<P> +'It couldn't have been Philip,' said Sylvia, dubiously. +</P> + +<P> +'But it was. The captain says so; and he's not a man to be mistaken. +I thought I'd got his letter with me; and I would have read you a +part of it, but I left it at Mrs. Dawson's in my desk; and I can't +send it to you,' blushing as she remembered certain passages in +which 'the captain' wrote very much like a lover, 'or else I would. +But you may be quite sure it was your husband that ventured into all +that danger to save his old friend's life, or the captain would not +have said so.' +</P> + +<P> +'But they weren't—they weren't—not to call great friends.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish I'd got the letter here; I can't think how I could be so +stupid; I think I can almost remember the very words, though—I've +read them over so often. He says, "Just as I gave up all hope, I saw +one Philip Hepburn, a man whom I had known at Monkshaven, and whom I +had some reason to remember well"—(I'm sure he says so—"remember +well"), "he saw me too, and came at the risk of his life to where I +lay. I fully expected he would be shot down; and I shut my eyes not +to see the end of my last chance. The shot rained about him, and I +think he was hit; but he took me up and carried me under cover." I'm +sure he says that, I've read it over so often; and he goes on and +says how he hunted for Mr. Hepburn all through the ships, as soon as +ever he could; but he could hear nothing of him, either alive or +dead. Don't go so white, for pity's sake!' said she, suddenly +startled by Sylvia's blanching colour. 'You see, because he couldn't +find him alive is no reason for giving him up as dead; because his +name wasn't to be found on any of the ships' books; so the captain +thinks he must have been known by a different name to his real one. +Only he says he should like to have seen him to have thanked him; +and he says he would give a deal to know what has become of him; and +as I was staying two days at Mrs. Dawson's, I told them I must come +over to Monkshaven, if only for five minutes, just to hear if your +good husband was come home, and to shake his hands, that helped to +save my own dear captain.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think it could have been Philip,' reiterated Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +'Why not?' asked her visitor; 'you say you don't know where he is; +why mightn't he have been there where the captain says he was?' +</P> + +<P> +'But he wasn't a sailor, nor yet a soldier.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! but he was. I think somewhere the captain calls him a marine; +that's neither one nor the other, but a little of both. He'll be +coming home some day soon; and then you'll see!' +</P> + +<P> +Alice Rose came in at this minute, and Mrs. Kinraid jumped to the +conclusion that she was Sylvia's mother, and in her overflowing +gratitude and friendliness to all the family of him who had 'saved +the captain' she went forward, and shook the old woman's hand in +that pleasant confiding way that wins all hearts. +</P> + +<P> +'Here's your daughter, ma'am!' said she to the half-astonished, +half-pleased Alice. 'I'm Mrs. Kinraid, the wife of the captain that +used to be in these parts, and I'm come to bring her news of her +husband, and she don't half believe me, though it's all to his +credit, I'm sure.' +</P> + +<P> +Alice looked so perplexed that Sylvia felt herself bound to explain. +</P> + +<P> +'She says he's either a soldier or a sailor, and a long way off at +some place named in t' Bible.' +</P> + +<P> +'Philip Hepburn led away to be a soldier!' said she, 'who had once +been a Quaker?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, and a very brave one too, and one that it would do my heart +good to look upon,' exclaimed Mrs. Kinraid. 'He's been saving my +husband's life in the Holy Land, where Jerusalem is, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay!' said Alice, a little scornfully. 'I can forgive Sylvia for +not being over keen to credit thy news. Her man of peace becoming a +man of war; and suffered to enter Jerusalem, which is a heavenly and +a typical city at this time; while me, as is one of the elect, is +obliged to go on dwelling in Monkshaven, just like any other body.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, but,' said Mrs. Kinraid, gently, seeing she was touching on +delicate ground, 'I did not say he had gone to Jerusalem, but my +husband saw him in those parts, and he was doing his duty like a +brave, good man; ay, and more than his duty; and, you may take my +word for it, he'll be at home some day soon, and all I beg is that +you'll let the captain and me know, for I'm sure if we can, we'll +both come and pay our respects to him. And I'm very glad I've seen +you,' said she, rising to go, and putting out her hand to shake that +of Sylvia; 'for, besides being Hepburn's wife, I'm pretty sure I've +heard the captain speak of you; and if ever you come to Bristol I +hope you'll come and see us on Clifton Downs.' +</P> + +<P> +She went away, leaving Sylvia almost stunned by the new ideas +presented to her. Philip a soldier! Philip in a battle, risking his +life. Most strange of all, Charley and Philip once more meeting +together, not as rivals or as foes, but as saviour and saved! Add to +all this the conviction, strengthened by every word that happy, +loving wife had uttered, that Kinraid's old, passionate love for +herself had faded away and vanished utterly: its very existence +apparently blotted out of his memory. She had torn up her love for +him by the roots, but she felt as if she could never forget that it +had been. +</P> + +<P> +Hester brought back Bella to her mother. She had not liked to +interrupt the conversation with the strange lady before; and now she +found her mother in an obvious state of excitement; Sylvia quieter +than usual. +</P> + +<P> +'That was Kinraid's wife, Hester! Him that was th' specksioneer as +made such a noise about t' place at the time of Darley's death. He's +now a captain—a navy captain, according to what she says. And she'd +fain have us believe that Philip is abiding in all manner of +Scripture places; places as has been long done away with, but the +similitude whereof is in the heavens, where the elect shall one day +see them. And she says Philip is there, and a soldier, and that he +saved her husband's life, and is coming home soon. I wonder what +John and Jeremiah 'll say to his soldiering then? It'll noane be to +their taste, I'm thinking.' +</P> + +<P> +This was all very unintelligible to Hester, and she would dearly +have liked to question Sylvia; but Sylvia sate a little apart, with +Bella on her knee, her cheek resting on her child's golden curls, +and her eyes fixed and almost trance-like, as if she were seeing +things not present. +</P> + +<P> +So Hester had to be content with asking her mother as many +elucidatory questions as she could; and after all did not gain a +very clear idea of what had really been said by Mrs. Kinraid, as her +mother was more full of the apparent injustice of Philip's being +allowed the privilege of treading on holy ground—if, indeed, that +holy ground existed on this side heaven, which she was inclined to +dispute—than to confine herself to the repetition of words, or +narration of facts. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Sylvia roused herself to a sense of Hester's deep interest +and balked inquiries, and she went over the ground rapidly. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'r mother says right—she is his wife. And he's away fighting; +and got too near t' French as was shooting and firing all round him; +and just then, according to her story, Philip saw him, and went +straight into t' midst o' t' shots, and fetched him out o' danger. +That's what she says, and upholds.' +</P> + +<P> +'And why should it not be?' asked Hester, her cheek flushing. +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia only shook her head, and said, +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot tell. It may be so. But they'd little cause to be friends, +and it seems all so strange—Philip a soldier, and them meeting +theere after all!' +</P> + +<P> +Hester laid the story of Philip's bravery to her heart—she fully +believed in it. Sylvia pondered it more deeply still; the causes for +her disbelief, or, at any rate, for her wonder, were unknown to +Hester! Many a time she sank to sleep with the picture of the event +narrated by Mrs. Kinraid as present to her mind as her imagination or +experience could make it: first one figure prominent, then another. +Many a morning she wakened up, her heart beating wildly, why, she +knew not, till she shuddered at the remembrance of the scenes that +had passed in her dreams: scenes that might be acted in reality that +very day; for Philip might come back, and then? +</P> + +<P> +And where was Philip all this time, these many weeks, these heavily +passing months? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap41"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BEDESMAN OF ST SEPULCHRE +</H3> + +<P> +Philip lay long ill on board the hospital ship. If his heart had +been light, he might have rallied sooner; but he was so depressed he +did not care to live. His shattered jaw-bone, his burnt and +blackened face, his many injuries of body, were torture to both his +physical frame, and his sick, weary heart. No more chance for him, +if indeed there ever had been any, of returning gay and gallant, and +thus regaining his wife's love. This had been his poor, foolish +vision in the first hour of his enlistment; and the vain dream had +recurred more than once in the feverish stage of excitement which +the new scenes into which he had been hurried as a recruit had +called forth. But that was all over now. He knew that it was the +most unlikely thing in the world to have come to pass; and yet those +were happy days when he could think of it as barely possible. Now +all he could look forward to was disfigurement, feebleness, and the +bare pittance that keeps pensioners from absolute want. +</P> + +<P> +Those around him were kind enough to him in their fashion, and +attended to his bodily requirements; but they had no notion of +listening to any revelations of unhappiness, if Philip had been the +man to make confidences of that kind. As it was, he lay very still +in his berth, seldom asking for anything, and always saying he was +better, when the ship-surgeon came round with his daily inquiries. +But he did not care to rally, and was rather sorry to find that his +case was considered so interesting in a surgical point of view, that +he was likely to receive a good deal more than the average amount of +attention. Perhaps it was owing to this that he recovered at all. +The doctors said it was the heat that made him languid, for that his +wounds and burns were all doing well at last; and by-and-by they +told him they had ordered him 'home'. His pulse sank under the +surgeon's finger at the mention of the word; but he did not say a +word. He was too indifferent to life and the world to have a will; +otherwise they might have kept their pet patient a little longer +where he was. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly passing from ship to ship as occasion served; resting here +and there in garrison hospitals, Philip at length reached Portsmouth +on the evening of a September day in 1799. The transport-ship in +which he was, was loaded with wounded and invalided soldiers and +sailors; all who could manage it in any way struggled on deck to +catch the first view of the white coasts of England. One man lifted +his arm, took off his cap, and feebly waved it aloft, crying, 'Old +England for ever!' in a faint shrill voice, and then burst into +tears and sobbed aloud. Others tried to pipe up 'Rule Britannia', +while more sate, weak and motionless, looking towards the shores +that once, not so long ago, they never thought to see again. Philip +was one of these; his place a little apart from the other men. He +was muffled up in a great military cloak that had been given him by +one of his officers; he felt the September breeze chill after his +sojourn in a warmer climate, and in his shattered state of health. +</P> + +<P> +As the ship came in sight of Portsmouth harbour, the signal flags +ran up the ropes; the beloved Union Jack floated triumphantly over +all. Return signals were made from the harbour; on board all became +bustle and preparation for landing; while on shore there was the +evident movement of expectation, and men in uniform were seen +pressing their way to the front, as if to them belonged the right of +reception. They were the men from the barrack hospital, that had +been signalled for, come down with ambulance litters and other marks +of forethought for the sick and wounded, who were returning to the +country for which they had fought and suffered. +</P> + +<P> +With a dash and a great rocking swing the vessel came up to her +appointed place, and was safely moored. Philip sat still, almost as +if he had no part in the cries of welcome, the bustling care, the +loud directions that cut the air around him, and pierced his nerves +through and through. But one in authority gave the order; and +Philip, disciplined to obedience, rose to find his knapsack and +leave the ship. Passive as he seemed to be, he had his likings for +particular comrades; there was one especially, a man as different +from Philip as well could be, to whom the latter had always attached +himself; a merry fellow from Somersetshire, who was almost always +cheerful and bright, though Philip had overheard the doctors say he +would never be the man he was before he had that shot through the +side. This marine would often sit making his fellows laugh, and +laughing himself at his own good-humoured jokes, till so terrible a +fit of coughing came on that those around him feared he would die in +the paroxysm. After one of these fits he had gasped out some words, +which led Philip to question him a little; and it turned out that in +the quiet little village of Potterne, far inland, nestled beneath +the high stretches of Salisbury Plain, he had a wife and a child, a +little girl, just the same age even to a week as Philip's own little +Bella. It was this that drew Philip towards the man; and this that +made Philip wait and go ashore along with the poor consumptive +marine. +</P> + +<P> +The litters had moved off towards the hospital, the sergeant in +charge had given his words of command to the remaining invalids, who +tried to obey them to the best of their power, falling into +something like military order for their march; but soon, very soon, +the weakest broke step, and lagged behind; and felt as if the rough +welcomes and rude expressions of sympathy from the crowd around were +almost too much for them. Philip and his companion were about +midway, when suddenly a young woman with a child in her arms forced +herself through the people, between the soldiers who kept pressing +on either side, and threw herself on the neck of Philip's friend. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Jem!' she sobbed, 'I've walked all the road from Potterne. I've +never stopped but for food and rest for Nelly, and now I've got you +once again, I've got you once again, bless God for it!' +</P> + +<P> +She did not seem to see the deadly change that had come over her +husband since she parted with him a ruddy young labourer; she had +got him once again, as she phrased it, and that was enough for her; +she kissed his face, his hands, his very coat, nor would she be +repulsed from walking beside him and holding his hand, while her +little girl ran along scared by the voices and the strange faces, +and clinging to her mammy's gown. +</P> + +<P> +Jem coughed, poor fellow! he coughed his churchyard cough; and +Philip bitterly envied him—envied his life, envied his approaching +death; for was he not wrapped round with that woman's tender love, +and is not such love stronger than death? Philip had felt as if his +own heart was grown numb, and as though it had changed to a cold +heavy stone. But at the contrast of this man's lot to his own, he +felt that he had yet the power of suffering left to him. +</P> + +<P> +The road they had to go was full of people, kept off in some measure +by the guard of soldiers. All sorts of kindly speeches, and many a +curious question, were addressed to the poor invalids as they walked +along. Philip's jaw, and the lower part of his face, were bandaged +up; his cap was slouched down; he held his cloak about him, and +shivered within its folds. +</P> + +<P> +They came to a standstill from some slight obstacle at the corner of +a street. Down the causeway of this street a naval officer with a +lady on his arm was walking briskly, with a step that told of health +and a light heart. He stayed his progress though, when he saw the +convoy of maimed and wounded men; he said something, of which Philip +only caught the words, 'same uniform,' 'for his sake,' to the young +lady, whose cheek blanched a little, but whose eyes kindled. Then +leaving her for an instant, he pressed forward; he was close to +Philip,—poor sad Philip absorbed in his own thoughts,—so absorbed +that he noticed nothing till he heard a voice at his ear, having the +Northumbrian burr, the Newcastle inflections which he knew of old, +and that were to him like the sick memory of a deadly illness; and +then he turned his muffled face to the speaker, though he knew well +enough who it was, and averted his eyes after one sight of the +handsome, happy man,—the man whose life he had saved once, and +would save again, at the risk of his own, but whom, for all that, he +prayed that he might never meet more on earth. +</P> + +<P> +'Here, my fine fellow, take this,' forcing a crown piece into +Philip's hand. 'I wish it were more; I'd give you a pound if I had +it with me.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip muttered something, and held out the coin to Captain Kinraid, +of course in vain; nor was there time to urge it back upon the +giver, for the obstacle to their progress was suddenly removed, the +crowd pressed upon the captain and his wife, the procession moved +on, and Philip along with it, holding the piece in his hand, and +longing to throw it far away. Indeed he was on the point of dropping +it, hoping to do so unperceived, when he bethought him of giving it +to Jem's wife, the footsore woman, limping happily along by her +husband's side. They thanked him, and spoke in his praise more than +he could well bear. It was no credit to him to give that away which +burned his fingers as long as he kept it. +</P> + +<P> +Philip knew that the injuries he had received in the explosion on +board the <I>Theseus</I> would oblige him to leave the service. He also +believed that they would entitle him to a pension. But he had little +interest in his future life; he was without hope, and in a depressed +state of health. He remained for some little time stationary, and +then went through all the forms of dismissal on account of wounds +received in service, and was turned out loose upon the world, +uncertain where to go, indifferent as to what became of him. +</P> + +<P> +It was fine, warm October weather as he turned his back upon the +coast, and set off on his walk northwards. Green leaves were yet +upon the trees; the hedges were one flush of foliage and the wild +rough-flavoured fruits of different kinds; the fields were tawny +with the uncleared-off stubble, or emerald green with the growth of +the aftermath. The roadside cottage gardens were gay with hollyhocks +and Michaelmas daisies and marigolds, and the bright panes of the +windows glittered through a veil of China roses. +</P> + +<P> +The war was a popular one, and, as a natural consequence, soldiers +and sailors were heroes everywhere. Philip's long drooping form, his +arm hung in a sling, his face scarred and blackened, his jaw bound +up with a black silk handkerchief; these marks of active service +were reverenced by the rustic cottagers as though they had been +crowns and sceptres. Many a hard-handed labourer left his seat by +the chimney corner, and came to his door to have a look at one who +had been fighting the French, and pushed forward to have a grasp of +the stranger's hand as he gave back the empty cup into the good +wife's keeping, for the kind homely women were ever ready with milk +or homebrewed to slake the feverish traveller's thirst when he +stopped at their doors and asked for a drink of water. +</P> + +<P> +At the village public-house he had had a welcome of a more +interested character, for the landlord knew full well that his +circle of customers would be large that night, if it was only known +that he had within his doors a soldier or a sailor who had seen +service. The rustic politicians would gather round Philip, and smoke +and drink, and then question and discuss till they were drouthy +again; and in their sturdy obtuse minds they set down the extra +glass and the supernumerary pipe to the score of patriotism. +</P> + +<P> +Altogether human nature turned its sunny side out to Philip just +now; and not before he needed the warmth of brotherly kindness to +cheer his shivering soul. Day after day he drifted northwards, +making but the slow progress of a feeble man, and yet this short +daily walk tired him so much that he longed for rest—for the +morning to come when he needed not to feel that in the course of an +hour or two he must be up and away. +</P> + +<P> +He was toiling on with this longing at his heart when he saw that he +was drawing near a stately city, with a great old cathedral in the +centre keeping solemn guard. This place might be yet two or three +miles distant; he was on a rising ground looking down upon it. A +labouring man passing by, observed his pallid looks and his languid +attitude, and told him for his comfort, that if he turned down a +lane to the left a few steps farther on, he would find himself at +the Hospital of St Sepulchre, where bread and beer were given to all +comers, and where he might sit him down and rest awhile on the old +stone benches within the shadow of the gateway. Obeying these +directions, Philip came upon a building which dated from the time of +Henry the Fifth. Some knight who had fought in the French wars of +that time, and had survived his battles and come home to his old +halls, had been stirred up by his conscience, or by what was +equivalent in those days, his confessor, to build and endow a +hospital for twelve decayed soldiers, and a chapel wherein they were +to attend the daily masses he ordained to be said till the end of +all time (which eternity lasted rather more than a century, pretty +well for an eternity bespoken by a man), for his soul and the souls +of those whom he had slain. There was a large division of the +quadrangular building set apart for the priest who was to say these +masses; and to watch over the well-being of the bedesmen. In process +of years the origin and primary purpose of the hospital had been +forgotten by all excepting the local antiquaries; and the place +itself came to be regarded as a very pleasant quaint set of +almshouses; and the warden's office (he who should have said or sung +his daily masses was now called the warden, and read daily prayers +and preached a sermon on Sundays) an agreeable sinecure. +</P> + +<P> +Another legacy of old Sir Simon Bray was that of a small croft of +land, the rent or profits of which were to go towards giving to all +who asked for it a manchet of bread and a cup of good beer. This +beer was, so Sir Simon ordained, to be made after a certain receipt +which he left, in which ground ivy took the place of hops. But the +receipt, as well as the masses, was modernized according to the +progress of time. +</P> + +<P> +Philip stood under a great broad stone archway; the back-door into +the warden's house was on the right side; a kind of buttery-hatch +was placed by the porter's door on the opposite side. After some +consideration, Philip knocked at the closed shutter, and the signal +seemed to be well understood. He heard a movement within; the hatch +was drawn aside, and his bread and beer were handed to him by a +pleasant-looking old man, who proved himself not at all disinclined +for conversation. +</P> + +<P> +'You may sit down on yonder bench,' said he. 'Nay, man! sit i' the +sun, for it's a chilly place, this, and then you can look through +the grate and watch th' old fellows toddling about in th' quad.' +</P> + +<P> +Philip sat down where the warm October sun slanted upon him, and +looked through the iron railing at the peaceful sight. +</P> + +<P> +A great square of velvet lawn, intersected diagonally with broad +flag-paved walks, the same kind of walk going all round the +quadrangle; low two-storied brick houses, tinted gray and yellow by +age, and in many places almost covered with vines, Virginian +creepers, and monthly roses; before each house a little plot of +garden ground, bright with flowers, and evidently tended with the +utmost care; on the farther side the massive chapel; here and there +an old or infirm man sunning himself, or leisurely doing a bit of +gardening, or talking to one of his comrades—the place looked as if +care and want, and even sorrow, were locked out and excluded by the +ponderous gate through which Philip was gazing. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a nice enough place, bean't it?' said the porter, interpreting +Philip's looks pretty accurately. 'Leastways, for them as likes it. +I've got a bit weary on it myself; it's so far from th' world, as a +man may say; not a decent public within a mile and a half, where one +can hear a bit o' news of an evening.' +</P> + +<P> +'I think I could make myself very content here,' replied Philip. +'That's to say, if one were easy in one's mind.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, ay, my man. That's it everywhere. Why, I don't think that I +could enjoy myself—not even at th' White Hart, where they give you +as good a glass of ale for twopence as anywhere i' th' four +kingdoms—I couldn't, to say, flavour my ale even there, if my old +woman lay a-dying; which is a sign as it's the heart, and not the +ale, as makes the drink.' +</P> + +<P> +Just then the warden's back-door opened, and out came the warden +himself, dressed in full clerical costume. +</P> + +<P> +He was going into the neighbouring city, but he stopped to speak to +Philip, the wounded soldier; and all the more readily because his +old faded uniform told the warden's experienced eye that he had +belonged to the Marines. +</P> + +<P> +'I hope you enjoy the victual provided for you by the founder of St +Sepulchre,' said he, kindly. 'You look but poorly, my good fellow, +and as if a slice of good cold meat would help your bread down.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thank you, sir!' said Philip. 'I'm not hungry, only weary, and glad +of a draught of beer.' +</P> + +<P> +'You've been in the Marines, I see. Where have you been serving?' +</P> + +<P> +'I was at the siege of Acre, last May, sir.' +</P> + +<P> +'At Acre! Were you, indeed? Then perhaps you know my boy Harry? He +was in the——th.' +</P> + +<P> +'It was my company,' said Philip, warming up a little. Looking back +upon his soldier's life, it seemed to him to have many charms, +because it was so full of small daily interests. +</P> + +<P> +'Then, did you know my son, Lieutenant Pennington?' +</P> + +<P> +'It was he that gave me this cloak, sir, when they were sending me +back to England. I had been his servant for a short time before I +was wounded by the explosion on board the <I>Theseus</I>, and he said I +should feel the cold of the voyage. He's very kind; and I've heard +say he promises to be a first-rate officer.' +</P> + +<P> +'You shall have a slice of roast beef, whether you want it or not,' +said the warden, ringing the bell at his own back-door. 'I recognize +the cloak now—the young scamp! How soon he has made it shabby, +though,' he continued, taking up a corner where there was an immense +tear not too well botched up. 'And so you were on board the +<I>Theseus</I> at the time of the explosion? Bring some cold meat here +for the good man—or stay! Come in with me, and then you can tell +Mrs. Pennington and the young ladies all you know about Harry,—and +the siege,—and the explosion.' +</P> + +<P> +So Philip was ushered into the warden's house and made to eat roast +beef almost against his will; and he was questioned and +cross-questioned by three eager ladies, all at the same time, as it +seemed to him. He had given all possible details on the subjects +about which they were curious; and was beginning to consider how he +could best make his retreat, when the younger Miss Pennington went +up to her father—who had all this time stood, with his hat on, +holding his coat-tails over his arms, with his back to the fire. He +bent his ear down a very little to hear some whispered suggestion of +his daughter's, nodded his head, and then went on questioning +Philip, with kindly inquisitiveness and patronage, as the rich do +question the poor. +</P> + +<P> +'And where are you going to now?' +</P> + +<P> +Philip did not answer directly. He wondered in his own mind where he +was going. At length he said, +</P> + +<P> +'Northwards, I believe. But perhaps I shall never reach there.' +</P> + +<P> +'Haven't you friends? Aren't you going to them?' +</P> + +<P> +There was again a pause; a cloud came over Philip's countenance. He +said, +</P> + +<P> +'No! I'm not going to my friends. I don't know that I've got any +left.' +</P> + +<P> +They interpreted his looks and this speech to mean that he had +either lost his friends by death, or offended them by enlisting. +</P> + +<P> +The warden went on, +</P> + +<P> +'I ask, because we've got a cottage vacant in the mead. Old Dobson, +who was with General Wolfe at the taking of Quebec, died a fortnight +ago. With such injuries as yours, I fear you'll never be able to +work again. But we require strict testimonials as to character,' he +added, with as penetrating a look as he could summon up at Philip. +</P> + +<P> +Philip looked unmoved, either by the offer of the cottage, or the +illusion to the possibility of his character not being satisfactory. +He was grateful enough in reality, but too heavy at heart to care +very much what became of him. +</P> + +<P> +The warden and his family, who were accustomed to consider a +settlement at St Sepulchre's as the sum of all good to a worn-out +soldier, were a little annoyed at Philip's cool way of receiving the +proposition. The warden went on to name the contingent advantages. +</P> + +<P> +'Besides the cottage, you would have a load of wood for firing on +All Saints', on Christmas, and on Candlemas days—a blue gown and +suit of clothes to match every Michaelmas, and a shilling a day to +keep yourself in all other things. Your dinner you would have with +the other men, in hall.' +</P> + +<P> +'The warden himself goes into hall every day, and sees that +everything is comfortable, and says grace,' added the warden's lady. +</P> + +<P> +'I know I seem stupid,' said Philip, almost humbly, 'not to be more +grateful, for it's far beyond what I iver expected or thought for +again, and it's a great temptation, for I'm just worn out with +fatigue. Several times I've thought I must lie down under a hedge, +and just die for very weariness. But once I had a wife and a child +up in the north,' he stopped. +</P> + +<P> +'And are they dead?' asked one of the young ladies in a soft +sympathizing tone. Her eyes met Philip's, full of dumb woe. He tried +to speak; he wanted to explain more fully, yet not to reveal the +truth. +</P> + +<P> +'Well!' said the warden, thinking he perceived the real state of +things, 'what I propose is this. You shall go into old Dobson's +house at once, as a kind of probationary bedesman. I'll write to +Harry, and get your character from him. Stephen Freeman I think you +said your name was? Before I can receive his reply you'll have been +able to tell how you'd like the kind of life; and at any rate you'll +have the rest you seem to require in the meantime. You see, I take +Harry's having given you that cloak as a kind of character,' added +he, smiling kindly. 'Of course you'll have to conform to rules just +like all the rest,—chapel at eight, dinner at twelve, lights out at +nine; but I'll tell you the remainder of our regulations as we walk +across quad to your new quarters.' +</P> + +<P> +And thus Philip, almost in spite of himself, became installed in a +bedesman's house at St Sepulchre. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap42"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A FABLE AT FAULT +</H3> + +<P> +Philip took possession of the two rooms which had belonged to the +dead Sergeant Dobson. They were furnished sufficiently for every +comfort by the trustees of the hospital. Some little fragments of +ornament, some small articles picked up in distant countries, a few +tattered books, remained in the rooms as legacies from their former +occupant. +</P> + +<P> +At first the repose of the life and the place was inexpressibly +grateful to Philip. He had always shrunk from encountering +strangers, and displaying his blackened and scarred countenance to +them, even where such disfigurement was most regarded as a mark of +honour. In St Sepulchre's he met none but the same set day after +day, and when he had once told the tale of how it happened and +submitted to their gaze, it was over for ever, if he so minded. The +slight employment his garden gave him—there was a kitchen-garden +behind each house, as well as the flower-plot in front—and the +daily arrangement of his parlour and chamber were, at the beginning +of his time of occupation, as much bodily labour as he could manage. +There was something stately and utterly removed from all Philip's +previous existence in the forms observed at every day's dinner, when +the twelve bedesmen met in the large quaint hall, and the warden +came in his college-cap and gown to say the long Latin grace which +wound up with something very like a prayer for the soul of Sir Simon +Bray. It took some time to get a reply to ship letters in those +times when no one could exactly say where the fleet might be found. +</P> + +<P> +And before Dr Pennington had received the excellent character of +Stephen Freeman, which his son gladly sent in answer to his father's +inquiries, Philip had become restless and uneasy in the midst of all +this peace and comfort. +</P> + +<P> +Sitting alone over his fire in the long winter evenings, the scenes +of his past life rose before him; his childhood; his aunt Robson's +care of him; his first going to Foster's shop in Monkshaven; +Haytersbank Farm, and the spelling lessons in the bright warm +kitchen there; Kinraid's appearance; the miserable night of the +Corneys' party; the farewell he had witnessed on Monkshaven sands; +the press-gang, and all the long consequences of that act of +concealment; poor Daniel Robson's trial and execution; his own +marriage; his child's birth; and then he came to that last day at +Monkshaven: and he went over and over again the torturing details, +the looks of contempt and anger, the words of loathing indignation, +till he almost brought himself, out of his extreme sympathy with +Sylvia, to believe that he was indeed the wretch she had considered +him to be. +</P> + +<P> +He forgot his own excuses for having acted as he had done; though +these excuses had at one time seemed to him to wear the garb of +reasons. After long thought and bitter memory came some wonder. What +was Sylvia doing now? Where was she? What was his child like—his +child as well as hers? And then he remembered the poor footsore wife +and the little girl she carried in her arms, that was just the age +of Bella; he wished he had noticed that child more, that a clear +vision of it might rise up when he wanted to picture Bella. +</P> + +<P> +One night he had gone round this mill-wheel circle of ideas till he +was weary to the very marrow of his bones. To shake off the +monotonous impression he rose to look for a book amongst the old +tattered volumes, hoping that he might find something that would +sufficiently lay hold of him to change the current of his thoughts. +There was an old volume of <I>Peregrine Pickle</I>; a book of sermons; +half an army list of 1774, and the <I>Seven Champions of Christendom</I>. +Philip took up this last, which he had never seen before. In it he +read how Sir Guy, Earl of Warwick, went to fight the Paynim in his +own country, and was away for seven long years; and when he came +back his own wife Phillis, the countess in her castle, did not know +the poor travel-worn hermit, who came daily to seek his dole of +bread at her hands along with many beggars and much poor. But at +last, when he lay a-dying in his cave in the rock, he sent for her +by a secret sign known but to them twain. And she came with great +speed, for she knew it was her lord who had sent for her; and they +had many sweet and holy words together before he gave up the ghost, +his head lying on her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +The old story known to most people from their childhood was all new +and fresh to Philip. He did not quite believe in the truth of it, +because the fictitious nature of the histories of some of the other +Champions of Christendom was too patent. But he could not help +thinking that this one might be true; and that Guy and Phillis might +have been as real flesh and blood, long, long ago, as he and Sylvia +had even been. The old room, the quiet moonlit quadrangle into which +the cross-barred casement looked, the quaint aspect of everything +that he had seen for weeks and weeks; all this predisposed Philip to +dwell upon the story he had just been reading as a faithful legend +of two lovers whose bones were long since dust. He thought that if +he could thus see Sylvia, himself unknown, unseen—could live at her +gates, so to speak, and gaze upon her and his child—some day too, +when he lay a-dying, he might send for her, and in soft words of +mutual forgiveness breathe his life away in her arms. Or perhaps—and +so he lost himself, and from thinking, passed on to dreaming. +All night long Guy and Phillis, Sylvia and his child, passed in and +out of his visions; it was impossible to make the fragments of his +dreams cohere; but the impression made upon him by them was not the +less strong for this. He felt as if he were called to Monkshaven, +wanted at Monkshaven, and to Monkshaven he resolved to go; although +when his reason overtook his feeling, he knew perfectly how unwise +it was to leave a home of peace and tranquillity and surrounding +friendliness, to go to a place where nothing but want and +wretchedness awaited him unless he made himself known; and if he +did, a deeper want, a more woeful wretchedness, would in all +probability be his portion. +</P> + +<P> +In the small oblong of looking-glass hung against the wall, Philip +caught the reflection of his own face, and laughed scornfully at the +sight. The thin hair lay upon his temples in the flakes that betoken +long ill-health; his eyes were the same as ever, and they had always +been considered the best feature in his face; but they were sunk in +their orbits, and looked hollow and gloomy. As for the lower part of +his face, blackened, contracted, drawn away from his teeth, the +outline entirely changed by the breakage of his jaw-bone, he was +indeed a fool if he thought himself fit to go forth to win back that +love which Sylvia had forsworn. As a hermit and a beggar, he must +return to Monkshaven, and fall perforce into the same position which +Guy of Warwick had only assumed. But still he should see his +Phillis, and might feast his sad hopeless eyes from time to time +with the sight of his child. His small pension of sixpence a day +would keep him from absolute want of necessaries. +</P> + +<P> +So that very day he went to the warden and told him he thought of +giving up his share in the bequest of Sir Simon Bray. Such a +relinquishment had never occurred before in all the warden's +experience; and he was very much inclined to be offended. +</P> + +<P> +'I must say that for a man not to be satisfied as a bedesman of St +Sepulchre's argues a very wrong state of mind, and a very ungrateful +heart.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure, sir, it's not from any ingratitude, for I can hardly feel +thankful to you and to Sir Simon, and to madam, and the young +ladies, and all my comrades in the hospital, and I niver expect to +be either so comfortable or so peaceful again, but——' +</P> + +<P> +'But? What can you have to say against the place, then? Not but what +there are always plenty of applicants for every vacancy; only I +thought I was doing a kindness to a man out of Harry's company. And +you'll not see Harry either; he's got his leave in March!' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm very sorry. I should like to have seen the lieutenant again. +But I cannot rest any longer so far away from—people I once knew.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ten to one they're dead, or removed, or something or other by this +time; and it'll serve you right if they are. Mind! no one can be +chosen twice to be a bedesman of St Sepulchre's.' +</P> + +<P> +The warden turned away; and Philip, uneasy at staying, disheartened +at leaving, went to make his few preparations for setting out once +more on his journey northwards. He had to give notice of his change +of residence to the local distributor of pensions; and one or two +farewells had to be taken, with more than usual sadness at the +necessity; for Philip, under his name of Stephen Freeman, had +attached some of the older bedesmen a good deal to him, from his +unselfishness, his willingness to read to them, and to render them +many little services, and, perhaps, as much as anything, by his +habitual silence, which made him a convenient recipient of all their +garrulousness. So before the time for his departure came, he had the +opportunity of one more interview with the warden, of a more +friendly character than that in which he gave up his bedesmanship. +And so far it was well; and Philip turned his back upon St +Sepulchre's with his sore heart partly healed by his four months' +residence there. +</P> + +<P> +He was stronger, too, in body, more capable of the day-after-day +walks that were required of him. He had saved some money from his +allowance as bedesman and from his pension, and might occasionally +have taken an outside place on a coach, had it not been that he +shrank from the first look of every stranger upon his disfigured +face. Yet the gentle, wistful eyes, and the white and faultless +teeth always did away with the first impression as soon as people +became a little acquainted with his appearance. +</P> + +<P> +It was February when Philip left St Sepulchre's. It was the first +week in April when he began to recognize the familiar objects +between York and Monkshaven. And now he began to hang back, and to +question the wisdom of what he had done—just as the warden had +prophesied that he would. The last night of his two hundred mile +walk he slept at the little inn at which he had been enlisted nearly +two years before. It was by no intention of his that he rested at +that identical place. Night was drawing on; and, in making, as he +thought, a short cut, he had missed his way, and was fain to seek +shelter where he might find it. But it brought him very straight +face to face with his life at that time, and ever since. His mad, +wild hopes—half the result of intoxication, as he now knew—all +dead and gone; the career then freshly opening shut up against him +now; his youthful strength and health changed into premature +infirmity, and the home and the love that should have opened wide +its doors to console him for all, why in two years Death might have +been busy, and taken away from him his last feeble chance of the +faint happiness of seeing his beloved without being seen or known of +her. All that night and all the next day, the fear of Sylvia's +possible death overclouded his heart. It was strange that he had +hardly ever thought of this before; so strange, that now, when the +terror came, it took possession of him, and he could almost have +sworn that she must be lying dead in Monkshaven churchyard. Or was +it little Bella, that blooming, lovely babe, whom he was never to +see again? There was the tolling of mournful bells in the distant +air to his disturbed fancy, and the cry of the happy birds, the +plaintive bleating of the new-dropped lambs, were all omens of evil +import to him. +</P> + +<P> +As well as he could, he found his way back to Monkshaven, over the +wild heights and moors he had crossed on that black day of misery; +why he should have chosen that path he could not tell—it was as if +he were led, and had no free will of his own. +</P> + +<P> +The soft clear evening was drawing on, and his heart beat thick, and +then stopped, only to start again with fresh violence. There he was, +at the top of the long, steep lane that was in some parts a literal +staircase leading down from the hill-top into the High Street, +through the very entry up which he had passed when he shrank away +from his former and his then present life. There he stood, looking +down once more at the numerous irregular roofs, the many stacks of +chimneys below him, seeking out that which had once been his own +dwelling—who dwelt there now? +</P> + +<P> +The yellower gleams grew narrower; the evening shadows broader, and +Philip crept down the lane a weary, woeful man. At every gap in the +close-packed buildings he heard the merry music of a band, the +cheerful sound of excited voices. Still he descended slowly, +scarcely wondering what it could be, for it was not associated in +his mind with the one pervading thought of Sylvia. +</P> + +<P> +When he came to the angle of junction between the lane and the High +Street, he seemed plunged all at once into the very centre of the +bustle, and he drew himself up into a corner of deep shadow, from +whence he could look out upon the street. +</P> + +<P> +A circus was making its grand entry into Monkshaven, with all the +pomp of colour and of noise that it could muster. Trumpeters in +parti-coloured clothes rode first, blaring out triumphant discord. +Next came a gold-and-scarlet chariot drawn by six piebald horses, +and the windings of this team through the tortuous narrow street +were pretty enough to look upon. In the chariot sate kings and +queens, heroes and heroines, or what were meant for such; all the +little boys and girls running alongside of the chariot envied them; +but they themselves were very much tired, and shivering with cold in +their heroic pomp of classic clothing. All this Philip might have +seen; did see, in fact; but heeded not one jot. Almost opposite to +him, not ten yards apart, standing on the raised step at the +well-known shop door, was Sylvia, holding a child, a merry dancing +child, up in her arms to see the show. She too, Sylvia, was laughing +for pleasure, and for sympathy with pleasure. She held the little +Bella aloft that the child might see the gaudy procession the better +and the longer, looking at it herself with red lips apart and white +teeth glancing through; then she turned to speak to some one behind +her—Coulson, as Philip saw the moment afterwards; his answer made +her laugh once again. Philip saw it all; her bonny careless looks, +her pretty matronly form, her evident ease of mind and prosperous +outward circumstances. The years that he had spent in gloomy sorrow, +amongst wild scenes, on land or by sea, his life in frequent peril +of a bloody end, had gone by with her like sunny days; all the more +sunny because he was not there. So bitterly thought the poor +disabled marine, as, weary and despairing, he stood in the cold +shadow and looked upon the home that should have been his haven, the +wife that should have welcomed him, the child that should have been +his comfort. He had banished himself from his home; his wife had +forsworn him; his child was blossoming into intelligence unwitting +of any father. Wife, and child, and home, were all doing well +without him; what madness had tempted him thither? an hour ago, like +a fanciful fool, he had thought she might be dead—dead with sad +penitence for her cruel words at her heart—with mournful wonder at +the unaccounted-for absence of her child's father preying on her +spirits, and in some measure causing the death he had apprehended. +But to look at her there where she stood, it did not seem as if she +had had an hour's painful thought in all her blooming life. +</P> + +<P> +Ay! go in to the warm hearth, mother and child, now the gay +cavalcade has gone out of sight, and the chill of night has +succeeded to the sun's setting. Husband and father, steal out into +the cold dark street, and seek some poor cheap lodging where you may +rest your weary bones, and cheat your more weary heart into +forgetfulness in sleep. The pretty story of the Countess Phillis, +who mourned for her husband's absence so long, is a fable of old +times; or rather say Earl Guy never wedded his wife, knowing that +one she loved better than him was alive all the time she had +believed him to be dead. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap43"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE UNKNOWN +</H3> + +<P> +A few days before that on which Philip arrived at Monkshaven, Kester +had come to pay Sylvia a visit. As the earliest friend she had, and +also as one who knew the real secrets of her life, Sylvia always +gave him the warm welcome, the cordial words, and the sweet looks in +which the old man delighted. He had a sort of delicacy of his own +which kept him from going to see her too often, even when he was +stationary at Monkshaven; but he looked forward to the times when he +allowed himself this pleasure as a child at school looks forward to +its holidays. The time of his service at Haytersbank had, on the +whole, been the happiest in all his long monotonous years of daily +labour. Sylvia's father had always treated him with the rough +kindness of fellowship; Sylvia's mother had never stinted him in his +meat or grudged him his share of the best that was going; and once, +when he was ill for a few days in the loft above the cow-house, she +had made him possets, and nursed him with the same tenderness which +he remembered his mother showing to him when he was a little child, +but which he had never experienced since then. He had known Sylvia +herself, as bud, and sweet promise of blossom; and just as she was +opening into the full-blown rose, and, if she had been happy and +prosperous, might have passed out of the narrow circle of Kester's +interests, one sorrow after another came down upon her pretty +innocent head, and Kester's period of service to Daniel Robson, her +father, was tragically cut short. All this made Sylvia the great +centre of the faithful herdsman's affection; and Bella, who reminded +him of what Sylvia was when first Kester knew her, only occupied the +second place in his heart, although to the child he was much more +demonstrative of his regard than to the mother. +</P> + +<P> +He had dressed himself in his Sunday best, and although it was only +Thursday, had forestalled his Saturday's shaving; he had provided +himself with a paper of humbugs for the child—'humbugs' being the +north-country term for certain lumps of toffy, well-flavoured with +peppermint—and now he sat in the accustomed chair, as near to the +door as might be, in Sylvia's presence, coaxing the little one, who +was not quite sure of his identity, to come to him, by opening the +paper parcel, and letting its sweet contents be seen. +</P> + +<P> +'She's like thee—and yet she favours her feyther,' said he; and the +moment he had uttered the incautious words he looked up to see how +Sylvia had taken the unpremeditated, unusual reference to her +husband. His stealthy glance did not meet her eye; but though he +thought she had coloured a little, she did not seem offended as he +had feared. It was true that Bella had her father's grave, +thoughtful, dark eyes, instead of her mother's gray ones, out of +which the childlike expression of wonder would never entirely pass +away. And as Bella slowly and half distrustfully made her way +towards the temptation offered her, she looked at Kester with just +her father's look. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia said nothing in direct reply; Kester almost thought she could +not have heard him. But, by-and-by, she said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'll have heared how Kinraid—who's a captain now, and a grand +officer—has gone and got married.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay!' said Kester, in genuine surprise. 'He niver has, for sure!' +</P> + +<P> +'Ay, but he has,' said Sylvia. 'And I'm sure I dunnot see why he +shouldn't.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, well!' said Kester, not looking up at her, for he caught the +inflections in the tones of her voice. 'He were a fine stirrin' +chap, yon; an' he were allays for doin' summut; an' when he fund as +he couldn't ha' one thing as he'd set his mind on, a reckon he +thought he mun put up wi' another.' +</P> + +<P> +'It 'ud be no "putting up,"' said Sylvia. 'She were staying at Bessy +Dawson's, and she come here to see me—she's as pretty a young lady +as yo'd see on a summer's day; and a real lady, too, wi' a fortune. +She didn't speak two words wi'out bringing in her husband's +name,—"the captain", as she called him.' +</P> + +<P> +'An' she come to see thee?' said Kester, cocking his eye at Sylvia +with the old shrewd look. 'That were summut queer, weren't it?' +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia reddened a good deal. +</P> + +<P> +'He's too fause to have spoken to her on me, in t' old way,—as he +used for t' speak to me. I were nought to her but Philip's wife.' +</P> + +<P> +'An' what t' dickins had she to do wi' Philip?' asked Kester, in +intense surprise; and so absorbed in curiosity that he let the +humbugs all fall out of the paper upon the floor, and the little +Bella sat down, plump, in the midst of treasures as great as those +fabled to exist on Tom Tiddler's ground. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia was again silent; but Kester, knowing her well, was sure that +she was struggling to speak, and bided his time without repeating +his question. +</P> + +<P> +'She said—and I think her tale were true, though I cannot get to t' +rights on it, think on it as I will—as Philip saved her husband's +life somewheere nearabouts to Jerusalem. She would have it that t' +captain—for I think I'll niver ca' him Kinraid again—was in a +great battle, and were near upon being shot by t' French, when +Philip—our Philip—come up and went right into t' fire o' t' guns, +and saved her husband's life. And she spoke as if both she and t' +captain were more beholden to Philip than words could tell. And she +come to see me, to try and get news on him. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a queer kind o' story,' said Kester, meditatively. 'A should +ha' thought as Philip were more likely to ha' gi'en him a shove into +t' thick on it, than t' help him out o' t' scrape.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay!' said Sylvia, suddenly looking straight at Kester; 'yo're out +theere. Philip had a deal o' good in him. And I dunnot think as he'd +ha' gone and married another woman so soon, if he'd been i' +Kinraid's place.' +</P> + +<P> +'An' yo've niver heared on Philip sin' he left?' asked Kester, after +a while. +</P> + +<P> +'Niver; nought but what she told me. And she said that t' captain +made inquiry for him right and left, as soon after that happened as +might be, and could hear niver a word about him. No one had seen +him, or knowed his name.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' niver heared of his goin' for t' be a soldier?' persevered +Kester. +</P> + +<P> +'Niver. I've told yo' once. It were unlike Philip to think o' such a +thing.' +</P> + +<P> +'But thou mun ha' been thinkin' on him at times i' a' these years. +Bad as he'd behaved hissel', he were t' feyther o' thy little un. +What did ta think he had been agait on when he left here?' +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't know. I were noane so keen a-thinking on him at first. I +tried to put him out o' my thoughts a'together, for it made me like +mad to think how he'd stood between me and—that other. But I'd +begun to wonder and to wonder about him, and to think I should like +to hear as he were doing well. I reckon I thought he were i' London, +wheere he'd been that time afore, yo' know, and had allays spoke as +if he'd enjoyed hissel' tolerable; and then Molly Brunton told me on +t' other one's marriage; and, somehow, it gave me a shake in my +heart, and I began for to wish I hadn't said all them words i' my +passion; and then that fine young lady come wi' her story—and I've +thought a deal on it since,—and my mind has come out clear. +Philip's dead, and it were his spirit as come to t' other's help in +his time o' need. I've heard feyther say as spirits cannot rest i' +their graves for trying to undo t' wrongs they've done i' their +bodies.' +</P> + +<P> +'Them's my conclusions,' said Kester, solemnly. 'A was fain for to +hear what were yo'r judgments first; but them's the conclusions I +comed to as soon as I heard t' tale.' +</P> + +<P> +'Let alone that one thing,' said Sylvia, 'he were a kind, good man.' +</P> + +<P> +'It were a big deal on a "one thing", though,' said Kester. 'It just +spoilt yo'r life, my poor lass; an' might ha' gone near to spoilin' +Charley Kinraid's too.' +</P> + +<P> +'Men takes a deal more nor women to spoil their lives,' said Sylvia, +bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +'Not a' mak' o' men. I reckon, lass, Philip's life were pretty well +on for bein' spoilt at after he left here; and it were, mebbe, a +good thing he got rid on it so soon.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish I'd just had a few kind words wi' him, I do,' said Sylvia, +almost on the point of crying. +</P> + +<P> +'Come, lass, it's as ill moanin' after what's past as it 'ud be for +me t' fill my eyes wi' weepin' after t' humbugs as this little wench +o' thine has grubbed up whilst we'n been talkin'. Why, there's not +one on 'em left!' +</P> + +<P> +'She's a sad spoilt little puss!' said Sylvia, holding out her arms +to the child, who ran into them, and began patting her mother's +cheeks, and pulling at the soft brown curls tucked away beneath the +matronly cap. 'Mammy spoils her, and Hester spoils her——' +</P> + +<P> +'Granny Rose doesn't spoil me,' said the child, with quick, +intelligent discrimination, interrupting her mother's list. +</P> + +<P> +'No; but Jeremiah Foster does above a bit. He'll come in fro' t' +Bank, Kester, and ask for her, a'most ivery day. And he'll bring her +things in his pocket; and she's so fause, she allays goes straight +to peep in, and then he shifts t' apple or t' toy into another. Eh! +but she's a little fause one,'—half devouring the child with her +kisses. 'And he comes and takes her a walk oftentimes, and he goes +as slow as if he were quite an old man, to keep pace wi' Bella's +steps. I often run upstairs and watch 'em out o' t' window; he +doesn't care to have me with 'em, he's so fain t' have t' child all +to hisself.' +</P> + +<P> +'She's a bonny un, for sure,' said Kester; 'but not so pretty as +thou was, Sylvie. A've niver tell'd thee what a come for tho', and +it's about time for me t' be goin'. A'm off to t' Cheviots to-morrow +morn t' fetch home some sheep as Jonas Blundell has purchased. It'll +be a job o' better nor two months a reckon.' +</P> + +<P> +'It'll be a nice time o' year,' said Sylvia, a little surprised at +Kester's evident discouragement at the prospect of the journey or +absence; he had often been away from Monkshaven for a longer time +without seeming to care so much about it. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, yo' see it's a bit hard upon me for t' leave my sister—she +as is t' widow-woman, wheere a put up when a'm at home. Things is +main an' dear; four-pound loaves is at sixteenpence; an' there's a +deal o' talk on a famine i' t' land; an' whaten a paid for my +victual an' t' bed i' t' lean-to helped t' oud woman a bit,—an' +she's sadly down i' t' mouth, for she cannot hear on a lodger for t' +tak' my place, for a' she's moved o'er to t' other side o' t' bridge +for t' be nearer t' new buildings, an' t' grand new walk they're +makin' round t' cliffs, thinkin' she'd be likelier t' pick up a +labourer as would be glad on a bed near his work. A'd ha' liked to +ha' set her agait wi' a 'sponsible lodger afore a'd ha' left, for +she's just so soft-hearted, any scamp may put upon her if he nobbut +gets houd on her blind side.' +</P> + +<P> +'Can I help her?' said Sylvia, in her eager way. 'I should be so +glad; and I've a deal of money by me—-' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay, my lass,' said Kester, 'thou munnot go off so fast; it were +just what I were feared on i' tellin' thee. I've left her a bit o' +money, and I'll mak' shift to send her more; it's just a kind word, +t' keep up her heart when I'm gone, as I want. If thou'd step in and +see her fra' time to time, and cheer her up a bit wi' talkin' to her +on me, I'd tak' it very kind, and I'd go off wi' a lighter heart.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then I'm sure I'll do it for yo', Kester. I niver justly feel like +mysel' when yo're away, for I'm lonesome enough at times. She and I +will talk a' t' better about yo' for both on us grieving after yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +So Kester took his leave, his mind set at ease by Sylvia's promise +to go and see his sister pretty often during his absence in the +North. +</P> + +<P> +But Sylvia's habits were changed since she, as a girl at +Haytersbank, liked to spend half her time in the open air, running +out perpetually without anything on to scatter crumbs to the +poultry, or to take a piece of bread to the old cart-horse, to go up +to the garden for a handful of herbs, or to clamber to the highest +point around to blow the horn which summoned her father and Kester +home to dinner. Living in a town where it was necessary to put on +hat and cloak before going out into the street, and then to walk in +a steady and decorous fashion, she had only cared to escape down to +the freedom of the sea-shore until Philip went away; and after that +time she had learnt so to fear observation as a deserted wife, that +nothing but Bella's health would have been a sufficient motive to +take her out of doors. And, as she had told Kester, the necessity of +giving the little girl a daily walk was very much lightened by the +great love and affection which Jeremiah Foster now bore to the +child. Ever since the day when the baby had come to his knee, +allured by the temptation of his watch, he had apparently considered +her as in some sort belonging to him; and now he had almost come to +think that he had a right to claim her as his companion in his walk +back from the Bank to his early dinner, where a high chair was +always placed ready for the chance of her coming to share his meal. +On these occasions he generally brought her back to the shop-door +when he returned to his afternoon's work at the Bank. Sometimes, +however, he would leave word that she was to be sent for from his +house in the New Town, as his business at the Bank for that day was +ended. Then Sylvia was compelled to put on her things, and fetch +back her darling; and excepting for this errand she seldom went out +at all on week-days. +</P> + +<P> +About a fortnight after Kester's farewell call, this need for her +visit to Jeremiah Foster's arose; and it seemed to Sylvia that there +could not be a better opportunity of fulfilling her promise and +going to see the widow Dobson, whose cottage was on the other side +of the river, low down on the cliff-side, just at the bend and rush +of the full stream into the open sea. She set off pretty early in +order to go there first. She found the widow with her house-place +tidied up after the midday meal, and busy knitting at the open +door—not looking at her rapid-clicking needles, but gazing at the +rush and recession of the waves before her; yet not seeing them +either,—rather seeing days long past. +</P> + +<P> +She started into active civility as soon as she recognized Sylvia, +who was to her as a great lady, never having known Sylvia Robson in +her wild childish days. Widow Dobson was always a little scandalized +at her brother Christopher's familiarity with Mrs. Hepburn. +</P> + +<P> +She dusted a chair which needed no dusting, and placed it for +Sylvia, sitting down herself on a three-legged stool to mark her +sense of the difference in their conditions, for there was another +chair or two in the humble dwelling; and then the two fell into +talk—first about Kester, whom his sister would persist in calling +Christopher, as if his dignity as her elder brother was compromised +by any familiar abbreviation; and by-and-by she opened her heart a +little more. +</P> + +<P> +'A could wish as a'd learned write-of-hand,' said she; 'for a've +that for to tell Christopher as might set his mind at ease. But yo' +see, if a wrote him a letter he couldn't read it; so a just comfort +mysel' wi' thinkin' nobody need learn writin' unless they'n got +friends as can read. But a reckon he'd ha' been glad to hear as a've +getten a lodger.' Here she nodded her head in the direction of the +door opening out of the house-place into the 'lean-to', which Sylvia +had observed on drawing near the cottage, and the recollection of +the mention of which by Kester had enabled her to identify widow +Dobson's dwelling. 'He's a-bed yonder,' the latter continued, +dropping her voice. 'He's a queer-lookin' tyke, but a don't think as +he's a bad un.' +</P> + +<P> +'When did he come?' said Sylvia, remembering Kester's account of his +sister's character, and feeling as though it behoved her, as +Kester's confidante on this head, to give cautious and prudent +advice. +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! a matter of a s'ennight ago. A'm noane good at mindin' time; +he's paid me his rent twice, but then he were keen to pay aforehand. +He'd comed in one night, an' sate him down afore he could speak, he +were so done up; he'd been on tramp this many a day, a reckon. "Can +yo' give me a bed?" says he, panting like, after a bit. "A chap as a +met near here says as yo've a lodging for t' let." "Ay," says a, "a +ha' that; but yo' mun pay me a shilling a week for 't." Then my mind +misgive me, for a thought he hadn't a shilling i' t' world, an' yet +if he hadn't, a should just ha' gi'en him t' bed a' t' same: a'm not +one as can turn a dog out if he comes t' me wearied o' his life. So +he outs wi' a shillin', an' lays it down on t' table, 'bout a word. +"A'll not trouble yo' long," says he. "A'm one as is best out o' t' +world," he says. Then a thought as a'd been a bit hard upon him. An' +says I, "A'm a widow-woman, and one as has getten but few friends:" +for yo' see a were low about our Christopher's goin' away north; "so +a'm forced-like to speak hard to folk; but a've made mysel' some +stirabout for my supper; and if yo'd like t' share an' share about +wi' me, it's but puttin' a sup more watter to 't, and God's blessing +'ll be on 't, just as same as if 't were meal." So he ups wi' his +hand afore his e'en, and says not a word. At last he says, "Missus," +says he, "can God's blessing be shared by a sinner—one o' t' +devil's children?" says he. "For the Scriptur' says he's t' father +o' lies." So a were puzzled-like; an' at length a says, "Thou mun +ask t' parson that; a'm but a poor faint-hearted widow-woman; but +a've allays had God's blessing somehow, now a bethink me, an' a'll +share it wi' thee as far as my will goes." So he raxes his hand +across t' table, an' mutters summat, as he grips mine. A thought it +were Scriptur' as he said, but a'd needed a' my strength just then +for t' lift t' pot off t' fire—it were t' first vittle a'd tasted +sin' morn, for t' famine comes down like stones on t' head o' us +poor folk: an' a' a said were just "Coom along, chap, an' fa' to; +an' God's blessing be on him as eats most." An' sin' that day him +and me's been as thick as thieves, only he's niver telled me nought +of who he is, or wheere he comes fra'. But a think he's one o' them +poor colliers, as has getten brunt i' t' coal-pits; for, t' be sure, +his face is a' black wi' fire-marks; an' o' late days he's ta'en t' +his bed, an' just lies there sighing,—for one can hear him plain as +dayleet thro' t' bit partition wa'.' +</P> + +<P> +As a proof of this, a sigh—almost a groan—startled the two women +at this very moment. +</P> + +<P> +'Poor fellow!' said Sylvia, in a soft whisper. 'There's more sore +hearts i' t' world than one reckons for!' But after a while, she +bethought her again of Kester's account of his sister's 'softness'; +and she thought that it behoved her to give some good advice. So she +added, in a sterner, harder tone—'Still, yo' say yo' know nought +about him; and tramps is tramps a' t' world over; and yo're a widow, +and it behoves yo' to be careful. I think I'd just send him off as +soon as he's a bit rested. Yo' say he's plenty o' money?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nay! A never said that. A know nought about it. He pays me +aforehand; an' he pays me down for whativer a've getten for him; but +that's but little; he's noane up t' his vittle, though a've made him +some broth as good as a could make 'em.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wouldn't send him away till he was well again, if I were yo; but +I think yo'd be better rid on him,' said Sylvia. 'It would be +different if yo'r brother were in Monkshaven.' As she spoke she rose +to go. +</P> + +<P> +Widow Dobson held her hand in hers for a minute, then the humble +woman said,— +</P> + +<P> +'Yo'll noane be vexed wi' me, missus, if a cannot find i' my heart +t' turn him out till he wants to go hissel'? For a wouldn't like to +vex yo', for Christopher's sake; but a know what it is for t' feel +for friendless folk, an' choose what may come on it, I cannot send +him away.' +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said Sylvia. 'Why should I be vexed? it's no business o' mine. +Only I should send him away if I was yo'. He might go lodge wheere +there was men-folk, who know t' ways o' tramps, and are up to them.' +</P> + +<P> +Into the sunshine went Sylvia. In the cold shadow the miserable +tramp lay sighing. She did not know that she had been so near to him +towards whom her heart was softening, day by day. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap44"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FIRST WORDS +</H3> + +<P> +It was the spring of 1800. Old people yet can tell of the hard +famine of that year. The harvest of the autumn before had failed; +the war and the corn laws had brought the price of corn up to a +famine rate; and much of what came into the market was unsound, and +consequently unfit for food, yet hungry creatures bought it eagerly, +and tried to cheat disease by mixing the damp, sweet, clammy flour +with rice or potato meal. Rich families denied themselves pastry and +all unnecessary and luxurious uses of wheat in any shape; the duty +on hair-powder was increased; and all these palliatives were but as +drops in the ocean of the great want of the people. +</P> + +<P> +Philip, in spite of himself, recovered and grew stronger; and as he +grew stronger hunger took the place of loathing dislike to food. But +his money was all spent; and what was his poor pension of sixpence a +day in that terrible year of famine? Many a summer's night he walked +for hours and hours round the house which once was his, which might +be his now, with all its homely, blessed comforts, could he but go +and assert his right to it. But to go with authority, and in his +poor, maimed guise assert that right, he had need be other than +Philip Hepburn. So he stood in the old shelter of the steep, crooked +lane opening on to the hill out of the market-place, and watched the +soft fading of the summer's eve into night; the closing of the once +familiar shop; the exit of good, comfortable William Coulson, going +to his own home, his own wife, his comfortable, plentiful supper. +Then Philip—there were no police in those days, and scarcely an old +watchman in that primitive little town—would go round on the shady +sides of streets, and, quickly glancing about him, cross the bridge, +looking on the quiet, rippling stream, the gray shimmer foretelling +the coming dawn over the sea, the black masts and rigging of the +still vessels against the sky; he could see with his wistful, eager +eyes the shape of the windows—the window of the very room in which +his wife and child slept, unheeding of him, the hungry, +broken-hearted outcast. He would go back to his lodging, and softly +lift the latch of the door; still more softly, but never without an +unspoken, grateful prayer, pass by the poor sleeping woman who had +given him a shelter and her share of God's blessing—she who, like +him, knew not the feeling of satisfied hunger; and then he laid him +down on the narrow pallet in the lean-to, and again gave Sylvia +happy lessons in the kitchen at Haytersbank, and the dead were +alive; and Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, had never come to +trouble the hopeful, gentle peace. +</P> + +<P> +For widow Dobson had never taken Sylvia's advice. The tramp known to +her by the name of Freeman—that in which he received his +pension—lodged with her still, and paid his meagre shilling in +advance, weekly. A shilling was meagre in those hard days of +scarcity. A hungry man might easily eat the produce of a shilling in +a day. +</P> + +<P> +Widow Dobson pleaded this to Sylvia as an excuse for keeping her +lodger on; to a more calculating head it might have seemed a reason +for sending him away. +</P> + +<P> +'Yo' see, missus,' said she, apologetically, to Sylvia, one evening, +as the latter called upon the poor widow before going to fetch +little Bella (it was now too hot for the child to cross the bridge +in the full heat of the summer sun, and Jeremiah would take her up +to her supper instead)—'Yo' see, missus, there's not a many as 'ud +take him in for a shillin' when it goes so little way; or if they +did, they'd take it out on him some other way, an' he's not getten +much else, a reckon. He ca's me granny, but a'm vast mista'en if +he's ten year younger nor me; but he's getten a fine appetite of his +own, choose how young he may be; an' a can see as he could eat a +deal more nor he's getten money to buy, an' it's few as can mak' +victual go farther nor me. Eh, missus, but yo' may trust me a'll +send him off when times is better; but just now it would be sendin' +him to his death; for a ha' plenty and to spare, thanks be to God +an' yo'r bonny face.' +</P> + +<P> +So Sylvia had to be content with the knowledge that the money she +gladly gave to Kester's sister went partly to feed the lodger who +was neither labourer nor neighbour, but only just a tramp, who, she +feared, was preying on the good old woman. Still the cruel famine +cut sharp enough to penetrate all hearts; and Sylvia, an hour after +the conversation recorded above, was much touched, on her return +from Jeremiah Foster's with the little merry, chattering Bella, at +seeing the feeble steps of one, whom she knew by description must be +widow Dobson's lodger, turn up from the newly-cut road which was to +lead to the terrace walk around the North Cliff, a road which led to +no dwelling but widow Dobson's. Tramp, and vagrant, he might be in +the eyes of the law; but, whatever his character, Sylvia could see +him before her in the soft dusk, creeping along, over the bridge, +often stopping to rest and hold by some support, and then going on +again towards the town, to which she and happy little Bella were +wending. +</P> + +<P> +A thought came over her: she had always fancied that this unknown +man was some fierce vagabond, and had dreaded lest in the lonely bit +of road between widow Dobson's cottage and the peopled highway, he +should fall upon her and rob her if he learnt that she had money +with her; and several times she had gone away without leaving the +little gift she had intended, because she imagined that she had seen +the door of the small chamber in the 'lean-to' open softly while she +was there, as if the occupant (whom widow Dobson spoke of as never +leaving the house before dusk, excepting once a week) were listening +for the chink of the coin in her little leathern purse. Now that she +saw him walking before her with heavy languid steps, this fear gave +place to pity; she remembered her mother's gentle superstition which +had prevented her from ever sending the hungry empty away, for fear +lest she herself should come to need bread. +</P> + +<P> +'Lassie,' said she to little Bella, who held a cake which Jeremiah's +housekeeper had given her tight in her hand, 'yon poor man theere is +hungry; will Bella give him her cake, and mother will make her +another to-morrow twice as big?' +</P> + +<P> +For this consideration, and with the feeling of satisfaction which a +good supper not an hour ago gives even to the hungry stomach of a +child of three years old, Bella, after some thought, graciously +assented to the sacrifice. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia stopped, the cake in her hand, and turned her back to the +town, and to the slow wayfarer in front. Under the cover of her +shawl she slipped a half-crown deep into the crumb of the cake, and +then restoring it to little Bella, she gave her her directions. +</P> + +<P> +'Mammy will carry Bella; and when Bella goes past the poor man, she +shall give him the cake over mammy's shoulder. Poor man is so +hungry; and Bella and mammy have plenty to eat, and to spare.' +</P> + +<P> +The child's heart was touched by the idea of hunger, and her little +arm was outstretched ready for the moment her mother's hurried steps +took her brushing past the startled, trembling Philip. +</P> + +<P> +'Poor man, eat this; Bella not hungry.' +</P> + +<P> +They were the first words he had ever heard his child utter. The +echoes of them rang in his ears as he stood endeavouring to hide his +disfigured face by looking over the parapet of the bridge down upon +the stream running away towards the ocean, into which his hot tears +slowly fell, unheeded by the weeper. Then he changed the intention +with which he had set out upon his nightly walk, and turned back to +his lodging. +</P> + +<P> +Of course the case was different with Sylvia; she would have +forgotten the whole affair very speedily, if it had not been for +little Bella's frequent recurrence to the story of the hungry man, +which had touched her small sympathies with the sense of an +intelligible misfortune. She liked to act the dropping of the bun +into the poor man's hand as she went past him, and would take up any +article near her in order to illustrate the gesture she had used. +One day she got hold of Hester's watch for this purpose, as being of +the same round shape as the cake; and though Hester, for whose +benefit the child was repeating the story in her broken language for +the third or fourth time, tried to catch the watch as it was +intended that she should (she being the representative of the +'hungry man' for the time being), it went to the ground with a smash +that frightened the little girl, and she began to cry at the +mischief she had done. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't cry, Bella,' said Hester. 'Niver play with watches again. I +didn't see thee at mine, or I'd ha' stopped thee in time. But I'll +take it to old Darley's on th' quay-side, and maybe he'll soon set +it to rights again. Only Bella must niver play with watches again.' +</P> + +<P> +'Niver no more!' promised the little sobbing child. And that evening +Hester took her watch down to old Darley's. +</P> + +<P> +This William Darley was the brother of the gardener at the rectory; +the uncle to the sailor who had been shot by the press-gang years +before, and to his bed-ridden sister. He was a clever mechanician, +and his skill as a repairer of watches and chronometers was great +among the sailors, with whom he did a very irregular sort of +traffic, conducted, often without much use of money, but rather on +the principle of barter, they bringing him foreign coins and odd +curiosities picked up on their travels in exchange for his services +to their nautical instruments or their watches. If he had ever had +capital to extend his business, he might have been a rich man; but +it is to be doubted whether he would have been as happy as he was +now in his queer little habitation of two rooms, the front one being +both shop and workshop, the other serving the double purpose of +bedroom and museum. +</P> + +<P> +The skill of this odd-tempered, shabby old man was sometimes sought +by the jeweller who kept the more ostentatious shop in the High +Street; but before Darley would undertake any 'tickle' piece of +delicate workmanship for the other, he sneered at his ignorance, and +taunted and abused him well. Yet he had soft places in his heart, +and Hester Rose had found her way to one by her patient, enduring +kindness to his bed-ridden niece. He never snarled at her as he did +at too many; and on the few occasions when she had asked him to do +anything for her, he had seemed as if she were conferring the favour +on him, not he on her, and only made the smallest possible charge. +</P> + +<P> +She found him now sitting where he could catch the most light for +his work, spectacles on nose, and microscope in hand. +</P> + +<P> +He took her watch, and examined it carefully without a word in reply +to her. Then he began to open it and take it to pieces, in order to +ascertain the nature of the mischief. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he heard her catch her breath with a checked sound of +surprise. He looked at her from above his spectacles; she was +holding a watch in her hand which she had just taken up off the +counter. +</P> + +<P> +'What's amiss wi' thee now?' said Darley. 'Hast ta niver seen a +watch o' that mak' afore? or is it them letters on t' back, as is so +wonderful?' +</P> + +<P> +Yes, it was those letters—that interlaced, old-fashioned cipher. +That Z. H. that she knew of old stood for Zachary Hepburn, Philip's +father. She knew how Philip valued this watch. She remembered having +seen it in his hands the very day before his disappearance, when he +was looking at the time in his annoyance at Sylvia's detention in +her walk with baby. Hester had no doubt that he had taken this watch +as a matter of course away with him. She felt sure that he would not +part with this relic of his dead father on any slight necessity. +Where, then, was Philip?—by what chance of life or death had this, +his valued property, found its way once more to Monkshaven? +</P> + +<P> +'Where did yo' get this?' she asked, in as quiet a manner as she +could assume, sick with eagerness as she was. +</P> + +<P> +To no one else would Darley have answered such a question. He made a +mystery of most of his dealings; not that he had anything to +conceal, but simply because he delighted in concealment. He took it +out of her hands, looked at the number marked inside, and the +maker's name—'Natteau Gent, York'—and then replied,— +</P> + +<P> +'A man brought it me yesterday, at nightfall, for t' sell it. It's a +matter o' forty years old. Natteau Gent has been dead and in his +grave pretty nigh as long as that. But he did his work well when he +were alive; and so I gave him as brought it for t' sell about as +much as it were worth, i' good coin. A tried him first i' t' +bartering line, but he wouldn't bite; like enough he wanted +food,—many a one does now-a-days.' +</P> + +<P> +'Who was he?' gasped Hester. +</P> + +<P> +'Bless t' woman! how should I know?' +</P> + +<P> +'What was he like?—how old?—tell me.' +</P> + +<P> +'My lass, a've summut else to do wi' my eyes than go peering into +men's faces i' t' dusk light.' +</P> + +<P> +'But yo' must have had light for t' judge about the watch.' +</P> + +<P> +'Eh! how sharp we are! A'd a candle close to my nose. But a didn't +tak' it up for to gaze int' his face. That wouldn't be manners, to +my thinking.' +</P> + +<P> +Hester was silent. Then Darley's heart relented. +</P> + +<P> +'If yo're so set upo' knowing who t' fellow was, a could, mebbe, put +yo' on his tracks.' +</P> + +<P> +'How?' said Hester, eagerly. 'I do want to know. I want to know very +much, and for a good reason.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, then, a'll tell yo'. He's a queer tyke, that one is. A'll be +bound he were sore pressed for t' brass; yet he out's wi' a good +half-crown, all wrapped up i' paper, and he axes me t' make a hole +in it. Says I, "It's marring good king's coin, at after a've made a +hole in't, it'll never pass current again." So he mumbles, and +mumbles, but for a' that it must needs be done; and he's left it +here, and is t' call for 't to-morrow at e'en.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, William Darley!' said Hester, clasping her hands tight +together. 'Find out who he is, where he is—anything—everything +about him—and I will so bless yo'.' +</P> + +<P> +Darley looked at her sharply, but with some signs of sympathy on his +grave face. 'My woman,' he said 'a could ha' wished as you'd niver +seen t' watch. It's poor, thankless work thinking too much on one o' +God's creatures. But a'll do thy bidding,' he continued, in a +lighter and different tone. 'A'm a 'cute old badger when need be. +Come for thy watch in a couple o' days, and a'll tell yo' all as +a've learnt.' +</P> + +<P> +So Hester went away, her heart beating with the promise of knowing +something about Philip,—how much, how little, in these first +moments, she dared not say even to herself. Some sailor newly landed +from distant seas might have become possessed of Philip's watch in +far-off latitudes; in which case, Philip would be dead. That might +be. She tried to think that this was the most probable way of +accounting for the watch. She could be certain as to the positive +identity of the watch—being in William Darley's possession. Again, +it might be that Philip himself was near at hand—was here in this +very place—starving, as too many were, for insufficiency of means +to buy the high-priced food. And then her heart burnt within her as +she thought of the succulent, comfortable meals which Sylvia +provided every day—nay, three times a day—for the household in the +market-place, at the head of which Philip ought to have been; but +his place knew him not. For Sylvia had inherited her mother's talent +for housekeeping, and on her, in Alice's decrepitude and Hester's +other occupations in the shop, devolved the cares of due provision +for the somewhat heterogeneous family. +</P> + +<P> +And Sylvia! Hester groaned in heart over the remembrance of Sylvia's +words, 'I can niver forgive him the wrong he did to me,' that night +when Hester had come, and clung to her, making the sad, shameful +confession of her unreturned love. +</P> + +<P> +What could ever bring these two together again? Could Hester +herself—ignorant of the strange mystery of Sylvia's heart, as those +who are guided solely by obedience to principle must ever be of the +clue to the actions of those who are led by the passionate ebb and +flow of impulse? Could Hester herself? Oh! how should she speak, how +should she act, if Philip were near—if Philip were sad and in +miserable estate? Her own misery at this contemplation of the case +was too great to bear; and she sought her usual refuge in the +thought of some text, some promise of Scripture, which should +strengthen her faith. +</P> + +<P> +'With God all things are possible,' said she, repeating the words as +though to lull her anxiety to rest. +</P> + +<P> +Yes; with God all things are possible. But ofttimes He does his work +with awful instruments. There is a peacemaker whose name is Death. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap45"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SAVED AND LOST +</H3> + +<P> +Hester went out on the evening of the day after that on which the +unknown owner of the half-crown had appointed to call for it again +at William Darley's. She had schooled herself to believe that time +and patience would serve her best. Her plan was to obtain all the +knowledge about Philip that she could in the first instance; and +then, if circumstances allowed it, as in all probability they would, +to let drop by drop of healing, peacemaking words and thoughts fall +on Sylvia's obdurate, unforgiving heart. So Hester put on her +things, and went out down towards the old quay-side on that evening +after the shop was closed. +</P> + +<P> +Poor little Sylvia! She was unforgiving, but not obdurate to the full +extent of what Hester believed. Many a time since Philip went away +had she unconsciously missed his protecting love; when folks spoke +shortly to her, when Alice scolded her as one of the non-elect, when +Hester's gentle gravity had something of severity in it; when her +own heart failed her as to whether her mother would have judged that +she had done well, could that mother have known all, as possibly she +did by this time. Philip had never spoken otherwise than tenderly to +her during the eighteen months of their married life, except on the +two occasions before recorded: once when she referred to her dream +of Kinraid's possible return, and once again on the evening of the +day before her discovery of his concealment of the secret of +Kinraid's involuntary disappearance. +</P> + +<P> +After she had learnt that Kinraid was married, her heart had still +more strongly turned to Philip; she thought that he had judged +rightly in what he had given as the excuse for his double dealing; +she was even more indignant at Kinraid's fickleness than she had any +reason to be; and she began to learn the value of such enduring love +as Philip's had been—lasting ever since the days when she first +began to fancy what a man's love for a woman should be, when she had +first shrunk from the tone of tenderness he put into his especial +term for her, a girl of twelve—'Little lassie,' as he was wont to +call her. +</P> + +<P> +But across all this relenting came the shadow of her vow—like the +chill of a great cloud passing over a sunny plain. How should she +decide? what would be her duty, if he came again, and once more +called her 'wife'? She shrank from such a possibility with all the +weakness and superstition of her nature; and this it was which made +her strengthen herself with the re-utterance of unforgiving words; +and shun all recurrence to the subject on the rare occasion when +Hester had tried to bring it back, with a hope of softening the +heart which to her appeared altogether hardened on this one point. +</P> + +<P> +Now, on this bright summer evening, while Hester had gone down to +the quay-side, Sylvia stood with her out-of-door things on in the +parlour, rather impatiently watching the sky, full of hurrying +clouds, and flushing with the warm tints of the approaching sunset. +She could not leave Alice: the old woman had grown so infirm that +she was never left by her daughter and Sylvia at the same time; yet +Sylvia had to fetch her little girl from the New Town, where she had +been to her supper at Jeremiah Foster's. Hester had said that she +should not be away more than a quarter of an hour; and Hester was +generally so punctual that any failure of hers, in this respect, +appeared almost in the light of an injury on those who had learnt to +rely upon her. Sylvia wanted to go and see widow Dobson, and learn +when Kester might be expected home. His two months were long past; +and Sylvia had heard through the Fosters of some suitable and +profitable employment for him, of which she thought he would be glad +to know as soon as possible. It was now some time since she had been +able to get so far as across the bridge; and, for aught she knew, +Kester might already be come back from his expedition to the +Cheviots. Kester was come back. Scarce five minutes had elapsed +after these thoughts had passed through her mind before his hasty +hand lifted the latch of the kitchen-door, his hurried steps brought +him face to face with her. The smile of greeting was arrested on her +lips by one look at him: his eyes staring wide, the expression on +his face wild, and yet pitiful. +</P> + +<P> +'That's reet,' said he, seeing that her things were already on. +'Thou're wanted sore. Come along.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! dear God! my child!' cried Sylvia, clutching at the chair near +her; but recovering her eddying senses with the strong fact before +her that whatever the terror was, she was needed to combat it. +</P> + +<P> +'Ay; thy child!' said Kester, taking her almost roughly by the arm, +and drawing her away with him out through the open doors on to the +quay-side. +</P> + +<P> +'Tell me!' said Sylvia, faintly, 'is she dead?' +</P> + +<P> +'She's safe now,' said Kester. 'It's not her—it's him as saved her +as needs yo', if iver husband needed a wife.' +</P> + +<P> +'He?—who? O Philip! Philip! is it yo' at last?' +</P> + +<P> +Unheeding what spectators might see her movements, she threw up her +arms and staggered against the parapet of the bridge they were then +crossing. +</P> + +<P> +'He!—Philip!—saved Bella? Bella, our little Bella, as got her +dinner by my side, and went out wi' Jeremiah, as well as could be. I +cannot take it in; tell me, Kester.' She kept trembling so much in +voice and in body, that he saw she could not stir without danger of +falling until she was calmed; as it was, her eyes became filmy from +time to time, and she drew her breath in great heavy pants, leaning +all the while against the wall of the bridge. +</P> + +<P> +'It were no illness,' Kester began. 'T' little un had gone for a +walk wi' Jeremiah Foster, an' he were drawn for to go round t' edge +o' t' cliff, wheere they's makin' t' new walk reet o'er t' sea. But +it's but a bit on a pathway now; an' t' one was too oud, an' t' +other too young for t' see t' water comin' along wi' great leaps; +it's allays for comin' high up again' t' cliff, an' this spring-tide +it's comin' in i' terrible big waves. Some one said as they passed +t' man a-sittin' on a bit on a rock up above—a dunnot know, a only +know as a heared a great fearful screech i' t' air. A were just +a-restin' me at after a'd comed in, not half an hour i' t' place. +A've walked better nor a dozen mile to-day; an' a ran out, an' a +looked, an' just on t' walk, at t' turn, was t' swish of a wave +runnin' back as quick as t' mischief int' t' sea, an' oud Jeremiah +standin' like one crazy, lookin' o'er int' t' watter; an' like a +stroke o' leeghtnin' comes a man, an' int' t' very midst o' t' great +waves like a shot; an' then a knowed summut were in t' watter as +were nearer death than life; an' a seemed to misdoubt me that it +were our Bella; an' a shouts an' a cries for help, an' a goes mysel' +to t' very edge o' t' cliff, an' a bids oud Jeremiah, as was like +one beside hissel', houd tight on me, for he were good for nought +else; an' a bides my time, an' when a sees two arms houdin' out a +little drippin' streamin' child, a clutches her by her waist-band, +an' hauls her to land. She's noane t' worse for her bath, a'll be +bound.' +</P> + +<P> +'I mun go—let me,' said Sylvia, struggling with his detaining hand, +which he had laid upon her in the fear that she would slip down to +the ground in a faint, so ashen-gray was her face. 'Let me,—Bella, +I mun go see her.' +</P> + +<P> +He let go, and she stood still, suddenly feeling herself too weak to +stir. +</P> + +<P> +'Now, if you'll try a bit to be quiet, a'll lead yo' along; but yo' +mun be a steady and brave lass.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll be aught if yo' only let me see Bella,' said Sylvia, humbly. +</P> + +<P> +'An' yo' niver ax at after him as saved her,' said Kester, +reproachfully. +</P> + +<P> +'I know it's Philip,' she whispered, 'and yo' said he wanted me; so +I know he's safe; and, Kester, I think I'm 'feared on him, and I'd +like to gather courage afore seeing him, and a look at Bella would +give me courage. It were a terrible time when I saw him last, and I +did say—' +</P> + +<P> +'Niver think on what thou did say; think on what thou will say to +him now, for he lies a-dyin'! He were dashed again t' cliff an' +bruised sore in his innards afore t' men as come wi' a boat could +pick him up.' +</P> + +<P> +She did not speak; she did not even tremble now; she set her teeth +together, and, holding tight by Kester, she urged him on; but when +they came to the end of the bridge, she seemed uncertain which way +to turn. +</P> + +<P> +'This way,' said Kester. 'He's been lodgin' wi' Sally this nine +week, an' niver a one about t' place as knowed him; he's been i' t' +wars an' getten his face brunt.' +</P> + +<P> +'And he was short o' food,' moaned Sylvia, 'and we had plenty, and I +tried to make yo'r sister turn him out, and send him away. Oh! will +God iver forgive me?' +</P> + +<P> +Muttering to herself, breaking her mutterings with sharp cries of +pain, Sylvia, with Kester's help, reached widow Dobson's house. It +was no longer a quiet, lonely dwelling. Several sailors stood about +the door, awaiting, in silent anxiety, for the verdict of the +doctor, who was even now examining Philip's injuries. Two or three +women stood talking eagerly, in low voices, in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +But when Sylvia drew near the men fell back; and the women moved +aside as though to allow her to pass, all looking upon her with a +certain amount of sympathy, but perhaps with rather more of +antagonistic wonder as to how she was taking it—she who had been +living in ease and comfort while her husband's shelter was little +better than a hovel, her husband's daily life a struggle with +starvation; for so much of the lodger at widow Dobson's was +popularly known; and any distrust of him as a stranger and a tramp +was quite forgotten now. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia felt the hardness of their looks, the hardness of their +silence; but it was as nothing to her. If such things could have +touched her at this moment, she would not have stood still right in +the midst of their averted hearts, and murmured something to Kester. +He could not hear the words uttered by that hoarse choked voice, +until he had stooped down and brought his ear to the level of her +mouth. +</P> + +<P> +'We'd better wait for t' doctors to come out,' she said again. She +stood by the door, shivering all over, almost facing the people in +the road, but with her face turned a little to the right, so that +they thought she was looking at the pathway on the cliff-side, a +hundred yards or so distant, below which the hungry waves still +lashed themselves into high ascending spray; while nearer to the +cottage, where their force was broken by the bar at the entrance to +the river, they came softly lapping up the shelving shore. +</P> + +<P> +Sylvia saw nothing of all this, though it was straight before her +eyes. She only saw a blurred mist; she heard no sound of waters, +though it filled the ears of those around. Instead she heard low +whispers pronouncing Philip's earthly doom. +</P> + +<P> +For the doctors were both agreed; his internal injury was of a +mortal kind, although, as the spine was severely injured above the +seat of the fatal bruise, he had no pain in the lower half of his +body. +</P> + +<P> +They had spoken in so low a tone that John Foster, standing only a +foot or so away, had not been able to hear their words. But Sylvia +heard each syllable there where she stood outside, shivering all +over in the sultry summer evening. She turned round to Kester. +</P> + +<P> +'I mun go to him, Kester; thou'll see that noane come in to us, when +t' doctors come out.' +</P> + +<P> +She spoke in a soft, calm voice; and he, not knowing what she had +heard, made some easy conditional promise. Then those opposite to +the cottage door fell back, for they could see the grave doctors +coming out, and John Foster, graver, sadder still, following them. +Without a word to them,—without a word even of inquiry—which many +outside thought and spoke of as strange—white-faced, dry-eyed +Sylvia slipped into the house out of their sight. +</P> + +<P> +And the waves kept lapping on the shelving shore. +</P> + +<P> +The room inside was dark, all except the little halo or circle of +light made by a dip candle. Widow Dobson had her back to the +bed—her bed—on to which Philip had been borne in the hurry of +terror as to whether he was alive or whether he was dead. She was +crying—crying quietly, but the tears down-falling fast, as, with +her back to the lowly bed, she was gathering up the dripping clothes +cut off from the poor maimed body by the doctors' orders. She only +shook her head as she saw Sylvia, spirit-like, steal in—white, +noiseless, and upborne from earth. +</P> + +<P> +But noiseless as her step might be, he heard, he recognized, and +with a sigh he turned his poor disfigured face to the wall, hiding +it in the shadow. +</P> + +<P> +He knew that she was by him; that she had knelt down by his bed; +that she was kissing his hand, over which the languor of approaching +death was stealing. But no one spoke. +</P> + +<P> +At length he said, his face still averted, speaking with an effort. +</P> + +<P> +'Little lassie, forgive me now! I cannot live to see the morn!' +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer, only a long miserable sigh, and he felt her +soft cheek laid upon his hand, and the quiver that ran through her +whole body. +</P> + +<P> +'I did thee a cruel wrong,' he said, at length. 'I see it now. But +I'm a dying man. I think that God will forgive me—and I've sinned +against Him; try, lassie—try, my Sylvie—will not thou forgive me?' +</P> + +<P> +He listened intently for a moment. He heard through the open window +the waves lapping on the shelving shore. But there came no word from +her; only that same long shivering, miserable sigh broke from her +lips at length. +</P> + +<P> +'Child,' said he, once more. 'I ha' made thee my idol; and if I +could live my life o'er again I would love my God more, and thee +less; and then I shouldn't ha' sinned this sin against thee. But +speak one word of love to me—one little word, that I may know I +have thy pardon.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Philip! Philip!' she moaned, thus adjured. +</P> + +<P> +Then she lifted her head, and said, +</P> + +<P> +'Them were wicked, wicked words, as I said; and a wicked vow as I +vowed; and Lord God Almighty has ta'en me at my word. I'm sorely +punished, Philip, I am indeed.' +</P> + +<P> +He pressed her hand, he stroked her cheek. But he asked for yet +another word. +</P> + +<P> +'I did thee a wrong. In my lying heart I forgot to do to thee as I +would have had thee to do to me. And I judged Kinraid in my heart.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thou thought as he was faithless and fickle,' she answered quickly; +'and so he were. He were married to another woman not so many weeks +at after thou went away. Oh, Philip, Philip! and now I have thee +back, and—' +</P> + +<P> +'Dying' was the word she would have said, but first the dread of +telling him what she believed he did not know, and next her +passionate sobs, choked her. +</P> + +<P> +'I know,' said he, once more stroking her cheek, and soothing her +with gentle, caressing hand. 'Little lassie!' he said, after a while +when she was quiet from very exhaustion, 'I niver thought to be so +happy again. God is very merciful.' +</P> + +<P> +She lifted up her head, and asked wildly, 'Will He iver forgive me, +think yo'? I drove yo' out fra' yo'r home, and sent yo' away to t' +wars, wheere yo' might ha' getten yo'r death; and when yo' come +back, poor and lone, and weary, I told her for t' turn yo' out, for +a' I knew yo' must be starving in these famine times. I think I +shall go about among them as gnash their teeth for iver, while yo' +are wheere all tears are wiped away.' +</P> + +<P> +'No!' said Philip, turning round his face, forgetful of himself in +his desire to comfort her. 'God pities us as a father pities his +poor wandering children; the nearer I come to death the clearer I +see Him. But you and me have done wrong to each other; yet we can +see now how we were led to it; we can pity and forgive one another. +I'm getting low and faint, lassie; but thou must remember this: God +knows more, and is more forgiving than either you to me, or me to +you. I think and do believe as we shall meet together before His +face; but then I shall ha' learnt to love thee second to Him; not +first, as I have done here upon the earth.' +</P> + +<P> +Then he was silent—very still. Sylvia knew—widow Dobson had +brought it in—that there was some kind of medicine, sent by the +hopeless doctors, lying upon the table hard by, and she softly rose +and poured it out and dropped it into the half-open mouth. Then she +knelt down again, holding the hand feebly stretched out to her, and +watching the faint light in the wistful loving eyes. And in the +stillness she heard the ceaseless waves lapping against the shelving +shore. +</P> + +<P> +Something like an hour before this time, which was the deepest +midnight of the summer's night, Hester Rose had come hurrying up the +road to where Kester and his sister sate outside the open door, +keeping their watch under the star-lit sky, all others having gone +away, one by one, even John and Jeremiah Foster having returned to +their own house, where the little Bella lay, sleeping a sound and +healthy slumber after her perilous adventure. +</P> + +<P> +Hester had heard but little from William Darley as to the owner of +the watch and the half-crown; but he was chagrined at the failure of +all his skilful interrogations to elicit the truth, and promised her +further information in a few days, with all the more vehemence +because he was unaccustomed to be baffled. And Hester had again +whispered to herself 'Patience! Patience!' and had slowly returned +back to her home to find that Sylvia had left it, why she did not at +once discover. But, growing uneasy as the advancing hours neither +brought Sylvia nor little Bella to their home, she had set out for +Jeremiah Foster's as soon as she had seen her mother comfortably +asleep in her bed; and then she had learnt the whole story, bit by +bit, as each person who spoke broke in upon the previous narration +with some new particular. But from no one did she clearly learn +whether Sylvia was with her husband, or not; and so she came +speeding along the road, breathless, to where Kester sate in +wakeful, mournful silence, his sister's sleeping head lying on his +shoulder, the cottage door open, both for air and that there might +be help within call if needed; and the dim slanting oblong of the +interior light lying across the road. +</P> + +<P> +Hester came panting up, too agitated and breathless to ask how much +was truth of the fatal, hopeless tale which she had heard. Kester +looked at her without a word. Through this solemn momentary silence +the lapping of the ceaseless waves was heard, as they came up close +on the shelving shore. +</P> + +<P> +'He? Philip?' said she. Kester shook his head sadly. +</P> + +<P> +'And his wife—Sylvia?' said Hester. +</P> + +<P> +'In there with him, alone,' whispered Kester. +</P> + +<P> +Hester turned away, and wrung her hands together. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Lord God Almighty!' said she, 'was I not even worthy to bring +them together at last?' And she went away slowly and heavily back to +the side of her sleeping mother. But 'Thy will be done' was on her +quivering lips before she lay down to her rest. +</P> + +<P> +The soft gray dawn lightens the darkness of a midsummer night soon +after two o'clock. Philip watched it come, knowing that it was his +last sight of day,—as we reckon days on earth. +</P> + +<P> +He had been often near death as a soldier; once or twice, as when he +rushed into fire to save Kinraid, his chances of life had been as +one to a hundred; but yet he had had a chance. But now there was the +new feeling—the last new feeling which we shall any of us +experience in this world—that death was not only close at hand, +but inevitable. +</P> + +<P> +He felt its numbness stealing up him—stealing up him. But the head +was clear, the brain more than commonly active in producing vivid +impressions. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed but yesterday since he was a little boy at his mother's +knee, wishing with all the earnestness of his childish heart to be +like Abraham, who was called the friend of God, or David, who was +said to be the man after God's own heart, or St John, who was called +'the Beloved.' As very present seemed the day on which he made +resolutions of trying to be like them; it was in the spring, and +some one had brought in cowslips; and the scent of those flowers was +in his nostrils now, as he lay a-dying—his life ended, his battles +fought, his time for 'being good' over and gone—the opportunity, +once given in all eternity, past. +</P> + +<P> +All the temptations that had beset him rose clearly before him; the +scenes themselves stood up in their solid materialism—he could have +touched the places; the people, the thoughts, the arguments that +Satan had urged in behalf of sin, were reproduced with the vividness +of a present time. And he knew that the thoughts were illusions, the +arguments false and hollow; for in that hour came the perfect vision +of the perfect truth: he saw the 'way to escape' which had come +along with the temptation; now, the strong resolve of an ardent +boyhood, with all a life before it to show the world 'what a +Christian might be'; and then the swift, terrible now, when his +naked, guilty soul shrank into the shadow of God's mercy-seat, out +of the blaze of His anger against all those who act a lie. +</P> + +<P> +His mind was wandering, and he plucked it back. Was this death in +very deed? He tried to grasp at the present, the earthly present, +fading quick away. He lay there on the bed—on Sally Dobson's bed in +the house-place, not on his accustomed pallet in the lean-to. He +knew that much. And the door was open into the still, dusk night; +and through the open casement he could hear the lapping of the waves +on the shelving shore, could see the soft gray dawn over the sea—he +knew it was over the sea—he saw what lay unseen behind the poor +walls of the cottage. And it was Sylvia who held his hand tight in +her warm, living grasp; it was his wife whose arm was thrown around +him, whose sobbing sighs shook his numbed frame from time to time. +</P> + +<P> +'God bless and comfort my darling,' he said to himself. 'She knows +me now. All will be right in heaven—in the light of God's mercy.' +</P> + +<P> +And then he tried to remember all that he had ever read about, God, +and all that the blessed Christ—that bringeth glad tidings of great +joy unto all people, had said of the Father, from whom He came. +Those sayings dropped like balm down upon his troubled heart and +brain. He remembered his mother, and how she had loved him; and he +was going to a love wiser, tenderer, deeper than hers. +</P> + +<P> +As he thought this, he moved his hands as if to pray; but Sylvia +clenched her hold, and he lay still, praying all the same for her, +for his child, and for himself. Then he saw the sky redden with the +first flush of dawn; he heard Kester's long-drawn sigh of weariness +outside the open door. +</P> + +<P> +He had seen widow Dobson pass through long before to keep the +remainder of her watch on the bed in the lean-to, which had been his +for many and many a sleepless and tearful night. Those nights were +over—he should never see that poor chamber again, though it was +scarce two feet distant. He began to lose all sense of the +comparative duration of time: it seemed as long since kind Sally +Dobson had bent over him with soft, lingering look, before going +into the humble sleeping-room—as long as it was since his boyhood, +when he stood by his mother dreaming of the life that should be his, +with the scent of the cowslips tempting him to be off to the +woodlands where they grew. Then there came a rush and an eddying +through his brain—his soul trying her wings for the long flight. +Again he was in the present: he heard the waves lapping against the +shelving shore once again. +</P> + +<P> +And now his thoughts came back to Sylvia. Once more he spoke aloud, +in a strange and terrible voice, which was not his. Every sound came +with efforts that were new to him. +</P> + +<P> +'My wife! Sylvie! Once more—forgive me all.' +</P> + +<P> +She sprang up, she kissed his poor burnt lips; she held him in her +arms, she moaned, and said, +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, wicked me! forgive me—me—Philip!' +</P> + +<P> +Then he spoke, and said, 'Lord, forgive us our trespasses as we +forgive each other!' And after that the power of speech was +conquered by the coming death. He lay very still, his consciousness +fast fading away, yet coming back in throbs, so that he knew it was +Sylvia who touched his lips with cordial, and that it was Sylvia who +murmured words of love in his ear. He seemed to sleep at last, and +so he did—a kind of sleep, but the light of the red morning sun +fell on his eyes, and with one strong effort he rose up, and turned +so as once more to see his wife's pale face of misery. +</P> + +<P> +'In heaven,' he cried, and a bright smile came on his face, as he +fell back on his pillow. +</P> + +<P> +Not long after Hester came, the little Bella scarce awake in her +arms, with the purpose of bringing his child to see him ere yet he +passed away. Hester had watched and prayed through the livelong +night. And now she found him dead, and Sylvia, tearless and almost +unconscious, lying by him, her hand holding his, her other thrown +around him. +</P> + +<P> +Kester, poor old man, was sobbing bitterly; but she not at all. +</P> + +<P> +Then Hester bore her child to her, and Sylvia opened wide her +miserable eyes, and only stared, as if all sense was gone from her. +But Bella suddenly rousing up at the sight of the poor, scarred, +peaceful face, cried out,— +</P> + +<P> +'Poor man who was so hungry. Is he not hungry now?' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' said Hester, softly. 'The former things are passed away—and +he is gone where there is no more sorrow, and no more pain.' +</P> + +<P> +But then she broke down into weeping and crying. Sylvia sat up and +looked at her. +</P> + +<P> +'Why do yo' cry, Hester?' she said. 'Yo' niver said that yo' +wouldn't forgive him as long as yo' lived. Yo' niver broke the heart +of him that loved yo', and let him almost starve at yo'r very door. +Oh, Philip! my Philip, tender and true.' +</P> + +<P> +Then Hester came round and closed the sad half-open eyes; kissing +the calm brow with a long farewell kiss. As she did so, her eye fell +on a black ribbon round his neck. She partly lifted it out; to it +was hung a half-crown piece. +</P> + +<P> +'This is the piece he left at William Darley's to be bored,' said +she, 'not many days ago.' +</P> + +<P> +Bella had crept to her mother's arms as a known haven in this +strange place; and the touch of his child loosened the fountains of +her tears. She stretched out her hand for the black ribbon, put it +round her own neck; after a while she said, +</P> + +<P> +'If I live very long, and try hard to be very good all that time, do +yo' think, Hester, as God will let me to him where he is?' +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Monkshaven is altered now into a rising bathing place. Yet, standing +near the site of widow Dobson's house on a summer's night, at the +ebb of a spring-tide, you may hear the waves come lapping up the +shelving shore with the same ceaseless, ever-recurrent sound as that +which Philip listened to in the pauses between life and death. +</P> + +<P> +And so it will be until 'there shall be no more sea'. +</P> + +<P> +But the memory of man fades away. A few old people can still tell +you the tradition of the man who died in a cottage somewhere about +this spot,—died of starvation while his wife lived in hard-hearted +plenty not two good stone-throws away. This is the form into which +popular feeling, and ignorance of the real facts, have moulded the +story. Not long since a lady went to the 'Public Baths', a handsome +stone building erected on the very site of widow Dobson's cottage, +and finding all the rooms engaged she sat down and had some talk +with the bathing woman; and, as it chanced, the conversation fell on +Philip Hepburn and the legend of his fate. +</P> + +<P> +'I knew an old man when I was a girl,' said the bathing woman, 'as +could niver abide to hear t' wife blamed. He would say nothing +again' th' husband; he used to say as it were not fit for men to be +judging; that she had had her sore trial, as well as Hepburn +hisself.' +</P> + +<P> +The lady asked, 'What became of the wife?' +</P> + +<P> +'She was a pale, sad woman, allays dressed in black. I can just +remember her when I was a little child, but she died before her +daughter was well grown up; and Miss Rose took t' lassie, as had +always been like her own.' +</P> + +<P> +'Miss Rose?' +</P> + +<P> +'Hester Rose! have yo' niver heared of Hester Rose, she as founded +t' alms-houses for poor disabled sailors and soldiers on t' +Horncastle road? There's a piece o' stone in front to say that "This +building is erected in memory of P. H."—and some folk will have it +P. H. stands for t' name o' th' man as was starved to death.' +</P> + +<P> +'And the daughter?' +</P> + +<P> +'One o' th' Fosters, them as founded t' Old Bank, left her a vast o' +money; and she were married to distant cousin of theirs, and went +off to settle in America many and many a year ago.' +</P> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sylvia's Lovers -- Complete, by +Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIA'S LOVERS -- COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 4537-h.htm or 4537-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/3/4537/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sylvia's Lovers -- Complete + +Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell + +Posting Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #4537] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: February 4, 2002 +[Last updated: June 17, 2012] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIA'S LOVERS -- COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +[Editor's Note:--The chapter numbering for volume 2 & 3 was changed +from the original in order to have unique chapter numbers for the +complete version, so volume 2 starts with chapter XV and volume 3 +starts with chapter XXX.] + + + + + +SYLVIA'S LOVERS. + + +BY + +ELIZABETH GASKELL + + + + Oh for thy voice to soothe and bless! + What hope of answer, or redress? + Behind the veil! Behind the veil!--Tennyson + + + +IN THREE VOLUMES. + +VOL. I. + +LONDON: + +M.DCCC.LXIII. + + + + +CONTENTS + + I MONKSHAVEN + II HOME FROM GREENLAND + III BUYING A NEW CLOAK + IV PHILIP HEPBURN + V STORY OF THE PRESS-GANG + VI THE SAILOR'S FUNERAL + VII TETE-A-TETE.--THE WILL + VIII ATTRACTION AND REPULSION + IX THE SPECKSIONEER + X A REFRACTORY PUPIL + XI VISIONS OF THE FUTURE + XII NEW YEAR'S FETE + XIII PERPLEXITIES + XIV PARTNERSHIP + XV A DIFFICULT QUESTION + XVI THE ENGAGEMENT + XVII REJECTED WARNINGS + XVIII EDDY IN LOVE'S CURRENT + XIX AN IMPORTANT MISSION + XX LOVED AND LOST + XXI A REJECTED SUITOR + XXII DEEPENING SHADOWS + XXIII RETALIATION + XXIV BRIEF REJOICING + XXV COMING TROUBLES + XXVI A DREARY VIGIL + XXVII GLOOMY DAYS + XXVIII THE ORDEAL + XXIX WEDDING RAIMENT + XXX HAPPY DAYS + XXXI EVIL OMENS + XXXII RESCUED FROM THE WAVES + XXXIII AN APPARITION + XXXIV A RECKLESS RECRUIT + XXXV THINGS UNUTTERABLE + XXXVI MYSTERIOUS TIDINGS + XXXVII BEREAVEMENT + XXXVIII THE RECOGNITION + XXXIX CONFIDENCES + XL AN UNEXPECTED MESSENGER + XLI THE BEDESMAN OF ST SEPULCHRE + XLII A FABLE AT FAULT + XLIII THE UNKNOWN + XLIV FIRST WORDS + XLV SAVED AND LOST + + + + +CHAPTER I + +MONKSHAVEN + + +On the north-eastern shores of England there is a town called +Monkshaven, containing at the present day about fifteen thousand +inhabitants. There were, however, but half the number at the end of +the last century, and it was at that period that the events narrated +in the following pages occurred. + +Monkshaven was a name not unknown in the history of England, and +traditions of its having been the landing-place of a throneless +queen were current in the town. At that time there had been a +fortified castle on the heights above it, the site of which was now +occupied by a deserted manor-house; and at an even earlier date than +the arrival of the queen and coeval with the most ancient remains of +the castle, a great monastery had stood on those cliffs, overlooking +the vast ocean that blended with the distant sky. Monkshaven itself +was built by the side of the Dee, just where the river falls into +the German Ocean. The principal street of the town ran parallel to +the stream, and smaller lanes branched out of this, and straggled up +the sides of the steep hill, between which and the river the houses +were pent in. There was a bridge across the Dee, and consequently a +Bridge Street running at right angles to the High Street; and on the +south side of the stream there were a few houses of more pretension, +around which lay gardens and fields. It was on this side of the town +that the local aristocracy lived. And who were the great people of +this small town? Not the younger branches of the county families +that held hereditary state in their manor-houses on the wild bleak +moors, that shut in Monkshaven almost as effectually on the land +side as ever the waters did on the sea-board. No; these old families +kept aloof from the unsavoury yet adventurous trade which brought +wealth to generation after generation of certain families in +Monkshaven. + +The magnates of Monkshaven were those who had the largest number of +ships engaged in the whaling-trade. Something like the following was +the course of life with a Monkshaven lad of this class:--He was +apprenticed as a sailor to one of the great ship-owners--to his own +father, possibly--along with twenty other boys, or, it might be, +even more. During the summer months he and his fellow apprentices +made voyages to the Greenland seas, returning with their cargoes in +the early autumn; and employing the winter months in watching the +preparation of the oil from the blubber in the melting-sheds, and +learning navigation from some quaint but experienced teacher, half +schoolmaster, half sailor, who seasoned his instructions by stirring +narrations of the wild adventures of his youth. The house of the +ship-owner to whom he was apprenticed was his home and that of his +companions during the idle season between October and March. The +domestic position of these boys varied according to the premium +paid; some took rank with the sons of the family, others were +considered as little better than servants. Yet once on board an +equality prevailed, in which, if any claimed superiority, it was the +bravest and brightest. After a certain number of voyages the +Monkshaven lad would rise by degrees to be captain, and as such +would have a share in the venture; all these profits, as well as all +his savings, would go towards building a whaling vessel of his own, +if he was not so fortunate as to be the child of a ship-owner. At +the time of which I write, there was but little division of labour +in the Monkshaven whale fishery. The same man might be the owner of +six or seven ships, any one of which he himself was fitted by +education and experience to command; the master of a score of +apprentices, each of whom paid a pretty sufficient premium; and the +proprietor of the melting-sheds into which his cargoes of blubber +and whalebone were conveyed to be fitted for sale. It was no wonder +that large fortunes were acquired by these ship-owners, nor that +their houses on the south side of the river Dee were stately +mansions, full of handsome and substantial furniture. It was also +not surprising that the whole town had an amphibious appearance, to +a degree unusual even in a seaport. Every one depended on the whale +fishery, and almost every male inhabitant had been, or hoped to be, +a sailor. Down by the river the smell was almost intolerable to any +but Monkshaven people during certain seasons of the year; but on +these unsavoury 'staithes' the old men and children lounged for +hours, almost as if they revelled in the odours of train-oil. + +This is, perhaps, enough of a description of the town itself. I have +said that the country for miles all around was moorland; high above +the level of the sea towered the purple crags, whose summits were +crowned with greensward that stole down the sides of the scaur a +little way in grassy veins. Here and there a brook forced its way +from the heights down to the sea, making its channel into a valley +more or less broad in long process of time. And in the moorland +hollows, as in these valleys, trees and underwood grew and +flourished; so that, while on the bare swells of the high land you +shivered at the waste desolation of the scenery, when you dropped +into these wooded 'bottoms' you were charmed with the nestling +shelter which they gave. But above and around these rare and fertile +vales there were moors for many a mile, here and there bleak enough, +with the red freestone cropping out above the scanty herbage; then, +perhaps, there was a brown tract of peat and bog, uncertain footing +for the pedestrian who tried to make a short cut to his destination; +then on the higher sandy soil there was the purple ling, or +commonest species of heather growing in beautiful wild luxuriance. +Tufts of fine elastic grass were occasionally to be found, on which +the little black-faced sheep browsed; but either the scanty food, or +their goat-like agility, kept them in a lean condition that did not +promise much for the butcher, nor yet was their wool of a quality +fine enough to make them profitable in that way to their owners. In +such districts there is little population at the present day; there +was much less in the last century, before agriculture was +sufficiently scientific to have a chance of contending with such +natural disqualifications as the moors presented, and when there +were no facilities of railroads to bring sportsmen from a distance +to enjoy the shooting season, and make an annual demand for +accommodation. + +There were old stone halls in the valleys; there were bare +farmhouses to be seen on the moors at long distances apart, with +small stacks of coarse poor hay, and almost larger stacks of turf +for winter fuel in their farmyards. The cattle in the pasture fields +belonging to these farms looked half starved; but somehow there was +an odd, intelligent expression in their faces, as well as in those +of the black-visaged sheep, which is seldom seen in the placidly +stupid countenances of well-fed animals. All the fences were turf +banks, with loose stones piled into walls on the top of these. + +There was comparative fertility and luxuriance down below in the +rare green dales. The narrow meadows stretching along the brookside +seemed as though the cows could really satisfy their hunger in the +deep rich grass; whereas on the higher lands the scanty herbage was +hardly worth the fatigue of moving about in search of it. Even in +these 'bottoms' the piping sea-winds, following the current of the +stream, stunted and cut low any trees; but still there was rich +thick underwood, tangled and tied together with brambles, and +brier-rose, [sic] and honeysuckle; and if the farmer in these +comparatively happy valleys had had wife or daughter who cared for +gardening, many a flower would have grown on the western or southern +side of the rough stone house. But at that time gardening was not a +popular art in any part of England; in the north it is not yet. +Noblemen and gentlemen may have beautiful gardens; but farmers and +day-labourers care little for them north of the Trent, which is all +I can answer for. A few 'berry' bushes, a black currant tree or two +(the leaves to be used in heightening the flavour of tea, the fruit +as medicinal for colds and sore throats), a potato ground (and this +was not so common at the close of the last century as it is now), a +cabbage bed, a bush of sage, and balm, and thyme, and marjoram, with +possibly a rose tree, and 'old man' growing in the midst; a little +plot of small strong coarse onions, and perhaps some marigolds, the +petals of which flavoured the salt-beef broth; such plants made up a +well-furnished garden to a farmhouse at the time and place to which +my story belongs. But for twenty miles inland there was no +forgetting the sea, nor the sea-trade; refuse shell-fish, seaweed, +the offal of the melting-houses, were the staple manure of the +district; great ghastly whale-jaws, bleached bare and white, were +the arches over the gate-posts to many a field or moorland stretch. +Out of every family of several sons, however agricultural their +position might be, one had gone to sea, and the mother looked +wistfully seaward at the changes of the keen piping moorland winds. +The holiday rambles were to the coast; no one cared to go inland to +see aught, unless indeed it might be to the great annual horse-fairs +held where the dreary land broke into habitation and cultivation. + +Somehow in this country sea thoughts followed the thinker far +inland; whereas in most other parts of the island, at five miles +from the ocean, he has all but forgotten the existence of such an +element as salt water. The great Greenland trade of the coasting +towns was the main and primary cause of this, no doubt. But there +was also a dread and an irritation in every one's mind, at the time +of which I write, in connection with the neighbouring sea. + +Since the termination of the American war, there had been nothing to +call for any unusual energy in manning the navy; and the grants +required by Government for this purpose diminished with every year +of peace. In 1792 this grant touched its minimum for many years. In +1793 the proceedings of the French had set Europe on fire, and the +English were raging with anti-Gallican excitement, fomented into +action by every expedient of the Crown and its Ministers. We had our +ships; but where were our men? The Admiralty had, however, a ready +remedy at hand, with ample precedent for its use, and with common +(if not statute) law to sanction its application. They issued 'press +warrants,' calling upon the civil power throughout the country to +support their officers in the discharge of their duty. The sea-coast +was divided into districts, under the charge of a captain in the +navy, who again delegated sub-districts to lieutenants; and in this +manner all homeward-bound vessels were watched and waited for, all +ports were under supervision; and in a day, if need were, a large +number of men could be added to the forces of his Majesty's navy. +But if the Admiralty became urgent in their demands, they were also +willing to be unscrupulous. Landsmen, if able-bodied, might soon be +trained into good sailors; and once in the hold of the tender, which +always awaited the success of the operations of the press-gang, it +was difficult for such prisoners to bring evidence of the nature of +their former occupations, especially when none had leisure to listen +to such evidence, or were willing to believe it if they did listen, +or would act upon it for the release of the captive if they had by +possibility both listened and believed. Men were kidnapped, +literally disappeared, and nothing was ever heard of them again. The +street of a busy town was not safe from such press-gang captures, as +Lord Thurlow could have told, after a certain walk he took about +this time on Tower Hill, when he, the attorney-general of England, +was impressed, when the Admiralty had its own peculiar ways of +getting rid of tiresome besiegers and petitioners. Nor yet were +lonely inland dwellers more secure; many a rustic went to a statute +fair or 'mop,' and never came home to tell of his hiring; many a +stout young farmer vanished from his place by the hearth of his +father, and was no more heard of by mother or lover; so great was +the press for men to serve in the navy during the early years of the +war with France, and after every great naval victory of that war. + +The servants of the Admiralty lay in wait for all merchantmen and +traders; there were many instances of vessels returning home after +long absence, and laden with rich cargo, being boarded within a +day's distance of land, and so many men pressed and carried off, +that the ship, with her cargo, became unmanageable from the loss of +her crew, drifted out again into the wild wide ocean, and was +sometimes found in the helpless guidance of one or two infirm or +ignorant sailors; sometimes such vessels were never heard of more. +The men thus pressed were taken from the near grasp of parents or +wives, and were often deprived of the hard earnings of years, which +remained in the hands of the masters of the merchantman in which +they had served, subject to all the chances of honesty or +dishonesty, life or death. Now all this tyranny (for I can use no +other word) is marvellous to us; we cannot imagine how it is that a +nation submitted to it for so long, even under any warlike +enthusiasm, any panic of invasion, any amount of loyal subservience +to the governing powers. When we read of the military being called +in to assist the civil power in backing up the press-gang, of +parties of soldiers patrolling the streets, and sentries with +screwed bayonets placed at every door while the press-gang entered +and searched each hole and corner of the dwelling; when we hear of +churches being surrounded during divine service by troops, while the +press-gang stood ready at the door to seize men as they came out +from attending public worship, and take these instances as merely +types of what was constantly going on in different forms, we do not +wonder at Lord Mayors, and other civic authorities in large towns, +complaining that a stop was put to business by the danger which the +tradesmen and their servants incurred in leaving their houses and +going into the streets, infested by press-gangs. + +Whether it was that living in closer neighbourhood to the +metropolis--the centre of politics and news--inspired the +inhabitants of the southern counties with a strong feeling of that +kind of patriotism which consists in hating all other nations; or +whether it was that the chances of capture were so much greater at +all the southern ports that the merchant sailors became inured to +the danger; or whether it was that serving in the navy, to those +familiar with such towns as Portsmouth and Plymouth, had an +attraction to most men from the dash and brilliancy of the +adventurous employment--it is certain that the southerners took the +oppression of press-warrants more submissively than the wild +north-eastern people. For with them the chances of profit beyond +their wages in the whaling or Greenland trade extended to the lowest +description of sailor. He might rise by daring and saving to be a +ship-owner himself. Numbers around him had done so; and this very +fact made the distinction between class and class less apparent; and +the common ventures and dangers, the universal interest felt in one +pursuit, bound the inhabitants of that line of coast together with a +strong tie, the severance of which by any violent extraneous +measure, gave rise to passionate anger and thirst for vengeance. A +Yorkshireman once said to me, 'My county folk are all alike. Their +first thought is how to resist. Why! I myself, if I hear a man say +it is a fine day, catch myself trying to find out that it is no such +thing. It is so in thought; it is so in word; it is so in deed.' + +So you may imagine the press-gang had no easy time of it on the +Yorkshire coast. In other places they inspired fear, but here rage +and hatred. The Lord Mayor of York was warned on 20th January, 1777, +by an anonymous letter, that 'if those men were not sent from the +city on or before the following Tuesday, his lordship's own +dwelling, and the Mansion-house also, should be burned to the +ground.' + +Perhaps something of the ill-feeling that prevailed on the subject +was owing to the fact which I have noticed in other places similarly +situated. Where the landed possessions of gentlemen of ancient +family but limited income surround a centre of any kind of +profitable trade or manufacture, there is a sort of latent ill-will +on the part of the squires to the tradesman, be he manufacturer, +merchant, or ship-owner, in whose hands is held a power of +money-making, which no hereditary pride, or gentlemanly love of +doing nothing, prevents him from using. This ill-will, to be sure, +is mostly of a negative kind; its most common form of manifestation +is in absence of speech or action, a sort of torpid and genteel +ignoring all unpleasant neighbours; but really the whale-fisheries +of Monkshaven had become so impertinently and obtrusively prosperous +of late years at the time of which I write, the Monkshaven +ship-owners were growing so wealthy and consequential, that the +squires, who lived at home at ease in the old stone manor-houses +scattered up and down the surrounding moorland, felt that the check +upon the Monkshaven trade likely to be inflicted by the press-gang, +was wisely ordained by the higher powers (how high they placed these +powers I will not venture to say), to prevent overhaste in getting +rich, which was a scriptural fault, and they also thought that they +were only doing their duty in backing up the Admiralty warrants by +all the civil power at their disposal, whenever they were called +upon, and whenever they could do so without taking too much trouble +in affairs which did not after all much concern themselves. + +There was just another motive in the minds of some provident parents +of many daughters. The captains and lieutenants employed on this +service were mostly agreeable bachelors, brought up to a genteel +profession, at the least they were very pleasant visitors, when they +had a day to spare; who knew what might come of it? + +Indeed, these brave officers were not unpopular in Monkshaven +itself, except at the time when they were brought into actual +collision with the people. They had the frank manners of their +profession; they were known to have served in those engagements, the +very narrative of which at this day will warm the heart of a Quaker, +and they themselves did not come prominently forward in the dirty +work which, nevertheless, was permitted and quietly sanctioned by +them. So while few Monkshaven people passed the low public-house +over which the navy blue-flag streamed, as a sign that it was the +rendezvous of the press-gang, without spitting towards it in sign of +abhorrence, yet, perhaps, the very same persons would give some +rough token of respect to Lieutenant Atkinson if they met him in +High Street. Touching their hats was an unknown gesture in those +parts, but they would move their heads in a droll, familiar kind of +way, neither a wag nor a nod, but meant all the same to imply +friendly regard. The ship-owners, too, invited him to an occasional +dinner or supper, all the time looking forward to the chances of his +turning out an active enemy, and not by any means inclined to give +him 'the run of the house,' however many unmarried daughters might +grace their table. Still as he could tell a rattling story, drink +hard, and was seldom too busy to come at a short notice, he got on +better than any one could have expected with the Monkshaven folk. +And the principal share of the odium of his business fell on his +subordinates, who were one and all regarded in the light of mean +kidnappers and spies--'varmint,' as the common people esteemed +them: and as such they were ready at the first provocation to hunt +and to worry them, and little cared the press-gang for this. +Whatever else they were, they were brave and daring. They had law to +back them, therefore their business was lawful. They were serving +their king and country. They were using all their faculties, and +that is always pleasant. There was plenty of scope for the glory and +triumph of outwitting; plenty of adventure in their life. It was a +lawful and loyal employment, requiring sense, readiness, courage, +and besides it called out that strange love of the chase inherent in +every man. Fourteen or fifteen miles at sea lay the _Aurora_, good +man-of-war; and to her were conveyed the living cargoes of several +tenders, which were stationed at likely places along the sea-coast. +One, the _Lively Lady_, might be seen from the cliffs above +Monkshaven, not so far away, but hidden by the angle of the high +lands from the constant sight of the townspeople; and there was +always the Randyvow-house (as the public-house with the navy +blue-flag was called thereabouts) for the crew of the _Lively Lady_ +to lounge about, and there to offer drink to unwary passers-by. At +present this was all that the press-gang had done at Monkshaven. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +HOME FROM GREENLAND + + +One hot day, early in October of the year 1796, two girls set off +from their country homes to Monkshaven to sell their butter and +eggs, for they were both farmers' daughters, though rather in +different circumstances; for Molly Corney was one of a large family +of children, and had to rough it accordingly; Sylvia Robson was an +only child, and was much made of in more people's estimation than +Mary's by her elderly parents. They had each purchases to make after +their sales were effected, as sales of butter and eggs were effected +in those days by the market-women sitting on the steps of the great +old mutilated cross till a certain hour in the afternoon, after +which, if all their goods were not disposed of, they took them +unwillingly to the shops and sold them at a lower price. But good +housewives did not despise coming themselves to the Butter Cross, +and, smelling and depreciating the articles they wanted, kept up a +perpetual struggle of words, trying, often in vain, to beat down +prices. A housekeeper of the last century would have thought that +she did not know her business, if she had not gone through this +preliminary process; and the farmers' wives and daughters treated it +all as a matter of course, replying with a good deal of independent +humour to the customer, who, once having discovered where good +butter and fresh eggs were to be sold, came time after time to +depreciate the articles she always ended in taking. There was +leisure for all this kind of work in those days. + +Molly had tied a knot on her pink-spotted handkerchief for each of +the various purchases she had to make; dull but important articles +needed for the week's consumption at home; if she forgot any one of +them she knew she was sure of a good 'rating' from her mother. The +number of them made her pocket-handkerchief look like one of the +nine-tails of a 'cat;' but not a single thing was for herself, nor, +indeed, for any one individual of her numerous family. There was +neither much thought nor much money to spend for any but collective +wants in the Corney family. + +It was different with Sylvia. She was going to choose her first +cloak, not to have an old one of her mother's, that had gone down +through two sisters, dyed for the fourth time (and Molly would have +been glad had even this chance been hers), but to buy a bran-new +duffle cloak all for herself, with not even an elder authority to +curb her as to price, only Molly to give her admiring counsel, and +as much sympathy as was consistent with a little patient envy of +Sylvia's happier circumstances. Every now and then they wandered off +from the one grand subject of thought, but Sylvia, with unconscious +art, soon brought the conversation round to the fresh consideration +of the respective merits of gray and scarlet. These girls were +walking bare-foot and carrying their shoes and stockings in their +hands during the first part of their way; but as they were drawing +near Monkshaven they stopped, and turned aside along a foot-path +that led from the main-road down to the banks of the Dee. There were +great stones in the river about here, round which the waters +gathered and eddied and formed deep pools. Molly sate down on the +grassy bank to wash her feet; but Sylvia, more active (or perhaps +lighter-hearted with the notion of the cloak in the distance), +placed her basket on a gravelly bit of shore, and, giving a long +spring, seated herself on a stone almost in the middle of the +stream. Then she began dipping her little rosy toes in the cool +rushing water and whisking them out with childish glee. + +'Be quiet, wi' the', Sylvia? Thou'st splashing me all ower, and my +feyther'll noane be so keen o' giving me a new cloak as thine is, +seemingly.' + +Sylvia was quiet, not to say penitent, in a moment. She drew up her +feet instantly; and, as if to take herself out of temptation, she +turned away from Molly to that side of her stony seat on which the +current ran shallow, and broken by pebbles. But once disturbed in +her play, her thoughts reverted to the great subject of the cloak. +She was now as still as a minute before she had been full of frolic +and gambolling life. She had tucked herself up on the stone, as if +it had been a cushion, and she a little sultana. + +Molly was deliberately washing her feet and drawing on her +stockings, when she heard a sudden sigh, and her companion turned +round so as to face her, and said, + +'I wish mother hadn't spoken up for t' gray.' + +'Why, Sylvia, thou wert saying as we topped t'brow, as she did +nought but bid thee think twice afore settling on scarlet.' + +'Ay! but mother's words are scarce, and weigh heavy. Feyther's liker +me, and we talk a deal o' rubble; but mother's words are liker to +hewn stone. She puts a deal o' meaning in 'em. And then,' said +Sylvia, as if she was put out by the suggestion, 'she bid me ask +cousin Philip for his opinion. I hate a man as has getten an opinion +on such-like things.' + +'Well! we shall niver get to Monkshaven this day, either for to sell +our eggs and stuff, or to buy thy cloak, if we're sittin' here much +longer. T' sun's for slanting low, so come along, lass, and let's be +going.' + +'But if I put on my stockings and shoon here, and jump back into yon +wet gravel, I 'se not be fit to be seen,' said Sylvia, in a pathetic +tone of bewilderment, that was funnily childlike. She stood up, her +bare feet curved round the curving surface of the stone, her slight +figure balancing as if in act to spring. + +'Thou knows thou'll have just to jump back barefoot, and wash thy +feet afresh, without making all that ado; thou shouldst ha' done it +at first, like me, and all other sensible folk. But thou'st getten +no gumption.' + +Molly's mouth was stopped by Sylvia's hand. She was already on the +river bank by her friend's side. + +'Now dunnot lecture me; I'm none for a sermon hung on every peg o' +words. I'm going to have a new cloak, lass, and I cannot heed thee +if thou dost lecture. Thou shall have all the gumption, and I'll +have my cloak.' + +It may be doubted whether Molly thought this an equal division. + +Each girl wore tightly-fitting stockings, knit by her own hands, of +the blue worsted common in that country; they had on neat +high-heeled black leather shoes, coming well over the instep, and +fastened as well as ornamented with bright steel buckles. They did +not walk so lightly and freely now as they did before they were +shod, but their steps were still springy with the buoyancy of early +youth; for neither of them was twenty, indeed I believe Sylvia was +not more than seventeen at this time. + +They clambered up the steep grassy path, with brambles catching at +their kilted petticoats, through the copse-wood, till they regained +the high road; and then they 'settled themselves,' as they called +it; that is to say, they took off their black felt hats, and tied up +their clustering hair afresh; they shook off every speck of wayside +dust; straightened the little shawls (or large neck-kerchiefs, call +them which you will) that were spread over their shoulders, pinned +below the throat, and confined at the waist by their apron-strings; +and then putting on their hats again, and picking up their baskets, +they prepared to walk decorously into the town of Monkshaven. + +The next turn of the road showed them the red peaked roofs of the +closely packed houses lying almost directly below the hill on which +they were. The full autumn sun brought out the ruddy colour of the +tiled gables, and deepened the shadows in the narrow streets. The +narrow harbour at the mouth of the river was crowded with small +vessels of all descriptions, making an intricate forest of masts. +Beyond lay the sea, like a flat pavement of sapphire, scarcely a +ripple varying its sunny surface, that stretched out leagues away +till it blended with the softened azure of the sky. On this blue +trackless water floated scores of white-sailed fishing boats, +apparently motionless, unless you measured their progress by some +land-mark; but still, and silent, and distant as they seemed, the +consciousness that there were men on board, each going forth into +the great deep, added unspeakably to the interest felt in watching +them. Close to the bar of the river Dee a larger vessel lay to. +Sylvia, who had only recently come into the neighbourhood, looked at +this with the same quiet interest as she did at all the others; but +Molly, as soon as her eye caught the build of it, cried out aloud-- + +'She's a whaler! she's a whaler home from t' Greenland seas! T' +first this season! God bless her!' and she turned round and shook +both Sylvia's hands in the fulness of her excitement. Sylvia's +colour rose, and her eyes sparkled out of sympathy. + +'Is ta sure?' she asked, breathless in her turn; for though she did +not know by the aspect of the different ships on what trade they +were bound, yet she was well aware of the paramount interest +attached to whaling vessels. + +'Three o'clock! and it's not high water till five!' said Molly. 'If +we're sharp we can sell our eggs, and be down to the staithes before +she comes into port. Be sharp, lass!' + +And down the steep long hill they went at a pace that was almost a +run. A run they dared not make it; and as it was, the rate at which +they walked would have caused destruction among eggs less carefully +packed. When the descent was ended, there was yet the long narrow +street before them, bending and swerving from the straight line, as +it followed the course of the river. The girls felt as if they +should never come to the market-place, which was situated at the +crossing of Bridge Street and High Street. There the old stone cross +was raised by the monks long ago; now worn and mutilated, no one +esteemed it as a holy symbol, but only as the Butter Cross, where +market-women clustered on Wednesday, and whence the town crier made +all his proclamations of household sales, things lost or found, +beginning with 'Oh! yes, oh! yes, oh! yes!' and ending with 'God +bless the king and the lord of this manor,' and a very brisk 'Amen,' +before he went on his way and took off the livery-coat, the colours +of which marked him as a servant of the Burnabys, the family who +held manorial rights over Monkshaven. + +Of course the much frequented space surrounding the Butter Cross was +the favourite centre for shops; and on this day, a fine market day, +just when good housewives begin to look over their winter store of +blankets and flannels, and discover their needs betimes, these shops +ought to have had plenty of customers. But they were empty and of +even quieter aspect than their every-day wont. The three-legged +creepie-stools that were hired out at a penny an hour to such +market-women as came too late to find room on the steps were +unoccupied; knocked over here and there, as if people had passed by +in haste. + +Molly took in all at a glance, and interpreted the signs, though she +had no time to explain their meaning, and her consequent course of +action, to Sylvia, but darted into a corner shop. + +'T' whalers is coming home! There's one lying outside t' bar!' + +This was put in the form of an assertion; but the tone was that of +eager cross-questioning. + +'Ay!' said a lame man, mending fishing-nets behind a rough deal +counter. 'She's come back airly, and she's brought good news o' t' +others, as I've heered say. Time was I should ha' been on th' +staithes throwing up my cap wit' t' best on 'em; but now it pleases +t' Lord to keep me at home, and set me to mind other folks' gear. +See thee, wench, there's a vast o' folk ha' left their skeps o' +things wi' me while they're away down to t' quay side. Leave me your +eggs and be off wi' ye for t' see t' fun, for mebbe ye'll live to be +palsied yet, and then ye'll be fretting ower spilt milk, and that ye +didn't tak' all chances when ye was young. Ay, well! they're out o' +hearin' o' my moralities; I'd better find a lamiter like mysen to +preach to, for it's not iverybody has t' luck t' clargy has of +saying their say out whether folks likes it or not.' + +He put the baskets carefully away with much of such talk as this +addressed to himself while he did so. Then he sighed once or twice; +and then he took the better course and began to sing over his tarry +work. + +Molly and Sylvia were far along the staithes by the time he got to +this point of cheerfulness. They ran on, regardless of stitches and +pains in the side; on along the river bank to where the concourse of +people was gathered. There was no great length of way between the +Butter Cross and the harbour; in five minutes the breathless girls +were close together in the best place they could get for seeing, on +the outside of the crowd; and in as short a time longer they were +pressed inwards, by fresh arrivals, into the very midst of the +throng. All eyes were directed to the ship, beating her anchor just +outside the bar, not a quarter of a mile away. The custom-house +officer was just gone aboard of her to receive the captain's report +of his cargo, and make due examination. The men who had taken him +out in his boat were rowing back to the shore, and brought small +fragments of news when they landed a little distance from the crowd, +which moved as one man to hear what was to be told. Sylvia took a +hard grasp of the hand of the older and more experienced Molly, and +listened open-mouthed to the answers she was extracting from a gruff +old sailor she happened to find near her. + +'What ship is she?' + +'T' _Resolution_ of Monkshaven!' said he, indignantly, as if any +goose might have known that. + +'An' a good _Resolution_, and a blessed ship she's been to me,' +piped out an old woman, close at Mary's elbow. 'She's brought me +home my ae' lad--for he shouted to yon boatman to bid him tell me he +was well. 'Tell Peggy Christison,' says he (my name is Margaret +Christison)--'tell Peggy Christison as her son Hezekiah is come back +safe and sound.' The Lord's name be praised! An' me a widow as never +thought to see my lad again!' + +It seemed as if everybody relied on every one else's sympathy in +that hour of great joy. + +'I ax pardon, but if you'd gie me just a bit of elbow-room for a +minute like, I'd hold my babby up, so that he might see daddy's +ship, and happen, my master might see him. He's four months old last +Tuesday se'nnight, and his feyther's never clapt eyne on him yet, +and he wi' a tooth through, an another just breaking, bless him!' + +One or two of the better end of the Monkshaven inhabitants stood a +little before Molly and Sylvia; and as they moved in compliance with +the young mother's request, they overheard some of the information +these ship-owners had received from the boatman. + +'Haynes says they'll send the manifest of the cargo ashore in twenty +minutes, as soon as Fishburn has looked over the casks. Only eight +whales, according to what he says.' + +'No one can tell,' said the other, 'till the manifest comes to +hand.' + +'I'm afraid he's right. But he brings a good report of the _Good +Fortune_. She's off St Abb's Head, with something like fifteen +whales to her share.' + +'We shall see how much is true, when she comes in.' + +'That'll be by the afternoon tide to-morrow.' + +'That's my cousin's ship,' said Molly to Sylvia. 'He's specksioneer +on board the _Good Fortune_.' + +An old man touched her as she spoke-- + +'I humbly make my manners, missus, but I'm stone blind; my lad's +aboard yon vessel outside t' bar; and my old woman is bed-fast. Will +she be long, think ye, in making t' harbour? Because, if so be as +she were, I'd just make my way back, and speak a word or two to my +missus, who'll be boiling o'er into some mak o' mischief now she +knows he's so near. May I be so bold as to ax if t' Crooked Negro is +covered yet?' + +Molly stood on tip-toe to try and see the black stone thus named; +but Sylvia, stooping and peeping through the glimpses afforded +between the arms of the moving people, saw it first, and told the +blind old man it was still above water. + +'A watched pot,' said he, 'ne'er boils, I reckon. It's ta'en a vast +o' watter t' cover that stone to-day. Anyhow, I'll have time to go +home and rate my missus for worritin' hersen, as I'll be bound she's +done, for all as I bade her not, but to keep easy and content.' + +'We'd better be off too,' said Molly, as an opening was made through +the press to let out the groping old man. 'Eggs and butter is yet to +sell, and tha' cloak to be bought.' + +'Well, I suppose we had!' said Sylvia, rather regretfully; for, +though all the way into Monkshaven her head had been full of the +purchase of this cloak, yet she was of that impressible nature that +takes the tone of feeling from those surrounding; and though she +knew no one on board the Resolution, she was just as anxious for the +moment to see her come into harbour as any one in the crowd who had +a dear relation on board. So she turned reluctantly to follow the +more prudent Molly along the quay back to the Butter Cross. + +It was a pretty scene, though it was too familiar to the eyes of all +who then saw it for them to notice its beauty. The sun was low +enough in the west to turn the mist that filled the distant valley +of the river into golden haze. Above, on either bank of the Dee, +there lay the moorland heights swelling one behind the other; the +nearer, russet brown with the tints of the fading bracken; the more +distant, gray and dim against the rich autumnal sky. The red and +fluted tiles of the gabled houses rose in crowded irregularity on +one side of the river, while the newer suburb was built in more +orderly and less picturesque fashion on the opposite cliff. The +river itself was swelling and chafing with the incoming tide till +its vexed waters rushed over the very feet of the watching crowd on +the staithes, as the great sea waves encroached more and more every +minute. The quay-side was unsavourily ornamented with glittering +fish-scales, for the hauls of fish were cleansed in the open air, +and no sanitary arrangements existed for sweeping away any of the +relics of this operation. + +The fresh salt breeze was bringing up the lashing, leaping tide from +the blue sea beyond the bar. Behind the returning girls there rocked +the white-sailed ship, as if she were all alive with eagerness for +her anchors to be heaved. + +How impatient her crew of beating hearts were for that moment, how +those on land sickened at the suspense, may be imagined, when you +remember that for six long summer months those sailors had been as +if dead from all news of those they loved; shut up in terrible, +dreary Arctic seas from the hungry sight of sweethearts and friends, +wives and mothers. No one knew what might have happened. The crowd +on shore grew silent and solemn before the dread of the possible +news of death that might toll in upon their hearts with this +uprushing tide. The whalers went out into the Greenland seas full of +strong, hopeful men; but the whalers never returned as they sailed +forth. On land there are deaths among two or three hundred men to be +mourned over in every half-year's space of time. Whose bones had +been left to blacken on the gray and terrible icebergs? Who lay +still until the sea should give up its dead? Who were those who +should come back to Monkshaven never, no, never more? + +Many a heart swelled with passionate, unspoken fear, as the first +whaler lay off the bar on her return voyage. + +Molly and Sylvia had left the crowd in this hushed suspense. But +fifty yards along the staithe they passed five or six girls with +flushed faces and careless attire, who had mounted a pile of timber, +placed there to season for ship-building, from which, as from the +steps of a ladder or staircase, they could command the harbour. They +were wild and free in their gestures, and held each other by the +hand, and swayed from side to side, stamping their feet in time, as +they sang-- + + Weel may the keel row, the keel row, the keel row, + Weel may the keel row that my laddie's in! + +'What for are ye going off, now?' they called out to our two girls. +'She'll be in in ten minutes!' and without waiting for the answer +which never came, they resumed their song. + +Old sailors stood about in little groups, too proud to show their +interest in the adventures they could no longer share, but quite +unable to keep up any semblance of talk on indifferent subjects. + +The town seemed very quiet and deserted as Molly and Sylvia entered +the dark, irregular Bridge Street, and the market-place was as empty +of people as before. But the skeps and baskets and three-legged +stools were all cleared away. + +'Market's over for to-day,' said Molly Corney, in disappointed +surprise. 'We mun make the best on't, and sell to t' huxters, and a +hard bargain they'll be for driving. I doubt mother'll be vexed.' + +She and Sylvia went to the corner shop to reclaim their baskets. The +man had his joke at them for their delay. + +'Ay, ay! lasses as has sweethearts a-coming home don't care much +what price they get for butter and eggs! I dare say, now, there's +some un in yon ship that 'ud give as much as a shilling a pound for +this butter if he only knowed who churned it!' This was to Sylvia, +as he handed her back her property. + +The fancy-free Sylvia reddened, pouted, tossed back her head, and +hardly deigned a farewell word of thanks or civility to the lame +man; she was at an age to be affronted by any jokes on such a +subject. Molly took the joke without disclaimer and without offence. +She rather liked the unfounded idea of her having a sweetheart, and +was rather surprised to think how devoid of foundation the notion +was. If she could have a new cloak as Sylvia was going to have, +then, indeed, there might be a chance! Until some such good luck, it +was as well to laugh and blush as if the surmise of her having a +lover was not very far from the truth, and so she replied in +something of the same strain as the lame net-maker to his joke about +the butter. + +'He'll need it all, and more too, to grease his tongue, if iver he +reckons to win me for his wife!' + +When they were out of the shop, Sylvia said, in a coaxing tone,-- + +'Molly, who is it? Whose tongue 'll need greasing? Just tell me, and +I'll never tell!' + +She was so much in earnest that Molly was perplexed. She did not +quite like saying that she had alluded to no one in particular, only +to a possible sweetheart, so she began to think what young man had +made the most civil speeches to her in her life; the list was not a +long one to go over, for her father was not so well off as to make +her sought after for her money, and her face was rather of the +homeliest. But she suddenly remembered her cousin, the specksioneer, +who had given her two large shells, and taken a kiss from her +half-willing lips before he went to sea the last time. So she smiled +a little, and then said,-- + +'Well! I dunno. It's ill talking o' these things afore one has made +up one's mind. And perhaps if Charley Kinraid behaves hissen, I +might be brought to listen.' + +'Charley Kinraid! who's he?' + +'Yon specksioneer cousin o' mine, as I was talking on.' + +'And do yo' think he cares for yo'?' asked Sylvia, in a low, tender +tone, as if touching on a great mystery. + +Molly only said, 'Be quiet wi' yo',' and Sylvia could not make out +whether she cut the conversation so short because she was offended, +or because they had come to the shop where they had to sell their +butter and eggs. + +'Now, Sylvia, if thou'll leave me thy basket, I'll make as good a +bargain as iver I can on 'em; and thou can be off to choose this +grand new cloak as is to be, afore it gets any darker. Where is ta +going to?' + +'Mother said I'd better go to Foster's,' answered Sylvia, with a +shade of annoyance in her face. 'Feyther said just anywhere.' + +'Foster's is t' best place; thou canst try anywhere afterwards. I'll +be at Foster's in five minutes, for I reckon we mun hasten a bit +now. It'll be near five o'clock.' + +Sylvia hung her head and looked very demure as she walked off by +herself to Foster's shop in the market-place. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +BUYING A NEW CLOAK + + +Foster's shop was the shop of Monkshaven. It was kept by two Quaker +brothers, who were now old men; and their father had kept it before +them; probably his father before that. People remembered it as an +old-fashioned dwelling-house, with a sort of supplementary shop with +unglazed windows projecting from the lower story. These openings had +long been filled with panes of glass that at the present day would +be accounted very small, but which seventy years ago were much +admired for their size. I can best make you understand the +appearance of the place by bidding you think of the long openings in +a butcher's shop, and then to fill them up in your imagination with +panes about eight inches by six, in a heavy wooden frame. There was +one of these windows on each side the door-place, which was kept +partially closed through the day by a low gate about a yard high. +Half the shop was appropriated to grocery; the other half to +drapery, and a little mercery. The good old brothers gave all their +known customers a kindly welcome; shaking hands with many of them, +and asking all after their families and domestic circumstances +before proceeding to business. They would not for the world have had +any sign of festivity at Christmas, and scrupulously kept their shop +open at that holy festival, ready themselves to serve sooner than +tax the consciences of any of their assistants, only nobody ever +came. But on New Year's Day they had a great cake, and wine, ready +in the parlour behind the shop, of which all who came in to buy +anything were asked to partake. Yet, though scrupulous in most +things, it did not go against the consciences of these good brothers +to purchase smuggled articles. There was a back way from the +river-side, up a covered entry, to the yard-door of the Fosters, and +a peculiar kind of knock at this door always brought out either John +or Jeremiah, or if not them, their shopman, Philip Hepburn; and the +same cake and wine that the excise officer's wife might just have +been tasting, was brought out in the back parlour to treat the +smuggler. There was a little locking of doors, and drawing of the +green silk curtain that was supposed to shut out the shop, but +really all this was done very much for form's sake. Everybody in +Monkshaven smuggled who could, and every one wore smuggled goods who +could, and great reliance was placed on the excise officer's +neighbourly feelings. + +The story went that John and Jeremiah Foster were so rich that they +could buy up all the new town across the bridge. They had certainly +begun to have a kind of primitive bank in connection with their +shop, receiving and taking care of such money as people did not wish +to retain in their houses for fear of burglars. No one asked them +for interest on the money thus deposited, nor did they give any; +but, on the other hand, if any of their customers, on whose +character they could depend, wanted a little advance, the Fosters, +after due inquiries made, and in some cases due security given, were +not unwilling to lend a moderate sum without charging a penny for +the use of their money. All the articles they sold were as good as +they knew how to choose, and for them they expected and obtained +ready money. It was said that they only kept on the shop for their +amusement. Others averred that there was some plan of a marriage +running in the brothers' heads--a marriage between William Coulson, +Mr. Jeremiah's wife's nephew (Mr. Jeremiah was a widower), and Hester +Rose, whose mother was some kind of distant relation, and who served +in the shop along with William Coulson and Philip Hepburn. Again, +this was denied by those who averred that Coulson was no blood +relation, and that if the Fosters had intended to do anything +considerable for Hester, they would never have allowed her and her +mother to live in such a sparing way, ekeing out their small income +by having Coulson and Hepburn for lodgers. No; John and Jeremiah +would leave all their money to some hospital or to some charitable +institution. But, of course, there was a reply to this; when are +there not many sides to an argument about a possibility concerning +which no facts are known? Part of the reply turned on this: the old +gentlemen had, probably, some deep plan in their heads in permitting +their cousin to take Coulson and Hepburn as lodgers, the one a kind +of nephew, the other, though so young, the head man in the shop; if +either of them took a fancy to Hester, how agreeably matters could +be arranged! + +All this time Hester is patiently waiting to serve Sylvia, who is +standing before her a little shy, a little perplexed and distracted, +by the sight of so many pretty things. + +Hester was a tall young woman, sparely yet largely formed, of a +grave aspect, which made her look older than she really was. Her +thick brown hair was smoothly taken off her broad forehead, and put +in a very orderly fashion, under her linen cap; her face was a +little square, and her complexion sallow, though the texture of her +skin was fine. Her gray eyes were very pleasant, because they looked +at you so honestly and kindly; her mouth was slightly compressed, as +most have it who are in the habit of restraining their feelings; but +when she spoke you did not perceive this, and her rare smile slowly +breaking forth showed her white even teeth, and when accompanied, as +it generally was, by a sudden uplifting of her soft eyes, it made +her countenance very winning. She was dressed in stuff of sober +colours, both in accordance with her own taste, and in unasked +compliance with the religious customs of the Fosters; but Hester +herself was not a Friend. + +Sylvia, standing opposite, not looking at Hester, but gazing at the +ribbons in the shop window, as if hardly conscious that any one +awaited the expression of her wishes, was a great contrast; ready to +smile or to pout, or to show her feelings in any way, with a +character as undeveloped as a child's, affectionate, wilful, +naughty, tiresome, charming, anything, in fact, at present that the +chances of an hour called out. Hester thought her customer the +prettiest creature ever seen, in the moment she had for admiration +before Sylvia turned round and, recalled to herself, began,-- + +'Oh, I beg your pardon, miss; I was thinking what may the price of +yon crimson ribbon be?' + +Hester said nothing, but went to examine the shop-mark. + +'Oh! I did not mean that I wanted any, I only want some stuff for a +cloak. Thank you, miss, but I am very sorry--some duffle, please.' + +Hester silently replaced the ribbon and went in search of the +duffle. While she was gone Sylvia was addressed by the very person +she most wished to avoid, and whose absence she had rejoiced over on +first entering the shop, her cousin Philip Hepburn. + +He was a serious-looking young man, tall, but with a slight stoop in +his shoulders, brought on by his occupation. He had thick hair +standing off from his forehead in a peculiar but not unpleasing +manner; a long face, with a slightly aquiline nose, dark eyes, and a +long upper lip, which gave a disagreeable aspect to a face that +might otherwise have been good-looking. + +'Good day, Sylvie,' he said; 'what are you wanting? How are all at +home? Let me help you!' + +Sylvia pursed up her red lips, and did not look at him as she +replied, + +'I'm very well, and so is mother; feyther's got a touch of +rheumatiz, and there's a young woman getting what I want.' + +She turned a little away from him when she had ended this sentence, +as if it had comprised all she could possibly have to say to him. +But he exclaimed, + +'You won't know how to choose,' and, seating himself on the counter, +he swung himself over after the fashion of shop-men. + +Sylvia took no notice of him, but pretended to be counting over her +money. + +'What do you want, Sylvie?' asked he, at last annoyed at her +silence. + +'I don't like to be called "Sylvie;" my name is Sylvia; and I'm +wanting duffle for a cloak, if you must know.' + +Hester now returned, with a shop-boy helping her to drag along the +great rolls of scarlet and gray cloth. + +'Not that,' said Philip, kicking the red duffle with his foot, and +speaking to the lad. 'It's the gray you want, is it not, Sylvie?' He +used the name he had had the cousin's right to call her by since her +childhood, without remembering her words on the subject not five +minutes before; but she did, and was vexed. + +'Please, miss, it is the scarlet duffle I want; don't let him take +it away.' + +Hester looked up at both their countenances, a little wondering what +was their position with regard to each other; for this, then, was +the beautiful little cousin about whom Philip had talked to her +mother, as sadly spoilt, and shamefully ignorant; a lovely little +dunce, and so forth. Hester had pictured Sylvia Robson, somehow, as +very different from what she was: younger, more stupid, not half so +bright and charming (for, though she was now both pouting and cross, +it was evident that this was not her accustomed mood). Sylvia +devoted her attention to the red cloth, pushing aside the gray. + +Philip Hepburn was vexed at his advice being slighted; and yet he +urged it afresh. + +'This is a respectable, quiet-looking article that will go well with +any colour; you niver will be so foolish as to take what will mark +with every drop of rain.' + +'I'm sorry you sell such good-for-nothing things,' replied Sylvia, +conscious of her advantage, and relaxing a little (as little as she +possibly could) of her gravity. + +Hester came in now. + +'He means to say that this cloth will lose its first brightness in +wet or damp; but it will always be a good article, and the colour +will stand a deal of wear. Mr. Foster would not have had it in his +shop else.' + +Philip did not like that even a reasonable peace-making interpreter +should come between him and Sylvia, so he held his tongue in +indignant silence. + +Hester went on: + +'To be sure, this gray is the closer make, and would wear the +longest.' + +'I don't care,' said Sylvia, still rejecting the dull gray. 'I like +this best. Eight yards, if you please, miss.' + +'A cloak takes nine yards, at least,' said Philip, decisively. + +'Mother told me eight,' said Sylvia, secretly conscious that her +mother would have preferred the more sober colour; and feeling that +as she had had her own way in that respect, she was bound to keep to +the directions she had received as to the quantity. But, indeed, she +would not have yielded to Philip in anything that she could help. + +There was a sound of children's feet running up the street from the +river-side, shouting with excitement. At the noise, Sylvia forgot +her cloak and her little spirit of vexation, and ran to the +half-door of the shop. Philip followed because she went. Hester +looked on with passive, kindly interest, as soon as she had +completed her duty of measuring. One of those girls whom Sylvia had +seen as she and Molly left the crowd on the quay, came quickly up +the street. Her face, which was handsome enough as to feature, was +whitened with excess of passionate emotion, her dress untidy and +flying, her movements heavy and free. She belonged to the lowest +class of seaport inhabitants. As she came near, Sylvia saw that the +tears were streaming down her cheeks, quite unconsciously to +herself. She recognized Sylvia's face, full of interest as it was, +and stopped her clumsy run to speak to the pretty, sympathetic +creature. + +'She's o'er t' bar! She's o'er t' bar! I'm boun' to tell mother!' + +She caught at Sylvia's hand, and shook it, and went on breathless +and gasping. + +'Sylvia, how came you to know that girl?' asked Philip, sternly. +'She's not one for you to be shaking hands with. She's known all +down t' quay-side as "Newcastle Bess."' + +'I can't help it,' said Sylvia, half inclined to cry at his manner +even more than his words. 'When folk are glad I can't help being +glad too, and I just put out my hand, and she put out hers. To think +o' yon ship come in at last! And if yo'd been down seeing all t' +folk looking and looking their eyes out, as if they feared they +should die afore she came in and brought home the lads they loved, +yo'd ha' shaken hands wi' that lass too, and no great harm done. I +never set eyne upon her till half an hour ago on th' staithes, and +maybe I'll niver see her again.' + +Hester was still behind the counter, but had moved so as to be near +the window; so she heard what they were saying, and now put in her +word: + +'She can't be altogether bad, for she thought o' telling her mother +first thing, according to what she said.' + +Sylvia gave Hester a quick, grateful look. But Hester had resumed +her gaze out of the window, and did not see the glance. + +And now Molly Corney joined them, hastily bursting into the shop. + +'Hech!' said she. 'Hearken! how they're crying and shouting down on +t' quay. T' gang's among 'em like t' day of judgment. Hark!' + +No one spoke, no one breathed, I had almost said no heart beat for +listening. Not long; in an instant there rose the sharp simultaneous +cry of many people in rage and despair. Inarticulate at that +distance, it was yet an intelligible curse, and the roll, and the +roar, and the irregular tramp came nearer and nearer. + +'They're taking 'em to t' Randyvowse,' said Molly. 'Eh! I wish I'd +King George here just to tell him my mind.' + +The girl clenched her hands, and set her teeth. + +'It's terrible hard!' said Hester; 'there's mothers, and wives, +looking out for 'em, as if they were stars dropt out o' t' lift.' + +'But can we do nothing for 'em?' cried Sylvia. 'Let us go into t' +thick of it and do a bit of help; I can't stand quiet and see 't!' +Half crying, she pushed forwards to the door; but Philip held her +back. + +'Sylvie! you must not. Don't be silly; it's the law, and no one can +do aught against it, least of all women and lasses. + +By this time the vanguard of the crowd came pressing up Bridge +Street, past the windows of Foster's shop. It consisted of wild, +half-amphibious boys, slowly moving backwards, as they were +compelled by the pressure of the coming multitude to go on, and yet +anxious to defy and annoy the gang by insults, and curses half +choked with their indignant passion, doubling their fists in the +very faces of the gang who came on with measured movement, armed to +the teeth, their faces showing white with repressed and determined +energy against the bronzed countenances of the half-dozen sailors, +who were all they had thought it wise to pick out of the whaler's +crew, this being the first time an Admiralty warrant had been used +in Monkshaven for many years; not since the close of the American +war, in fact. One of the men was addressing to his townspeople, in a +high pitched voice, an exhortation which few could hear, for, +pressing around this nucleus of cruel wrong, were women crying +aloud, throwing up their arms in imprecation, showering down abuse +as hearty and rapid as if they had been a Greek chorus. Their wild, +famished eyes were strained on faces they might not kiss, their +cheeks were flushed to purple with anger or else livid with impotent +craving for revenge. Some of them looked scarce human; and yet an +hour ago these lips, now tightly drawn back so as to show the teeth +with the unconscious action of an enraged wild animal, had been soft +and gracious with the smile of hope; eyes, that were fiery and +bloodshot now, had been loving and bright; hearts, never to recover +from the sense of injustice and cruelty, had been trustful and glad +only one short hour ago. + +There were men there, too, sullen and silent, brooding on remedial +revenge; but not many, the greater proportion of this class being +away in the absent whalers. + +The stormy multitude swelled into the market-place and formed a +solid crowd there, while the press-gang steadily forced their way on +into High Street, and on to the rendezvous. A low, deep growl went +up from the dense mass, as some had to wait for space to follow the +others--now and then going up, as a lion's growl goes up, into a +shriek of rage. + +A woman forced her way up from the bridge. She lived some little way +in the country, and had been late in hearing of the return of the +whaler after her six months' absence; and on rushing down to the +quay-side, she had been told by a score of busy, sympathizing +voices, that her husband was kidnapped for the service of the +Government. + +She had need pause in the market-place, the outlet of which was +crammed up. Then she gave tongue for the first time in such a +fearful shriek, you could hardly catch the words she said. + +'Jamie! Jamie! will they not let you to me?' + +Those were the last words Sylvia heard before her own hysterical +burst of tears called every one's attention to her. + +She had been very busy about household work in the morning, and much +agitated by all she had seen and heard since coming into Monkshaven; +and so it ended in this. + +Molly and Hester took her through the shop into the parlour +beyond--John Foster's parlour, for Jeremiah, the elder brother, +lived in a house of his own on the other side of the water. It was a +low, comfortable room, with great beams running across the ceiling, +and papered with the same paper as the walls--a piece of elegant +luxury which took Molly's fancy mightily! This parlour looked out on +the dark courtyard in which there grew two or three poplars, +straining upwards to the light; and through an open door between the +backs of two houses could be seen a glimpse of the dancing, heaving +river, with such ships or fishing cobles as happened to be moored in +the waters above the bridge. + +They placed Sylvia on the broad, old-fashioned sofa, and gave her +water to drink, and tried to still her sobbing and choking. They +loosed her hat, and copiously splashed her face and clustering +chestnut hair, till at length she came to herself; restored, but +dripping wet. She sate up and looked at them, smoothing back her +tangled curls off her brow, as if to clear both her eyes and her +intellect. + +'Where am I?--oh, I know! Thank you. It was very silly, but somehow +it seemed so sad!' + +And here she was nearly going off again, but Hester said-- + +'Ay, it were sad, my poor lass--if I may call you so, for I don't +rightly know your name--but it's best not think on it for we can do +no mak' o' good, and it'll mebbe set you off again. Yo're Philip +Hepburn's cousin, I reckon, and yo' bide at Haytersbank Farm?' + +'Yes; she's Sylvia Robson,' put in Molly, not seeing that Hester's +purpose was to make Sylvia speak, and so to divert her attention +from the subject which had set her off into hysterics. 'And we came +in for market,' continued Molly, 'and for t' buy t' new cloak as her +feyther's going to give her; and, for sure, I thought we was i' +luck's way when we saw t' first whaler, and niver dreaming as t' +press-gang 'ud be so marred.' + +She, too, began to cry, but her little whimper was stopped by the +sound of the opening door behind her. It was Philip, asking Hester +by a silent gesture if he might come in. + +Sylvia turned her face round from the light, and shut her eyes. Her +cousin came close up to her on tip-toe, and looked anxiously at what +he could see of her averted face; then he passed his hand so +slightly over her hair that he could scarcely be said to touch it, +and murmured-- + +'Poor lassie! it's a pity she came to-day, for it's a long walk in +this heat!' + +But Sylvia started to her feet, almost pushing him along. Her +quickened senses heard an approaching step through the courtyard +before any of the others were aware of the sound. In a minute +afterwards, the glass-door at one corner of the parlour was opened +from the outside, and Mr. John stood looking in with some surprise at +the group collected in his usually empty parlour. + +'It's my cousin,' said Philip, reddening a little; 'she came wi' her +friend in to market, and to make purchases; and she's got a turn wi' +seeing the press-gang go past carrying some of the crew of the +whaler to the Randyvowse. + +'Ay, ay,' said Mr. John, quickly passing on into the shop on tip-toe, +as if he were afraid he were intruding in his own premises, and +beckoning Philip to follow him there. 'Out of strife cometh strife. +I guessed something of the sort was up from what I heard on t' +bridge as I came across fra' brother Jeremiah's.' Here he softly +shut the door between the parlour and the shop. 'It beareth hard on +th' expectant women and childer; nor is it to be wondered at that +they, being unconverted, rage together (poor creatures!) like the +very heathen. Philip,' he said, coming nearer to his 'head young +man,' 'keep Nicholas and Henry at work in the ware-room upstairs +until this riot be over, for it would grieve me if they were misled +into violence.' + +Philip hesitated. + +'Speak out, man! Always ease an uneasy heart, and never let it get +hidebound.' + +'I had thought to convoy my cousin and the other young woman home, +for the town is like to be rough, and it's getting dark.' + +'And thou shalt, my lad,' said the good old man; 'and I myself will +try and restrain the natural inclinations of Nicholas and Henry.' + +But when he went to find the shop-boys with a gentle homily on his +lips, those to whom it should have been addressed were absent. In +consequence of the riotous state of things, all the other shops in +the market-place had put their shutters up; and Nicholas and Henry, +in the absence of their superiors, had followed the example of their +neighbours, and, as business was over, they had hardly waited to put +the goods away, but had hurried off to help their townsmen in any +struggle that might ensue. + +There was no remedy for it, but Mr. John looked rather discomfited. +The state of the counters, and of the disarranged goods, was such +also as would have irritated any man as orderly but less +sweet-tempered. All he said on the subject was: 'The old Adam! the +old Adam!' but he shook his head long after he had finished +speaking. + +'Where is William Coulson?' he next asked. 'Oh! I remember. He was +not to come back from York till the night closed in.' + +Philip and his master arranged the shop in the exact order the old +man loved. Then he recollected the wish of his subordinate, and +turned round and said-- + +'Now go with thy cousin and her friend. Hester is here, and old +Hannah. I myself will take Hester home, if need be. But for the +present I think she had best tarry here, as it isn't many steps to +her mother's house, and we may need her help if any of those poor +creatures fall into suffering wi' their violence.' + +With this, Mr. John knocked at the door of the parlour, and waited +for permission to enter. With old-fashioned courtesy he told the two +strangers how glad he was that his room had been of service to them; +that he would never have made so bold as to pass through it, if he +had been aware how it was occupied. And then going to a corner +cupboard, high up in the wall, he pulled a key out of his pocket and +unlocked his little store of wine, and cake, and spirits; and +insisted that they should eat and drink while waiting for Philip, +who was taking some last measures for the security of the shop +during the night. + +Sylvia declined everything, with less courtesy than she ought to +have shown to the offers of the hospitable old man. Molly took wine +and cake, leaving a good half of both, according to the code of +manners in that part of the country; and also because Sylvia was +continually urging her to make haste. For the latter disliked the +idea of her cousin's esteeming it necessary to accompany them home, +and wanted to escape from him by setting off before he returned. But +any such plans were frustrated by Philip's coming back into the +parlour, full of grave content, which brimmed over from his eyes, +with the parcel of Sylvia's obnoxious red duffle under his arm; +anticipating so keenly the pleasure awaiting him in the walk, that +he was almost surprised by the gravity of his companions as they +prepared for it. Sylvia was a little penitent for her rejection of +Mr. John's hospitality, now she found out how unavailing for its +purpose such rejection had been, and tried to make up by a modest +sweetness of farewell, which quite won his heart, and made him +praise her up to Hester in a way to which she, observant of all, +could not bring herself fully to respond. What business had the +pretty little creature to reject kindly-meant hospitality in the +pettish way she did, thought Hester. And, oh! what business had she +to be so ungrateful and to try and thwart Philip in his thoughtful +wish of escorting them through the streets of the rough, riotous +town? What did it all mean? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +PHILIP HEPBURN + + +The coast on that part of the island to which this story refers is +bordered by rocks and cliffs. The inland country immediately +adjacent to the coast is level, flat, and bleak; it is only where +the long stretch of dyke-enclosed fields terminates abruptly in a +sheer descent, and the stranger sees the ocean creeping up the sands +far below him, that he is aware on how great an elevation he has +been. Here and there, as I have said, a cleft in the level land +(thus running out into the sea in steep promontories) occurs--what +they would call a 'chine' in the Isle of Wight; but instead of the +soft south wind stealing up the woody ravine, as it does there, the +eastern breeze comes piping shrill and clear along these northern +chasms, keeping the trees that venture to grow on the sides down to +the mere height of scrubby brushwood. The descent to the shore +through these 'bottoms' is in most cases very abrupt, too much so +for a cartway, or even a bridle-path; but people can pass up and +down without difficulty, by the help of a few rude steps hewn here +and there out of the rock. + +Sixty or seventy years ago (not to speak of much later times) the +farmers who owned or hired the land which lay directly on the summit +of these cliffs were smugglers to the extent of their power, only +partially checked by the coast-guard distributed, at pretty nearly +equal interspaces of eight miles, all along the north-eastern +seaboard. Still sea-wrack was a good manure, and there was no law +against carrying it up in great osier baskets for the purpose of +tillage, and many a secret thing was lodged in hidden crevices in +the rocks till the farmer sent trusty people down to the shore for a +good supply of sand and seaweed for his land. + +One of the farms on the cliff had lately been taken by Sylvia's +father. He was a man who had roamed about a good deal--been sailor, +smuggler, horse-dealer, and farmer in turns; a sort of fellow +possessed by a spirit of adventure and love of change, which did him +and his own family more harm than anybody else. He was just the kind +of man that all his neighbours found fault with, and all his +neighbours liked. Late in life (for such an imprudent man as he, was +one of a class who generally wed, trusting to chance and luck for +the provision for a family), farmer Robson married a woman whose +only want of practical wisdom consisted in taking him for a husband. +She was Philip Hepburn's aunt, and had had the charge of him until +she married from her widowed brother's house. He it was who had let +her know when Haytersbank Farm had been to let; esteeming it a +likely piece of land for his uncle to settle down upon, after a +somewhat unprosperous career of horse-dealing. The farmhouse lay in +the shelter of a very slight green hollow scarcely scooped out of +the pasture field by which it was surrounded; the short crisp turf +came creeping up to the very door and windows, without any attempt +at a yard or garden, or any nearer enclosure of the buildings than +the stone dyke that formed the boundary of the field itself. The +buildings were long and low, in order to avoid the rough violence of +the winds that swept over that wild, bleak spot, both in winter and +summer. It was well for the inhabitants of that house that coal was +extremely cheap; otherwise a southerner might have imagined that +they could never have survived the cutting of the bitter gales that +piped all round, and seemed to seek out every crevice for admission +into the house. + +But the interior was warm enough when once you had mounted the long +bleak lane, full of round rough stones, enough to lame any horse +unaccustomed to such roads, and had crossed the field by the little +dry, hard footpath, which tacked about so as to keep from directly +facing the prevailing wind. Mrs. Robson was a Cumberland woman, and +as such, was a cleaner housewife than the farmers' wives of that +north-eastern coast, and was often shocked at their ways, showing it +more by her looks than by her words, for she was not a great talker. +This fastidiousness in such matters made her own house extremely +comfortable, but did not tend to render her popular among her +neighbours. Indeed, Bell Robson piqued herself on her housekeeping +generally, and once in-doors in the gray, bare stone house, there +were plenty of comforts to be had besides cleanliness and warmth. +The great rack of clap-bread hung overhead, and Bell Robson's +preference of this kind of oat-cake over the leavened and partly +sour kind used in Yorkshire was another source of her unpopularity. +Flitches of bacon and 'hands' (_i.e._, shoulders of cured pork, the +legs or hams being sold, as fetching a better price) abounded; and +for any visitor who could stay, neither cream nor finest wheaten +flour was wanting for 'turf cakes' and 'singing hinnies,' with which +it is the delight of the northern housewives to regale the honoured +guest, as he sips their high-priced tea, sweetened with dainty +sugar. + +This night farmer Robson was fidgeting in and out of his house-door, +climbing the little eminence in the field, and coming down +disappointed in a state of fretful impatience. His quiet, taciturn +wife was a little put out by Sylvia's non-appearance too; but she +showed her anxiety by being shorter than usual in her replies to his +perpetual wonders as to where the lass could have been tarrying, and +by knitting away with extra diligence. + +'I've a vast o' mind to go down to Monkshaven mysen, and see after +t' child. It's well on for seven.' + +'No, Dannel,' said his wife; 'thou'd best not. Thy leg has been +paining thee this week past, and thou'rt not up to such a walk. I'll +rouse Kester, and send him off, if thou think'st there's need on +it.' + +'A'll noan ha' Kester roused. Who's to go afield betimes after t' +sheep in t' morn, if he's ca'ed up to-neet? He'd miss t' lass, and +find a public-house, a reckon,' said Daniel, querulously. + +'I'm not afeard o' Kester,' replied Bell. 'He's a good one for +knowing folk i' th' dark. But if thou'd rather, I'll put on my hood +and cloak and just go to th' end o' th' lane, if thou'lt have an eye +to th' milk, and see as it does na' boil o'er, for she canna stomach +it if it's bishopped e'er so little.' + +Before Mrs. Robson, however, had put away her knitting, voices were +heard at a good distance down the lane, but coming nearer every +moment, and once more Daniel climbed the little brow to look and to +listen. + +'It's a' reet!' said he, hobbling quickly down. 'Niver fidget +theesel' wi' gettin' ready to go search for her. I'll tak' thee a +bet it's Philip Hepburn's voice, convoying her home, just as I said +he would, an hour sin'.' + +Bell did not answer, as she might have done, that this probability +of Philip's bringing Sylvia home had been her own suggestion, set +aside by her husband as utterly unlikely. Another minute and the +countenances of both parents imperceptibly and unconsciously relaxed +into pleasure as Sylvia came in. + +She looked very rosy from the walk, and the October air, which began +to be frosty in the evenings; there was a little cloud over her face +at first, but it was quickly dispersed as she met the loving eyes of +home. Philip, who followed her, had an excited, but not altogether +pleased look about him. He received a hearty greeting from Daniel, +and a quiet one from his aunt. + +'Tak' off thy pan o' milk, missus, and set on t' kettle. Milk may do +for wenches, but Philip and me is for a drop o' good Hollands and +watter this cold night. I'm a'most chilled to t' marrow wi' looking +out for thee, lass, for t' mother was in a peck o' troubles about +thy none coining home i' t' dayleet, and I'd to keep hearkening out +on t' browhead.' + +This was entirely untrue, and Bell knew it to be so; but her husband +did not. He had persuaded himself now, as he had done often before, +that what he had in reality done for his own pleasure or +satisfaction, he had done in order to gratify some one else. + +'The town was rough with a riot between the press-gang and the +whaling folk; and I thought I'd best see Sylvia home.' + +'Ay, ay, lad; always welcome, if it's only as an excuse for t' +liquor. But t' whalers, say'st ta? Why, is t' whalers in? There was +none i' sight yesterday, when I were down on t' shore. It's early +days for 'em as yet. And t' cursed old press-gang's agate again, +doing its devil's work!' + +His face changed as he ended his speech, and showed a steady passion +of old hatred. + +'Ay, missus, yo' may look. I wunnot pick and choose my words, +noather for yo' nor for nobody, when I speak o' that daumed gang. +I'm none ashamed o' my words. They're true, and I'm ready to prove +'em. Where's my forefinger? Ay! and as good a top-joint of a thumb +as iver a man had? I wish I'd kept 'em i' sperits, as they done +things at t' 'potticary's, just to show t' lass what flesh and bone +I made away wi' to get free. I ups wi' a hatchet when I saw as I +were fast a-board a man-o'-war standing out for sea--it were in t' +time o' the war wi' Amerikay, an' I could na stomach the thought o' +being murdered i' my own language--so I ups wi' a hatchet, and I +says to Bill Watson, says I, "Now, my lad, if thou'll do me a +kindness, I'll pay thee back, niver fear, and they'll be glad enough +to get shut on us, and send us to old England again. Just come down +with a will." Now, missus, why can't ye sit still and listen to me, +'stead o' pottering after pans and what not?' said he, speaking +crossly to his wife, who had heard the story scores of times, and, +it must be confessed, was making some noise in preparing bread and +milk for Sylvia's supper. + +Bell did not say a word in reply, but Sylvia tapped his shoulder +with a pretty little authoritative air. + +'It's for me, feyther. I'm just keen-set for my supper. Once let me +get quickly set down to it, and Philip there to his glass o' grog, +and you'll never have such listeners in your life, and mother's mind +will be at ease too.' + +'Eh! thou's a wilfu' wench,' said the proud father, giving her a +great slap on her back. 'Well! set thee down to thy victual, and be +quiet wi' thee, for I want to finish my tale to Philip. But, +perhaps, I've telled it yo' afore?' said he, turning round to +question Hepburn. + +Hepburn could not say that he had not heard it, for he piqued +himself on his truthfulness. But instead of frankly and directly +owning this, he tried to frame a formal little speech, which would +soothe Daniel's mortified vanity; and, of course, it had the +directly opposite effect. Daniel resented being treated like a +child, and yet turned his back on Philip with all the wilfulness of +one. Sylvia did not care for her cousin, but hated the discomfort of +having her father displeased; so she took up her tale of adventure, +and told her father and mother of her afternoon's proceedings. +Daniel pretended not to listen at first, and made ostentatious +noises with his spoon and glass; but by-and-by he got quite warm and +excited about the doings of the press-gang, and scolded both Philip +and Sylvia for not having learnt more particulars as to what was the +termination of the riot. + +'I've been whaling mysel',' said he; 'and I've heerd tell as whalers +wear knives, and I'd ha' gi'en t' gang a taste o' my whittle, if I'd +been cotched up just as I'd set my foot a-shore.' + +'I don't know,' said Philip; 'we're at war wi' the French, and we +shouldn't like to be beaten; and yet if our numbers are not equal to +theirs, we stand a strong chance of it.' + +'Not a bit on't--so be d--d!' said Daniel Robson, bringing down his +fist with such violence on the round deal table, that the glasses +and earthenware shook again. 'Yo'd not strike a child or a woman, +for sure! yet it 'ud be like it, if we did na' give the Frenchies +some 'vantages--if we took 'em wi' equal numbers. It's not fair +play, and that's one place where t' shoe pinches. It's not fair play +two ways. It's not fair play to cotch up men as has no call for +fightin' at another man's biddin', though they've no objection to +fight a bit on their own account and who are just landed, all keen +after bread i'stead o' biscuit, and flesh-meat i'stead o' junk, and +beds i'stead o' hammocks. (I make naught o' t' sentiment side, for I +were niver gi'en up to such carnal-mindedness and poesies.) It's +noane fair to cotch 'em up and put 'em in a stifling hole, all lined +with metal for fear they should whittle their way out, and send 'em +off to sea for years an' years to come. And again it's no fair play +to t' French. Four o' them is rightly matched wi' one o' us; and if +we go an' fight 'em four to four it's like as if yo' fell to beatin' +Sylvie there, or little Billy Croxton, as isn't breeched. And that's +my mind. Missus, where's t' pipe?' + +Philip did not smoke, so took his turn at talking, a chance he +seldom had with Daniel, unless the latter had his pipe between his +lips. So after Daniel had filled it, and used Sylvia's little finger +as a stopper to ram down the tobacco--a habit of his to which she +was so accustomed that she laid her hand on the table by him, as +naturally as she would have fetched him his spittoon when he began +to smoke--Philip arranged his arguments, and began-- + +'I'm for fair play wi' the French as much as any man, as long as we +can be sure o' beating them; but, I say, make sure o' that, and then +give them ivery advantage. Now I reckon Government is not sure as +yet, for i' the papers it said as half th' ships i' th' Channel +hadn't got their proper complement o' men; and all as I say is, let +Government judge a bit for us; and if they say they're hampered for +want o' men, why we must make it up somehow. John and Jeremiah +Foster pay in taxes, and Militiaman pays in person; and if sailors +cannot pay in taxes, and will not pay in person, why they must be +made to pay; and that's what th' press-gang is for, I reckon. For my +part, when I read o' the way those French chaps are going on, I'm +thankful to be governed by King George and a British Constitution.' + +Daniel took his pipe out of his mouth at this. + +'And when did I say a word again King George and the Constitution? I +only ax 'em to govern me as I judge best, and that's what I call +representation. When I gived my vote to Measter Cholmley to go up to +t' Parliament House, I as good as said, 'Now yo' go up theer, sir, +and tell 'em what I, Dannel Robson, think right, and what I, Dannel +Robson, wish to have done.' Else I'd be darned if I'd ha' gi'en my +vote to him or any other man. And div yo' think I want Seth Robson ( +as is my own brother's son, and mate to a collier) to be cotched up +by a press-gang, and ten to one his wages all unpaid? Div yo' think +I'd send up Measter Cholmley to speak up for that piece o' work? Not +I.' He took up his pipe again, shook out the ashes, puffed it into a +spark, and shut his eyes, preparatory to listening. + +'But, asking pardon, laws is made for the good of the nation, not +for your good or mine.' + +Daniel could not stand this. He laid down his pipe, opened his eyes, +stared straight at Philip before speaking, in order to enforce his +words, and then said slowly-- + +'Nation here! nation theere! I'm a man and yo're another, but +nation's nowheere. If Measter Cholmley talked to me i' that fashion, +he'd look long for another vote frae me. I can make out King George, +and Measter Pitt, and yo' and me, but nation! nation, go hang!' + +Philip, who sometimes pursued an argument longer than was politic +for himself, especially when he felt sure of being on the conquering +side, did not see that Daniel Robson was passing out of the +indifference of conscious wisdom into that state of anger which +ensues when a question becomes personal in some unspoken way. Robson +had contested this subject once or twice before, and had the +remembrance of former disputes to add to his present vehemence. So +it was well for the harmony of the evening that Bell and Sylvia +returned from the kitchen to sit in the house-place. They had been +to wash up the pans and basins used for supper; Sylvia had privately +shown off her cloak, and got over her mother's shake of the head at +its colour with a coaxing kiss, at the end of which her mother had +adjusted her cap with a 'There! there! ha' done wi' thee,' but had +no more heart to show her disapprobation; and now they came back to +their usual occupations until it should please their visitor to go; +then they would rake the fire and be off to bed; for neither +Sylvia's spinning nor Bell's knitting was worth candle-light, and +morning hours are precious in a dairy. + +People speak of the way in which harp-playing sets off a graceful +figure; spinning is almost as becoming an employment. A woman stands +at the great wool-wheel, one arm extended, the other holding the +thread, her head thrown back to take in all the scope of her +occupation; or if it is the lesser spinning-wheel for flax--and it +was this that Sylvia moved forwards to-night--the pretty sound of +the buzzing, whirring motion, the attitude of the spinner, foot and +hand alike engaged in the business--the bunch of gay coloured +ribbon that ties the bundle of flax on the rock--all make it into a +picturesque piece of domestic business that may rival harp-playing +any day for the amount of softness and grace which it calls out. + +Sylvia's cheeks were rather flushed by the warmth of the room after +the frosty air. The blue ribbon with which she had thought it +necessary to tie back her hair before putting on her hat to go to +market had got rather loose, and allowed her disarranged curls to +stray in a manner which would have annoyed her extremely, if she had +been upstairs to look at herself in the glass; but although they +were not set in the exact fashion which Sylvia esteemed as correct, +they looked very pretty and luxuriant. Her little foot, placed on +the 'traddle', was still encased in its smartly buckled shoe--not +slightly to her discomfort, as she was unaccustomed to be shod in +walking far; only as Philip had accompanied them home, neither she +nor Molly had liked to go barefoot. Her round mottled arm and ruddy +taper hand drew out the flax with nimble, agile motion, keeping time +to the movement of the wheel. All this Philip could see; the greater +part of her face was lost to him as she half averted it, with a shy +dislike to the way in which she knew from past experience that +cousin Philip always stared at her. And avert it as she would she +heard with silent petulance the harsh screech of Philip's chair as +he heavily dragged it on the stone floor, sitting on it all the +while, and felt that he was moving round so as to look at her as +much as was in his power, without absolutely turning his back on +either her father or mother. She got herself ready for the first +opportunity of contradiction or opposition. + +'Well, wench! and has ta bought this grand new cloak?' + +'Yes, feyther. It's a scarlet one.' + +'Ay, ay! and what does mother say?' + +'Oh, mother's content,' said Sylvia, a little doubting in her heart, +but determined to defy Philip at all hazards. + +'Mother 'll put up with it if it does na spot would be nearer fact, +I'm thinking,' said Bell, quietly. + +'I wanted Sylvia to take the gray,' said Philip. + +'And I chose the red; it's so much gayer, and folk can see me the +farther off. Feyther likes to see me at first turn o' t' lane, don't +yo', feyther? and I'll niver turn out when it's boun' for to rain, +so it shall niver get a spot near it, mammy.' + +'I reckoned it were to wear i' bad weather,' said Bell. 'Leastways +that were the pretext for coaxing feyther out o' it.' + +She said it in a kindly tone, though the words became a prudent +rather than a fond mother. But Sylvia understood her better than +Daniel did as it appeared. + +'Hou'd thy tongue, mother. She niver spoke a pretext at all.' + +He did not rightly know what a 'pretext' was: Bell was a touch +better educated than her husband, but he did not acknowledge this, +and made a particular point of differing from her whenever she used +a word beyond his comprehension. + +'She's a good lass at times; and if she liked to wear a +yellow-orange cloak she should have it. Here's Philip here, as +stands up for laws and press-gangs, I'll set him to find us a law +again pleasing our lass; and she our only one. Thou dostn't think on +that, mother! + +Bell did think of that often; oftener than her husband, perhaps, for +she remembered every day, and many times a day, the little one that +had been born and had died while its father was away on some long +voyage. But it was not her way to make replies. + +Sylvia, who had more insight into her mother's heart than Daniel, +broke in with a new subject. + +'Oh! as for Philip, he's been preaching up laws all t' way home. I +said naught, but let Molly hold her own; or else I could ha' told a +tale about silks an' lace an' things.' + +Philip's face flushed. Not because of the smuggling; every one did +that, only it was considered polite to ignore it; but he was annoyed +to perceive how quickly his little cousin had discovered that his +practice did not agree with his preaching, and vexed, too, to see +how delighted she was to bring out the fact. He had some little +idea, too, that his uncle might make use of his practice as an +argument against the preaching he had lately been indulging in, in +opposition to Daniel; but Daniel was too far gone in his +Hollands-and-water to do more than enunciate his own opinions, which +he did with hesitating and laboured distinctness in the following +sentence: + +'What I think and say is this. Laws is made for to keep some folks +fra' harming others. Press-gangs and coast-guards harm me i' my +business, and keep me fra' getting what I want. Theerefore, what I +think and say is this: Measter Cholmley should put down press-gangs +and coast-guards. If that theere isn't reason I ax yo' to tell me +what is? an' if Measter Cholmley don't do what I ax him, he may go +whistle for my vote, he may.' + +At this period in his conversation, Bell Robson interfered; not in +the least from any feeling of disgust or annoyance, or dread of what +he might say or do if he went on drinking, but simply as a matter of +health. Sylvia, too, was in no way annoyed; not only with her +father, but with every man whom she knew, excepting her cousin +Philip, was it a matter of course to drink till their ideas became +confused. So she simply put her wheel aside, as preparatory to going +to bed, when her mother said, in a more decided tone than that which +she had used on any other occasion but this, and similar ones-- + +'Come, measter, you've had as much as is good for you.' + +'Let a' be! Let a' be,' said he, clutching at the bottle of spirits, +but perhaps rather more good-humoured with what he had drunk than he +was before; he jerked a little more into his glass before his wife +carried it off, and locked it up in the cupboard, putting the key in +her pocket, and then he said, winking at Philip-- + +'Eh! my man. Niver gie a woman t' whip hand o'er yo'! Yo' seen what +it brings a man to; but for a' that I'll vote for Cholmley, an' +d----t' press-gang!' + +He had to shout out the last after Philip, for Hepburn, really +anxious to please his aunt, and disliking drinking habits himself by +constitution, was already at the door, and setting out on his return +home, thinking, it must be confessed, far more of the character of +Sylvia's shake of the hand than of the parting words of either his +uncle or aunt. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +STORY OF THE PRESS-GANG + + +For a few days after the evening mentioned in the last chapter the +weather was dull. Not in quick, sudden showers did the rain come +down, but in constant drizzle, blotting out all colour from the +surrounding landscape, and filling the air with fine gray mist, +until people breathed more water than air. At such times the +consciousness of the nearness of the vast unseen sea acted as a +dreary depression to the spirits; but besides acting on the nerves +of the excitable, such weather affected the sensitive or ailing in +material ways. Daniel Robson's fit of rheumatism incapacitated him +from stirring abroad; and to a man of his active habits, and +somewhat inactive mind, this was a great hardship. He was not +ill-tempered naturally, but this state of confinement made him more +ill-tempered than he had ever been before in his life. He sat in the +chimney-corner, abusing the weather and doubting the wisdom or +desirableness of all his wife saw fit to do in the usual daily +household matters. The 'chimney-corner' was really a corner at +Haytersbank. There were two projecting walls on each side of the +fire-place, running about six feet into the room, and a stout wooden +settle was placed against one of these, while opposite was the +circular-backed 'master's chair,' the seat of which was composed of +a square piece of wood judiciously hollowed out, and placed with one +corner to the front. Here, in full view of all the operations going +on over the fire, sat Daniel Robson for four live-long days, +advising and directing his wife in all such minor matters as the +boiling of potatoes, the making of porridge, all the work on which +she specially piqued herself, and on which she would have taken +advice--no! not from the most skilled housewife in all the three +Ridings. But, somehow, she managed to keep her tongue quiet from +telling him, as she would have done any woman, and any other man, to +mind his own business, or she would pin a dish-clout to his tail. +She even checked Sylvia when the latter proposed, as much for fun as +for anything else, that his ignorant directions should be followed, +and the consequences brought before his eyes and his nose. + +'Na, na!' said Bell, 'th' feyther's feyther, and we mun respect him. +But it's dree work havin' a man i' th' house, nursing th' fire, an' +such weather too, and not a soul coming near us, not even to fall +out wi' him; for thee and me must na' do that, for th' Bible's sake, +dear; and a good stand-up wordy quarrel would do him a power of +good; stir his blood like. I wish Philip would turn up.' + +Bell sighed, for in these four days she had experienced somewhat of +Madame de Maintenon's difficulty (and with fewer resources to meet +it) of trying to amuse a man who was not amusable. For Bell, good +and sensible as she was, was not a woman of resources. Sylvia's +plan, undutiful as it was in her mother's eyes, would have done +Daniel more good, even though it might have made him angry, than his +wife's quiet, careful monotony of action, which, however it might +conduce to her husband's comfort when he was absent, did not amuse +him when present. + +Sylvia scouted the notion of cousin Philip coming into their +household in the character of an amusing or entertaining person, +till she nearly made her mother angry at her ridicule of the good +steady young fellow, to whom Bell looked up as the pattern of all +that early manhood should be. But the moment Sylvia saw she had been +giving her mother pain, she left off her wilful little jokes, and +kissed her, and told her she would manage all famously, and ran out +of the back-kitchen, in which mother and daughter had been scrubbing +the churn and all the wooden implements of butter-making. Bell +looked at the pretty figure of her little daughter, as, running past +with her apron thrown over her head, she darkened the window beneath +which her mother was doing her work. She paused just for a moment, +and then said, almost unawares to herself, 'Bless thee, lass,' +before resuming her scouring of what already looked almost +snow-white. + +Sylvia scampered across the rough farmyard in the wetting, drizzling +rain to the place where she expected to find Kester; but he was not +there, so she had to retrace her steps to the cow-house, and, making +her way up a rough kind of ladder-staircase fixed straight against +the wall, she surprised Kester as he sat in the wool-loft, looking +over the fleeces reserved for the home-spinning, by popping her +bright face, swathed round with her blue woollen apron, up through +the trap-door, and thus, her head the only visible part, she +addressed the farm-servant, who was almost like one of the family. + +'Kester, feyther's just tiring hissel' wi' weariness an' vexation, +sitting by t' fireside wi' his hands afore him, an' nought to do. +An' mother and me can't think on aught as 'll rouse him up to a bit +of a laugh, or aught more cheerful than a scolding. Now, Kester, +thou mun just be off, and find Harry Donkin th' tailor, and bring +him here; it's gettin' on for Martinmas, an' he'll be coming his +rounds, and he may as well come here first as last, and feyther's +clothes want a deal o' mending up, and Harry's always full of his +news, and anyhow he'll do for feyther to scold, an' be a new person +too, and that's somewhat for all on us. Now go, like a good old +Kester as yo' are.' + +Kester looked at her with loving, faithful admiration. He had set +himself his day's work in his master's absence, and was very +desirous of finishing it, but, somehow, he never dreamed of +resisting Sylvia, so he only stated the case. + +'T' 'ool's a vast o' muck in 't, an' a thowt as a'd fettle it, an' +do it up; but a reckon a mun do yo'r biddin'.' + +'There's a good old Kester,' said she, smiling, and nodding her +muffled head at him; then she dipped down out of his sight, then +rose up again (he had never taken his slow, mooney eyes from the +spot where she had disappeared) to say--'Now, Kester, be wary and +deep--thou mun tell Harry Donkin not to let on as we've sent for +him, but just to come in as if he were on his round, and took us +first; and he mun ask feyther if there is any work for him to do; +and I'll answer for 't, he'll have a welcome and a half. Now, be +deep and fause, mind thee!' + +'A'se deep an' fause enow wi' simple folk; but what can a do i' +Donkin be as fause as me--as happen he may be?' + +'Ga way wi' thee! I' Donkin be Solomon, thou mun be t' Queen o' +Sheba; and I'se bound for to say she outwitted him at last!' + +Kester laughed so long at the idea of his being the Queen of Sheba, +that Sylvia was back by her mother's side before the cachinnation +ended. + +That night, just as Sylvia was preparing to go to bed in her little +closet of a room, she heard some shot rattling at her window. She +opened the little casement, and saw Kester standing below. He +recommenced where he left off, with a laugh-- + +'He, he, he! A's been t' queen! A'se ta'en Donkin on t' reet side, +an' he'll coom in to-morrow, just permiskus, an' ax for work, like +as if 't were a favour; t' oud felley were a bit cross-grained at +startin', for he were workin' at farmer Crosskey's up at t' other +side o' t' town, wheer they puts a strike an' a half of maut intil +t' beer, when most folk put nobbut a strike, an t' made him ill to +convince: but he'll coom, niver fear!' + +The honest fellow never said a word of the shilling he had paid out +of his own pocket to forward Sylvia's wishes, and to persuade the +tailor to leave the good beer. All his anxiety now was to know if he +had been missed, and if it was likely that a scolding awaited him in +the morning. + +'T' oud measter didn't set up his back, 'cause a didn't coom in t' +supper?' + +'He questioned a bit as to what thou were about, but mother didn't +know, an' I held my peace. Mother carried thy supper in t' loft for +thee.' + +'A'll gang after 't, then, for a'm like a pair o' bellowses wi' t' +wind out; just two flat sides wi' nowt betwixt.' + +The next morning, Sylvia's face was a little redder than usual when +Harry Donkin's bow-legs were seen circling down the path to the +house door. + +'Here's Donkin, for sure!' exclaimed Bell, when she caught sight of +him a minute after her daughter. 'Well, I just call that lucky! for +he'll be company for thee while Sylvia and me has to turn th' +cheeses.' + +This was too original a remark for a wife to make in Daniel's +opinion, on this especial morning, when his rheumatism was twinging +him more than usual, so he replied with severity-- + +'That's all t' women know about it. Wi' them it's "coompany, +coompany, coompany," an' they think a man's no better than +theirsels. A'd have yo' to know a've a vast o' thoughts in myself', +as I'm noane willing to lay out for t' benefit o' every man. A've +niver gotten time for meditation sin' a were married; leastways, +sin' a left t' sea. Aboard ship, wi' niver a woman wi'n leagues o' +hail, and upo' t' masthead, in special, a could.' + +'Then I'd better tell Donkin as we've no work for him,' said Sylvia, +instinctively managing her father by agreeing with him, instead of +reasoning with or contradicting him. + +'Now, theere you go!' wrenching himself round, for fear Sylvia +should carry her meekly made threat into execution. 'Ugh! ugh!' as +his limb hurt him. 'Come in, Harry, come in, and talk a bit o' sense +to me, for a've been shut up wi' women these four days, and a'm +a'most a nateral by this time. A'se bound for 't, they'll find yo' +some wark, if 't's nought but for to save their own fingers.' + +So Harry took off his coat, and seated himself professional-wise on +the hastily-cleared dresser, so that he might have all the light +afforded by the long, low casement window. Then he blew in his +thimble, sucked his finger, so that they might adhere tightly +together, and looked about for a subject for opening conversation, +while Sylvia and her mother might be heard opening and shutting +drawers and box-lids before they could find the articles that needed +repair, or that were required to mend each other. + +'Women's well enough i' their way,' said Daniel, in a philosophizing +tone, 'but a man may have too much on 'em. Now there's me, leg-fast +these four days, and a'll make free to say to yo', a'd rather a deal +ha' been loading dung i' t' wettest weather; an' a reckon it's th' +being wi' nought but women as tires me so: they talk so foolish it +gets int' t' bones like. Now thou know'st thou'rt not called much of +a man oather, but bless yo', t' ninth part's summut to be thankful +for, after nought but women. An' yet, yo' seen, they were for +sending yo' away i' their foolishness! Well! missus, and who's to +pay for t' fettling of all them clothes?' as Bell came down with her +arms full. She was going to answer her husband meekly and literally +according to her wont, but Sylvia, already detecting the increased +cheerfulness of his tone, called out from behind her mother-- + +'I am, feyther. I'm going for to sell my new cloak as I bought +Thursday, for the mending on your old coats and waistcoats.' + +'Hearken till her,' said Daniel, chuckling. 'She's a true wench. +Three days sin' noane so full as she o' t' new cloak that now she's +fain t' sell.' + +'Ay, Harry. If feyther won't pay yo' for making all these old +clothes as good as new, I'll sell my new red cloak sooner than yo' +shall go unpaid.' + +'A reckon it's a bargain,' said Harry, casting sharp, professional +eyes on the heap before him, and singling out the best article as to +texture for examination and comment. + +'They're all again these metal buttons,' said he. 'Silk weavers has +been petitioning Ministers t' make a law to favour silk buttons; and +I did hear tell as there were informers goin' about spyin' after +metal buttons, and as how they could haul yo' before a justice for +wearing on 'em.' + +'A were wed in 'em, and a'll wear 'em to my dyin' day, or a'll wear +noane at a'. They're for making such a pack o' laws, they'll be for +meddling wi' my fashion o' sleeping next, and taxing me for ivery +snore a give. They've been after t' winders, and after t' vittle, +and after t' very saut to 't; it's dearer by hauf an' more nor it +were when a were a boy: they're a meddlesome set o' folks, +law-makers is, an' a'll niver believe King George has ought t' do +wi' 't. But mark my words; I were wed wi' brass buttons, and brass +buttons a'll wear to my death, an' if they moither me about it, a'll +wear brass buttons i' my coffin!' + +By this time Harry had arranged a certain course of action with Mrs +Robson, conducting the consultation and agreement by signs. His +thread was flying fast already, and the mother and daughter felt +more free to pursue their own business than they had done for +several days; for it was a good sign that Daniel had taken his pipe +out of the square hollow in the fireside wall, where he usually kept +it, and was preparing to diversify his remarks with satisfying +interludes of puffing. + +'Why, look ye; this very baccy had a run for 't. It came ashore +sewed up neatly enough i' a woman's stays, as was wife to a +fishing-smack down at t' bay yonder. She were a lean thing as iver +you saw, when she went for t' see her husband aboard t' vessel; but +she coom back lustier by a deal, an' wi' many a thing on her, here +and theere, beside baccy. An' that were i' t' face o' coast-guard +and yon tender, an' a'. But she made as though she were tipsy, an' +so they did nought but curse her, an' get out on her way.' + +'Speaking of t' tender, there's been a piece o' wark i' Monkshaven +this week wi' t' press-gang,' said Harry. + +'Ay! ay! our lass was telling about 't; but, Lord bless ye! there's +no gettin' t' rights on a story out on a woman--though a will say +this for our Sylvie, she's as bright a lass as iver a man looked +at.' + +Now the truth was, that Daniel had not liked to demean himself, at +the time when Sylvia came back so full of what she had seen at +Monkshaven, by evincing any curiosity on the subject. He had then +thought that the next day he would find some business that should +take him down to the town, when he could learn all that was to be +learnt, without flattering his womankind by asking questions, as if +anything they might say could interest him. He had a strong notion +of being a kind of domestic Jupiter. + +'It's made a deal o' wark i' Monkshaven. Folk had gotten to think +nought o' t' tender, she lay so still, an' t' leftenant paid such a +good price for all he wanted for t' ship. But o' Thursday t' +_Resolution_, first whaler back this season, came in port, and t' +press-gang showed their teeth, and carried off four as good +able-bodied seamen as iver I made trousers for; and t' place were +all up like a nest o' wasps, when yo've set your foot in t' midst. +They were so mad, they were ready for t' fight t' very pavin' +stones.' + +'A wish a'd been theere! A just wish a had! A've a score for t' +reckon up wi' t' press-gang!' + +And the old man lifted up his right hand--his hand on which the +forefinger and thumb were maimed and useless--partly in +denunciation, and partly as a witness of what he had endured to +escape from the service, abhorred because it was forced. His face +became a totally different countenance with the expression of +settled and unrelenting indignation, which his words called out. + +'G'on, man, g'on,' said Daniel, impatient with Donkin for the little +delay occasioned by the necessity of arranging his work more fully. + +'Ay! ay! all in good time; for a've a long tale to tell yet; an' a +mun have some 'un to iron me out my seams, and look me out my bits, +for there's none here fit for my purpose.' + +'Dang thy bits! Here, Sylvie! Sylvie! come and be tailor's man, and +let t' chap get settled sharp, for a'm fain t' hear his story.' + +Sylvia took her directions, and placed her irons in the fire, and +ran upstairs for the bundle which had been put aside by her careful +mother for occasions like the present. It consisted of small pieces +of various coloured cloth, cut out of old coats and waistcoats, and +similar garments, when the whole had become too much worn for use, +yet when part had been good enough to be treasured by a thrifty +housewife. Daniel grew angry before Donkin had selected his patterns +and settled the work to his own mind. + +'Well,' said he at last; 'a mought be a young man a-goin' a wooin', +by t' pains thou'st taken for t' match my oud clothes. I don't care +if they're patched wi' scarlet, a tell thee; so as thou'lt work away +at thy tale wi' thy tongue, same time as thou works at thy needle +wi' thy fingers.' + +'Then, as a were saying, all Monkshaven were like a nest o' wasps, +flyin' hither and thither, and makin' sich a buzzin' and a talkin' +as niver were; and each wi' his sting out, ready for t' vent his +venom o' rage and revenge. And women cryin' and sobbin' i' t' +streets--when, Lord help us! o' Saturday came a worse time than +iver! for all Friday there had been a kind o' expectation an' dismay +about t' _Good Fortune_, as t' mariners had said was off St Abb's +Head o' Thursday, when t' _Resolution_ came in; and there was wives +and maids wi' husbands an' sweethearts aboard t' _Good Fortune_ +ready to throw their eyes out on their heads wi' gazin', gazin' +nor'ards over t'sea, as were all one haze o' blankness wi' t' rain; +and when t' afternoon tide comed in, an' niver a line on her to be +seen, folk were oncertain as t' whether she were holding off for +fear o' t' tender--as were out o' sight, too--or what were her mak' +o' goin' on. An' t' poor wet draggled women folk came up t' town, +some slowly cryin', as if their hearts was sick, an' others just +bent their heads to t' wind, and went straight to their homes, +nother looking nor speaking to ony one; but barred their doors, and +stiffened theirsels up for a night o' waiting. Saturday morn--yo'll +mind Saturday morn, it were stormy and gusty, downreet dirty +weather--theere stood t' folk again by daylight, a watching an' a +straining, and by that tide t' _Good Fortune_ came o'er t' bar. But +t' excisemen had sent back her news by t' boat as took 'em there. +They'd a deal of oil, and a vast o' blubber. But for all that her +flag was drooping i' t' rain, half mast high, for mourning and +sorrow, an' they'd a dead man aboard--a dead man as was living and +strong last sunrise. An' there was another as lay between life an' +death, and there was seven more as should ha' been theere as wasn't, +but was carried off by t' gang. T' frigate as we 'n a' heard tell +on, as lying off Hartlepool, got tidings fra' t' tender as captured +t' seamen o' Thursday: and t' _Aurora_, as they ca'ed her, made off +for t' nor'ard; and nine leagues off St Abb's Head, t' _Resolution_ +thinks she were, she see'd t' frigate, and knowed by her build she +were a man-o'-war, and guessed she were bound on king's kidnapping. +I seen t' wounded man mysen wi' my own eyes; and he'll live! he'll +live! Niver a man died yet, wi' such a strong purpose o' vengeance +in him. He could barely speak, for he were badly shot, but his +colour coome and went, as t' master's mate an' t' captain telled me +and some others how t' _Aurora_ fired at 'em, and how t' innocent +whaler hoisted her colours, but afore they were fairly run up, +another shot coome close in t' shrouds, and then t' Greenland ship +being t' windward, bore down on t' frigate; but as they knew she +were an oud fox, and bent on mischief, Kinraid (that's he who lies +a-dying, only he'll noane die, a'se bound), the specksioneer, bade +t' men go down between decks, and fasten t' hatches well, an' he'd +stand guard, he an' captain, and t' oud master's mate, being left +upo' deck for t' give a welcome just skin-deep to t' boat's crew +fra' t' _Aurora_, as they could see coming t'wards them o'er t' +watter, wi' their reg'lar man-o'-war's rowing----' + +'Damn 'em!' said Daniel, in soliloquy, and under his breath. + +Sylvia stood, poising her iron, and listening eagerly, afraid to +give Donkin the hot iron for fear of interrupting the narrative, +unwilling to put it into the fire again, because that action would +perchance remind him of his work, which now the tailor had +forgotten, so eager was he in telling his story. + +'Well! they coome on over t' watters wi' great bounds, and up t' +sides they coome like locusts, all armed men; an' t' captain says he +saw Kinraid hide away his whaling knife under some tarpaulin', and +he knew he meant mischief, an' he would no more ha' stopped him wi' +a word nor he would ha' stopped him fra' killing a whale. And when +t' _Aurora_'s men were aboard, one on 'em runs to t' helm; and at +that t' captain says, he felt as if his wife were kissed afore his +face; but says he, "I bethought me on t' men as were shut up below +hatches, an' I remembered t' folk at Monkshaven as were looking out +for us even then; an' I said to mysel', I would speak fair as long +as I could, more by token o' the whaling-knife, as I could see +glinting bright under t' black tarpaulin." So he spoke quite fair +and civil, though he see'd they was nearing t' _Aurora_, and t' +_Aurora_ was nearing them. Then t' navy captain hailed him thro' t' +trumpet, wi' a great rough blast, and, says he, "Order your men to +come on deck." And t' captain of t' whaler says his men cried up +from under t' hatches as they'd niver be gi'en up wi'out bloodshed, +and he sees Kinraid take out his pistol, and look well to t' +priming; so he says to t' navy captain, "We're protected +Greenland-men, and you have no right t' meddle wi' us." But t' navy +captain only bellows t' more, "Order your men t' come on deck. If +they won't obey you, and you have lost the command of your vessel, I +reckon you're in a state of mutiny, and you may come aboard t' +_Aurora_ and such men as are willing t' follow you, and I'll fire +int' the rest." Yo' see, that were t' depth o' the man: he were for +pretending and pretexting as t' captain could na manage his own +ship, and as he'd help him. But our Greenland captain were noane so +poor-spirited, and says he, "She's full of oil, and I ware you of +consequences if you fire into her. Anyhow, pirate, or no pirate" +(for t' word pirate stuck in his gizzard), "I'm a honest Monkshaven +man, an' I come fra' a land where there's great icebergs and many a +deadly danger, but niver a press-gang, thank God! and that's what +you are, I reckon." Them's the words he told me, but whether he +spoke 'em out so bold at t' time, I'se not so sure; they were in his +mind for t' speak, only maybe prudence got t' better on him, for he +said he prayed i' his heart to bring his cargo safe to t' owners, +come what might. Well, t' _Aurora_'s men aboard t' _Good Fortune_ +cried out "might they fire down t' hatches, and bring t' men out +that a way?" and then t' specksioneer, he speaks, an' he says he +stands ower t' hatches, and he has two good pistols, and summut +besides, and he don't care for his life, bein' a bachelor, but all +below are married men, yo' see, and he'll put an end to t' first two +chaps as come near t' hatches. An' they say he picked two off as +made for t' come near, and then, just as he were stooping for t' +whaling knife, an' it's as big as a sickle----' + +'Teach folk as don't know a whaling knife,' cried Daniel. 'I were a +Greenland-man mysel'.' + +'They shot him through t' side, and dizzied him, and kicked him +aside for dead; and fired down t' hatches, and killed one man, and +disabled two, and then t' rest cried for quarter, for life is sweet, +e'en aboard a king's ship; and t' _Aurora_ carried 'em off, wounded +men, an' able men, an' all: leaving Kinraid for dead, as wasn't +dead, and Darley for dead, as was dead, an' t' captain and master's +mate as were too old for work; and t' captain, as loves Kinraid like +a brother, poured rum down his throat, and bandaged him up, and has +sent for t' first doctor in Monkshaven for to get t' slugs out; for +they say there's niver such a harpooner in a' t' Greenland seas; an' +I can speak fra' my own seeing he's a fine young fellow where he +lies theere, all stark and wan for weakness and loss o' blood. But +Darley's dead as a door-nail; and there's to be such a burying of +him as niver was seen afore i' Monkshaven, come Sunday. And now gi' +us t' iron, wench, and let's lose no more time a-talking.' + +'It's noane loss o' time,' said Daniel, moving himself heavily in +his chair, to feel how helpless he was once more. 'If a were as +young as once a were--nay, lad, if a had na these sore rheumatics, +now--a reckon as t' press-gang 'ud find out as t' shouldn't do such +things for nothing. Bless thee, man! it's waur nor i' my youth i' +th' Ameriky war, and then 't were bad enough.' + +'And Kinraid?' said Sylvia, drawing a long breath, after the effort +of realizing it all; her cheeks had flushed up, and her eyes had +glittered during the progress of the tale. + +'Oh! he'll do. He'll not die. Life's stuff is in him yet.' + +'He'll be Molly Corney's cousin, I reckon,' said Sylvia, bethinking +her with a blush of Molly Corney's implication that he was more than +a cousin to her, and immediately longing to go off and see Molly, +and hear all the little details which women do not think it beneath +them to give to women. From that time Sylvia's little heart was bent +on this purpose. But it was not one to be openly avowed even to +herself. She only wanted sadly to see Molly, and she almost believed +herself that it was to consult her about the fashion of her cloak; +which Donkin was to cut out, and which she was to make under his +directions; at any rate, this was the reason she gave to her mother +when the day's work was done, and a fine gleam came out upon the +pale and watery sky towards evening. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE SAILOR'S FUNERAL + + +Moss Brow, the Corney's house, was but a disorderly, comfortless +place. You had to cross a dirty farmyard, all puddles and dungheaps, +on stepping-stones, to get to the door of the house-place. That +great room itself was sure to have clothes hanging to dry at the +fire, whatever day of the week it was; some one of the large +irregular family having had what is called in the district a +'dab-wash' of a few articles, forgotten on the regular day. And +sometimes these articles lay in their dirty state in the untidy +kitchen, out of which a room, half parlour, half bedroom, opened on +one side, and a dairy, the only clean place in the house, at the +opposite. In face of you, as you entered the door, was the entrance +to the working-kitchen, or scullery. Still, in spite of disorder +like this, there was a well-to-do aspect about the place; the +Corneys were rich in their way, in flocks and herds as well as in +children; and to them neither dirt nor the perpetual bustle arising +from ill-ordered work detracted from comfort. They were all of an +easy, good-tempered nature; Mrs. Corney and her daughters gave every +one a welcome at whatever time of the day they came, and would just +as soon sit down for a gossip at ten o'clock in the morning, as at +five in the evening, though at the former time the house-place was +full of work of various kinds which ought to be got out of hand and +done with: while the latter hour was towards the end of the day, +when farmers' wives and daughters were usually--'cleaned' was the +word then, 'dressed' is that in vogue now. Of course in such a +household as this Sylvia was sure to be gladly received. She was +young, and pretty, and bright, and brought a fresh breeze of +pleasant air about her as her appropriate atmosphere. And besides, +Bell Robson held her head so high that visits from her daughter were +rather esteemed as a favour, for it was not everywhere that Sylvia +was allowed to go. + +'Sit yo' down, sit yo' down!' cried Dame Corney, dusting a chair +with her apron; 'a reckon Molly 'll be in i' no time. She's nobbut +gone int' t' orchard, to see if she can find wind-falls enough for +t' make a pie or two for t' lads. They like nowt so weel for supper +as apple-pies sweetened wi' treacle, crust stout and leathery, as +stands chewing, and we hannot getten in our apples yet.' + +'If Molly is in t' orchard, I'll go find her,' said Sylvia. + +'Well! yo' lasses will have your conks' (private talks), 'a know; +secrets 'bout sweethearts and such like,' said Mrs. Corney, with a +knowing look, which made Sylvia hate her for the moment. 'A've not +forgotten as a were young mysen. Tak' care; there's a pool o' mucky +watter just outside t' back-door.' + +But Sylvia was half-way across the back-yard--worse, if possible, +than the front as to the condition in which it was kept--and had +passed through the little gate into the orchard. It was full of old +gnarled apple-trees, their trunks covered with gray lichen, in which +the cunning chaffinch built her nest in spring-time. The cankered +branches remained on the trees, and added to the knotted +interweaving overhead, if they did not to the productiveness; the +grass grew in long tufts, and was wet and tangled under foot. There +was a tolerable crop of rosy apples still hanging on the gray old +trees, and here and there they showed ruddy in the green bosses of +untrimmed grass. Why the fruit was not gathered, as it was evidently +ripe, would have puzzled any one not acquainted with the Corney +family to say; but to them it was always a maxim in practice, if not +in precept, 'Do nothing to-day that you can put off till to-morrow,' +and accordingly the apples dropped from the trees at any little gust +of wind, and lay rotting on the ground until the 'lads' wanted a +supply of pies for supper. + +Molly saw Sylvia, and came quickly across the orchard to meet her, +catching her feet in knots of grass as she hurried along. + +'Well, lass!' said she, 'who'd ha' thought o' seeing yo' such a day +as it has been?' + +'But it's cleared up now beautiful,' said Sylvia, looking up at the +soft evening sky, to be seen through the apple boughs. It was of a +tender, delicate gray, with the faint warmth of a promising sunset +tinging it with a pink atmosphere. 'Rain is over and gone, and I +wanted to know how my cloak is to be made; for Donkin 's working at +our house, and I wanted to know all about--the news, yo' know.' + +'What news?' asked Molly, for she had heard of the affair between +the _Good Fortune_ and the _Aurora_ some days before; and, to tell +the truth, it had rather passed out of her head just at this moment. + +'Hannot yo' heard all about t' press-gang and t' whaler, and t' +great fight, and Kinraid, as is your cousin, acting so brave and +grand, and lying on his death-bed now?' + +'Oh!' said Molly, enlightened as to Sylvia's 'news,' and half +surprised at the vehemence with which the little creature spoke; +'yes; a heerd that days ago. But Charley's noane on his death-bed, +he's a deal better; an' mother says as he's to be moved up here next +week for nursin' and better air nor he gets i' t' town yonder.' + +'Oh! I am so glad,' said Sylvia, with all her heart. 'I thought he'd +maybe die, and I should niver see him.' + +'A'll promise yo' shall see him; that's t' say if a' goes on well, +for he's getten an ugly hurt. Mother says as there's four blue marks +on his side as'll last him his life, an' t' doctor fears bleeding i' +his inside; and then he'll drop down dead when no one looks for 't.' + +'But you said he was better,' said Sylvia, blanching a little at +this account. + +'Ay, he's better, but life's uncertain, special after gun-shot +wounds.' + +'He acted very fine,' said Sylvia, meditating. + +'A allays knowed he would. Many's the time a've heerd him say +"honour bright," and now he's shown how bright his is.' + +Molly did not speak sentimentally, but with a kind of proprietorship +in Kinraid's honour, which confirmed Sylvia in her previous idea of +a mutual attachment between her and her cousin. Considering this +notion, she was a little surprised at Molly's next speech. + +'An' about yer cloak, are you for a hood or a cape? a reckon that's +the question.' + +'Oh, I don't care! tell me more about Kinraid. Do yo' really think +he'll get better?' + +'Dear! how t' lass takes on about him. A'll tell him what a deal of +interest a young woman taks i' him!' + +From that time Sylvia never asked another question about him. In a +somewhat dry and altered tone, she said, after a little pause-- + +'I think on a hood. What do you say to it?' + +'Well; hoods is a bit old-fashioned, to my mind. If 't were mine, +I'd have a cape cut i' three points, one to tie on each shoulder, +and one to dip down handsome behind. But let yo' an' me go to +Monkshaven church o' Sunday, and see Measter Fishburn's daughters, +as has their things made i' York, and notice a bit how they're made. +We needn't do it i' church, but just scan 'em o'er i' t' churchyard, +and there'll be no harm done. Besides, there's to be this grand +burryin' o' t' man t' press-gang shot, and 't will be like killing +two birds at once.' + +'I should like to go,' said Sylvia. 'I feel so sorry like for the +poor sailors shot down and kidnapped just as they was coming home, +as we see'd 'em o' Thursday last. I'll ask mother if she'll let me +go.' + +'Ay, do. I know my mother 'll let me, if she doesn't go hersen; for +it 'll be a sight to see and to speak on for many a long year, after +what I've heerd. And Miss Fishburns is sure to be theere, so I'd +just get Donkin to cut out cloak itsel', and keep back yer mind fra' +fixing o' either cape or hood till Sunday's turn'd.' + +'Will yo' set me part o' t' way home?' said Sylvia, seeing the dying +daylight become more and more crimson through the blackening trees. + +'No; I can't. A should like it well enough, but somehow, there's a +deal o' work to be done yet, for t' hours slip through one's fingers +so as there's no knowing. Mind yo', then, o' Sunday. A'll be at t' +stile one o'clock punctual; and we'll go slowly into t' town, and +look about us as we go, and see folk's dresses; and go to t' church, +and say wer prayers, and come out and have a look at t' funeral.' + +And with this programme of proceedings settled for the following +Sunday, the girls whom neighbourhood and parity of age had forced +into some measure of friendship parted for the time. + +Sylvia hastened home, feeling as if she had been absent long; her +mother stood on the little knoll at the side of the house watching +for her, with her hand shading her eyes from the low rays of the +setting sun: but as soon as she saw her daughter in the distance, +she returned to her work, whatever that might be. She was not a +woman of many words, or of much demonstration; few observers would +have guessed how much she loved her child; but Sylvia, without any +reasoning or observation, instinctively knew that her mother's heart +was bound up in her. + +Her father and Donkin were going on much as when she had left them; +talking and disputing, the one compelled to be idle, the other +stitching away as fast as he talked. They seemed as if they had +never missed Sylvia; no more did her mother for that matter, for she +was busy and absorbed in her afternoon dairy-work to all appearance. +But Sylvia had noted the watching not three minutes before, and many +a time in her after life, when no one cared much for her out-goings +and in-comings, the straight, upright figure of her mother, fronting +the setting sun, but searching through its blinding rays for a sight +of her child, rose up like a sudden-seen picture, the remembrance of +which smote Sylvia to the heart with a sense of a lost blessing, not +duly valued while possessed. + +'Well, feyther, and how's a' wi' you?' asked Sylvia, going to the +side of his chair, and laying her hand on his shoulder. + +'Eh! harkee till this lass o' mine. She thinks as because she's gone +galraverging, I maun ha' missed her and be ailing. Why, lass, Donkin +and me has had t' most sensible talk a've had this many a day. A've +gi'en him a vast o' knowledge, and he's done me a power o' good. +Please God, to-morrow a'll tak' a start at walking, if t' weather +holds up.' + +'Ay!' said Donkin, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice; 'feyther +and me has settled many puzzles; it's been a loss to Government as +they hannot been here for profiting by our wisdom. We've done away +wi' taxes and press-gangs, and many a plague, and beaten t' +French--i' our own minds, that's to say.' + +'It's a wonder t' me as those Lunnon folks can't see things clear,' +said Daniel, all in good faith. + +Sylvia did not quite understand the state of things as regarded +politics and taxes--and politics and taxes were all one in her mind, +it must be confessed--but she saw that her innocent little scheme of +giving her father the change of society afforded by Donkin's coming +had answered; and in the gladness of her heart she went out and ran +round the corner of the house to find Kester, and obtain from him +that sympathy in her success which she dared not ask from her +mother. + +'Kester, Kester, lad!' said she, in a loud whisper; but Kester was +suppering the horses, and in the clamp of their feet on the round +stable pavement, he did not hear her at first. She went a little +farther into the stable. 'Kester! he's a vast better, he'll go out +to-morrow; it's all Donkin's doing. I'm beholden to thee for +fetching him, and I'll try and spare thee waistcoat fronts out o' t' +stuff for my new red cloak. Thou'll like that, Kester, won't ta?' + +Kester took the notion in slowly, and weighed it. + +'Na, lass,' said he, deliberately, after a pause. 'A could na' bear +to see thee wi' thy cloak scrimpit. A like t' see a wench look bonny +and smart, an' a tak' a kind o' pride in thee, an should be a'most +as much hurt i' my mind to see thee i' a pinched cloak as if old +Moll's tail here were docked too short. Na, lass, a'se niver got a +mirroring glass for t' see mysen in, so what's waistcoats to me? +Keep thy stuff to thysen, theere's a good wench; but a'se main and +glad about t' measter. Place isn't like itsen when he's shut up and +cranky.' + +He took up a wisp of straw and began rubbing down the old mare, and +hissing over his work as if he wished to consider the conversation +as ended. And Sylvia, who had strung herself up in a momentary +fervour of gratitude to make the generous offer, was not sorry to +have it refused, and went back planning what kindness she could show +to Kester without its involving so much sacrifice to herself. For +giving waistcoat fronts to him would deprive her of the pleasant +power of selecting a fashionable pattern in Monkshaven churchyard +next Sunday. + +That wished-for day seemed long a-coming, as wished-for days most +frequently do. Her father got better by slow degrees, and her mother +was pleased by the tailor's good pieces of work; showing the +neatly-placed patches with as much pride as many matrons take in new +clothes now-a-days. And the weather cleared up into a dim kind of +autumnal fineness, into anything but an Indian summer as far as +regarded gorgeousness of colouring, for on that coast the mists and +sea fogs early spoil the brilliancy of the foliage. Yet, perhaps, +the more did the silvery grays and browns of the inland scenery +conduce to the tranquillity of the time,--the time of peace and rest +before the fierce and stormy winter comes on. It seems a time for +gathering up human forces to encounter the coming severity, as well +as of storing up the produce of harvest for the needs of winter. Old +people turn out and sun themselves in that calm St. Martin's summer, +without fear of 'the heat o' th' sun, or the coming winter's rages,' +and we may read in their pensive, dreamy eyes that they are weaning +themselves away from the earth, which probably many may never see +dressed in her summer glory again. + +Many such old people set out betimes, on the Sunday afternoon to +which Sylvia had been so looking forward, to scale the long flights +of stone steps--worn by the feet of many generations--which led up +to the parish church, placed on a height above the town, on a great +green area at the summit of the cliff, which was the angle where the +river and the sea met, and so overlooking both the busy crowded +little town, the port, the shipping, and the bar on the one hand, +and the wide illimitable tranquil sea on the other--types of life +and eternity. It was a good situation for that church. +Homeward-bound sailors caught sight of the tower of St Nicholas, the +first land object of all. They who went forth upon the great deep +might carry solemn thoughts with them of the words they had heard +there; not conscious thoughts, perhaps--rather a distinct if dim +conviction that buying and selling, eating and marrying, even life +and death, were not all the realities in existence. Nor were the +words that came up to their remembrance words of sermons preached +there, however impressive. The sailors mostly slept through the +sermons; unless, indeed, there were incidents such as were involved +in what were called 'funeral discourses' to be narrated. They did +not recognize their daily faults or temptations under the grand +aliases befitting their appearance from a preacher's mouth. But they +knew the old, oft-repeated words praying for deliverance from the +familiar dangers of lightning and tempest; from battle, murder, and +sudden death; and nearly every man was aware that he left behind him +some one who would watch for the prayer for the preservation of +those who travel by land or by water, and think of him, as +God-protected the more for the earnestness of the response then +given. + +There, too, lay the dead of many generations; for St. Nicholas had +been the parish church ever since Monkshaven was a town, and the +large churchyard was rich in the dead. Masters, mariners, +ship-owners, seamen: it seemed strange how few other trades were +represented in that great plain so full of upright gravestones. Here +and there was a memorial stone, placed by some survivor of a large +family, most of whom perished at sea:--'Supposed to have perished +in the Greenland seas,' 'Shipwrecked in the Baltic,' 'Drowned off +the coast of Iceland.' There was a strange sensation, as if the cold +sea-winds must bring with them the dim phantoms of those lost +sailors, who had died far from their homes, and from the hallowed +ground where their fathers lay. + +Each flight of steps up to this churchyard ended in a small flat +space, on which a wooden seat was placed. On this particular Sunday, +all these seats were filled by aged people, breathless with the +unusual exertion of climbing. You could see the church stair, as it +was called, from nearly every part of the town, and the figures of +the numerous climbers, diminished by distance, looked like a busy +ant-hill, long before the bell began to ring for afternoon service. +All who could manage it had put on a bit of black in token of +mourning; it might be very little; an old ribbon, a rusty piece of +crape; but some sign of mourning was shown by every one down to the +little child in its mother's arms, that innocently clutched the +piece of rosemary to be thrown into the grave 'for remembrance.' +Darley, the seaman shot by the press-gang, nine leagues off St. +Abb's Head, was to be buried to-day, at the accustomed time for the +funerals of the poorer classes, directly after evening service, and +there were only the sick and their nurse-tenders who did not come +forth to show their feeling for the man whom they looked upon as +murdered. The crowd of vessels in harbour bore their flags half-mast +high; and the crews were making their way through the High Street. +The gentlefolk of Monkshaven, full of indignation at this +interference with their ships, full of sympathy with the family who +had lost their son and brother almost within sight of his home, came +in unusual numbers--no lack of patterns for Sylvia; but her +thoughts were far otherwise and more suitably occupied. The unwonted +sternness and solemnity visible on the countenances of all whom she +met awed and affected her. She did not speak in reply to Molly's +remarks on the dress or appearance of those who struck her. She felt +as if these speeches jarred on her, and annoyed her almost to +irritation; yet Molly had come all the way to Monkshaven Church in +her service, and deserved forbearance accordingly. The two mounted +the steps alongside of many people; few words were exchanged, even +at the breathing places, so often the little centres of gossip. +Looking over the sea there was not a sail to be seen; it seemed +bared of life, as if to be in serious harmony with what was going on +inland. + +The church was of old Norman architecture; low and massive outside: +inside, of vast space, only a quarter of which was filled on +ordinary Sundays. The walls were disfigured by numerous tablets of +black and white marble intermixed, and the usual ornamentation of +that style of memorial as erected in the last century, of weeping +willows, urns, and drooping figures, with here and there a ship in +full sail, or an anchor, where the seafaring idea prevalent through +the place had launched out into a little originality. There was no +wood-work, the church had been stripped of that, most probably when +the neighbouring monastery had been destroyed. There were large +square pews, lined with green baize, with the names of the families +of the most flourishing ship-owners painted white on the doors; +there were pews, not so large, and not lined at all, for the farmers +and shopkeepers of the parish; and numerous heavy oaken benches +which, by the united efforts of several men, might be brought within +earshot of the pulpit. These were being removed into the most +convenient situations when Molly and Sylvia entered the church, and +after two or three whispered sentences they took their seats on one +of these. + +The vicar of Monkshaven was a kindly, peaceable old man, hating +strife and troubled waters above everything. He was a vehement Tory +in theory, as became his cloth in those days. He had two bugbears to +fear--the French and the Dissenters. It was difficult to say of +which he had the worst opinion and the most intense dread. Perhaps +he hated the Dissenters most, because they came nearer in contact +with him than the French; besides, the French had the excuse of +being Papists, while the Dissenters might have belonged to the +Church of England if they had not been utterly depraved. Yet in +practice Dr Wilson did not object to dine with Mr. Fishburn, who was +a personal friend and follower of Wesley, but then, as the doctor +would say, 'Wesley was an Oxford man, and that makes him a +gentleman; and he was an ordained minister of the Church of England, +so that grace can never depart from him.' But I do not know what +excuse he would have alleged for sending broth and vegetables to old +Ralph Thompson, a rabid Independent, who had been given to abusing +the Church and the vicar, from a Dissenting pulpit, as long as ever +he could mount the stairs. However, that inconsistency between Dr +Wilson's theories and practice was not generally known in +Monkshaven, so we have nothing to do with it. + +Dr Wilson had had a very difficult part to play, and a still more +difficult sermon to write, during this last week. The Darley who had +been killed was the son of the vicar's gardener, and Dr Wilson's +sympathies as a man had been all on the bereaved father's side. But +then he had received, as the oldest magistrate in the neighbourhood, +a letter from the captain of the _Aurora_, explanatory and +exculpatory. Darley had been resisting the orders of an officer in +his Majesty's service. What would become of due subordination and +loyalty, and the interests of the service, and the chances of +beating those confounded French, if such conduct as Darley's was to +be encouraged? (Poor Darley! he was past all evil effects of human +encouragement now!) + +So the vicar mumbled hastily over a sermon on the text, 'In the +midst of life we are in death'; which might have done as well for a +baby cut off in a convulsion-fit as for the strong man shot down +with all his eager blood hot within him, by men as hot-blooded as +himself. But once when the old doctor's eye caught the up-turned, +straining gaze of the father Darley, seeking with all his soul to +find a grain of holy comfort in the chaff of words, his conscience +smote him. Had he nothing to say that should calm anger and revenge +with spiritual power? no breath of the comforter to soothe repining +into resignation? But again the discord between the laws of man and +the laws of Christ stood before him; and he gave up the attempt to +do more than he was doing, as beyond his power. Though the hearers +went away as full of anger as they had entered the church, and some +with a dull feeling of disappointment as to what they had got there, +yet no one felt anything but kindly towards the old vicar. His +simple, happy life led amongst them for forty years, and open to all +men in its daily course; his sweet-tempered, cordial ways; his +practical kindness, made him beloved by all; and neither he nor they +thought much or cared much for admiration of his talents. Respect +for his office was all the respect he thought of; and that was +conceded to him from old traditional and hereditary association. In +looking back to the last century, it appears curious to see how +little our ancestors had the power of putting two things together, +and perceiving either the discord or harmony thus produced. Is it +because we are farther off from those times, and have, consequently, +a greater range of vision? Will our descendants have a wonder about +us, such as we have about the inconsistency of our forefathers, or a +surprise at our blindness that we do not perceive that, holding such +and such opinions, our course of action must be so and so, or that +the logical consequence of particular opinions must be convictions +which at present we hold in abhorrence? It seems puzzling to look +back on men such as our vicar, who almost held the doctrine that the +King could do no wrong, yet were ever ready to talk of the glorious +Revolution, and to abuse the Stuarts for having entertained the same +doctrine, and tried to put it in practice. But such discrepancies +ran through good men's lives in those days. It is well for us that +we live at the present time, when everybody is logical and +consistent. This little discussion must be taken in place of Dr +Wilson's sermon, of which no one could remember more than the text +half an hour after it was delivered. Even the doctor himself had the +recollection of the words he had uttered swept out of his mind, as, +having doffed his gown and donned his surplice, he came out of the +dusk of his vestry and went to the church-door, looking into the +broad light which came upon the plain of the church-yard on the +cliffs; for the sun had not yet set, and the pale moon was slowly +rising through the silvery mist that obscured the distant moors. +There was a thick, dense crowd, all still and silent, looking away +from the church and the vicar, who awaited the bringing of the dead. +They were watching the slow black line winding up the long steps, +resting their heavy burden here and there, standing in silent groups +at each landing-place; now lost to sight as a piece of broken, +overhanging ground intervened, now emerging suddenly nearer; and +overhead the great church bell, with its mediaeval inscription, +familiar to the vicar, if to no one else who heard it, I to the +grave do summon all, kept on its heavy booming monotone, with which +no other sound from land or sea, near or distant, intermingled, +except the cackle of the geese on some far-away farm on the moors, +as they were coming home to roost; and that one noise from so great +a distance seemed only to deepen the stillness. Then there was a +little movement in the crowd; a little pushing from side to side, to +make a path for the corpse and its bearers--an aggregate of the +fragments of room. + +With bent heads and spent strength, those who carried the coffin +moved on; behind came the poor old gardener, a brown-black funeral +cloak thrown over his homely dress, and supporting his wife with +steps scarcely less feeble than her own. He had come to church that +afternoon, with a promise to her that he would return to lead her to +the funeral of her firstborn; for he felt, in his sore perplexed +heart, full of indignation and dumb anger, as if he must go and hear +something which should exorcize the unwonted longing for revenge +that disturbed his grief, and made him conscious of that great blank +of consolation which faithfulness produces. And for the time he was +faithless. How came God to permit such cruel injustice of man? +Permitting it, He could not be good. Then what was life, and what +was death, but woe and despair? The beautiful solemn words of the +ritual had done him good, and restored much of his faith. Though he +could not understand why such sorrow had befallen him any more than +before, he had come back to something of his childlike trust; he +kept saying to himself in a whisper, as he mounted the weary steps, +'It is the Lord's doing'; and the repetition soothed him +unspeakably. Behind this old couple followed their children, grown +men and women, come from distant place or farmhouse service; the +servants at the vicarage, and many a neighbour, anxious to show +their sympathy, and most of the sailors from the crews of the +vessels in port, joined in procession, and followed the dead body +into the church. + +There was too great a crowd immediately within the door for Sylvia +and Molly to go in again, and they accordingly betook themselves to +the place where the deep grave was waiting, wide and hungry, to +receive its dead. There, leaning against the headstones all around, +were many standing--looking over the broad and placid sea, and +turned to the soft salt air which blew on their hot eyes and rigid +faces; for no one spoke of all that number. They were thinking of +the violent death of him over whom the solemn words were now being +said in the gray old church, scarcely out of their hearing, had not +the sound been broken by the measured lapping of the tide far +beneath. + +Suddenly every one looked round towards the path from the churchyard +steps. Two sailors were supporting a ghastly figure that, with +feeble motions, was drawing near the open grave. + +'It's t' specksioneer as tried to save him! It's him as was left for +dead!' the people murmured round. + +'It's Charley Kinraid, as I'm a sinner!' said Molly, starting +forward to greet her cousin. + +But as he came on, she saw that all his strength was needed for the +mere action of walking. The sailors, in their strong sympathy, had +yielded to his earnest entreaty, and carried him up the steps, in +order that he might see the last of his messmate. They placed him +near the grave, resting against a stone; and he was hardly there +before the vicar came forth, and the great crowd poured out of the +church, following the body to the grave. + +Sylvia was so much wrapt up in the solemnity of the occasion, that +she had no thought to spare at the first moment for the pale and +haggard figure opposite; much less was she aware of her cousin +Philip, who now singling her out for the first time from among the +crowd, pressed to her side, with an intention of companionship and +protection. + +As the service went on, ill-checked sobs rose from behind the two +girls, who were among the foremost in the crowd, and by-and-by the +cry and the wail became general. Sylvia's tears rained down her +face, and her distress became so evident that it attracted the +attention of many in that inner circle. Among others who noticed it, +the specksioneer's hollow eyes were caught by the sight of the +innocent blooming childlike face opposite to him, and he wondered if +she were a relation; yet, seeing that she bore no badge of mourning, +he rather concluded that she must have been a sweetheart of the dead +man. + +And now all was over: the rattle of the gravel on the coffin; the +last long, lingering look of friends and lovers; the rosemary sprigs +had been cast down by all who were fortunate enough to have brought +them--and oh! how much Sylvia wished she had remembered this last +act of respect--and slowly the outer rim of the crowd began to +slacken and disappear. + +Now Philip spoke to Sylvia. + +'I never dreamt of seeing you here. I thought my aunt always went to +Kirk Moorside.' + +'I came with Molly Corney,' said Sylvia. 'Mother is staying at home +with feyther.' + +'How's his rheumatics?' asked Philip. + +But at the same moment Molly took hold of Sylvia's hand, and said-- + +'A want t' get round and speak to Charley. Mother 'll be main and +glad to hear as he's getten out; though, for sure, he looks as +though he'd ha' been better in 's bed. Come, Sylvia.' + +And Philip, fain to keep with Sylvia, had to follow the two girls +close up to the specksioneer, who was preparing for his slow +laborious walk back to his lodgings. He stopped on seeing his +cousin. + +'Well, Molly,' said he, faintly, putting out his hand, but his eye +passing her face to look at Sylvia in the background, her +tear-stained face full of shy admiration of the nearest approach to +a hero she had ever seen. + +'Well, Charley, a niver was so taken aback as when a saw yo' theere, +like a ghost, a-standin' agin a gravestone. How white and wan yo' do +look!' + +'Ay!' said he, wearily, 'wan and weak enough.' + +'But I hope you're getting better, sir,' said Sylvia, in a low +voice, longing to speak to him, and yet wondering at her own +temerity. + +'Thank you, my lass. I'm o'er th' worst.' + +He sighed heavily. + +Philip now spoke. + +'We're doing him no kindness a-keeping him standing here i' t' +night-fall, and him so tired.' And he made as though he would turn +away. Kinraid's two sailor friends backed up Philip's words with +such urgency, that, somehow, Sylvia thought they had been to blame +in speaking to him, and blushed excessively with the idea. + +'Yo'll come and be nursed at Moss Brow, Charley,' said Molly; and +Sylvia dropped her little maidenly curtsey, and said, 'Good-by;' +and went away, wondering how Molly could talk so freely to such a +hero; but then, to be sure, he was a cousin, and probably a +sweetheart, and that would make a great deal of difference, of +course. + +Meanwhile her own cousin kept close by her side. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +TETE-A-TETE.--THE WILL + + +'And now tell me all about th' folk at home?' said Philip, evidently +preparing to walk back with the girls. He generally came to +Haytersbank every Sunday afternoon, so Sylvia knew what she had to +expect the moment she became aware of his neighbourhood in the +churchyard. + +'My feyther's been sadly troubled with his rheumatics this week +past; but he's a vast better now, thank you kindly.' Then, +addressing herself to Molly, she asked, 'Has your cousin a doctor to +look after him?' + +'Ay, for sure!' said Molly, quickly; for though she knew nothing +about the matter, she was determined to suppose that her cousin had +everything becoming an invalid as well as a hero. 'He's well-to-do, +and can afford everything as he needs,' continued she. 'His +feyther's left him money, and he were a farmer out up in +Northumberland, and he's reckoned such a specksioneer as never, +never was, and gets what wage he asks for and a share on every whale +he harpoons beside.' + +'I reckon he'll have to make himself scarce on this coast for +awhile, at any rate,' said Philip. + +'An' what for should he?' asked Molly, who never liked Philip at the +best of times, and now, if he was going to disparage her cousin in +any way, was ready to take up arms and do battle. + +'Why, they do say as he fired the shot as has killed some o' the +men-o'-war's men, and, of course, if he has, he'll have to stand his +trial if he's caught.' + +'What lies people do say!' exclaimed Molly. 'He niver killed nought +but whales, a'll be bound; or, if he did, it were all right and +proper as he should, when they were for stealing him an' all t' +others, and did kill poor Darley as we come fra' seemin' buried. A +suppose, now yo're such a Quaker that, if some one was to break +through fra' t' other side o' this dyke and offer for to murder +Sylvia and me, yo'd look on wi' yo'r hands hanging by yo'r side.' + +'But t' press-gang had law on their side, and were doing nought but +what they'd warrant for.' + +'Th' tender's gone away, as if she were ashamed o' what she'd done,' +said Sylvia, 'and t' flag's down fra' o'er the Randyvowse. There 'll +be no more press-ganging here awhile.' + +'No; feyther says,' continued Molly, 'as they've made t' place too +hot t' hold 'em, coming so strong afore people had getten used to +their ways o' catchin' up poor lads just come fra' t' Greenland +seas. T' folks ha' their blood so up they'd think no harm o' +fighting 'em i' t' streets--ay, and o' killing 'em, too, if they +were for using fire-arms, as t' _Aurora_'s men did.' + +'Women is so fond o' bloodshed,' said Philip; 'for t' hear you talk, +who'd ha' thought you'd just come fra' crying ower the grave of a +man who was killed by violence? I should ha' thought you'd seen +enough of what sorrow comes o' fighting. Why, them lads o' t' +_Aurora_ as they say Kinraid shot down had fathers and mothers, +maybe, a looking out for them to come home.' + +'I don't think he could ha' killed them,' said Sylvia; 'he looked so +gentle.' + +But Molly did not like this half-and-half view of the case. + +'A dare say he did kill 'em dead; he's not one to do things by +halves. And a think he served 'em reet, that's what a do.' + +'Is na' this Hester, as serves in Foster's shop?' asked Sylvia, in a +low voice, as a young woman came through a stile in the stone wall +by the roadside, and suddenly appeared before them. + +'Yes,' said Philip. 'Why, Hester, where have you been?' he asked, as +they drew near. + +Hester reddened a little, and then replied, in her slow, quiet way-- + +'I've been sitting with Betsy Darley--her that is bed-ridden. It +were lonesome for her when the others were away at the burying.' + +And she made as though she would have passed; but Sylvia, all her +sympathies alive for the relations of the murdered man, wanted to +ask more questions, and put her hand on Hester's arm to detain her a +moment. Hester suddenly drew back a little, reddened still more, and +then replied fully and quietly to all Sylvia asked. + +In the agricultural counties, and among the class to which these +four persons belonged, there is little analysis of motive or +comparison of characters and actions, even at this present day of +enlightenment. Sixty or seventy years ago there was still less. I do +not mean that amongst thoughtful and serious people there was not +much reading of such books as _Mason_ on _Self-Knowledge_ and _Law's +Serious Call_, or that there were not the experiences of the +Wesleyans, that were related at class-meeting for the edification of +the hearers. But, taken as a general ride, it may be said that few +knew what manner of men they were, compared to the numbers now who +are fully conscious of their virtues, qualities, failings, and +weaknesses, and who go about comparing others with themselves--not +in a spirit of Pharisaism and arrogance, but with a vivid +self-consciousness that more than anything else deprives characters +of freshness and originality. + +To return to the party we left standing on the high-raised footway +that ran alongside of the bridle-road to Haytersbank. Sylvia had +leisure in her heart to think 'how good Hester is for sitting with +the poor bed-ridden sister of Darley!' without having a pang of +self-depreciation in the comparison of her own conduct with that she +was capable of so fully appreciating. She had gone to church for the +ends of vanity, and remained to the funeral for curiosity and the +pleasure of the excitement. In this way a modern young lady would +have condemned herself, and therefore lost the simple, purifying +pleasure of admiration of another. + +Hester passed onwards, going down the hill towards the town. The +other three walked slowly on. All were silent for a few moments, +then Sylvia said-- + +'How good she is!' + +And Philip replied with ready warmth,-- + +'Yes, she is; no one knows how good but us, who live in the same +house wi' her.' + +'Her mother is an old Quakeress, bean't she?' Molly inquired. + +'Alice Rose is a Friend, if that is what you mean,' said Philip. + +'Well, well! some folk's so particular. Is William Coulson a Quaker, +by which a mean a Friend?' + +'Yes; they're all on 'em right-down good folk.' + +'Deary me! What a wonder yo' can speak to such sinners as Sylvia and +me, after keepin' company with so much goodness,' said Molly, who +had not yet forgiven Philip for doubting Kinraid's power of killing +men. 'Is na' it, Sylvia?' + +But Sylvia was too highly strung for banter. If she had not been one +of those who went to mock, but remained to pray, she had gone to +church with the thought of the cloak-that-was-to-be uppermost in her +mind, and she had come down the long church stair with life and +death suddenly become real to her mind, the enduring sea and hills +forming a contrasting background to the vanishing away of man. She +was full of a solemn wonder as to the abiding-place of the souls of +the dead, and a childlike dread lest the number of the elect should +be accomplished before she was included therein. How people could +ever be merry again after they had been at a funeral, she could not +imagine; so she answered gravely, and slightly beside the question: + +'I wonder if I was a Friend if I should be good?' + +'Gi' me your red cloak, that's all, when yo' turn Quaker; they'll +none let thee wear scarlet, so it 'll be of no use t' thee.' + +'I think thou'rt good enough as thou art,' said Philip, tenderly--at +least as tenderly as he durst, for he knew by experience that it did +not do to alarm her girlish coyness. Either one speech or the other +made Sylvia silent; neither was accordant to her mood of mind; so +perhaps both contributed to her quietness. + +'Folk say William Coulson looks sweet on Hester Rose,' said Molly, +always up in Monkshaven gossip. It was in the form of an assertion, +but was said in the tone of a question, and as such Philip replied +to it. + +'Yes, I think he likes her a good deal; but he's so quiet, I never +feel sure. John and Jeremiah would like the match, I've a notion.' + +And now they came to the stile which had filled Philip's eye for +some minutes past, though neither of the others had perceived they +were so near it; the stile which led to Moss Brow from the road into +the fields that sloped down to Haystersbank. Here they would leave +Molly, and now would begin the delicious _tete-a-tete_ walk, which +Philip always tried to make as lingering as possible. To-day he was +anxious to show his sympathy with Sylvia, as far as he could read +what was passing in her mind; but how was he to guess the multitude +of tangled thoughts in that unseen receptacle? A resolution to be +good, if she could, and always to be thinking on death, so that what +seemed to her now as simply impossible, might come true--that she +might 'dread the grave as little as her bed'; a wish that Philip +were not coming home with her; a wonder if the specksioneer really +had killed a man, an idea which made her shudder; yet from the awful +fascination about it, her imagination was compelled to dwell on the +tall, gaunt figure, and try to recall the wan countenance; a hatred +and desire of revenge on the press-gang, so vehement that it sadly +militated against her intention of trying to be good; all these +notions, and wonders, and fancies, were whirling about in Sylvia's +brain, and at one of their promptings she spoke,-- + +'How many miles away is t' Greenland seas?--I mean, how long do they +take to reach?' + +'I don't know; ten days or a fortnight, or more, maybe. I'll ask.' + +'Oh! feyther 'll tell me all about it. He's been there many a time.' + +'I say, Sylvie! My aunt said I were to give you lessons this winter +i' writing and ciphering. I can begin to come up now, two evenings, +maybe, a week. T' shop closes early after November comes in.' + +Sylvia did not like learning, and did not want him for her teacher; +so she answered in a dry little tone,-- + +'It'll use a deal o' candle-light; mother 'll not like that. I can't +see to spell wi'out a candle close at my elbow.' + +'Niver mind about candles. I can bring up a candle wi' me, for I +should be burning one at Alice Rose's.' + +So that excuse would not do. Sylvia beat her brains for another. + +'Writing cramps my hand so, I can't do any sewing for a day after; +and feyther wants his shirts very bad.' + +'But, Sylvia, I'll teach you geography, and ever such a vast o' fine +things about t' countries, on t' map.' + +'Is t' Arctic seas down on t' map?' she asked, in a tone of greater +interest. + +'Yes! Arctics, and tropics, and equator, and equinoctial line; we'll +take 'em turn and turn about; we'll do writing and ciphering one +night, and geography t' other.' + +Philip spoke with pleasure at the prospect, but Sylvia relaxed into +indifference. + +'I'm no scholard; it's like throwing away labour to teach me, I'm +such a dunce at my book. Now there's Betsy Corney, third girl, her +as is younger than Molly, she'd be a credit to you. There niver was +such a lass for pottering ower books.' + +If Philip had had his wits about him, he would have pretended to +listen to this proposition of a change of pupils, and then possibly +Sylvia might have repented making it. But he was too much mortified +to be diplomatic. + +'My aunt asked me to teach _you_ a bit, not any neighbour's lass.' + +'Well! if I mun be taught, I mun; but I'd rayther be whipped and ha' +done with it,' was Sylvia's ungracious reply. + +A moment afterwards, she repented of her little spirit of +unkindness, and thought that she should not like to die that night +without making friends. Sudden death was very present in her +thoughts since the funeral. So she instinctively chose the best +method of making friends again, and slipped her hand into his, as he +walked a little sullenly at her side. She was half afraid, however, +when she found it firmly held, and that she could not draw it away +again without making what she called in her own mind a 'fuss.' So, +hand in hand, they slowly and silently came up to the door of +Haytersbank Farm; not unseen by Bell Robson, who sate in the +window-seat, with her Bible open upon her knee. She had read her +chapter aloud to herself, and now she could see no longer, even if +she had wished to read more; but she gazed out into the darkening +air, and a dim look of contentment came like moonshine over her face +when she saw the cousins approach. + +'That's my prayer day and night,' said she to herself. + +But there was no unusual aspect of gladness on her face, as she +lighted the candle to give them a more cheerful welcome. + +'Wheere's feyther?' said Sylvia, looking round the room for Daniel. + +'He's been to Kirk Moorside Church, for t' see a bit o' th' world, +as he ca's it. And sin' then he's gone out to th' cattle; for +Kester's ta'en his turn of playing hissel', now that father's +better.' + +'I've been talking to Sylvia,' said Philip, his head still full of +his pleasant plan, his hand still tingling from the touch of hers, +'about turning schoolmaster, and coming up here two nights a week for +t' teach her a bit o' writing and ciphering.' + +'And geography,' put in Sylvia; 'for,' thought she, 'if I'm to learn +them things I don't care a pin about, anyhow I'll learn what I do +care to know, if it 'll tell me about t' Greenland seas, and how far +they're off.' + +That same evening, a trio alike in many outward circumstances sate +in a small neat room in a house opening out of a confined court on +the hilly side of the High Street of Monkshaven--a mother, her only +child, and the young man who silently loved that daughter, and was +favoured by Alice Rose, though not by Hester. + +When the latter returned from her afternoon's absence, she stood for +a minute or two on the little flight of steep steps, whitened to a +snowy whiteness; the aspect of the whole house partook of the same +character of irreproachable cleanliness. It was wedged up into a +space which necessitated all sorts of odd projections and +irregularities in order to obtain sufficient light for the interior; +and if ever the being situated in a dusky, confined corner might +have been made an excuse for dirt, Alice Rose's house had that +apology. Yet the small diamond panes of glass in the casement window +were kept so bright and clear that a great sweet-scented-leaved +geranium grew and flourished, though it did not flower profusely. +The leaves seemed to fill the air with fragrance as soon as Hester +summoned up energy enough to open the door. Perhaps that was because +the young Quaker, William Coulson, was crushing one between his +finger and thumb, while waiting to set down Alice's next words. For +the old woman, who looked as if many years of life remained in her +yet, was solemnly dictating her last will and testament. + +It had been on her mind for many months; for she had something to +leave beyond the mere furniture of the house. Something--a few +pounds--in the hands of John and Jeremiah Foster, her cousins: and +it was they who had suggested the duty on which she was engaged. She +had asked William Coulson to write down her wishes, and he had +consented, though with some fear and trepidation; for he had an idea +that he was infringing on a lawyer's prerogative, and that, for +aught he knew, he might be prosecuted for making a will without a +licence, just as a man might be punished for selling wine and +spirits without going through the preliminary legal forms that give +permission for such a sale. But to his suggestion that Alice should +employ a lawyer, she had replied-- + +'That would cost me five pounds sterling; and thee canst do it as +well, if thee'll but attend to my words.' + +So he had bought, at her desire, a black-edged sheet of fine-wove +paper, and a couple of good pens, on the previous Saturday; and +while waiting for her to begin her dictation, and full serious +thought himself, he had almost unconsciously made the grand flourish +at the top of the paper which he had learnt at school, and which was +there called a spread-eagle. + +'What art thee doing there?' asked Alice, suddenly alive to his +proceedings. + +Without a word he showed her his handiwork. + +'It's a vanity,' said she, 'and 't may make t' will not stand. Folk +may think I were na in my right mind, if they see such fly-legs and +cob-webs a-top. Write, "This is my doing, William Coulson, and none +of Alice Rose's, she being in her sound mind."' + +'I don't think it's needed,' said William. Nevertheless he wrote +down the words. + +'Hast thee put that I'm in my sound mind and seven senses? Then make +the sign of the Trinity, and write, "In the name of the Father, the +Son, and the Holy Ghost."' + +'Is that the right way o' beginning a will?' said Coulson, a little +startled. + +'My father, and my father's father, and my husband had it a-top of +theirs, and I'm noane going for to cease fra' following after them, +for they were godly men, though my husband were o' t' episcopal +persuasion.' + +'It's done,' said William. + +'Hast thee dated it?' asked Alice. + +'Nay.' + +'Then date it third day, ninth month. Now, art ready?' + +Coulson nodded. + +'I, Alice Rose, do leave my furniture (that is, my bed and chest o' +drawers, for thy bed and things is thine, and not mine), and settle, +and saucepans, and dresser, and table, and kettle, and all the rest +of my furniture, to my lawful and only daughter, Hester Rose. I +think that's safe for her to have all, is 't not, William?' + +'I think so, too,' said he, writing on all the time. + +'And thee shalt have t' roller and paste-board, because thee's so +fond o' puddings and cakes. It 'll serve thy wife after I'm gone, +and I trust she'll boil her paste long enough, for that's been t' +secret o' mine, and thee'll noane be so easy t' please.' + +'I din't reckon on marriage,' said William. + +'Thee'll marry,' said Alice. 'Thee likes to have thy victuals hot +and comfortable; and there's noane many but a wife as'll look after +that for t' please thee.' + +'I know who could please me,' sighed forth William, 'but I can't +please her.' + +Alice looked sharply at him from over her spectacles, which she had +put on the better to think about the disposal of her property. + +'Thee art thinking on our Hester,' said she, plainly out. + +He started a little, but looked up at her and met her eyes. + +'Hester cares noane for me,' said he, dejectedly. + +'Bide a while, my lad,' said Alice, kindly. 'Young women don't +always know their own minds. Thee and her would make a marriage +after my own heart; and the Lord has been very good to me hitherto, +and I think He'll bring it t' pass. But don't thee let on as thee +cares for her so much. I sometimes think she wearies o' thy looks +and thy ways. Show up thy manly heart, and make as though thee had +much else to think on, and no leisure for to dawdle after her, and +she'll think a deal more on thee. And now mend thy pen for a fresh +start. I give and bequeath--did thee put "give and bequeath," at th' +beginning?' + +'Nay,' said William, looking back. 'Thee didst not tell me "give and +bequeath!"' + +'Then it won't be legal, and my bit o' furniture 'll be taken to +London, and put into chancery, and Hester will have noane on it.' + +'I can write it over,' said William. + +'Well, write it clear then, and put a line under it to show those +are my special words. Hast thee done it? Then now start afresh. I +give and bequeath my book o' sermons, as is bound in good calfskin, +and lies on the third shelf o' corner cupboard at the right hand o' +t' fire-place, to Philip Hepburn; for I reckon he's as fond o' +reading sermons as thee art o' light, well-boiled paste, and I'd be +glad for each on ye to have somewhat ye like for to remember me by. +Is that down? There; now for my cousins John and Jeremiah. They are +rich i' world's gear, but they'll prize what I leave 'em if I could +only onbethink me what they would like. Hearken! Is na' that our +Hester's step? Put it away, quick! I'm noane for grieving her wi' +telling her what I've been about. We'll take a turn at t' will next +First Day; it will serve us for several Sabbaths to come, and maybe +I can think on something as will suit cousin John and cousin +Jeremiah afore then.' + +Hester, as was mentioned, paused a minute or two before lifting the +latch of the door. When she entered there was no unusual sign of +writing about; only Will Coulson looking very red, and crushing and +smelling at the geranium leaf. + +Hester came in briskly, with the little stock of enforced +cheerfulness she had stopped at the door to acquire. But it faded +away along with the faint flush of colour in her cheeks; and the +mother's quick eye immediately noted the wan heavy look of care. + +'I have kept t' pot in t' oven; it'll have a'most got a' t' goodness +out of t' tea by now, for it'll be an hour since I made it. Poor +lass, thou look'st as if thou needed a good cup o' tea. It were dree +work sitting wi' Betsy Darley, were it? And how does she look on her +affliction?' + +'She takes it sore to heart,' said Hester, taking off her hat, and +folding and smoothing away her cloak, before putting them in the +great oak chest (or 'ark,' as it was called), in which they were +laid from Sunday to Sunday. + +As she opened the lid a sweet scent of dried lavender and +rose-leaves came out. William stepped hastily forwards to hold up +the heavy lid for her. She lifted up her head, looked at him full +with her serene eyes, and thanked him for his little service. Then +she took a creepie-stool and sate down on the side of the +fire-place, having her back to the window. + +The hearth was of the same spotless whiteness as the steps; all that +was black about the grate was polished to the utmost extent; all +that was of brass, like the handle of the oven, was burnished +bright. Her mother placed the little black earthenware teapot, in +which the tea had been stewing, on the table, where cups and saucers +were already set for four, and a large plate of bread and butter +cut. Then they sate round the table, bowed their heads, and kept +silence for a minute or two. + +When this grace was ended, and they were about to begin, Alice said, +as if without premeditation, but in reality with a keen shrinking of +heart out of sympathy with her child-- + +'Philip would have been in to his tea by now, I reckon, if he'd been +coming.' + +William looked up suddenly at Hester; her mother carefully turned +her head another way. But she answered quite quietly-- + +'He'll be gone to his aunt's at Haytersbank. I met him at t' top o' +t' Brow, with his cousin and Molly Corney.' + +'He's a deal there,' said William. + +'Yes,' said Hester. 'It's likely; him and his aunt come from +Carlisle-way, and must needs cling together in these strange parts.' + +'I saw him at the burying of yon Darley,' said William. + +'It were a vast o' people went past th' entry end,' said Alice. 'It +were a'most like election time; I were just come back fra' meeting +when they were all going up th' church steps. I met yon sailor as, +they say, used violence and did murder; he looked like a ghost, +though whether it were his bodily wounds, or the sense of his sins +stirring within him, it's not for me to say. And by t' time I was +back here and settled to my Bible, t' folk were returning, and it +were tramp, tramp, past th' entry end for better nor a quarter of an +hour.' + +'They say Kinraid has getten slugs and gun-shot in his side,' said +Hester. + +'He's niver one Charley Kinraid, for sure, as I knowed at +Newcastle,' said William Coulson, roused to sudden and energetic +curiosity. + +'I don't know,' replied Hester; 'they call him just Kinraid; and +Betsy Darley says he's t' most daring specksioneer of all that go +off this coast to t' Greenland seas. But he's been in Newcastle, for +I mind me she said her poor brother met with him there.' + +'How didst thee come to know him?' inquired Alice. + +'I cannot abide him if it is Charley,' said William. 'He kept +company with my poor sister as is dead for better nor two year, and +then he left off coming to see her and went wi' another girl, and it +just broke her heart.' + +'He don't look now as if he iver could play at that game again,' +said Alice; 'he has had a warning fra' the Lord. Whether it be a +call no one can tell. But to my eyne he looks as if he had been +called, and was going.' + +'Then he'll meet my sister,' said William, solemnly; 'and I hope the +Lord will make it clear to him, then, how he killed her, as sure as +he shot down yon sailors; an' if there's a gnashing o' teeth for +murder i' that other place, I reckon he'll have his share on't. He's +a bad man yon.' + +'Betsy said he were such a friend to her brother as niver was; and +he's sent her word and promised to go and see her, first place he +goes out to. + +But William only shook his head, and repeated his last words,-- + +'He's a bad man, he is.' + +When Philip came home that Sunday night, he found only Alice up to +receive him. The usual bedtime in the household was nine o'clock, +and it was but ten minutes past the hour; but Alice looked +displeased and stern. + +'Thee art late, lad,' said she, shortly. + +'I'm sorry; it's a long way from my uncle's, and I think clocks are +different,' said he, taking out his watch to compare it with the +round moon's face that told the time to Alice. + +'I know nought about thy uncle's, but thee art late. Take thy +candle, and begone.' + +If Alice made any reply to Philip's 'good-night,' he did not hear +it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ATTRACTION AND REPULSION + + +A fortnight had passed over and winter was advancing with rapid +strides. In bleak northern farmsteads there was much to be done +before November weather should make the roads too heavy for half-fed +horses to pull carts through. There was the turf, pared up on the +distant moors, and left out to dry, to be carried home and stacked; +the brown fern was to be stored up for winter bedding for the +cattle; for straw was scarce and dear in those parts; even for +thatching, heather (or rather ling) was used. Then there was meat to +salt while it could be had; for, in default of turnips and +mangold-wurzel, there was a great slaughtering of barren cows as +soon as the summer herbage failed; and good housewives stored up +their Christmas piece of beef in pickle before Martinmas was over. +Corn was to be ground while yet it could be carried to the distant +mill; the great racks for oat-cake, that swung at the top of the +kitchen, had to be filled. And last of all came the pig-killing, +when the second frost set in. For up in the north there is an idea +that the ice stored in the first frost will melt, and the meat cured +then taint; the first frost is good for nothing but to be thrown +away, as they express it. + +There came a breathing-time after this last event. The house had had +its last autumn cleaning, and was neat and bright from top to +bottom, from one end to another. The turf was led; the coal carted +up from Monkshaven; the wood stored; the corn ground; the pig +killed, and the hams and head and hands lying in salt. The butcher +had been glad to take the best parts of a pig of Dame Robson's +careful feeding; but there was unusual plenty in the Haytersbank +pantry; and as Bell surveyed it one morning, she said to her husband-- + +'I wonder if yon poor sick chap at Moss Brow would fancy some o' my +sausages. They're something to crack on, for they are made fra' an +old Cumberland receipt, as is not known i' Yorkshire yet.' + +'Thou's allays so set upo' Cumberland ways!' said her husband, not +displeased with the suggestion, however. 'Still, when folk's sick +they han their fancies, and maybe Kinraid 'll be glad o' thy +sausages. I ha' known sick folk tak' t' eating snails.' + +This was not complimentary, perhaps. But Daniel went on to say that +he did not mind if he stepped over with the sausages himself, when +it was too late to do anything else. Sylvia longed to offer to +accompany her father; but, somehow, she did not like to propose it. +Towards dusk she came to her mother to ask for the key of the great +bureau that stood in the house-place as a state piece of furniture, +although its use was to contain the family's best wearing apparel, +and stores of linen, such as might be supposed to be more needed +upstairs. + +'What for do yo' want my keys?' asked Bell. + +'Only just to get out one of t' damask napkins.' + +'The best napkins, as my mother span?' + +'Yes!' said Sylvia, her colour heightening. 'I thought as how it +would set off t' sausages.' + +'A good clean homespun cloth will serve them better,' said Bell, +wondering in her own mind what was come over the girl, to be +thinking of setting off sausages that were to be eaten, not to be +looked at like a picture-book. She might have wondered still more, +if she had seen Sylvia steal round to the little flower border she +had persuaded Kester to make under the wall at the sunny side of the +house, and gather the two or three Michaelmas daisies, and the one +bud of the China rose, that, growing against the kitchen chimney, +had escaped the frost; and then, when her mother was not looking, +softly open the cloth inside of the little basket that contained the +sausages and a fresh egg or two, and lay her autumn blossoms in one +of the folds of the towel. + +After Daniel, now pretty clear of his rheumatism, had had his +afternoon meal (tea was a Sunday treat), he prepared to set out on +his walk to Moss Brow; but as he was taking his stick he caught the +look on Sylvia's face; and unconsciously interpreted its dumb +wistfulness. + +'Missus,' said he, 't' wench has nought more t' do, has she? She may +as well put on her cloak and step down wi' me, and see Molly a bit; +she'll be company like.' + +Bell considered. + +'There's t' yarn for thy stockings as is yet to spin; but she can +go, for I'll do a bit at 't mysel', and there's nought else agate.' + +'Put on thy things in a jiffy, then, and let's be off,' said Daniel. + +And Sylvia did not need another word. Down she came in a twinkling, +dressed in her new red cloak and hood, her face peeping out of the +folds of the latter, bright and blushing. + +'Thou should'st na' ha' put on thy new cloak for a night walk to +Moss Brow,' said Bell, shaking her head. + +'Shall I go take it off, and put on my shawl?' asked Sylvia, a +little dolefully. + +'Na, na, come along! a'm noane goin' for t' wait o' women's chops +and changes. Come along; come, Lassie!' (this last to his dog). + +So Sylvia set off with a dancing heart and a dancing step, that had +to be restrained to the sober gait her father chose. The sky above +was bright and clear with the light of a thousand stars, the grass +was crisping under their feet with the coming hoar frost; and as +they mounted to the higher ground they could see the dark sea +stretching away far below them. The night was very still, though now +and then crisp sounds in the distant air sounded very near in the +silence. Sylvia carried the basket, and looked like little Red +Riding Hood. Her father had nothing to say, and did not care to make +himself agreeable; but Sylvia enjoyed her own thoughts, and any +conversation would have been a disturbance to her. The long +monotonous roll of the distant waves, as the tide bore them in, the +multitudinous rush at last, and then the retreating rattle and +trickle, as the baffled waters fell back over the shingle that +skirted the sands, and divided them from the cliffs; her father's +measured tread, and slow, even movement; Lassie's pattering--all +lulled Sylvia into a reverie, of which she could not have given +herself any definite account. But at length they arrived at Moss +Brow, and with a sudden sigh she quitted the subjects of her dreamy +meditations, and followed her father into the great house-place. It +had a more comfortable aspect by night than by day. The fire was +always kept up to a wasteful size, and the dancing blaze and the +partial light of candles left much in shadow that was best ignored +in such a disorderly family. But there was always a warm welcome to +friends, however roughly given; and after the words of this were +spoken, the next rose up equally naturally in the mind of Mrs +Corney. + +'And what will ye tak'? Eh! but t' measter 'll be fine and vexed at +your comin' when he's away. He's off to Horncastle t' sell some +colts, and he'll not be back till to-morrow's neet. But here's +Charley Kinraid as we've getten to nurse up a bit, and' t' lads 'll +be back fra' Monkshaven in a crack o' no time.' + +All this was addressed to Daniel, to whom she knew that none but +masculine company would be acceptable. Amongst uneducated +people--whose range of subjects and interest do not extend beyond +their daily life--it is natural that when the first blush and hurry +of youth is over, there should be no great pleasure in the +conversation of the other sex. Men have plenty to say to men, which +in their estimation (gained from tradition and experience) women +cannot understand; and farmers of a much later date than the one of +which I am writing, would have contemptuously considered it as a +loss of time to talk to women; indeed, they were often more +communicative to the sheep-dog that accompanied them through all the +day's work, and frequently became a sort of dumb confidant. Farmer +Robson's Lassie now lay down at her master's feet, placed her nose +between her paws, and watched with attentive eyes the preparations +going on for refreshments--preparations which, to the +disappointment of her canine heart, consisted entirely of tumblers +and sugar. + +'Where's t' wench?' said Robson, after he had shaken hands with +Kinraid, and spoken a few words to him and to Mrs. Corney. 'She's +getten' a basket wi' sausages in 'em, as my missus has made, and +she's a rare hand at sausages; there's noane like her in a' t' three +Ridings, I'll be bound!' + +For Daniel could praise his wife's powers in her absence, though he +did not often express himself in an appreciative manner when she was +by to hear. But Sylvia's quick sense caught up the manner in which +Mrs. Corney would apply the way in which her mother's housewifery had +been exalted, and stepping forwards out of the shadow, she said,-- + +'Mother thought, maybe, you hadn't killed a pig yet, and sausages is +always a bit savoury for any one who is na' well, and----' + +She might have gone on but that she caught Kinraid's eyes looking at +her with kindly admiration. She stopped speaking, and Mrs. Corney +took up the word-- + +'As for sausages, I ha' niver had a chance this year, else I stand +again any one for t' making of 'em. Yorkshire hams 's a vast thought +on, and I'll niver let another county woman say as she can make +better sausages nor me. But, as I'm saying, I'd niver a chance; for +our pig, as I were sa fond on, and fed mysel', and as would ha' been +fourteen stone by now if he were an ounce, and as knew me as well as +any Christian, and a pig, as I may say, that I just idolized, went +and took a fit a week after Michaelmas Day, and died, as if it had +been to spite me; and t' next is na' ready for killing, nor wunnot +be this six week. So I'm much beholden to your missus, and so's +Charley, I'm sure; though he's ta'en a turn to betterin' sin' he +came out here to be nursed.' + +'I'm a deal better,' said Kinraid; 'a'most ready for t' press-gang +to give chase to again.' + +'But folk say they're gone off this coast for one while,' added +Daniel. + +'They're gone down towards Hull, as I've been told,' said Kinraid. +'But they're a deep set, they'll be here before we know where we +are, some of these days.' + +'See thee here!' said Daniel, exhibiting his maimed hand; 'a reckon +a served 'em out time o' t' Ameriky war.' And he began the story +Sylvia knew so well; for her father never made a new acquaintance +but what he told him of his self-mutilation to escape the +press-gang. It had been done, as he would himself have owned, to +spite himself as well as them; for it had obliged him to leave a +sea-life, to which, in comparison, all life spent on shore was worse +than nothing for dulness. For Robson had never reached that rank +aboard ship which made his being unable to run up the rigging, or to +throw a harpoon, or to fire off a gun, of no great consequence; so +he had to be thankful that an opportune legacy enabled him to turn +farmer, a great degradation in his opinion. But his blood warmed, as +he told the specksioneer, towards a sailor, and he pressed Kinraid +to beguile the time when he was compelled to be ashore, by coming +over to see him at Haytersbank, whenever he felt inclined. + +Sylvia, appearing to listen to Molly's confidences, was hearkening +in reality to all this conversation between her father and the +specksioneer; and at this invitation she became especially +attentive. + +Kinraid replied,-- + +'I'm much obliged to ye, I'm sure; maybe I can come and spend an +ev'ning wi' you; but as soon as I'm got round a bit, I must go see +my own people as live at Cullercoats near Newcastle-upo'-Tyne.' + +'Well, well!' said Daniel, rising to take leave, with unusual +prudence as to the amount of his drink. 'Thou'lt see, thou'lt see! I +shall be main glad to see thee; if thou'lt come. But I've na' lads +to keep thee company, only one sprig of a wench. Sylvia, come here, +an let's show thee to this young fellow!' + +Sylvia came forwards, ruddy as any rose, and in a moment Kinraid +recognized her as the pretty little girl he had seen crying so +bitterly over Darley's grave. He rose up out of true sailor's +gallantry, as she shyly approached and stood by her father's side, +scarcely daring to lift her great soft eyes, to have one fair gaze +at his face. He had to support himself by one hand rested on the +dresser, but she saw he was looking far better--younger, less +haggard--than he had seemed to her before. His face was short and +expressive; his complexion had been weatherbeaten and bronzed, +though now he looked so pale; his eyes and hair were dark,--the +former quick, deep-set, and penetrating; the latter curly, and +almost in ringlets. His teeth gleamed white as he smiled at her, a +pleasant friendly smile of recognition; but she only blushed the +deeper, and hung her head. + +'I'll come, sir, and be thankful. I daresay a turn'll do me good, if +the weather holds up, an' th' frost keeps on.' + +'That's right, my lad,' said Robson, shaking him by the hand, and +then Kinraid's hand was held out to Sylvia, and she could not avoid +the same friendly action. + +Molly Corney followed her to the door, and when they were fairly +outside, she held Sylvia back for an instant to say,-- + +'Is na' he a fine likely man? I'm so glad as yo've seen him, for +he's to be off next week to Newcastle and that neighbourhood.' + +'But he said he'd come to us some night?' asked Sylvia, half in a +fright. + +'Ay, I'll see as he does; never fear. For I should like yo' for to +know him a bit. He's a rare talker. I'll mind him o' coming to yo'.' + +Somehow, Sylvia felt as if this repeated promise of reminding +Kinraid of his promise to come and see her father took away part of +the pleasure she had anticipated from his visit. Yet what could be +more natural than that Molly Corney should wish her friend to be +acquainted with the man whom Sylvia believed to be all but Molly's +engaged lover? + +Pondering these thoughts, the walk home was as silent as that going +to Moss Brow had been. The only change seemed to be that now they +faced the brilliant northern lights flashing up the sky, and that +either this appearance or some of the whaling narrations of Kinraid +had stirred up Daniel Robson's recollections of a sea ditty, which +he kept singing to himself in a low, unmusical voice, the burden of +which was, 'for I loves the tossin' say!' Bell met them at the door. + +'Well, and here ye are at home again! and Philip has been, Sylvie, +to give thee thy ciphering lesson; and he stayed awhile, thinking +thou'd be coming back.' + +'I'm very sorry,' said Sylvia, more out of deference to her mother's +tone of annoyance, than because she herself cared either for her +lesson or her cousin's disappointment. + +'He'll come again to-morrow night, he says. But thou must take care, +and mind the nights he says he'll come, for it's a long way to come +for nought.' + +Sylvia might have repeated her 'I'm very sorry' at this announcement +of Philip's intentions; but she restrained herself, inwardly and +fervently hoping that Molly would not urge the fulfilment of the +specksioneer's promise for to-morrow night, for Philip's being there +would spoil all; and besides, if she sate at the dresser at her +lesson, and Kinraid at the table with her father, he might hear all, +and find out what a dunce she was. + +She need not have been afraid. With the next night Hepburn came; and +Kinraid did not. After a few words to her mother, Philip produced +the candles he had promised, and some books and a quill or two. + +'What for hast thou brought candles?' asked Bell, in a +half-affronted tone. + +Hepburn smiled. + +'Sylvia thought it would take a deal of candlelight, and was for +making it into a reason not to learn. I should ha' used t' candles +if I'd stayed at home, so I just brought them wi' me.' + +'Then thou may'st just take them back again,' said Bell, shortly, +blowing out that which he had lighted, and placing one of her own on +the dresser instead. + +Sylvia caught her mother's look of displeasure, and it made her +docile for the evening, although she owed her cousin a grudge for +her enforced good behaviour. + +'Now, Sylvia, here's a copy-book wi' t' Tower o' London on it, and +we'll fill it wi' as pretty writing as any in t' North Riding.' + +Sylvia sate quite still, unenlivened by this prospect. + +'Here's a pen as 'll nearly write of itsel',' continued Philip, +still trying to coax her out her sullenness of manner. + +Then he arranged her in the right position. + +'Don't lay your head down on your left arm, you'll ne'er see to +write straight.' + +The attitude was changed, but not a word was spoken. Philip began to +grow angry at such determined dumbness. + +'Are you tired?' asked he, with a strange mixture of crossness and +tenderness. + +'Yes, very,' was her reply. + +'But thou ought'st not to be tired,' said Bell, who had not yet got +over the offence to her hospitality; who, moreover, liked her +nephew, and had, to boot, a great respect for the learning she had +never acquired. + +'Mother!' said Sylvia, bursting out, 'what's the use on my writing +"Abednego," "Abednego," "Abednego," all down a page? If I could see +t' use on 't, I'd ha' axed father to send me t' school; but I'm none +wanting to have learning.' + +'It's a fine thing, tho', is learning. My mother and my grandmother +had it: but th' family came down i' the world, and Philip's mother +and me, we had none of it; but I ha' set my heart on thy having it, +child.' + +'My fingers is stiff,' pleaded Sylvia, holding up her little hand +and shaking it. + +'Let us take a turn at spelling, then,' said Philip. + +'What's t' use on't?' asked captious Sylvia. + +'Why, it helps one i' reading an' writing.' + +'And what does reading and writing do for one?' + +Her mother gave her another of the severe looks that, quiet woman as +she was, she could occasionally bestow upon the refractory, and +Sylvia took her book and glanced down the column Philip pointed out +to her; but, as she justly considered, one man might point out the +task, but twenty could not make her learn it, if she did not choose; +and she sat herself down on the edge of the dresser, and idly gazed +into the fire. But her mother came round to look for something in +the drawers of the dresser, and as she passed her daughter she said +in a low voice-- + +'Sylvie, be a good lass. I set a deal o' store by learning, and +father 'ud never send thee to school, as has stuck by me sore.' + +If Philip, sitting with his back to them, heard these words he was +discreet enough not to show that he heard. And he had his reward; +for in a very short time, Sylvia stood before him with her book in +her hand, prepared to say her spelling. At which he also stood up by +instinct, and listened to her slow succeeding letters; helping her +out, when she looked up at him with a sweet childlike perplexity in +her face: for a dunce as to book-learning poor Sylvia was and was +likely to remain; and, in spite of his assumed office of +schoolmaster, Philip Hepburn could almost have echoed the words of +the lover of Jess MacFarlane-- + + I sent my love a letter, + But, alas! she canna read, + And I lo'e her a' the better. + +Still he knew his aunt's strong wish on the subject, and it was very +delightful to stand in the relation of teacher to so dear and +pretty, if so wilful, a pupil. + +Perhaps it was not very flattering to notice Sylvia's great joy when +her lessons were over, sadly shortened as they were by Philip's +desire not to be too hard upon her. Sylvia danced round to her +mother, bent her head back, and kissed her face, and then said +defyingly to Philip,-- + +'If iver I write thee a letter it shall just be full of nothing but +"Abednego! Abednego! Abednego!"' + +But at this moment her father came in from a distant expedition on +the moors with Kester to look after the sheep he had pasturing there +before the winter set fairly in. He was tired, and so was Lassie, +and so, too, was Kester, who, lifting his heavy legs one after the +other, and smoothing down his hair, followed his master into the +house-place, and seating himself on a bench at the farther end of +the dresser, patiently awaited the supper of porridge and milk which +he shared with his master. Sylvia, meanwhile, coaxed Lassie--poor +footsore dog--to her side, and gave her some food, which the +creature was almost too tired to eat. Philip made as though he would +be going, but Daniel motioned to him to be quiet. + +'Sit thee down, lad. As soon as I've had my victual, I want t' hear +a bit o' news.' + +Sylvia took her sewing and sat at the little round table by her +mother, sharing the light of the scanty dip-candle. No one spoke. +Every one was absorbed in what they were doing. What Philip was +doing was, gazing at Sylvia--learning her face off by heart. + +When every scrap of porridge was cleared out of the mighty bowl, +Kester yawned, and wishing good-night, withdrew to his loft over the +cow-house. Then Philip pulled out the weekly York paper, and began +to read the latest accounts of the war then raging. This was giving +Daniel one of his greatest pleasures; for though he could read +pretty well, yet the double effort of reading and understanding what +he read was almost too much for him. He could read, or he could +understand what was read aloud to him; reading was no pleasure, but +listening was. + +Besides, he had a true John Bullish interest in the war, without +very well knowing what the English were fighting for. But in those +days, so long as they fought the French for any cause, or for no +cause at all, every true patriot was satisfied. Sylvia and her +mother did not care for any such far-extended interest; a little bit +of York news, the stealing of a few apples out of a Scarborough +garden that they knew, was of far more interest to them than all the +battles of Nelson and the North. + +Philip read in a high-pitched and unnatural tone of voice, which +deprived the words of their reality; for even familiar expressions +can become unfamiliar and convey no ideas, if the utterance is +forced or affected. Philip was somewhat of a pedant; yet there was a +simplicity in his pedantry not always to be met with in those who +are self-taught, and which might have interested any one who cared +to know with what labour and difficulty he had acquired the +knowledge which now he prized so highly; reading out Latin +quotations as easily as if they were English, and taking a pleasure +in rolling polysyllables, until all at once looking askance at +Sylvia, he saw that her head had fallen back, her pretty rosy lips +open, her eyes fast shut; in short, she was asleep. + +'Ay,' said Farmer Robson, 'and t' reading has a'most sent me off. +Mother 'd look angry now if I was to tell yo' yo' had a right to a +kiss; but when I was a young man I'd ha' kissed a pretty girl as I +saw asleep, afore yo'd said Jack Robson.' + +Philip trembled at these words, and looked at his aunt. She gave him +no encouragement, standing up, and making as though she had never +heard her husband's speech, by extending her hand, and wishing him +'good-night.' At the noise of the chairs moving over the flag floor, +Sylvia started up, confused and annoyed at her father's laughter. + +'Ay, lass; it's iver a good time t' fall asleep when a young fellow +is by. Here's Philip here as thou'rt bound t' give a pair o' gloves +to.' + +Sylvia went like fire; she turned to her mother to read her face. + +'It's only father's joke, lass,' said she. 'Philip knows manners too +well.' + +'He'd better,' said Sylvia, flaming round at him. 'If he'd a touched +me, I'd niver ha' spoken to him no more.' And she looked even as it +was as if she was far from forgiving him. + +'Hoots, lass! wenches are brought up sa mim, now-a-days; i' my time +they'd ha' thought na' such great harm of a kiss.' + +'Good-night, Philip,' said Bell Robson, thinking the conversation +unseemly. + +'Good-night, aunt, good-night, Sylvie!' But Sylvia turned her back +on him, and he could hardly say 'good-night' to Daniel, who had +caused such an unpleasant end to an evening that had at one time +been going on so well. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE SPECKSIONEER + + +A few days after, Farmer Robson left Haytersbank betimes on a +longish day's journey, to purchase a horse. Sylvia and her mother +were busied with a hundred household things, and the early winter's +evening closed in upon them almost before they were aware. The +consequences of darkness in the country even now are to gather the +members of a family together into one room, and to make them settle +to some sedentary employment; and it was much more the case at the +period of my story, when candles were far dearer than they are at +present, and when one was often made to suffice for a large family. + +The mother and daughter hardly spoke at all when they sat down at +last. The cheerful click of the knitting-needles made a pleasant +home-sound; and in the occasional snatches of slumber that overcame +her mother, Sylvia could hear the long-rushing boom of the waves, +down below the rocks, for the Haytersbank gulley allowed the sullen +roar to come up so far inland. It might have been about eight +o'clock--though from the monotonous course of the evening it seemed +much later--when Sylvia heard her father's heavy step cranching down +the pebbly path. More unusual, she heard his voice talking to some +companion. + +Curious to see who it could be, with a lively instinctive advance +towards any event which might break the monotony she had begun to +find somewhat dull, she sprang up to open the door. Half a glance +into the gray darkness outside made her suddenly timid, and she drew +back behind the door as she opened it wide to admit her father and +Kinraid. + +Daniel Robson came in bright and boisterous. He was pleased with his +purchase, and had had some drink to celebrate his bargain. He had +ridden the new mare into Monkshaven, and left her at the smithy +there until morning, to have her feet looked at, and to be new shod. +On his way from the town he had met Kinraid wandering about in +search of Haytersbank Farm itself, so he had just brought him along +with him; and here they were, ready for bread and cheese, and aught +else the mistress would set before them. + +To Sylvia the sudden change into brightness and bustle occasioned by +the entrance of her father and the specksioneer was like that which +you may effect any winter's night, when you come into a room where a +great lump of coal lies hot and slumbering on the fire; just break +it up with a judicious blow from the poker, and the room, late so +dark, and dusk, and lone, is full of life, and light, and warmth. + +She moved about with pretty household briskness, attending to all +her father's wants. Kinraid's eye watched her as she went backwards +and forwards, to and fro, into the pantry, the back-kitchen, out of +light into shade, out of the shadow into the broad firelight where +he could see and note her appearance. She wore the high-crowned +linen cap of that day, surmounting her lovely masses of golden brown +hair, rather than concealing them, and tied firm to her head by a +broad blue ribbon. A long curl hung down on each side of her neck--her +throat rather, for her neck was concealed by a little spotted +handkerchief carefully pinned across at the waist of her brown stuff +gown. + +How well it was, thought the young girl, that she had doffed her +bed-gown and linsey-woolsey petticoat, her working-dress, and made +herself smart in her stuff gown, when she sate down to work with her +mother. + +By the time she could sit down again, her father and Kinraid had +their glasses filled, and were talking of the relative merits of +various kinds of spirits; that led on to tales of smuggling, and the +different contrivances by which they or their friends had eluded the +preventive service; the nightly relays of men to carry the goods +inland; the kegs of brandy found by certain farmers whose horses had +gone so far in the night, that they could do no work the next day; +the clever way in which certain women managed to bring in prohibited +goods; in fact, that when a woman did give her mind to smuggling, +she was more full of resources, and tricks, and impudence, and +energy than any man. There was no question of the morality of the +affair; one of the greatest signs of the real progress we have made +since those times seems to be that our daily concerns of buying and +selling, eating and drinking, whatsoever we do, are more tested by +the real practical standard of our religion than they were in the +days of our grandfathers. Neither Sylvia nor her mother was in +advance of their age. Both listened with admiration to the ingenious +devices, and acted as well as spoken lies, that were talked about as +fine and spirited things. Yet if Sylvia had attempted one tithe of +this deceit in her every-day life, it would have half broken her +mother's heart. But when the duty on salt was strictly and cruelly +enforced, making it penal to pick up rough dirty lumps containing +small quantities that might be thrown out with the ashes of the +brine-houses on the high-roads; when the price of this necessary was +so increased by the tax upon it as to make it an expensive, +sometimes an unattainable, luxury to the working man, Government did +more to demoralise the popular sense of rectitude and uprightness +than heaps of sermons could undo. And the same, though in smaller +measure, was the consequence of many other taxes. It may seem +curious to trace up the popular standard of truth to taxation; but I +do not think the idea would be so very far-fetched. + +From smuggling adventures it was easy to pass on to stories of what +had happened to Robson, in his youth a sailor in the Greenland seas, +and to Kinraid, now one of the best harpooners in any whaler that +sailed off the coast. + +'There's three things to be afeared on,' said Robson, +authoritatively: 'there's t' ice, that's bad; there's dirty weather, +that's worse; and there's whales theirselves, as is t' worst of all; +leastways, they was i' my days; t' darned brutes may ha' larnt +better manners sin'. When I were young, they could niver be got to +let theirsels be harpooned wi'out flounderin' and makin' play wi' +their tales and their fins, till t' say were all in a foam, and t' +boats' crews was all o'er wi' spray, which i' them latitudes is a +kind o' shower-bath not needed.' + +'Th' whales hasn't mended their manners, as you call it,' said +Kinraid; 'but th' ice is not to be spoken lightly on. I were once in +th' ship _John_ of Hull, and we were in good green water, and were +keen after whales; and ne'er thought harm of a great gray iceberg as +were on our lee-bow, a mile or so off; it looked as if it had been +there from the days of Adam, and were likely to see th' last man +out, and it ne'er a bit bigger nor smaller in all them thousands and +thousands o' years. Well, the fast-boats were out after a fish, and +I were specksioneer in one; and we were so keen after capturing our +whale, that none on us ever saw that we were drifting away from them +right into deep shadow o' th' iceberg. But we were set upon our +whale, and I harpooned it; and as soon as it were dead we lashed its +fins together, and fastened its tail to our boat; and then we took +breath and looked about us, and away from us a little space were th' +other boats, wi' two other fish making play, and as likely as not to +break loose, for I may say as I were th' best harpooner on board the +_John_, wi'out saying great things o' mysel'. So I says, "My lads, +one o' you stay i' th' boat by this fish,"--the fins o' which, as I +said, I'd reeved a rope through mysel', and which was as dead as +Noah's grandfather--"and th' rest on us shall go off and help th' +other boats wi' their fish." For, you see, we had another boat close +by in order to sweep th' fish. (I suppose they swept fish i' your +time, master?)' + +'Ay, ay!' said Robson; 'one boat lies still holding t' end o' t' +line; t' other makes a circuit round t' fish.' + +'Well! luckily for us we had our second boat, for we all got into +it, ne'er a man on us was left i' th' fast-boat. And says I, "But +who's to stay by t' dead fish?" And no man answered, for they were +all as keen as me for to go and help our mates; and we thought as we +could come back to our dead fish, as had a boat for a buoy, once we +had helped our mates. So off we rowed, every man Jack on us, out o' +the black shadow o' th' iceberg, as looked as steady as th' +pole-star. Well! we had na' been a dozen fathoms away fra' th' boat +as we had left, when crash! down wi' a roaring noise, and then a +gulp of the deep waters, and then a shower o' blinding spray; and +when we had wiped our eyes clear, and getten our hearts down agen +fra' our mouths, there were never a boat nor a glittering belly o' +e'er a great whale to be seen; but th' iceberg were there, still and +grim, as if a hundred ton or more had fallen off all in a mass, and +crushed down boat, and fish, and all, into th' deep water, as goes +half through the earth in them latitudes. Th' coal-miners round +about Newcastle way may come upon our good boat if they mine deep +enough, else ne'er another man will see her. And I left as good a +clasp-knife in her as ever I clapt eyes on.' + +'But what a mercy no man stayed in her,' said Bell. + +'Why, mistress, I reckon we a' must die some way; and I'd as soon go +down into the deep waters as be choked up wi' moulds.' + +'But it must be so cold,' said Sylvia, shuddering and giving a +little poke to the fire to warm her fancy. + +'Cold!' said her father, 'what do ye stay-at-homes know about cold, +a should like to know? If yo'd been where a were once, north +latitude 81, in such a frost as ye ha' niver known, no, not i' deep +winter, and it were June i' them seas, and a whale i' sight, and a +were off in a boat after her: an' t' ill-mannered brute, as soon as +she were harpooned, ups wi' her big awkward tail, and struck t' boat +i' her stern, and chucks me out into t' watter. That were cold, a +can tell the'! First, I smarted all ower me, as if my skin were +suddenly stript off me: and next, ivery bone i' my body had getten +t' toothache, and there were a great roar i' my ears, an' a great +dizziness i' my eyes; an' t' boat's crew kept throwin' out their +oars, an' a kept clutchin' at 'em, but a could na' make out where +they was, my eyes dazzled so wi' t' cold, an' I thought I were bound +for "kingdom come," an' a tried to remember t' Creed, as a might die +a Christian. But all a could think on was, "What is your name, M or +N?" an' just as a were giving up both words and life, they heaved me +aboard. But, bless ye, they had but one oar; for they'd thrown a' t' +others after me; so yo' may reckon, it were some time afore we could +reach t' ship; an' a've heerd tell, a were a precious sight to look +on, for my clothes was just hard frozen to me, an' my hair a'most as +big a lump o' ice as yon iceberg he was a-telling us on; they rubbed +me as missus theere were rubbing t' hams yesterday, and gav' me +brandy; an' a've niver getten t' frost out o' my bones for a' their +rubbin', and a deal o' brandy as I 'ave ta'en sin'. Talk o' cold! +it's little yo' women known o' cold!' + +'But there's heat, too, i' some places,' said Kinraid. I was once a +voyage i' an American. They goes for th' most part south, to where +you come round to t' cold again; and they'll stay there for three +year at a time, if need be, going into winter harbour i' some o' th' +Pacific Islands. Well, we were i' th' southern seas, a-seeking for +good whaling-ground; and, close on our larboard beam, there were a +great wall o' ice, as much as sixty feet high. And says our +captain--as were a dare-devil, if ever a man were--"There'll be an +opening in yon dark gray wall, and into that opening I'll sail, if I +coast along it till th' day o' judgment." But, for all our sailing, +we never seemed to come nearer to th' opening. The waters were +rocking beneath us, and the sky were steady above us; and th' ice +rose out o' the waters, and seemed to reach up into the sky. We +sailed on, and we sailed on, for more days nor I could count. Our +captain were a strange, wild man, but once he looked a little pale +when he came upo' deck after his turn-in, and saw the green-gray ice +going straight up on our beam. Many on us thought as the ship were +bewitched for th' captain's words; and we got to speak low, and to +say our prayers o' nights, and a kind o' dull silence came into th' +very air; our voices did na' rightly seem our own. And we sailed on, +and we sailed on. All at once, th' man as were on watch gave a cry: +he saw a break in the ice, as we'd begun to think were everlasting; +and we all gathered towards the bows, and the captain called to th' +man at the helm to keep her course, and cocked his head, and began +to walk the quarter-deck jaunty again. And we came to a great cleft +in th' long weary rock of ice; and the sides o' th' cleft were not +jagged, but went straight sharp down into th' foaming waters. But we +took but one look at what lay inside, for our captain, with a loud +cry to God, bade the helmsman steer nor'ards away fra' th' mouth o' +Hell. We all saw wi' our own eyes, inside that fearsome wall o' +ice--seventy miles long, as we could swear to--inside that gray, +cold ice, came leaping flames, all red and yellow wi' heat o' some +unearthly kind out o' th' very waters o' the sea; making our eyes +dazzle wi' their scarlet blaze, that shot up as high, nay, higher +than th' ice around, yet never so much as a shred on 't was melted. +They did say that some beside our captain saw the black devils dart +hither and thither, quicker than the very flames themselves; anyhow, +he saw them. And as he knew it were his own daring as had led him to +have that peep at terrors forbidden to any on us afore our time, he +just dwined away, and we hadn't taken but one whale afore our +captain died, and first mate took th' command. It were a prosperous +voyage; but, for all that, I'll never sail those seas again, nor +ever take wage aboard an American again.' + +'Eh, dear! but it's awful t' think o' sitting wi' a man that has +seen th' doorway into hell,' said Bell, aghast. + +Sylvia had dropped her work, and sat gazing at Kinraid with +fascinated wonder. + +Daniel was just a little annoyed at the admiration which his own +wife and daughter were bestowing on the specksioneer's wonderful +stories, and he said-- + +'Ay, ay. If a'd been a talker, ye'd ha' thought a deal more on me +nor ye've iver done yet. A've seen such things, and done such +things.' + +'Tell us, father!' said Sylvia, greedy and breathless. + +'Some on 'em is past telling,' he replied, 'an some is not to be had +for t' asking, seeing as how they might bring a man into trouble. +But, as a said, if a had a fancy to reveal all as is on my mind a +could make t' hair on your heads lift up your caps--well, we'll say +an inch, at least. Thy mother, lass, has heerd one or two on 'em. +Thou minds the story o' my ride on a whale's back, Bell? That'll +maybe be within this young fellow's comprehension o' t' danger; +thou's heerd me tell it, hastn't ta?' + +'Yes,' said Bell; 'but it's a long time ago; when we was courting.' + +'An' that's afore this young lass were born, as is a'most up to +woman's estate. But sin' those days a ha' been o'er busy to tell +stories to my wife, an' as a'll warrant she's forgotten it; an' as +Sylvia here niver heerd it, if yo'll fill your glass, Kinraid, yo' +shall ha' t' benefit o't. + +'A were a specksioneer mysel, though, after that, a rayther directed +my talents int' t' smuggling branch o' my profession; but a were +once a whaling aboord t' _Ainwell_ of Whitby. An' we was anchored +off t' coast o' Greenland one season, an' we'd getten a cargo o' +seven whale; but our captain he were a keen-eyed chap, an' niver +above doin' any man's work; an' once seein' a whale he throws +himself int' a boat an' goes off to it, makin' signals to me, an' +another specksioneer as were off for diversion i' another boat, for +to come after him sharp. Well, afore we comes alongside, captain had +harpooned t' fish; an' says he, "Now, Robson, all ready! give into +her again when she comes to t' top;" an' I stands up, right leg +foremost, harpoon all ready, as soon as iver I cotched a sight o' t' +whale, but niver a fin could a see. 'Twere no wonder, for she were +right below t' boat in which a were; and when she wanted to rise, +what does t' great ugly brute do but come wi' her head, as is like +cast iron, up bang again t' bottom o' t' boat. I were thrown up in +t' air like a shuttlecock, me an' my line an' my harpoon--up we +goes, an' many a good piece o' timber wi' us, an' many a good fellow +too; but a had t' look after mysel', an a were up high i' t' air, +afore I could say Jack Robinson, an' a thowt a were safe for another +dive int' saut water; but i'stead a comes down plump on t' back o' +t' whale. Ay! yo' may stare, master, but theere a were, an' main an' +slippery it were, only a sticks my harpoon intil her an' steadies +mysel', an' looks abroad o'er t' vast o' waves, and gets sea-sick in +a manner, an' puts up a prayer as she mayn't dive, and it were as +good a prayer for wishin' it might come true as iver t' clargyman +an' t' clerk too puts up i' Monkshaven church. Well, a reckon it +were heerd, for all a were i' them north latitudes, for she keeps +steady, an' a does my best for t' keep steady; an' 'deed a was too +steady, for a was fast wi' t' harpoon line, all knotted and tangled +about me. T' captain, he sings out for me to cut it; but it's easy +singin' out, and it's noane so easy fumblin' for your knife i' t' +pocket o' your drawers, when yo've t' hold hard wi' t' other hand on +t' back of a whale, swimmin' fourteen knots an hour. At last a +thinks to mysel' a can't get free o' t' line, and t' line is fast to +t' harpoon, and t' harpoon is fast to t' whale; and t' whale may go +down fathoms deep wheniver t' maggot stirs i' her head; an' t' +watter's cold, an noane good for drownin' in; a can't get free o' t' +line, and a connot get my knife out o' my breeches pocket though t' +captain should ca' it mutiny to disobey orders, and t' line's fast +to t' harpoon--let's see if t' harpoon's fast to t' whale. So a +tugged, and a lugged, and t' whale didn't mistake it for ticklin', +but she cocks up her tail, and throws out showers o' water as were +ice or iver it touched me; but a pulls on at t' shank, an' a were +only afeard as she wouldn't keep at t' top wi' it sticking in her; +but at last t' harpoon broke, an' just i' time, for a reckon she was +near as tired o' me as a were on her, and down she went; an' a had +hard work to make for t' boats as was near enough to catch me; for +what wi' t' whale's being but slippery an' t' watter being cold, an' +me hampered wi' t' line an' t' piece o' harpoon, it's a chance, +missus, as thou had stopped an oud maid.' + +'Eh dear a' me!' said Bell, 'how well I mind yo'r telling me that +tale! It were twenty-four year ago come October. I thought I never +could think enough on a man as had rode on a whale's back!' + +'Yo' may learn t' way of winnin' t' women,' said Daniel, winking at +the specksioneer. + +And Kinraid immediately looked at Sylvia. It was no premeditated +action; it came as naturally as wakening in the morning when his +sleep was ended; but Sylvia coloured as red as any rose at his +sudden glance,--coloured so deeply that he looked away until he +thought she had recovered her composure, and then he sat gazing at +her again. But not for long, for Bell suddenly starting up, did all +but turn him out of the house. It was late, she said, and her master +was tired, and they had a hard day before them next day; and it was +keeping Ellen Corney up; and they had had enough to drink,--more +than was good for them, she was sure, for they had both been taking +her in with their stories, which she had been foolish enough to +believe. No one saw the real motive of all this almost inhospitable +haste to dismiss her guest, how the sudden fear had taken possession +of her that he and Sylvia were 'fancying each other'. Kinraid had +said early in the evening that he had come to thank her for her +kindness in sending the sausages, as he was off to his own home near +Newcastle in a day or two. But now he said, in reply to Daniel +Robson, that he would step in another night before long and hear +some more of the old man's yarns. + +Daniel had just had enough drink to make him very good-tempered, or +else his wife would not have dared to have acted as she did; and +this maudlin amiability took the shape of hospitable urgency that +Kinraid should come as often as he liked to Haytersbank; come and +make it his home when he was in these parts; stay there altogether, +and so on, till Bell fairly shut the outer door to, and locked it +before the specksioneer had well got out of the shadow of their +roof. + +All night long Sylvia dreamed of burning volcanoes springing out of +icy southern seas. But, as in the specksioneer's tale the flames +were peopled with demons, there was no human interest for her in the +wondrous scene in which she was no actor, only a spectator. With +daylight came wakening and little homely every-day wonders. Did +Kinraid mean that he was going away really and entirely, or did he +not? Was he Molly Corney's sweetheart, or was he not? When she had +argued herself into certainty on one side, she suddenly wheeled +about, and was just of the opposite opinion. At length she settled +that it could not be settled until she saw Molly again; so, by a +strong gulping effort, she resolutely determined to think no more +about him, only about the marvels he had told. She might think a +little about them when she sat at night, spinning in silence by the +household fire, or when she went out in the gloaming to call the +cattle home to be milked, and sauntered back behind the patient, +slow-gaited creatures; and at times on future summer days, when, as +in the past, she took her knitting out for the sake of the freshness +of the faint sea-breeze, and dropping down from ledge to ledge of +the rocks that faced the blue ocean, established herself in a +perilous nook that had been her haunt ever since her parents had +come to Haytersbank Farm. From thence she had often seen the distant +ships pass to and fro, with a certain sort of lazy pleasure in +watching their swift tranquillity of motion, but no thought as to +where they were bound to, or what strange places they would +penetrate to before they turned again, homeward bound. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A REFRACTORY PUPIL + + +Sylvia was still full of the specksioneer and his stories, when +Hepburn came up to give her the next lesson. But the prospect of a +little sensible commendation for writing a whole page full of +flourishing 'Abednegos,' had lost all the slight charm it had ever +possessed. She was much more inclined to try and elicit some +sympathy in her interest in the perils and adventures of the +northern seas, than to bend and control her mind to the right +formation of letters. Unwisely enough, she endeavoured to repeat one +of the narratives that she had heard from Kinraid; and when she +found that Hepburn (if, indeed, he did not look upon the whole as a +silly invention) considered it only as an interruption to the real +business in hand, to which he would try to listen as patiently as he +could, in the hope of Sylvia's applying herself diligently to her +copy-book when she had cleared her mind, she contracted her pretty +lips, as if to check them from making any further appeals for +sympathy, and set about her writing-lesson in a very rebellious +frame of mind, only restrained by her mother's presence from spoken +mutiny. + +'After all,' said she, throwing down her pen, and opening and +shutting her weary, cramped hand, 'I see no good in tiring myself +wi' learning for t' write letters when I'se never got one in a' my +life. What for should I write answers, when there's niver a one +writes to me? and if I had one, I couldn't read it; it's bad enough +wi' a book o' print as I've niver seen afore, for there's sure to be +new-fangled words in 't. I'm sure I wish the man were farred who +plagues his brains wi' striking out new words. Why can't folks just +ha' a set on 'em for good and a'?' + +'Why! you'll be after using two or three hundred yoursel' every day +as you live, Sylvie; and yet I must use a great many as you never +think on about t' shop; and t' folks in t' fields want their set, +let alone the high English that parsons and lawyers speak.' + +'Well, it's weary work is reading and writing. Cannot you learn me +something else, if we mun do lessons?' + +'There's sums--and geography,' said Hepburn, slowly and gravely. + +'Geography!' said Sylvia, brightening, and perhaps not pronouncing +the word quite correctly, 'I'd like yo' to learn me geography. +There's a deal o' places I want to hear all about.' + +'Well, I'll bring up a book and a map next time. But I can tell you +something now. There's four quarters in the globe.' + +'What's that?' asked Sylvia. + +'The globe is the earth; the place we live on.' + +'Go on. Which quarter is Greenland?' + +'Greenland is no quarter. It is only a part of one.' + +'Maybe it's a half quarter.' + +'No, not so much as that.' + +'Half again?' + +'No!' he replied, smiling a little. + +She thought he was making it into a very small place in order to +tease her; so she pouted a little, and then said,-- + +'Greenland is all t' geography I want to know. Except, perhaps, +York. I'd like to learn about York, because of t' races, and London, +because King George lives there.' + +'But if you learn geography at all, you must learn 'bout all places: +which of them is hot, and which is cold, and how many inhabitants is +in each, and what's the rivers, and which is the principal towns.' + +'I'm sure, Sylvie, if Philip will learn thee all that, thou'lt be +such a sight o' knowledge as ne'er a one o' th' Prestons has been +sin' my great-grandfather lost his property. I should be main proud +o' thee; 'twould seem as if we was Prestons o' Slaideburn once +more.' + +'I'd do a deal to pleasure yo', mammy; but weary befa' riches and +land, if folks that has 'em is to write "Abednegos" by t' score, and +to get hard words int' their brains, till they work like barm, and +end wi' cracking 'em.' + +This seemed to be Sylvia's last protest against learning for the +night, for after this she turned docile, and really took pains to +understand all that Philip could teach her, by means of the not +unskilful, though rude, map which he drew for her with a piece of +charred wood on his aunt's dresser. He had asked his aunt's leave +before beginning what Sylvia called his 'dirty work;' but by-and-by +even she became a little interested in starting from a great black +spot called Monkshaven, and in the shaping of land and sea around +that one centre. Sylvia held her round chin in the palms of her +hands, supporting her elbows on the dresser; looking down at the +progress of the rough drawing in general, but now and then glancing +up at him with sudden inquiry. All along he was not so much absorbed +in his teaching as to be unconscious of her sweet proximity. She was +in her best mood towards him; neither mutinous nor saucy; and he was +striving with all his might to retain her interest, speaking better +than ever he had done before (such brightness did love call +forth!)--understanding what she would care to hear and to know; +when, in the middle of an attempt at explaining the cause of the +long polar days, of which she had heard from her childhood, he felt +that her attention was no longer his; that a discord had come in +between their minds; that she had passed out of his power. This +certainty of intuition lasted but for an instant; he had no time to +wonder or to speculate as to what had affected her so adversely to +his wishes before the door opened and Kinraid came in. Then Hepburn +knew that she must have heard his coming footsteps, and recognized +them. + +He angrily stiffened himself up into coldness of demeanour. Almost +to his surprise, Sylvia's greeting to the new comer was as cold as +his own. She stood rather behind him; so perhaps she did not see the +hand which Kinraid stretched out towards her, for she did not place +her own little palm in it, as she had done to Philip an hour ago. +And she hardly spoke, but began to pore over the rough black map, as +if seized with strong geographical curiosity, or determined to +impress Philip's lesson deep on her memory. + +Still Philip was dismayed by seeing the warm welcome which Kinraid +received from the master of the house, who came in from the back +premises almost at the same time as the specksioneer entered at the +front. Hepburn was uneasy, too, at finding Kinraid take his seat by +the fireside, like one accustomed to the ways of the house. Pipes +were soon produced. Philip disliked smoking. Possibly Kinraid did so +too, but he took a pipe at any rate, and lighted it, though he +hardly used it at all, but kept talking to farmer Robson on sea +affairs. He had the conversation pretty much to himself. Philip sat +gloomily by; Sylvia and his aunt were silent, and old Robson smoked +his long clay pipe, from time to time taking it out of his mouth to +spit into the bright copper spittoon, and to shake the white ashes +out of the bowl. Before he replaced it, he would give a short laugh +of relishing interest in Kinraid's conversation; and now and then he +put in a remark. Sylvia perched herself sideways on the end of the +dresser, and made pretence to sew; but Philip could see how often +she paused in her work to listen. + +By-and-by, his aunt spoke to him, and they kept up a little side +conversation, more because Bell Robson felt that her nephew, her own +flesh and blood, was put out, than for any special interest they +either of them felt in what they were saying. Perhaps, also, they +neither of them disliked showing that they had no great faith in the +stories Kinraid was telling. Mrs. Robson, at any rate, knew so little +as to be afraid of believing too much. + +Philip was sitting on that side of the fire which was nearest to the +window and to Sylvia, and opposite to the specksioneer. At length he +turned to his cousin and said in a low voice-- + +'I suppose we can't go on with our spell at geography till that +fellow's gone?' + +The colour came into Sylvia's cheek at the words 'that fellow'; but +she only replied with a careless air-- + +'Well, I'm one as thinks enough is as good as a feast; and I've had +enough of geography this one night, thank you kindly all the same.' + +Philip took refuge in offended silence. He was maliciously pleased +when his aunt made so much noise with her preparation for supper as +quite to prevent the sound of the sailor's words from reaching +Sylvia's ears. She saw that he was glad to perceive that her efforts +to reach the remainder of the story were baulked! this nettled her, +and, determined not to let him have his malicious triumph, and still +more to put a stop to any attempt at private conversation, she began +to sing to herself as she sat at her work; till, suddenly seized +with a desire to help her mother, she dexterously slipped down from +her seat, passed Hepburn, and was on her knees toasting cakes right +in front of the fire, and just close to her father and Kinraid. And +now the noise that Hepburn had so rejoiced in proved his foe. He +could not hear the little merry speeches that darted backwards and +forwards as the specksioneer tried to take the toasting-fork out of +Sylvia's hand. + +'How comes that sailor chap here?' asked Hepburn of his aunt. 'He's +none fit to be where Sylvia is.' + +'Nay, I dunnot know,' said she; 'the Corneys made us acquaint first, +and my master is quite fain of his company.' + +'And do you like him, too, aunt?' asked Hepburn, almost wistfully; +he had followed Mrs. Robson into the dairy on pretence of helping +her. + +'I'm none fond on him; I think he tells us traveller's tales, by way +o' seeing how much we can swallow. But the master and Sylvia think +that there never was such a one.' + +'I could show them a score as good as he down on the quayside.' + +'Well, laddie, keep a calm sough. Some folk like some folk and +others don't. Wherever I am there'll allays be a welcome for thee.' + +For the good woman thought that he had been hurt by the evident +absorption of her husband and daughter with their new friend, and +wished to make all easy and straight. But do what she would, he did +not recover his temper all evening: he was uncomfortable, put out, +not enjoying himself, and yet he would not go. He was determined to +assert his greater intimacy in that house by outstaying Kinraid. At +length the latter got up to go; but before he went, he must needs +bend over Sylvia and say something to her in so low a tone that +Philip could not hear it; and she, seized with a sudden fit of +diligence, never looked up from her sewing; only nodded her head by +way of reply. At last he took his departure, after many a little +delay, and many a quick return, which to the suspicious Philip +seemed only pretences for taking stolen glances at Sylvia. As soon +as he was decidedly gone, she folded up her work, and declared that +she was so much tired that she must go to bed there and then. Her +mother, too, had been dozing for the last half-hour, and was only +too glad to see signs that she might betake herself to her natural +place of slumber. + +'Take another glass, Philip,' said farmer Robson. + +But Hepburn refused the offer rather abruptly. He drew near to +Sylvia instead. He wanted to make her speak to him, and he saw that +she wished to avoid it. He took up the readiest pretext. It was an +unwise one as it proved, for it deprived him of his chances of +occasionally obtaining her undivided attention. + +'I don't think you care much for learning geography, Sylvie?' + +'Not much to-night,' said she, making a pretence to yawn, yet +looking timidly up at his countenance of displeasure. + +'Nor at any time,' said he, with growing anger; 'nor for any kind of +learning. I did bring some books last time I came, meaning to teach +you many a thing--but now I'll just trouble you for my books; I put +them on yon shelf by the Bible.' + +He had a mind that she should bring them to him; that, at any rate, +he should have the pleasure of receiving them out of her hands. + +Sylvia did not reply, but went and took down the books with a +languid, indifferent air. + +'And so you won't learn any more geography,' said Hepburn. + +Something in his tone struck her, and she looked up in his face. +There were marks of stern offence upon his countenance, and yet in +it there was also an air of wistful regret and sadness that touched +her. + +'Yo're niver angry with me, Philip? Sooner than vex yo', I'll try +and learn. Only, I'm just stupid; and it mun be such a trouble to +you.' + +Hepburn would fain have snatched at this half proposal that the +lessons should be continued, but he was too stubborn and proud to +say anything. He turned away from the sweet, pleading face without a +word, to wrap up his books in a piece of paper. He knew that she was +standing quite still by his side, though he made as if he did not +perceive her. When he had done he abruptly wished them all +'good-night,' and took his leave. + +There were tears in Sylvia's eyes, although the feeling in her heart +was rather one of relief. She had made a fair offer, and it had been +treated with silent contempt. A few days afterwards, her father came +in from Monkshaven market, and dropped out, among other pieces of +news, that he had met Kinraid, who was bound for his own home at +Cullercoats. He had desired his respects to Mrs. Robson and her +daughter; and had bid Robson say that he would have come up to +Haytersbank to wish them good-by, but that as he was pressed for +time, he hoped they would excuse him. But Robson did not think it +worth while to give this long message of mere politeness. Indeed, as +it did not relate to business, and was only sent to women, Robson +forgot all about it, pretty nearly as soon as it was uttered. So +Sylvia went about fretting herself for one or two days, at her +hero's apparent carelessness of those who had at any rate treated +him more like a friend than an acquaintance of only a few weeks' +standing; and then, her anger quenching her incipient regard, she +went about her daily business pretty much as though he had never +been. He had gone away out of her sight into the thick mist of +unseen life from which he had emerged--gone away without a word, and +she might never see him again. But still there was a chance of her +seeing him when he came to marry Molly Corney. Perhaps she should be +bridesmaid, and then what a pleasant merry time the wedding-day +would be! The Corneys were all such kind people, and in their family +there never seemed to be the checks and restraints by which her own +mother hedged her round. Then there came an overwhelming +self-reproaching burst of love for that 'own mother'; a humiliation +before her slightest wish, as penance for the moment's unspoken +treason; and thus Sylvia was led to request her cousin Philip to +resume his lessons in so meek a manner, that he slowly and +graciously acceded to a request which he was yearning to fulfil all +the time. + +During the ensuing winter, all went on in monotonous regularity at +Haytersbank Farm for many weeks. Hepburn came and went, and thought +Sylvia wonderfully improved in docility and sobriety; and perhaps +also he noticed the improvement in her appearance. For she was at +that age when a girl changes rapidly, and generally for the better. +Sylvia shot up into a tall young woman; her eyes deepened in colour, +her face increased in expression, and a sort of consciousness of +unusual good looks gave her a slight tinge of coquettish shyness +with the few strangers whom she ever saw. Philip hailed her interest +in geography as another sign of improvement. He had brought back his +book of maps to the farm; and there he sat on many an evening +teaching his cousin, who had strange fancies respecting the places +about which she wished to learn, and was coolly indifferent to the +very existence of other towns, and countries, and seas far more +famous in story. She was occasionally wilful, and at times very +contemptuous as to the superior knowledge of her instructor; but, in +spite of it all, Philip went regularly on the appointed evenings to +Haytersbank--through keen black east wind, or driving snow, or +slushing thaw; for he liked dearly to sit a little behind her, with +his arm on the back of her chair, she stooping over the outspread +map, with her eyes,--could he have seen them,--a good deal fixed on +one spot in the map, not Northumberland, where Kinraid was spending +the winter, but those wild northern seas about which he had told +them such wonders. + +One day towards spring, she saw Molly Corney coming towards the +farm. The companions had not met for many weeks, for Molly had been +from home visiting her relations in the north. Sylvia opened the +door, and stood smiling and shivering on the threshold, glad to see +her friend again. Molly called out, when a few paces off,-- + +'Why, Sylvia, is that thee! Why, how thou'rt growed, to be sure! +What a bonny lass thou is!' + +'Dunnot talk nonsense to my lass,' said Bell Robson, hospitably +leaving her ironing and coming to the door; but though the mother +tried to look as if she thought it nonsense, she could hardly keep +down the smile that shone out of her eyes, as she put her hand on +Sylvia's shoulder, with a fond sense of proprietorship in what was +being praised. + +'Oh! but she is,' persisted Molly. 'She's grown quite a beauty sin' +I saw her. And if I don't tell her so, the men will.' + +'Be quiet wi' thee,' said Sylvia, more than half offended, and +turning away in a huff at the open barefaced admiration. + +'Ay; but they will,' persevered Molly. 'Yo'll not keep her long, +Mistress Robson. And as mother says, yo'd feel it a deal more to +have yer daughters left on hand.' + +'Thy mother has many, I have but this one,' said Mrs. Robson, with +severe sadness; for now Molly was getting to talk as she disliked. +But Molly's purpose was to bring the conversation round to her own +affairs, of which she was very full. + +'Yes! I tell mother that wi' so many as she has, she ought to be +thankful to t' one as gets off quickest.' + +'Who? which is it?' asked Sylvia, a little eagerly, seeing that +there was news of a wedding behind the talk. + +'Why! who should it be but me?' said Molly, laughing a good deal, +and reddening a little. 'I've not gone fra' home for nought; I'se +picked up a measter on my travels, leastways one as is to be.' + +'Charley Kinraid,' said Sylvia smiling, as she found that now she +might reveal Molly's secret, which hitherto she had kept sacred. + +'Charley Kinraid be hung!' said Molly, with a toss of her head. +'Whatten good's a husband who's at sea half t' year? Ha ha, my +measter is a canny Newcassel shopkeeper, on t' Side. A reckon a've +done pretty well for mysel', and a'll wish yo' as good luck, Sylvia. +For yo' see,' (turning to Bell Robson, who, perhaps, she thought +would more appreciate the substantial advantages of her engagement +than Sylvia,) 'though Measter Brunton is near upon forty if he's a +day, yet he turns over a matter of two hundred pound every year; an +he's a good-looking man of his years too, an' a kind, good-tempered +feller int' t' bargain. He's been married once, to be sure; but his +childer are dead a' 'cept one; an' I don't mislike childer either; +an' a'll feed 'em well, an' get 'em to bed early, out o' t' road.' + +Mrs. Robson gave her her grave good wishes; but Sylvia was silent. +She was disappointed; it was a coming down from the romance with the +specksioneer for its hero. Molly laughed awkwardly, understanding +Sylvia's thoughts better than the latter imagined. + +'Sylvia's noane so well pleased. Why, lass! it's a' t' better for +thee. There's Charley to t' fore now, which if a'd married him, he'd +not ha' been; and he's said more nor once what a pretty lass yo'd +grow into by-and-by.' + +Molly's prosperity was giving her an independence and fearlessness +of talk such as had seldom appeared hitherto; and certainly never +before Mrs. Robson. Sylvia was annoyed at Molly's whole tone and +manner, which were loud, laughing, and boisterous; but to her mother +they were positively repugnant. She said shortly and gravely,-- + +'Sylvia's none so set upo' matrimony; she's content to bide wi' me +and her father. Let a be such talking, it's not i' my way.' + +Molly was a little subdued; but still her elation at the prospect of +being so well married kept cropping out of all the other subjects +which were introduced; and when she went away, Mrs. Robson broke out +in an unwonted strain of depreciation. + +'That's the way wi' some lasses. They're like a cock on a dunghill, +when they've teased a silly chap into wedding 'em. It's +cock-a-doodle-do, I've cotched a husband, cock-a-doodle-doo, wi' +'em. I've no patience wi' such like; I beg, Sylvie, thou'lt not get +too thick wi' Molly. She's not pretty behaved, making such an ado +about men-kind, as if they were two-headed calves to be run after.' + +'But Molly's a good-hearted lass, mother. Only I never dreamt but +what she was troth-plighted wi' Charley Kinraid,' said Sylvia, +meditatively. + +'That wench 'll be troth-plight to th' first man as 'll wed her and +keep her i' plenty; that's a' she thinks about,' replied Bell, +scornfully. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +VISIONS OF THE FUTURE + + +Before May was out, Molly Corney was married and had left the +neighbourhood for Newcastle. Although Charley Kinraid was not the +bridegroom, Sylvia's promise to be bridesmaid was claimed. But the +friendship brought on by the circumstances of neighbourhood and +parity of age had become very much weakened in the time that elapsed +between Molly's engagement and wedding. In the first place, she +herself was so absorbed in her preparations, so elated by her good +fortune in getting married, and married, too, before her elder +sister, that all her faults blossomed out full and strong. Sylvia +felt her to be selfish; Mrs. Robson thought her not maidenly. A year +before she would have been far more missed and regretted by Sylvia; +now it was almost a relief to the latter to be freed from the +perpetual calls upon her sympathy, from the constant demands upon +her congratulations, made by one who had no thought or feeling to +bestow on others; at least, not in these weeks of 'cock-a-doodle-dooing,' +as Mrs. Robson persisted in calling it. It was seldom that Bell +was taken with a humorous idea; but this once having hatched a +solitary joke, she was always clucking it into notice--to go on +with her own poultry simile. + +Every time during that summer that Philip saw his cousin, he thought +her prettier than she had ever been before; some new touch of +colour, some fresh sweet charm, seemed to have been added, just as +every summer day calls out new beauty in the flowers. And this was +not the addition of Philip's fancy. Hester Rose, who met Sylvia on +rare occasions, came back each time with a candid, sad +acknowledgement in her heart that it was no wonder that Sylvia was +so much admired and loved. + +One day Hester had seen her sitting near her mother in the +market-place; there was a basket by her, and over the clean cloth +that covered the yellow pounds of butter, she had laid the +hedge-roses and honeysuckles she had gathered on the way into +Monkshaven; her straw hat was on her knee, and she was busy placing +some of the flowers in the ribbon that went round it. Then she held +it on her hand, and turned it round about, putting her head on one +side, the better to view the effect; and all this time, Hester, +peeping at her through the folds of the stuffs displayed in Foster's +windows, saw her with admiring, wistful eyes; wondering, too, if +Philip, at the other counter, were aware of his cousin's being +there, so near to him. Then Sylvia put on her hat, and, looking up +at Foster's windows, caught Hester's face of interest, and smiled +and blushed at the consciousness of having been watched over her +little vanities, and Hester smiled back, but rather sadly. Then a +customer came in, and she had to attend to her business, which, on +this as on all market days, was great. In the midst she was aware of +Philip rushing bare-headed out of the shop, eager and delighted at +something he saw outside. There was a little looking-glass hung +against the wall on Hester's side, placed in that retired corner, in +order that the good women who came to purchase head-gear of any kind +might see the effect thereof before they concluded their bargain. In +a pause of custom, Hester, half-ashamed, stole into this corner, and +looked at herself in the glass. What did she see? a colourless face, +dark soft hair with no light gleams in it, eyes that were melancholy +instead of smiling, a mouth compressed with a sense of +dissatisfaction. This was what she had to compare with the bright +bonny face in the sunlight outside. She gave a gulp to check the +sigh that was rising, and came back, even more patient than she had +been before this disheartening peep, to serve all the whims and +fancies of purchasers. + +Sylvia herself had been rather put out by Philip's way of coming to +her. 'It made her look so silly,' she thought; and 'what for must he +make a sight of himself, coming among the market folk in +that-a-way'; and when he took to admiring her hat, she pulled out +the flowers in a pet, and threw them down, and trampled them under +foot. + +'What for art thou doing that, Sylvie?' said her mother. 'The +flowers is well enough, though may-be thy hat might ha' been +stained.' + +'I don't like Philip to speak to me so,' said Sylvia, pouting. + +'How?' asked her mother. + +But Sylvia could not repeat his words. She hung her head, and looked +red and pre-occupied, anything but pleased. Philip had addressed his +first expression of personal admiration at an unfortunate tune. + +It just shows what different views different men and women take of +their fellow-creatures, when I say that Hester looked upon Philip as +the best and most agreeable man she had ever known. He was not one +to speak of himself without being questioned on the subject, so his +Haytersbank relations, only come into the neighborhood in the last +year or two, knew nothing of the trials he had surmounted, or the +difficult duties he had performed. His aunt, indeed, had strong +faith in him, both from partial knowledge of his character, and +because he was of her own tribe and kin; but she had never learnt +the small details of his past life. Sylvia respected him as her +mother's friend, and treated him tolerably well as long as he +preserved his usual self-restraint of demeanour, but hardly ever +thought of him when he was absent. + +Now Hester, who had watched him daily for all the years since he had +first come as an errand-boy into Foster's shop--watching with quiet, +modest, yet observant eyes--had seen how devoted he was to his +master's interests, had known of his careful and punctual +ministration to his absent mother's comforts, as long as she was +living to benefit by his silent, frugal self-denial. + +His methodical appropriation of the few hours he could call his own +was not without its charms to the equally methodical Hester; the way +in which he reproduced any lately acquired piece of +knowledge--knowledge so wearisome to Sylvia--was delightfully +instructive to Hester--although, as she was habitually silent, it +would have required an observer more interested in discovering her +feelings than Philip was to have perceived the little flush on the +pale cheek, and the brightness in the half-veiled eyes whenever he +was talking. She had not thought of love on either side. Love was a +vanity, a worldliness not to be spoken about, or even thought about. +Once or twice before the Robsons came into the neighbourhood, an +idea had crossed her mind that possibly the quiet, habitual way in +which she and Philip lived together, might drift them into matrimony +at some distant period; and she could not bear the humble advances +which Coulson, Philip's fellow-lodger, sometimes made. They seemed +to disgust her with him. + +But after the Robsons settled at Haytersbank, Philip's evenings were +so often spent there that any unconscious hopes Hester might, +unawares, have entertained, died away. At first she had felt a pang +akin to jealousy when she heard of Sylvia, the little cousin, who +was passing out of childhood into womanhood. Once--early in those +days--she had ventured to ask Philip what Sylvia was like. Philip +had not warmed up at the question, and had given rather a dry +catalogue of her features, hair, and height, but Hester, almost to +her own surprise, persevered, and jerked out the final question. + +'Is she pretty?' + +Philip's sallow cheek grew deeper by two or three shades; but he +answered with a tone of indifference,-- + +'I believe some folks think her so.' + +'But do you?' persevered Hester, in spite of her being aware that he +somehow disliked the question. + +'There's no need for talking o' such things,' he answered, with +abrupt displeasure. + +Hester silenced her curiosity from that time. But her heart was not +quite at ease, and she kept on wondering whether Philip thought his +little cousin pretty until she saw her and him together, on that +occasion of which we have spoken, when Sylvia came to the shop to +buy her new cloak; and after that Hester never wondered whether +Philip thought his cousin pretty or no, for she knew quite well. +Bell Robson had her own anxieties on the subject of her daughter's +increasing attractions. She apprehended the dangers consequent upon +certain facts, by a mental process more akin to intuition than +reason. She was uncomfortable, even while her motherly vanity was +flattered, at the admiration Sylvia received from the other sex. +This admiration was made evident to her mother in many ways. When +Sylvia was with her at market, it might have been thought that the +doctors had prescribed a diet of butter and eggs to all the men +under forty in Monkshaven. At first it seemed to Mrs. Robson but a +natural tribute to the superior merit of her farm produce; but by +degrees she perceived that if Sylvia remained at home, she stood no +better chance than her neighbours of an early sale. There were more +customers than formerly for the fleeces stored in the wool-loft; +comely young butchers came after the calf almost before it had been +decided to sell it; in short, excuses were seldom wanting to those +who wished to see the beauty of Haytersbank Farm. All this made Bell +uncomfortable, though she could hardly have told what she dreaded. +Sylvia herself seemed unspoilt by it as far as her home relations +were concerned. A little thoughtless she had always been, and +thoughtless she was still; but, as her mother had often said, 'Yo' +canna put old heads on young shoulders;' and if blamed for her +carelessness by her parents, Sylvia was always as penitent as she +could be for the time being. To be sure, it was only to her father +and mother that she remained the same as she had been when an +awkward lassie of thirteen. Out of the house there were the most +contradictory opinions of her, especially if the voices of women +were to be listened to. She was 'an ill-favoured, overgrown thing'; +'just as bonny as the first rose i' June, and as sweet i' her nature +as t' honeysuckle a-climbing round it;' she was 'a vixen, with a +tongue sharp enough to make yer very heart bleed;' she was 'just a +bit o' sunshine wheriver she went;' she was sulky, lively, witty, +silent, affectionate, or cold-hearted, according to the person who +spoke about her. In fact, her peculiarity seemed to be this--that +every one who knew her talked about her either in praise or blame; +in church, or in market, she unconsciously attracted attention; they +could not forget her presence, as they could that of other girls +perhaps more personally attractive. Now all this was a cause of +anxiety to her mother, who began to feel as if she would rather have +had her child passed by in silence than so much noticed. Bell's +opinion was, that it was creditable to a woman to go through life in +the shadow of obscurity,--never named except in connexion with good +housewifery, husband, or children. Too much talking about a girl, +even in the way of praise, disturbed Mrs. Robson's opinion of her; +and when her neighbours told her how her own daughter was admired, +she would reply coldly, 'She's just well enough,' and change the +subject of conversation. But it was quite different with her +husband. To his looser, less-restrained mind, it was agreeable to +hear of, and still more to see, the attention which his daughter's +beauty received. He felt it as reflecting consequence on himself. He +had never troubled his mind with speculations as to whether he +himself was popular, still less whether he was respected. He was +pretty welcome wherever he went, as a jovial good-natured man, who +had done adventurous and illegal things in his youth, which in some +measure entitled him to speak out his opinions on life in general in +the authoritative manner he generally used; but, of the two, he +preferred consorting with younger men, to taking a sober stand of +respectability with the elders of the place; and he perceived, +without reasoning upon it, that the gay daring spirits were more +desirous of his company when Sylvia was by his side than at any +other time. One or two of these would saunter up to Haytersbank on a +Sunday afternoon, and lounge round his fields with the old farmer. +Bell kept herself from the nap which had been her weekly solace for +years, in order to look after Sylvia, and on such occasions she +always turned as cold a shoulder to the visitors as her sense of +hospitality and of duty to her husband would permit. But if they did +not enter the house, old Robson would always have Sylvia with him +when he went the round of his land. Bell could see them from the +upper window: the young men standing in the attitudes of listeners, +while Daniel laid down the law on some point, enforcing his words by +pantomimic actions with his thick stick; and Sylvia, half turning +away as if from some too admiring gaze, was possibly picking flowers +out of the hedge-bank. These Sunday afternoon strolls were the +plague of Bell's life that whole summer. Then it took as much of +artifice as was in the simple woman's nature to keep Daniel from +insisting on having Sylvia's company every time he went down to +Monkshaven. And here, again, came a perplexity, the acknowledgement +of which in distinct thought would have been an act of disloyalty, +according to Bell's conscience. If Sylvia went with her father, he +never drank to excess; and that was a good gain to health at any +rate (drinking was hardly a sin against morals in those days, and in +that place); so, occasionally, she was allowed to accompany him to +Monkshaven as a check upon his folly; for he was too fond and proud +of his daughter to disgrace her by any open excess. But one Sunday +afternoon early in November, Philip came up before the time at which +he usually paid his visits. He looked grave and pale; and his aunt +began,-- + +'Why, lad! what's been ado? Thou'rt looking as peaked and pined as a +Methody preacher after a love-feast, when he's talked hisself to +Death's door. Thee dost na' get good milk enow, that's what it +is,--such stuff as Monkshaven folks put up wi'!' + +'No, aunt; I'm quite well. Only I'm a bit put out--vexed like at +what I've heerd about Sylvie.' + +His aunt's face changed immediately. + +'And whatten folk say of her, next thing?' + +'Oh,' said Philip, struck by the difference of look and manner in +his aunt, and subdued by seeing how instantly she took alarm. 'It +were only my uncle;--he should na' take a girl like her to a public. +She were wi' him at t' "Admiral's Head" upo' All Souls' Day--that +were all. There were many a one there beside,--it were statute fair; +but such a one as our Sylvie ought not to be cheapened wi' t' rest.' + +'And he took her there, did he?' said Bell, in severe meditation. 'I +had never no opinion o' th' wenches as 'll set theirselves to be +hired for servants i' th' fair; they're a bad lot, as cannot find +places for theirselves--'bout going and stannin' to be stared at by +folk, and grinnin' wi' th' plough-lads when no one's looking; it's a +bad look-out for t' missus as takes one o' these wenches for a +servant; and dost ta mean to say as my Sylvie went and demeaned +hersel' to dance and marlock wi' a' th' fair-folk at th' "Admiral's +Head?"' + +'No, no, she did na' dance; she barely set foot i' th' room; but it +were her own pride as saved her; uncle would niver ha' kept her from +it, for he had fallen in wi' Hayley o' Seaburn and one or two +others, and they were having a glass i' t' bar, and Mrs. Lawson, t' +landlady, knew how there was them who would come and dance among +parish 'prentices if need were, just to get a word or a look wi' +Sylvie! So she tempts her in, saying that the room were all +smartened and fine wi' flags; and there was them in the room as told +me that they never were so startled as when they saw our Sylvie's +face peeping in among all t' flustered maids and men, rough and red +wi' weather and drink; and Jem Macbean, he said she were just like a +bit o' apple-blossom among peonies; and some man, he didn't know +who, went up and spoke to her; an' either at that, or at some o' t' +words she heard--for they'd got a good way on afore that time--she +went quite white and mad, as if fire were coming out of her eyes, +and then she turned red and left the room, for all t' landlady tried +to laugh it off and keep her in.' + +'I'll be down to Monkshaven before I'm a day older, and tell +Margaret Lawson some on my mind as she'll not forget in a hurry.' + +Bell moved as though she would put on her cloak and hood there and +then. + +'Nay, it's not in reason as a woman i' that line o' life shouldn't +try to make her house agreeable,' said Philip. + +'Not wi' my wench,' said Bell, in a determined voice. + +Philip's information had made a deeper impression on his aunt than +he intended. He himself had been annoyed more at the idea that +Sylvia would be spoken of as having been at a rough piece of rustic +gaiety--a yearly festival for the lower classes of Yorkshire +servants, out-door as well as in-door--than at the affair itself, +for he had learnt from his informant how instantaneous her +appearance had been. He stood watching his aunt's troubled face, and +almost wishing that he had not spoken. At last she heaved a deep +sigh, and stirring the fire, as if by this little household +occupation to compose her mind, she said-- + +'It's a pity as wenches aren't lads, or married folk. I could ha' +wished--but it were the Lord's will--It would ha' been summut to +look to, if she'd had a brother. My master is so full on his own +thoughts, yo' see, he's no mind left for thinking on her, what wi' +th' oats, and th' wool, and th' young colt, and his venture i' th' +_Lucky Mary_.' + +She really believed her husband to have the serious and important +occupation for his mind that she had been taught to consider +befitting the superior intellect of the masculine gender; she would +have taxed herself severely, if, even in thought, she had blamed +him, and Philip respected her feelings too much to say that Sylvia's +father ought to look after her more closely if he made such a pretty +creature so constantly his companion; yet some such speech was only +just pent within Philip's closed lips. Again his aunt spoke-- + +'I used to think as she and yo' might fancy one another, but thou'rt +too old-fashioned like for her; ye would na' suit; and it's as well, +for now I can say to thee, that I would take it very kindly if thou +would'st look after her a bit.' + +Philip's countenance fell into gloom. He had to gulp down certain +feelings before he could make answer with discretion. + +'How can I look after her, and me tied to the shop more and more +every day?' + +'I could send her on a bit of an errand to Foster's, and then, for +sure, yo' might keep an eye upon her when she's in th' town; and +just walk a bit way with her when she's in th' street, and keep t' +other fellows off her--Ned Simpson, t' butcher, in 'special, for +folks do say he means no good by any girl he goes wi'--and I'll ask +father to leave her a bit more wi' me. They're coming down th' brow, +and Ned Simpson wi' them. Now, Philip, I look to thee to do a +brother's part by my wench, and warn off all as isn't fit.' + +The door opened, and the coarse strong voice of Simpson made itself +heard. He was a stout man, comely enough as to form and feature, but +with a depth of colour in his face that betokened the coming on of +the habits of the sot. His Sunday hat was in his hand, and he +smoothed the long nap of it, as he said, with a mixture of shyness +and familiarity-- + +'Sarvant, missus. Yo'r measter is fain that I should come in an' +have a drop; no offence, I hope?' + +Sylvia passed quickly through the house-place, and went upstairs +without speaking to her cousin Philip or to any one. He sat on, +disliking the visitor, and almost disliking his hospitable uncle for +having brought Simpson into the house, sympathizing with his aunt in +the spirit which prompted her curt answers, and in the intervals of +all these feelings wondering what ground she had for speaking as if +she had now given up all thought of Sylvia and him ever being +married, and in what way he was too 'old-fashioned.' + +Robson would gladly have persuaded Philip to join him and Simpson in +their drink, but Philip was in no sociable mood, and sate a little +aloof, watching the staircase down which sooner or later Sylvia must +come; for, as perhaps has been already said, the stairs went up +straight out of the kitchen. And at length his yearning watch was +rewarded; first, the little pointed toe came daintily in sight, then +the trim ankle in the tight blue stocking, the wool of which was +spun and the web of which was knitted by her mother's careful hands; +then the full brown stuff petticoat, the arm holding the petticoat +back in decent folds, so as not to encumber the descending feet; the +slender neck and shoulders hidden under the folded square of fresh +white muslin; the crowning beauty of the soft innocent face radiant +in colour, and with the light brown curls clustering around. She +made her way quickly to Philip's side; how his heart beat at her +approach! and even more when she entered into a low-voiced +_tete-a-tete_. + +'Isn't he gone yet?' said she. 'I cannot abide him; I could ha' +pinched father when he asked him for t' come in.' + +'Maybe, he'll not stay long,' said Philip, hardly understanding the +meaning of what he said, so sweet was it to have her making her +whispered confidences to him. + +But Simpson was not going to let her alone in the dark corner +between the door and the window. He began paying her some coarse +country compliments--too strong in their direct flattery for even +her father's taste, more especially as he saw by his wife's set lips +and frowning brow how much she disapproved of their visitor's style +of conversation. + +'Come, measter, leave t' lass alone; she's set up enough a'ready, +her mother makes such a deal on her. Yo' an' me's men for sensible +talk at our time o' life. An', as I was saying, t' horse was a +weaver if iver one was, as any one could ha' told as had come within +a mile on him.' + +And in this way the old farmer and the bluff butcher chatted on +about horses, while Philip and Sylvia sate together, he turning over +all manner of hopes and projects for the future, in spite of his +aunt's opinion that he was too 'old-fashioned' for her dainty, +blooming daughter. Perhaps, too, Mrs. Robson saw some reason for +changing her mind on this head as she watched Sylvia this night, for +she accompanied Philip to the door, when the time came for him to +start homewards, and bade him 'good-night' with unusual fervour, +adding-- + +'Thou'st been a deal o' comfort to me, lad--a'most as one as if thou +wert a child o' my own, as at times I could welly think thou art to +be. Anyways, I trust to thee to look after the lile lass, as has no +brother to guide her among men--and men's very kittle for a woman to +deal wi; but if thou'lt have an eye on whom she consorts wi', my +mind 'll be easier.' + +Philip's heart beat fast, but his voice was as calm as usual when he +replied-- + +'I'd just keep her a bit aloof from Monkshaven folks; a lass is +always the more thought on for being chary of herself; and as for t' +rest, I'll have an eye to the folks she goes among, and if I see +that they don't befit her, I'll just give her a warning, for she's +not one to like such chaps as yon Simpson there; she can see what's +becoming in a man to say to a lass, and what's not.' + +Philip set out on his two-mile walk home with a tumult of happiness +in his heart. He was not often carried away by delusions of his own +creating; to-night he thought he had good ground for believing that +by patient self-restraint he might win Sylvia's love. A year ago he +had nearly earned her dislike by obtruding upon her looks and words +betokening his passionate love. He alarmed her girlish coyness, as +well as wearied her with the wish he had then felt that she should +take an interest in his pursuits. But, with unusual wisdom, he had +perceived his mistake; it was many months now since he had betrayed, +by word or look, that she was anything more to him than a little +cousin to be cared for and protected when need was. The consequence +was that she had become tamed, just as a wild animal is tamed; he +had remained tranquil and impassive, almost as if he did not +perceive her shy advances towards friendliness. These advances were +made by her after the lessons had ceased. She was afraid lest he was +displeased with her behaviour in rejecting his instructions, and was +not easy till she was at peace with him; and now, to all appearance, +he and she were perfect friends, but nothing more. In his absence +she would not allow her young companions to laugh at his grave +sobriety of character, and somewhat prim demeanour; she would even +go against her conscience, and deny that she perceived any +peculiarity. When she wanted it, she sought his advice on such small +subjects as came up in her daily life; and she tried not to show +signs of weariness when he used more words--and more difficult +words--than were necessary to convey his ideas. But her ideal +husband was different from Philip in every point, the two images +never for an instant merged into one. To Philip she was the only +woman in the world; it was the one subject on which he dared not +consider, for fear that both conscience and judgment should decide +against him, and that he should be convinced against his will that +she was an unfit mate for him, that she never would be his, and that +it was waste of time and life to keep her shrined in the dearest +sanctuary of his being, to the exclusion of all the serious and +religious aims which, in any other case, he would have been the +first to acknowledge as the object he ought to pursue. For he had +been brought up among the Quakers, and shared in their austere +distrust of a self-seeking spirit; yet what else but self-seeking +was his passionate prayer, 'Give me Sylvia, or else, I die?' No +other vision had ever crossed his masculine fancy for a moment; his +was a rare and constant love that deserved a better fate than it met +with. At this time his hopes were high, as I have said, not merely +as to the growth of Sylvia's feelings towards him, but as to the +probability of his soon being in a position to place her in such +comfort, as his wife, as she had never enjoyed before. + +For the brothers Foster were thinking of retiring from business, and +relinquishing the shop to their two shopmen, Philip Hepburn and +William Coulson. To be sure, it was only by looking back for a few +months, and noticing chance expressions and small indications, that +this intention of theirs could be discovered. But every step they +took tended this way, and Philip knew their usual practice of +deliberation too well to feel in the least impatient for the quicker +progress of the end which he saw steadily approaching. The whole +atmosphere of life among the Friends at this date partook of this +character of self-repression, and both Coulson and Hepburn shared in +it. Coulson was just as much aware of the prospect opening before +him as Hepburn; but they never spoke together on the subject, +although their mutual knowledge might be occasionally implied in +their conversation on their future lives. Meanwhile the Fosters were +imparting more of the background of their business to their +successors. For the present, at least, the brothers meant to retain +an interest in the shop, even after they had given up the active +management; and they sometimes thought of setting up a separate +establishment as bankers. The separation of the business,--the +introduction of their shopmen to the distant manufacturers who +furnished their goods (in those days the system of 'travellers' was +not so widely organized as it is at present),--all these steps were +in gradual progress; and already Philip saw himself in imagination +in the dignified position of joint master of the principal shop in +Monkshaven, with Sylvia installed as his wife, with certainly a silk +gown, and possibly a gig at her disposal. In all Philip's visions of +future prosperity, it was Sylvia who was to be aggrandized by them; +his own life was to be spent as it was now, pretty much between the +four shop walls. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +NEW YEAR'S FETE + + +All this enlargement of interest in the shop occupied Philip fully +for some months after the period referred to in the preceding +chapter. Remembering his last conversation with his aunt, he might +have been uneasy at his inability to perform his promise and look +after his pretty cousin, but that about the middle of November Bell +Robson had fallen ill of a rheumatic fever, and that her daughter +had been entirely absorbed in nursing her. No thought of company or +gaiety was in Sylvia's mind as long as her mother's illness lasted; +vehement in all her feelings, she discovered in the dread of losing +her mother how passionately she was attached to her. Hitherto she +had supposed, as children so often do, that her parents would live +for ever; and now when it was a question of days, whether by that +time the following week her mother might not be buried out of her +sight for ever, she clung to every semblance of service to be +rendered, or affection shown, as if she hoped to condense the love +and care of years into the few days only that might remain. Mrs. +Robson lingered on, began slowly to recover, and before Christmas +was again sitting by the fireside in the house-place, wan and pulled +down, muffled up with shawls and blankets, but still there once +more, where not long before Sylvia had scarcely expected to see her +again. Philip came up that evening and found Sylvia in wild spirits. +She thought that everything was done, now that her mother had once +come downstairs again; she laughed with glee; she kissed her mother; +she shook hands with Philip, she almost submitted to a speech of +more than usual tenderness from him; but, in the midst of his words, +her mother's pillows wanted arranging and she went to her chair, +paying no more heed to his words than if they had been addressed to +the cat, that lying on the invalid's knee was purring out her +welcome to the weak hand feebly stroking her back. Robson himself +soon came in, looking older and more subdued since Philip had seen +him last. He was very urgent that his wife should have some spirits +and water; but on her refusal, almost as if she loathed the thought +of the smell, he contented himself with sharing her tea, though he +kept abusing the beverage as 'washing the heart out of a man,' and +attributing all the degeneracy of the world, growing up about him in +his old age, to the drinking of such slop. At the same time, his +little self-sacrifice put him in an unusually good temper; and, +mingled with his real gladness at having his wife once more on the +way to recovery, brought back some of the old charm of tenderness +combined with light-heartedness, which had won the sober Isabella +Preston long ago. He sat by her side, holding her hand, and talking +of old times to the young couple opposite; of his adventures and +escapes, and how he had won his wife. She, faintly smiling at the +remembrance of those days, yet half-ashamed at having the little +details of her courtship revealed, from time to time kept saying,-- + +'For shame wi' thee, Dannel--I never did,' and faint denials of a +similar kind. + +'Niver believe her, Sylvie. She were a woman, and there's niver a +woman but likes to have a sweetheart, and can tell when a chap's +castin' sheep's-eyes at her; ay, an' afore he knows what he's about +hissen. She were a pretty one then, was my old 'ooman, an' liked +them as thought her so, though she did cock her head high, as bein' +a Preston, which were a family o' standin' and means i' those parts +aforetime. There's Philip there, I'll warrant, is as proud o' bein' +Preston by t' mother's side, for it runs i' t' blood, lass. A can +tell when a child of a Preston tak's to being proud o' their kin, by +t' cut o' their nose. Now Philip's and my missus's has a turn beyond +common i' their nostrils, as if they was sniffin' at t' rest of us +world, an' seein' if we was good enough for 'em to consort wi'. Thee +an' me, lass, is Robsons--oat-cake folk, while they's pie-crust. +Lord! how Bell used to speak to me, as short as though a wasn't a +Christian, an' a' t' time she loved me as her very life, an' well a +knew it, tho' a'd to mak' as tho' a didn't. Philip, when thou goes +courtin', come t' me, and a'll give thee many a wrinkle. A've shown, +too, as a know well how t' choose a good wife by tokens an' signs, +hannot a, missus? Come t' me, my lad, and show me t' lass, an' a'll +just tak' a squint at her, an' tell yo' if she'll do or not; an' if +she'll do, a'll teach yo' how to win her.' + +'They say another o' yon Corney girls is going to be married,' said +Mrs. Robson, in her faint deliberate tones. + +'By gosh, an' it's well thou'st spoke on 'em; a was as clean +forgettin' it as iver could be. A met Nanny Corney i' Monkshaven +last neet, and she axed me for t' let our Sylvia come o' New Year's +Eve, an' see Molly an' her man, that 'n as is wed beyond Newcassel, +they'll be over at her feyther's, for t' New Year, an' there's to be +a merry-making.' + +Sylvia's colour came, her eyes brightened, she would have liked to +go; but the thought of her mother came across her, and her features +fell. Her mother's eye caught the look and the change, and knew what +both meant as well as if Sylvia had spoken out. + +'Thursday se'nnight,' said she. 'I'll be rare and strong by then, +and Sylvie shall go play hersen; she's been nurse-tending long +enough.' + +'You're but weakly yet,' said Philip shortly; he did not intend to +say it, but the words seemed to come out in spite of himself. + +'A said as our lass should come, God willin', if she only came and +went, an' thee goin' on sprightly, old 'ooman. An' a'll turn +nurse-tender mysen for t' occasion, 'special if thou can stand t' +good honest smell o' whisky by then. So, my lass, get up thy smart +clothes, and cut t' best on 'em out, as becomes a Preston. Maybe, +a'll fetch thee home, an' maybe Philip will convoy thee, for Nanny +Corney bade thee to t' merry-making, as well. She said her measter +would be seem' thee about t' wool afore then.' + +'I don't think as I can go,' said Philip, secretly pleased to know +that he had the opportunity in his power; 'I'm half bound to go Wi' +Hester Rose and her mother to t' watch-night.' + +'Is Hester a Methodee?' asked Sylvia in surprise. + +'No! she's neither a Methodee, nor a Friend, nor a Church person; +but she's a turn for serious things, choose wherever they're found.' + +'Well, then,' said good-natured farmer Robson, only seeing the +surface of things, 'a'll make shift to fetch Sylvie back fra' t' +merry-making, and thee an' thy young woman can go to t' +prayer-makin'; it's every man to his taste, say I.' + +But in spite of his half-promise, nay against his natural +inclination, Philip was lured to the Corneys' by the thought of +meeting Sylvia, of watching her and exulting in her superiority in +pretty looks and ways to all the other girls likely to be assembled. +Besides (he told his conscience) he was pledged to his aunt to watch +over Sylvia like a brother. So in the interval before New Year's +Eve, he silently revelled as much as any young girl in the +anticipation of the happy coming time. + +At this hour, all the actors in this story having played out their +parts and gone to their rest, there is something touching in +recording the futile efforts made by Philip to win from Sylvia the +love he yearned for. But, at the time, any one who had watched him +might have been amused to see the grave, awkward, plain young man +studying patterns and colours for a new waistcoat, with his head a +little on one side, after the meditative manner common to those who +are choosing a new article of dress. They might have smiled could +they have read in his imagination the frequent rehearsals of the +coming evening, when he and she should each be dressed in their gala +attire, to spend a few hours under a bright, festive aspect, among +people whose company would oblige them to assume a new demeanour +towards each other, not so familiar as their every-day manner, but +allowing more scope for the expression of rustic gallantry. Philip +had so seldom been to anything of the kind, that, even had Sylvia +not been going, he would have felt a kind of shy excitement at the +prospect of anything so unusual. But, indeed, if Sylvia had not been +going, it is very probable that Philip's rigid conscience might have +been aroused to the question whether such parties did not savour too +much of the world for him to form one in them. + +As it was, however, the facts to him were simply these. He was going +and she was going. The day before, he had hurried off to Haytersbank +Farm with a small paper parcel in his pocket--a ribbon with a little +briar-rose pattern running upon it for Sylvia. It was the first +thing he had ever ventured to give her--the first thing of the kind +would, perhaps, be more accurate; for when he had first begun to +teach her any lessons, he had given her Mavor's Spelling-book, but +that he might have done, out of zeal for knowledge, to any dunce of +a little girl of his acquaintance. This ribbon was quite a different +kind of present; he touched it tenderly, as if he were caressing it, +when he thought of her wearing it; the briar-rose (sweetness and +thorns) seemed to be the very flower for her; the soft, green ground +on which the pink and brown pattern ran, was just the colour to show +off her complexion. And she would in a way belong to him: her +cousin, her mentor, her chaperon, her lover! While others only +admired, he might hope to appropriate; for of late they had been +such happy friends! Her mother approved of him, her father liked +him. A few months, perhaps only a few weeks more of self-restraint, +and then he might go and speak openly of his wishes, and what he had +to offer. For he had resolved, with the quiet force of his +character, to wait until all was finally settled between him and his +masters, before he declared himself to either Sylvia or her parents. +The interval was spent in patient, silent endeavours to recommend +himself to her. + +He had to give his ribbon to his aunt in charge for Sylvia, and that +was a disappointment to his fancy, although he tried to reason +himself into thinking that it was better so. He had not time to wait +for her return from some errand on which she had gone, for he was +daily more and more occupied with the affairs of the shop. + +Sylvia made many a promise to her mother, and more to herself, that +she would not stay late at the party, but she might go as early as +she liked; and before the December daylight had faded away, Sylvia +presented herself at the Corneys'. She was to come early in order to +help to set out the supper, which was arranged in the large old +flagged parlour, which served as best bed-room as well. It opened +out of the house-place, and was the sacred room of the house, as +chambers of a similar description are still considered in retired +farmhouses in the north of England. They are used on occasions like +the one now described for purposes of hospitality; but in the state +bed, overshadowing so large a portion of the floor, the births and, +as far as may be, the deaths, of the household take place. At the +Corneys', the united efforts of some former generation of the family +had produced patchwork curtains and coverlet; and patchwork was +patchwork in those days, before the early Yates and Peels had found +out the secret of printing the parsley-leaf. Scraps of costly Indian +chintzes and palempours were intermixed with commoner black and red +calico in minute hexagons; and the variety of patterns served for +the useful purpose of promoting conversation as well as the more +obvious one of displaying the work-woman 's taste. Sylvia, for +instance, began at once to her old friend, Molly Brunton, who had +accompanied her into this chamber to take off her hat and cloak, +with a remark on one of the chintzes. Stooping over the counterpane, +with a face into which the flush would come whether or no, she said +to Molly,-- + +'Dear! I never seed this one afore--this--for all t' world like th' +eyes in a peacock's tail.' + +'Thou's seen it many a time and oft, lass. But weren't thou +surprised to find Charley here? We picked him up at Shields, quite +by surprise like; and when Brunton and me said as we was comin' +here, nought would serve him but comin' with us, for t' see t' new +year in. It's a pity as your mother's ta'en this time for t' fall +ill and want yo' back so early.' + +Sylvia had taken off her hat and cloak by this time, and began to +help Molly and a younger unmarried sister in laying out the +substantial supper. + +'Here,' continued Mrs. Brunton; 'stick a bit o' holly i' yon pig's +mouth, that's the way we do things i' Newcassel; but folks is so +behindhand in Monkshaven. It's a fine thing to live in a large town, +Sylvia; an' if yo're looking out for a husband, I'd advise yo' to +tak' one as lives in a town. I feel as if I were buried alive comin' +back here, such an out-o'-t'-way place after t' Side, wheere there's +many a hundred carts and carriages goes past in a day. I've a great +mind for t' tak yo' two lassies back wi' me, and let yo' see a bit +o' t' world; may-be, I may yet. + +Her sister Bessy looked much pleased with this plan, but Sylvia was +rather inclined to take offence at Molly's patronizing ways, and +replied,-- + +'I'm none so fond o' noise and bustle; why, yo'll not be able to +hear yoursels speak wi' all them carts and carriages. I'd rayther +bide at home; let alone that mother can't spare me.' + +It was, perhaps, a rather ungracious way of answering Molly +Brunton's speech, and so she felt it to be, although her invitation +had been none of the most courteously worded. She irritated Sylvia +still further by repeating her last words,-- + +'"Mother can't spare me;" why, mother 'll have to spare thee +sometime, when t' time for wedding comes.' + +'I'm none going to be wed,' said Sylvia; 'and if I were, I'd niver +go far fra' mother.' + +'Eh! what a spoilt darling it is. How Brunton will laugh when I tell +him about yo'; Brunton's a rare one for laughin'. It's a great thing +to have got such a merry man for a husband. Why! he has his joke for +every one as comes into t' shop; and he'll ha' something funny to +say to everything this evenin'.' + +Bessy saw that Sylvia was annoyed, and, with more delicacy than her +sister, she tried to turn the conversation. + +'That's a pretty ribbon in thy hair, Sylvia; I'd like to have one o' +t' same pattern. Feyther likes pickled walnuts stuck about t' round +o' beef, Molly.' + +'I know what I'm about,' replied Mrs. Brunton, with a toss of her +married head. + +Bessy resumed her inquiry. + +'Is there any more to be had wheere that come fra', Sylvia?' + +'I don't know,' replied Sylvia. 'It come fra' Foster's, and yo' can +ask.' + +'What might it cost?' said Betsy, fingering an end of it to test its +quality. + +'I can't tell,' said Sylvia, 'it were a present.' + +'Niver mak' ado about t' price,' said Molly; 'I'll gi'e thee enough +on 't to tie up thy hair, just like Sylvia's. Only thou hastn't such +wealth o' curls as she has; it'll niver look t' same i' thy straight +locks. And who might it be as give it thee, Sylvia?' asked the +unscrupulous, if good-natured Molly. + +'My cousin Philip, him as is shopman at Foster's,' said Sylvia, +innocently. But it was far too good an opportunity for the exercise +of Molly's kind of wit for her to pass over. + +'Oh, oh! our cousin Philip, is it? and he'll not be living so far +away from your mother? I've no need be a witch to put two and two +together. He's a coming here to-night, isn't he, Bessy?' + +'I wish yo' wouldn't talk so, Molly,' said Sylvia; 'me and Philip is +good enough friends, but we niver think on each other in that way; +leastways, I don't.' + +'(Sweet butter! now that's my mother's old-fashioned way; as if +folks must eat sweet butter now-a-days, because her mother did!) +That way,' continued Molly, in the manner that annoyed Sylvia so +much, repeating her words as if for the purpose of laughing at them. +'"That way?" and pray what is t' way yo're speaking on? I niver said +nought about marrying, did I, that yo' need look so red and +shamefaced about yo'r cousin Philip? But, as Brunton says, if t' cap +fits yo', put it on. I'm glad he's comin' to-night tho', for as I'm +done makin' love and courtin', it's next best t' watch other folks; +an' yo'r face, Sylvia, has letten me into a secret, as I'd some +glimpses on afore I was wed.' + +Sylvia secretly determined not to speak a word more to Philip than +she could help, and wondered how she could ever have liked Molly at +all, much less have made a companion of her. The table was now laid +out, and nothing remained but to criticize the arrangement a little. + +Bessy was full of admiration. + +'Theere, Molly!' said she. 'Yo' niver seed more vittle brought +together i' Newcassel, I'll be bound; there'll be above half a +hundredweight o' butcher's meat, beside pies and custards. I've +eaten no dinner these two days for thinking on 't; it's been a weary +burden on my mind, but it's off now I see how well it looks. I told +mother not to come near it till we'd spread it all out, and now I'll +go fetch her.' + +Bessy ran off into the house-place. + +'It's well enough in a country kind o' way,' said Molly, with the +faint approbation of condescension. 'But if I'd thought on, I'd ha' +brought 'em down a beast or two done i' sponge-cake, wi' currants +for his eyes to give t' table an air.' + +The door was opened, and Bessy came in smiling and blushing with +proud pleasure. Her mother followed her on tip-toe, smoothing down +her apron, and with her voice subdued to a whisper:-- + +'Ay, my lass, it _is_ fine! But dunnot mak' an ado about it, let 'em +think it's just our common way. If any one says aught about how good +t' vittle is, tak' it calm, and say we'n better i' t' house,--it'll +mak' 'em eat wi' a better appetite, and think the more on us. +Sylvie, I'm much beholden t' ye for comin' so early, and helpin' t' +lasses, but yo' mun come in t' house-place now, t' folks is +gatherin', an' yo'r cousin's been asking after yo' a'ready.' + +Molly gave her a nudge, which made Sylvia's face go all aflame with +angry embarrassment. She was conscious that the watching which Molly +had threatened her with began directly; for Molly went up to her +husband, and whispered something to him which set him off in a +chuckling laugh, and Sylvia was aware that his eyes followed her +about with knowing looks all the evening. She would hardly speak to +Philip, and pretended not to see his outstretched hand, but passed +on to the chimney-corner, and tried to shelter herself behind the +broad back of farmer Corney, who had no notion of relinquishing his +customary place for all the young people who ever came to the +house,--or for any old people either, for that matter. It was his +household throne, and there he sat with no more idea of abdicating +in favour of any comer than King George at St James's. But he was +glad to see his friends; and had paid them the unwonted compliment +of shaving on a week-day, and putting on his Sunday coat. The united +efforts of wife and children had failed to persuade him to make any +farther change in his attire; to all their arguments on this head he +had replied,-- + +'Them as doesn't like t' see me i' my work-a-day wescut and breeches +may bide away.' + +It was the longest sentence he said that day, but he repeated it +several times over. He was glad enough to see all the young people, +but they were not 'of his kidney,' as he expressed it to himself, +and he did not feel any call upon himself to entertain them. He left +that to his bustling wife, all smartness and smiles, and to his +daughters and son-in-law. His efforts at hospitality consisted in +sitting still, smoking his pipe; when any one came, he took it out +of his mouth for an instant, and nodded his head in a cheerful +friendly way, without a word of speech; and then returned to his +smoking with the greater relish for the moment's intermission. He +thought to himself:-- + +'They're a set o' young chaps as thinks more on t' lasses than on +baccy;--they'll find out their mistake in time; give 'em time, give +'em time.' + +And before eight o'clock, he went as quietly as a man of twelve +stone can upstairs to bed, having made a previous arrangement with +his wife that she should bring him up about two pounds of spiced +beef, and a hot tumbler of stiff grog. But at the beginning of the +evening he formed a good screen for Sylvia, who was rather a +favourite with the old man, for twice he spoke to her. + +'Feyther smokes?' + +'Yes,' said Sylvia. + +'Reach me t' baccy-box, my lass.' + +And that was all the conversation that passed between her and her +nearest neighbour for the first quarter of an hour after she came +into company. + +But, for all her screen, she felt a pair of eyes were fixed upon her +with a glow of admiration deepening their honest brightness. +Somehow, look in what direction she would, she caught the glance of +those eyes before she could see anything else. So she played with +her apron-strings, and tried not to feel so conscious. There were +another pair of eyes,--not such beautiful, sparkling +eyes,--deep-set, earnest, sad, nay, even gloomy, watching her every +movement; but of this she was not aware. Philip had not recovered +from the rebuff she had given him by refusing his offered hand, and +was standing still, in angry silence, when Mrs. Corney thrust a young +woman just arrived upon his attention. + +'Come, Measter Hepburn, here's Nancy Pratt wi'out ev'n a soul to +speak t' her, an' yo' mopin' theere. She says she knows yo' by sight +fra' having dealt at Foster's these six year. See if yo' can't find +summut t' say t' each other, for I mun go pour out tea. Dixons, an' +Walkers, an' Elliotts, an' Smiths is come,' said she, marking off +the families on her fingers, as she looked round and called over +their names; 'an' there's only Will Latham an' his two sisters, and +Roger Harbottle, an' Taylor t' come; an' they'll turn up afore tea's +ended.' + +So she went off to her duty at the one table, which, placed +alongside of the dresser, was the only article of furniture left in +the middle of the room: all the seats being arranged as close to the +four walls as could be managed. The candles of those days gave but a +faint light compared to the light of the immense fire, which it was +a point of hospitality to keep at the highest roaring, blazing +pitch; the young women occupied the seats, with the exception of two +or three of the elder ones, who, in an eager desire to show their +capability, insisted on helping Mrs. Corney in her duties, very much +to her annoyance, as there were certain little contrivances for +eking out cream, and adjusting the strength of the cups of tea to +the worldly position of the intended drinkers, which she did not +like every one to see. The young men,--whom tea did not embolden, +and who had as yet had no chance of stronger liquor,--clustered in +rustic shyness round the door, not speaking even to themselves, +except now and then, when one, apparently the wag of the party, made +some whispered remark, which set them all off laughing; but in a +minute they checked themselves, and passed the back of their hands +across their mouths to compose that unlucky feature, and then some +would try to fix their eyes on the rafters of the ceiling, in a +manner which was decorous if rather abstracted from the business in +hand. Most of these were young farmers, with whom Philip had nothing +in common, and from whom, in shy reserve, he had withdrawn himself +when he first came in. But now he wished himself among them sooner +than set to talk to Nancy Pratt, when he had nothing to say. And yet +he might have had a companion less to his mind, for she was a decent +young woman of a sober age, less inclined to giggle than many of the +younger ones. But all the time that he was making commonplace +remarks to her he was wondering if he had offended Sylvia, and why +she would not shake hands with him, and this pre-occupation of his +thoughts did not make him an agreeable companion. Nancy Pratt, who +had been engaged for some years to a mate of a whaling-ship, +perceived something of his state of mind, and took no offence at it; +on the contrary, she tried to give him pleasure by admiring Sylvia. + +'I've often heerd tell on her,' said she, 'but I niver thought she's +be so pretty, and so staid and quiet-like too. T' most part o' girls +as has looks like hers are always gape-gazing to catch other folks's +eyes, and see what is thought on 'em; but she looks just like a +child, a bit flustered wi' coming into company, and gettin' into as +dark a corner and bidin' as still as she can. + +Just then Sylvia lifted up her long, dark lashes, and catching the +same glance which she had so often met before--Charley Kinraid was +standing talking to Brunton on the opposite side of the +fire-place--she started back into the shadow as if she had not +expected it, and in so doing spilt her tea all over her gown. She +could almost have cried, she felt herself so awkward, and as if +everything was going wrong with her; she thought that every one +would think she had never been in company before, and did not know +how to behave; and while she was thus fluttered and crimson, she saw +through her tearful eyes Kinraid on his knees before her, wiping her +gown with his silk pocket handkerchief, and heard him speaking +through all the buzz of commiserating voices. + +'Your cupboard handle is so much i' th' way--I hurt my elbow +against it only this very afternoon.' + +So perhaps it was no clumsiness of hers,--as they would all know, +now, since he had so skilfully laid the blame somewhere else; and +after all it turned out that her accident had been the means of +bringing him across to her side, which was much more pleasant than +having him opposite, staring at her; for now he began to talk to +her, and this was very pleasant, although she was rather embarrassed +at their _tete-a-tete_ at first. + +'I did not know you again when I first saw you,' said he, in a tone +which implied a good deal more than was uttered in words. + +'I knowed yo' at once,' she replied, softly, and then she blushed +and played with her apron-string, and wondered if she ought to have +confessed to the clearness of her recollection. + +'You're grown up into--well, perhaps it's not manners to say what +you're grown into--anyhow, I shan't forget yo' again.' + +More playing with her apron-string, and head hung still lower down, +though the corners of her mouth would go up in a shy smile of +pleasure. Philip watched it all as greedily as if it gave him +delight. + +'Yo'r father, he'll be well and hearty, I hope?' asked Charley. + +'Yes,' replied Sylvia, and then she wished she could originate some +remark; he would think her so stupid if she just kept on saying such +little short bits of speeches, and if he thought her stupid he might +perhaps go away again to his former place. + +But he was quite far enough gone in love of her beauty, and pretty +modest ways, not to care much whether she talked or no, so long as +she showed herself so pleasingly conscious of his close +neighbourhood. + +'I must come and see the old gentleman; and your mother, too,' he +added more slowly, for he remembered that his visits last year had +not been quite so much welcomed by Bell Robson as by her husband; +perhaps it was because of the amount of drink which he and Daniel +managed to get through of an evening. He resolved this year to be +more careful to please the mother of Sylvia. + +When tea was ended there was a great bustle and shifting of places, +while Mrs. Corney and her daughters carried out trays full of used +cups, and great platters of uneaten bread and butter into the +back-kitchen, to be washed up after the guests were gone. Just +because she was so conscious that she did not want to move, and +break up the little conversation between herself and Kinraid, Sylvia +forced herself to be as active in the service going on as became a +friend of the house; and she was too much her mother's own daughter +to feel comfortable at leaving all the things in the disorder which +to the Corney girls was second nature. + +'This milk mun go back to t' dairy, I reckon,' said she, loading +herself with milk and cream. + +'Niver fash thysel' about it,' said Nelly Corney, 'Christmas comes +but onest a year, if it does go sour; and mother said she'd have a +game at forfeits first thing after tea to loosen folks's tongues, +and mix up t' lads and lasses, so come along.' + +But Sylvia steered her careful way to the cold chill of the dairy, +and would not be satisfied till she had carried away all the unused +provision into some fresher air than that heated by the fires and +ovens used for the long day's cooking of pies and cakes and much +roast meat. + +When they came back a round of red-faced 'lads,' as young men up to +five-and-thirty are called in Lancashire and Yorkshire if they are +not married before, and lasses, whose age was not to be defined, +were playing at some country game, in which the women were +apparently more interested than the men, who looked shamefaced, and +afraid of each other's ridicule. Mrs. Corney, however, knew how to +remedy this, and at a sign from her a great jug of beer was brought +in. This jug was the pride of her heart, and was in the shape of a +fat man in white knee-breeches, and a three-cornered hat; with one +arm he supported the pipe in his broad, smiling mouth, and the other +was placed akimbo and formed the handle. There was also a great +china punch-bowl filled with grog made after an old ship-receipt +current in these parts, but not too strong, because if their +visitors had too much to drink at that early part of the evening 'it +would spoil t' fun,' as Nelly Corney had observed. Her father, +however, after the notions of hospitality prevalent at that time in +higher circles, had stipulated that each man should have 'enough' +before he left the house; enough meaning in Monkshaven parlance the +liberty of getting drunk, if they thought fit to do it. + +Before long one of the lads was seized with a fit of admiration for +Toby--the name of the old gentleman who contained liquor--and went +up to the tray for a closer inspection. He was speedily followed by +other amateurs of curious earthenware; and by-and-by Mr. Brunton (who +had been charged by his mother-in-law with the due supplying of +liquor--by his father-in-law that every man should have his fill, +and by his wife and her sisters that no one should have too much, at +any rate at the beginning of the evening,) thought fit to carry out +Toby to be replenished; and a faster spirit of enjoyment and mirth +began to reign in the room. + +Kinraid was too well seasoned to care what amount of liquor he +drank; Philip had what was called a weak head, and disliked muddling +himself with drink because of the immediate consequence of intense +feelings of irritability, and the more distant one of a racking +headache next day; so both these two preserved very much the same +demeanour they had held at the beginning of the evening. + +Sylvia was by all acknowledged and treated as the belle. When they +played at blind-man's-buff go where she would, she was always +caught; she was called out repeatedly to do what was required in any +game, as if all had a pleasure in seeing her light figure and deft +ways. She was sufficiently pleased with this to have got over her +shyness with all except Charley. When others paid her their rustic +compliments she tossed her head, and made her little saucy +repartees; but when he said something low and flattering, it was too +honey-sweet to her heart to be thrown off thus. And, somehow, the +more she yielded to this fascination the more she avoided Philip. He +did not speak flatteringly--he did not pay compliments--he watched +her with discontented, longing eyes, and grew more inclined every +moment, as he remembered his anticipation of a happy evening, to cry +out in his heart _vanitas vanitatum_. + +And now came crying the forfeits. Molly Brunton knelt down, her face +buried in her mother's lap; the latter took out the forfeits one by +one, and as she held them up, said the accustomed formula,-- + +'A fine thing and a very fine thing, what must he (or she) do who +owns this thing.' + +One or two had been told to kneel to the prettiest, bow to the +wittiest, and kiss those they loved best; others had had to bite an +inch off the poker, or such plays upon words. And now came Sylvia's +pretty new ribbon that Philip had given her (he almost longed to +snatch it out of Mrs. Corney's hands and burn it before all their +faces, so annoyed was he with the whole affair.) + +'A fine thing and a very fine thing--a most particular fine +thing--choose how she came by it. What must she do as owns this +thing?' + +'She must blow out t' candle and kiss t' candlestick.' + +In one instant Kinraid had hold of the only candle within reach, all +the others had been put up high on inaccessible shelves and other +places. Sylvia went up and blew out the candle, and before the +sudden partial darkness was over he had taken the candle into his +fingers, and, according to the traditional meaning of the words, was +in the place of the candlestick, and as such was to be kissed. Every +one laughed at innocent Sylvia's face as the meaning of her penance +came into it, every one but Philip, who almost choked. + +'I'm candlestick,' said Kinraid, with less of triumph in his voice +than he would have had with any other girl in the room. + +'Yo' mun kiss t' candlestick,' cried the Corneys, 'or yo'll niver +get yo'r ribbon back.' + +'And she sets a deal o' store by that ribbon,' said Molly Brunton, +maliciously. + +'I'll none kiss t' candlestick, nor him either,' said Sylvia, in a +low voice of determination, turning away, full of confusion. + +'Yo'll not get yo'r ribbon if yo' dunnot,' cried one and all. + +'I don't care for t' ribbon,' said she, flashing up with a look at +her tormentors, now her back was turned to Kinraid. 'An' I wunnot +play any more at such like games,' she added, with fresh indignation +rising in her heart as she took her old place in the corner of the +room a little away from the rest. + +Philip's spirits rose, and he yearned to go to her and tell her how +he approved of her conduct. Alas, Philip! Sylvia, though as modest a +girl as ever lived, was no prude, and had been brought up in simple, +straightforward country ways; and with any other young man, +excepting, perhaps, Philip's self, she would have thought no more of +making a rapid pretence of kissing the hand or cheek of the +temporary 'candlestick', than our ancestresses did in a much higher +rank on similar occasions. Kinraid, though mortified by his public +rejection, was more conscious of this than the inexperienced Philip; +he resolved not to be baulked, and watched his opportunity. For the +time he went on playing as if Sylvia's conduct had not affected him +in the least, and as if he was hardly aware of her defection from +the game. As she saw others submitting, quite as a matter of course, +to similar penances, she began to be angry with herself for having +thought twice about it, and almost to dislike herself for the +strange consciousness which had made it at the time seem impossible +to do what she was told. Her eyes kept filling with tears as her +isolated position in the gay party, the thought of what a fool she +had made of herself, kept recurring to her mind; but no one saw her, +she thought, thus crying; and, ashamed to be discovered when the +party should pause in their game, she stole round behind them into +the great chamber in which she had helped to lay out the supper, +with the intention of bathing her eyes, and taking a drink of water. +One instant Charley Kinraid was missing from the circle of which he +was the life and soul; and then back he came with an air of +satisfaction on his face, intelligible enough to those who had seen +his game; but unnoticed by Philip, who, amidst the perpetual noise +and movements around him, had not perceived Sylvia's leaving the +room, until she came back at the end of about a quarter of an hour, +looking lovelier than ever, her complexion brilliant, her eyes +drooping, her hair neatly and freshly arranged, tied with a brown +ribbon instead of that she was supposed to have forfeited. She +looked as if she did not wish her return to be noticed, stealing +softly behind the romping lads and lasses with noiseless motions, +and altogether such a contrast to them in her cool freshness and +modest neatness, that both Kinraid and Philip found it difficult to +keep their eyes off her. But the former had a secret triumph in his +heart which enabled him to go on with his merry-making as if it +absorbed him; while Philip dropped out of the crowd and came up to +where she was standing silently by Mrs. Corney, who, arms akimbo, was +laughing at the frolic and fun around her. Sylvia started a little +when Philip spoke, and kept her soft eyes averted from him after the +first glance; she answered him shortly, but with unaccustomed +gentleness. He had only asked her when she would like him to take +her home; and she, a little surprised at the idea of going home when +to her the evening seemed only beginning, had answered-- + +'Go home? I don't know! It's New Year's eve!' + +'Ay! but yo'r mother 'll lie awake till yo' come home, Sylvie!' + +But Mrs. Corney, having heard his question, broke in with all sorts +of upbraidings. 'Go home! Not see t' New Year in! Why, what should +take 'em home these six hours? Wasn't there a moon as clear as day? +and did such a time as this come often? And were they to break up +the party before the New Year came in? And was there not supper, +with a spiced round of beef that had been in pickle pretty nigh sin' +Martinmas, and hams, and mince-pies, and what not? And if they +thought any evil of her master's going to bed, or that by that early +retirement he meant to imply that he did not bid his friends +welcome, why he would not stay up beyond eight o'clock for King +George upon his throne, as he'd tell them soon enough, if they'd +only step upstairs and ask him. Well; she knowed what it was to want +a daughter when she was ailing, so she'd say nought more, but hasten +supper. + +And this idea now took possession of Mrs. Corney's mind, for she +would not willingly allow one of her guests to leave before they had +done justice to her preparations; and, cutting her speech short, she +hastily left Sylvia and Philip together. + +His heart beat fast; his feeling towards her had never been so +strong or so distinct as since her refusal to kiss the +'candlestick.' He was on the point of speaking, of saying something +explicitly tender, when the wooden trencher which the party were +using at their play, came bowling between him and Sylvia, and spun +out its little period right betwixt them. Every one was moving from +chair to chair, and when the bustle was over Sylvia was seated at +some distance from him, and he left standing outside the circle, as +if he were not playing. In fact, Sylvia had unconsciously taken his +place as actor in the game while he remained spectator, and, as it +turned out, an auditor of a conversation not intended for his ears. +He was wedged against the wall, close to the great eight-day clock, +with its round moon-like smiling face forming a ludicrous contrast +to his long, sallow, grave countenance, which was pretty much at the +same level above the sanded floor. Before him sat Molly Brunton and +one of her sisters, their heads close together in too deep talk to +attend to the progress of the game. Philip's attention was caught by +the words-- + +'I'll lay any wager he kissed her when he ran off into t' parlour.' + +'She's so coy she'd niver let him,' replied Bessy Corney. + +'She couldn't help hersel'; and for all she looks so demure and prim +now' (and then both heads were turned in the direction of Sylvia), +'I'm as sure as I'm born that Charley is not t' chap to lose his +forfeit; and yet yo' see he says nought more about it, and she's +left off being 'feared of him.' + +There was something in Sylvia's look, ay, and in Charley Kinraid's, +too, that shot conviction into Philip's mind. He watched them +incessantly during the interval before supper; they were intimate, +and yet shy with each other, in a manner that enraged while it +bewildered Philip. What was Charley saying to her in that whispered +voice, as they passed each other? Why did they linger near each +other? Why did Sylvia look so dreamily happy, so startled at every +call of the game, as if recalled from some pleasant idea? Why did +Kinraid's eyes always seek her while hers were averted, or downcast, +and her cheeks all aflame? Philip's dark brow grew darker as he +gazed. He, too, started when Mrs. Corney, close at his elbow, bade +him go in to supper along with some of the elder ones, who were not +playing; for the parlour was not large enough to hold all at once, +even with the squeezing and cramming, and sitting together on +chairs, which was not at all out of etiquette at Monkshaven. Philip +was too reserved to express his disappointment and annoyance at +being thus arrested in his painful watch over Sylvia; but he had no +appetite for the good things set before him, and found it hard work +to smile a sickly smile when called upon by Josiah Pratt for +applause at some country joke. When supper was ended, there was some +little discussion between Mrs. Corney and her son-in-law as to +whether the different individuals of the company should be called +upon for songs or stories, as was the wont at such convivial +meetings. Brunton had been helping his mother-in-law in urging +people to eat, heaping their plates over their shoulders with +unexpected good things, filling the glasses at the upper end of the +table, and the mugs which supplied the deficiency of glasses at the +lower. And now, every one being satisfied, not to say stuffed to +repletion, the two who had been attending to their wants stood +still, hot and exhausted. + +'They're a'most stawed,' said Mrs. Corney, with a pleased smile. +'It'll be manners t' ask some one as knows how to sing.' + +'It may be manners for full men, but not for fasting,' replied +Brunton. 'Folks in t' next room will be wanting their victual, and +singing is allays out o' tune to empty bellies.' + +'But there's them here as 'll take it ill if they're not asked. I +heerd Josiah Pratt a-clearing his throat not a minute ago, an' he +thinks as much on his singin' as a cock does on his crowin'.' + +'If one sings I'm afeard all on 'em will like to hear their own +pipes.' + +But their dilemma was solved by Bessy Corney, who opened the door to +see if the hungry ones outside might not come in for their share of +the entertainment; and in they rushed, bright and riotous, scarcely +giving the first party time to rise from their seats ere they took +their places. One or two young men, released from all their previous +shyness, helped Mrs. Corney and her daughters to carry off such +dishes as were actually empty. There was no time for changing or +washing of plates; but then, as Mrs. Corney laughingly observed,-- + +'We're a' on us friends, and some on us mayhap sweethearts; so no +need to be particular about plates. Them as gets clean ones is +lucky; and them as doesn't, and cannot put up wi' plates that has +been used, mun go without.' + +It seemed to be Philip's luck this night to be pent up in places; +for again the space between the benches and the wall was filled up +by the in-rush before he had time to make his way out; and all he +could do was to sit quiet where he was. But between the busy heads +and over-reaching arms he could see Charley and Sylvia, sitting +close together, talking and listening more than eating. She was in a +new strange state of happiness not to be reasoned about, or +accounted for, but in a state of more exquisite feeling than she had +ever experienced before; when, suddenly lifting her eyes, she caught +Philip's face of extreme displeasure. + +'Oh,' said she, 'I must go. There's Philip looking at me so.' + +'Philip!' said Kinraid, with a sudden frown upon his face. + +'My cousin,' she replied, instinctively comprehending what had +flashed into his mind, and anxious to disclaim the suspicion of +having a lover. 'Mother told him to see me home, and he's noan one +for staying up late.' + +'But you needn't go. I'll see yo' home.' + +'Mother's but ailing,' said Sylvia, a little conscience-smitten at +having so entirely forgotten everything in the delight of the +present, 'and I said I wouldn't be late.' + +'And do you allays keep to your word?' asked he, with a tender +meaning in his tone. + +'Allays; leastways I think so,' replied she, blushing. + +'Then if I ask you not to forget me, and you give me your word, I +may be sure you'll keep it.' + +'It wasn't I as forgot you,' said Sylvia, so softly as not to be +heard by him. + +He tried to make her repeat what she had said, but she would not, +and he could only conjecture that it was something more tell-tale +than she liked to say again, and that alone was very charming to +him. + +'I shall walk home with you,' said he, as Sylvia at last rose to +depart, warned by a further glimpse of Philip's angry face. + +'No!' said she, hastily, 'I can't do with yo''; for somehow she felt +the need of pacifying Philip, and knew in her heart that a third +person joining their _tete-a-tete_ walk would only increase his +displeasure. + +'Why not?' said Charley, sharply. + +'Oh! I don't know, only please don't!' + +By this time her cloak and hood were on, and she was slowly making +her way down her side of the room followed by Charley, and often +interrupted by indignant remonstrances against her departure, and +the early breaking-up of the party. Philip stood, hat in hand, in +the doorway between the kitchen and parlour, watching her so +intently that he forgot to be civil, and drew many a jest and gibe +upon him for his absorption in his pretty cousin. + +When Sylvia reached him, he said,-- + +'Yo're ready at last, are yo'?' + +'Yes,' she replied, in her little beseeching tone. 'Yo've not been +wanting to go long, han yo'? I ha' but just eaten my supper.' + +'Yo've been so full of talk, that's been the reason your supper +lasted so long. That fellow's none going wi' us?' said he sharply, +as he saw Kinraid rummaging for his cap in a heap of men's clothes, +thrown into the back-kitchen. + +'No,' said Sylvia, in affright at Philip's fierce look and +passionate tone. 'I telled him not.' + +But at that moment the heavy outer door was opened by Daniel Robson +himself--bright, broad, and rosy, a jolly impersonation of Winter. +His large drover's coat was covered with snow-flakes, and through +the black frame of the doorway might be seen a white waste world of +sweeping fell and field, with the dark air filled with the pure +down-fall. Robson stamped his snow-laden feet and shook himself +well, still standing on the mat, and letting a cold frosty current +of fresh air into the great warm kitchen. He laughed at them all +before he spoke. + +'It's a coud new year as I'm lettin' in though it's noan t' new year +yet. Yo'll a' be snowed up, as sure as my name s Dannel, if yo' stop +for twel' o'clock. Yo'd better mak' haste and go whoam. Why, +Charley, my lad! how beest ta? who'd ha' thought o' seeing thee i' +these parts again! Nay, missus, nay, t' new year mun find its way +int' t' house by itsel' for me; for a ha' promised my oud woman to +bring Sylvie whoam as quick as may-be; she's lyin' awake and +frettin' about t' snow and what not. Thank yo' kindly, missus, but +a'll tak' nought to eat; just a drop o' somethin' hot to keep out +coud, and wish yo' a' the compliments o' the season. Philip, my man, +yo'll not be sorry to be spared t' walk round by Haytersbank such a +neet. My missus were i' such a way about Sylvie that a thought a'd +just step off mysel', and have a peep at yo' a', and bring her some +wraps. Yo'r sheep will be a' folded, a reckon, Measter Pratt, for +there'll niver be a nibble o' grass to be seen this two month, +accordin' to my readin'; and a've been at sea long enough, and on +land long enough t' know signs and wonders. It's good stuff that, +any way, and worth comin' for,' after he had gulped down a +tumblerful of half-and-half grog. 'Kinraid, if ta doesn't come and +see me afore thou'rt many days ouder, thee and me'll have words. +Come, Sylvie, what art ta about, keepin' me here? Here's Mistress +Corney mixin' me another jorum. Well, this time a'll give "T' +married happy, and t' single wed!"' + +Sylvia was all this while standing by her father quite ready for +departure, and not a little relieved by his appearance as her convoy +home. + +'I'm ready to see Haytersbank to-night, master!' said Kinraid, with +easy freedom--a freedom which Philip envied, but could not have +imitated, although he was deeply disappointed at the loss of his +walk with Sylvia, when he had intended to exercise the power his +aunt had delegated to him of remonstrance if her behaviour had been +light or thoughtless, and of warning if he saw cause to disapprove +of any of her associates. + +After the Robsons had left, a blank fell upon both Charley and +Philip. In a few minutes, however, the former, accustomed to prompt +decision, resolved that she and no other should be his wife. +Accustomed to popularity among women, and well versed in the +incipient signs of their liking for him, he anticipated no +difficulty in winning her. Satisfied with the past, and pleasantly +hopeful about the future, he found it easy to turn his attention to +the next prettiest girl in the room, and to make the whole gathering +bright with his ready good temper and buoyant spirit. + +Mrs. Corney had felt it her duty to press Philip to stay, now that, +as she said, he had no one but himself to see home, and the new year +so near coming in. To any one else in the room she would have added +the clinching argument, 'A shall take it very unkind if yo' go now'; +but somehow she could not say this, for in truth Philip's look +showed that he would be but a wet blanket on the merriment of the +party. So, with as much civility as could be mustered up between +them, he took leave. Shutting the door behind him, he went out into +the dreary night, and began his lonesome walk back to Monkshaven. +The cold sleet almost blinded him as the sea-wind drove it straight +in his face; it cut against him as it was blown with drifting force. +The roar of the wintry sea came borne on the breeze; there was more +light from the whitened ground than from the dark laden sky above. +The field-paths would have been a matter of perplexity, had it not +been for the well-known gaps in the dyke-side, which showed the +whitened land beyond, between the two dark stone walls. Yet he went +clear and straight along his way, having unconsciously left all +guidance to the animal instinct which co-exists with the human soul, +and sometimes takes strange charge of the human body, when all the +nobler powers of the individual are absorbed in acute suffering. At +length he was in the lane, toiling up the hill, from which, by day, +Monkshaven might be seen. Now all features of the landscape before +him were lost in the darkness of night, against which the white +flakes came closer and nearer, thicker and faster. On a sudden, the +bells of Monkshaven church rang out a welcome to the new year, 1796. +From the direction of the wind, it seemed as if the sound was flung +with strength and power right into Philip's face. He walked down the +hill to its merry sound--its merry sound, his heavy heart. As he +entered the long High Street of Monkshaven he could see the watching +lights put out in parlour, chamber, or kitchen. The new year had +come, and expectation was ended. Reality had begun. + +He turned to the right, into the court where he lodged with Alice +Rose. There was a light still burning there, and cheerful voices +were heard. He opened the door; Alice, her daughter, and Coulson +stood as if awaiting him. Hester's wet cloak hung on a chair before +the fire; she had her hood on, for she and Coulson had been to the +watch-night. + +The solemn excitement of the services had left its traces upon her +countenance and in her mind. There was a spiritual light in her +usually shadowed eyes, and a slight flush on her pale cheek. Merely +personal and self-conscious feelings were merged in a loving +good-will to all her fellow-creatures. Under the influence of this +large charity, she forgot her habitual reserve, and came forward as +Philip entered to meet him with her new year's wishes--wishes that +she had previously interchanged with the other two. + +'A happy new year to you, Philip, and may God have you in his +keeping all the days thereof!' + +He took her hand, and shook it warmly in reply. The flush on her +cheek deepened as she withdrew it. Alice Rose said something curtly +about the lateness of the hour and her being much tired; and then +she and her daughter went upstairs to the front chamber, and Philip +and Coulson to that which they shared at the back of the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +PERPLEXITIES + + +Coulson and Philip were friendly, but not intimate. They never had +had a dispute, they never were confidential with each other; in +truth, they were both reserved and silent men, and, probably, +respected each other the more for being so self-contained. There was +a private feeling in Coulson's heart which would have made a less +amiable fellow dislike Philip. But of this the latter was +unconscious: they were not apt to exchange many words in the room +which they occupied jointly. + +Coulson asked Philip if he had enjoyed himself at the Corneys', and +Philip replied,-- + +'Not much; such parties are noane to my liking.' + +'And yet thou broke off from t' watch-night to go there.' + +No answer; so Coulson went on, with a sense of the duty laid upon +him, to improve the occasion--the first that had presented itself +since the good old Methodist minister had given his congregation the +solemn warning to watch over the opportunities of various kinds +which the coming year would present. + +'Jonas Barclay told us as the pleasures o' this world were like +apples o' Sodom, pleasant to look at, but ashes to taste.' + +Coulson wisely left Philip to make the application for himself. If +he did he made no sign, but threw himself on his bed with a heavy +sigh. + +'Are yo' not going to undress?' said Coulson, as he covered him up +in bed. + +There had been a long pause of silence. Philip did not answer him, +and he thought he had fallen asleep. But he was roused from his +first slumber by Hepburn's soft movements about the room. Philip had +thought better of it, and, with some penitence in his heart for his +gruffness to the unoffending Coulson, was trying not to make any +noise while he undressed. + +But he could not sleep. He kept seeing the Corneys' kitchen and the +scenes that had taken place in it, passing like a pageant before his +closed eyes. Then he opened them in angry weariness at the recurring +vision, and tried to make out the outlines of the room and the +furniture in the darkness. The white ceiling sloped into the +whitewashed walls, and against them he could see the four +rush-bottomed chairs, the looking-glass hung on one side, the old +carved oak-chest (his own property, with the initials of forgotten +ancestors cut upon it), which held his clothes; the boxes that +belonged to Coulson, sleeping soundly in the bed in the opposite +corner of the room; the casement window in the roof, through which +the snowy ground on the steep hill-side could be plainly seen; and +when he got so far as this in the catalogue of the room, he fell +into a troubled feverish sleep, which lasted two or three hours; and +then he awoke with a start, and a consciousness of uneasiness, +though what about he could not remember at first. + +When he recollected all that had happened the night before, it +impressed him much more favourably than it had done at the time. If +not joy, hope had come in the morning; and, at any rate, he could be +up and be doing, for the late wintry light was stealing down the +hill-side, and he knew that, although Coulson lay motionless in his +sleep, it was past their usual time of rising. Still, as it was new +year's Day, a time of some licence, Philip had mercy on his +fellow-shopman, and did not waken him till just as he was leaving +the room. + +Carrying his shoes in his hand, he went softly downstairs for he +could see from the top of the flight that neither Alice nor her +daughter was down yet, as the kitchen shutters were not unclosed. It +was Mrs. Rose's habit to rise early, and have all bright and clean +against her lodgers came down; but then, in general, she went to +rest before nine o'clock, whereas the last night she had not gone +till past twelve. Philip went about undoing the shutters, and trying +to break up the raking coal, with as little noise as might be, for +he had compassion on the tired sleepers. The kettle had not been +filled, probably because Mrs. Rose had been unable to face the storm +of the night before, in taking it to the pump just at the entrance +of the court. When Philip came back from filling it, he found Alice +and Hester both in the kitchen, and trying to make up for lost time +by hastening over their work. Hester looked busy and notable with +her gown pinned up behind her, and her hair all tucked away under a +clean linen cap; but Alice was angry with herself for her late +sleeping, and that and other causes made her speak crossly to +Philip, as he came in with his snowy feet and well-filled kettle. + +'Look the' there! droppin' and drippin' along t' flags as was +cleaned last night, and meddlin' wi' woman's work as a man has no +business wi'.' + +Philip was surprised and annoyed. He had found relief from his own +thoughts in doing what he believed would help others. He gave up the +kettle to her snatching hands, and sate down behind the door in +momentary ill-temper. But the kettle was better filled, and +consequently heavier than the old woman expected, and she could not +manage to lift it to the crook from which it generally hung +suspended. She looked round for Hester, but she was gone into the +back-kitchen. In a minute Philip was at her side, and had heaved it +to its place for her. She looked in his face for a moment wistfully, +but hardly condescended to thank him; at least the sound of the +words did not pass the lips that formed them. Rebuffed by her +manner, he went back to his old seat, and mechanically watched the +preparations for breakfast; but his thoughts went back to the night +before, and the comparative ease of his heart was gone. The first +stir of a new day had made him feel as if he had had no sufficient +cause for his annoyance and despondency the previous evening; but +now, condemned to sit quiet, he reviewed looks and words, and saw +just reason for his anxiety. After some consideration he resolved to +go that very night to Haytersbank, and have some talk with either +Sylvia or her mother; what the exact nature of this purposed +conversation should be, he did not determine; much would depend on +Sylvia's manner and mood, and on her mother's state of health; but +at any rate something would be learnt. + +During breakfast something was learnt nearer home; though not all +that a man less unconscious and more vain than Philip might have +discovered. He only found out that Mrs. Rose was displeased with him +for not having gone to the watch-night with Hester, according to the +plan made some weeks before. But he soothed his conscience by +remembering that he had made no promise; he had merely spoken of his +wish to be present at the service, about which Hester was speaking; +and although at the time and for a good while afterwards, he had +fully intended going, yet as there had been William Coulson to +accompany her, his absence could not have been seriously noticed. +Still he was made uncomfortable by Mrs. Rose's change of manner; once +or twice he said to himself that she little knew how miserable he +had been during his 'gay evening,' as she would persist in calling +it, or she would not talk at him with such persevering bitterness +this morning. Before he left for the shop, he spoke of his intention +of going to see how his aunt was, and of paying her a new year's day +visit. + +Hepburn and Coulson took it in turns week and week about to go first +home to dinner; the one who went first sate down with Mrs. Rose and +her daughter, instead of having his portion put in the oven to keep +warm for him. To-day it was Hepburn's turn to be last. All morning +the shop was full with customers, come rather to offer good wishes +than to buy, and with an unspoken remembrance of the cake and wine +which the two hospitable brothers Foster made a point of offering to +all comers on new year's day. It was busy work for all--for Hester +on her side, where caps, ribbons, and women's gear were exclusively +sold--for the shopmen and boys in the grocery and drapery +department. Philip was trying to do his business with his mind far +away; and the consequence was that his manner was not such as to +recommend him to the customers, some of whom recollected it as very +different, courteous and attentive, if grave and sedate. One buxom +farmer's wife noticed the change to him. She had a little girl with +her, of about five years old, that she had lifted up on the counter, +and who was watching Philip with anxious eyes, occasionally +whispering in her mother's ear, and then hiding her face against her +cloak. + +'She's thought a deal o' coming to see yo', and a dunnot think as +yo' mind her at all. My pretty, he's clean forgotten as how he said +last new year's day, he'd gi' thee a barley-sugar stick, if thou'd +hem him a handkercher by this.' + +The child's face was buried in the comfortable breadth of duffle at +these words, while the little outstretched hand held a small square +of coarse linen. + +'Ay, she's noane forgotten it, and has done her five stitches a day, +bless her; and a dunnot believe as yo' know her again. She's Phoebe +Moorsom, and a'm Hannah, and a've dealt at t' shop reg'lar this +fifteen year.' + +'I'm very sorry,' said Philip. 'I was up late last night, and I'm a +bit dazed to-day. Well! this is nice work, Phoebe, and I'm sure I'm +very much beholden to yo'. And here's five sticks o' barley-sugar, +one for every stitch, and thank you kindly, Mrs. Moorsom, too.' + +Philip took the handkerchief and hoped he had made honourable amends +for his want of recognition. But the wee lassie refused to be lifted +down, and whispered something afresh into her mother's ear, who +smiled and bade her be quiet. Philip saw, however, that there was +some wish ungratified on the part of the little maiden which he was +expected to inquire into, and, accordingly, he did his duty. + +'She's a little fool; she says yo' promised to gi'e her a kiss, and +t' make her yo'r wife.' + +The child burrowed her face closer into her mother's neck, and +refused to allow the kiss which Philip willingly offered. All he +could do was to touch the back of the little white fat neck with his +lips. The mother carried her off only half satisfied, and Philip +felt that he must try and collect his scattered wits, and be more +alive to the occasion. + +Towards the dinner-hour the crowd slackened; Hester began to +replenish decanters and bottles, and to bring out a fresh cake +before she went home to dinner; and Coulson and Philip looked over +the joint present they always made to her on this day. It was a silk +handkerchief of the prettiest colours they could pick out of the +shop, intended for her to wear round her neck. Each tried to +persuade the other to give it to her, for each was shy of the act of +presentation. Coulson was, however, the most resolute; and when she +returned from the parlour the little parcel was in Philip's hands. + +'Here, Hester,' said he, going round the counter to her, just as she +was leaving the shop. 'It's from Coulson and me; a handkerchief for +yo' to wear; and we wish yo' a happy New Year, and plenty on 'em; +and there's many a one wishes the same.' + +He took her hand as he said this. She went a little paler, and her +eyes brightened as though they would fill with tears as they met +his; she could not have helped it, do what she would. But she only +said, 'Thank yo' kindly,' and going up to Coulson she repeated the +words and action to him; and then they went off together to dinner. + +There was a lull of business for the next hour. John and Jeremiah +were dining like the rest of the world. Even the elder errand-boy +had vanished. Philip rearranged disorderly goods; and then sate down +on the counter by the window; it was the habitual place for the one +who stayed behind; for excepting on market-day there was little or +no custom during the noon-hour. Formerly he used to move the drapery +with which the window was ornamented, and watch the passers-by with +careless eye. But now, though he seemed to gaze abroad, he saw +nothing but vacancy. All the morning since he got up he had been +trying to fight through his duties--leaning against a hope--a hope +that first had bowed, and then had broke as soon as he really tried +its weight. There was not a sign of Sylvia's liking for him to be +gathered from the most careful recollection of the past evening. It +was of no use thinking that there was. It was better to give it up +altogether and at once. But what if he could not? What if the +thought of her was bound up with his life; and that once torn out by +his own free will, the very roots of his heart must come also? + +No; he was resolved he would go on; as long as there was life there +was hope; as long as Sylvia remained unpledged to any one else, +there was a chance for him. He would remodel his behaviour to her. +He could not be merry and light-hearted like other young men; his +nature was not cast in that mould; and the early sorrows that had +left him a lonely orphan might have matured, but had not enlivened, +his character. He thought with some bitterness on the power of easy +talking about trifles which some of those he had met with at the +Corneys' had exhibited. But then he felt stirring within him a force +of enduring love which he believed to be unusual, and which seemed +as if it must compel all things to his wish in the end. A year or so +ago he had thought much of his own cleverness and his painfully +acquired learning, and he had imagined that these were the qualities +which were to gain Sylvia. But now, whether he had tried them and +had failed to win even her admiration, or whether some true instinct +had told him that a woman's love may be gained in many ways sooner +than by mere learning, he was only angry with himself for his past +folly in making himself her school--nay, her taskmaster. To-night, +though, he would start off on a new tack. He would not even upbraid +her for her conduct the night before; he had shown her his +displeasure at the time; but she should see how tender and forgiving +he could be. He would lure her to him rather than find fault with +her. There had perhaps been too much of that already. + +When Coulson came back Philip went to his solitary dinner. In +general he was quite alone while eating it; but to-day Alice Rose +chose to bear him company. She watched him with cold severe eye for +some time, until he had appeased his languid appetite. Then she +began with the rebuke she had in store for him; a rebuke the motives +to which were not entirely revealed even to herself. + +'Thou 're none so keen after thy food as common,' she began. 'Plain +victuals goes ill down after feastin'.' + +Philip felt the colour mount to his face; he was not in the mood for +patiently standing the brunt of the attack which he saw was coming, +and yet he had a reverent feeling for woman and for age. He wished +she would leave him alone; but he only said--'I had nought but a +slice o' cold beef for supper, if you'll call that feasting.' + +'Neither do godly ways savour delicately after the pleasures of the +world,' continued she, unheeding his speech. 'Thou wert wont to seek +the house of the Lord, and I thought well on thee; but of late +thou'st changed, and fallen away, and I mun speak what is in my +heart towards thee.' + +'Mother,' said Philip, impatiently (both he and Coulson called Alice +'mother' at times), 'I don't think I am fallen away, and any way I +cannot stay now to be--it's new year's Day, and t' shop is throng.' + +But Alice held up her hand. Her speech was ready, and she must +deliver it. + +'Shop here, shop there. The flesh and the devil are gettin' hold on +yo', and yo' need more nor iver to seek t' ways o' grace. New year's +day comes and says, "Watch and pray," and yo' say, "Nay, I'll seek +feasts and market-places, and let times and seasons come and go +without heedin' into whose presence they're hastening me." Time was, +Philip, when thou'd niver ha' letten a merry-making keep thee fra' +t' watch-night, and t' company o' the godly.' + +'I tell yo' it was no merry-making to me,' said Philip, with +sharpness, as he left the house. + +Alice sat down on the nearest seat, and leant her head on her +wrinkled hand. + +'He's tangled and snared,' said she; 'my heart has yearned after +him, and I esteemed him as one o' the elect. And more nor me yearns +after him. O Lord, I have but one child! O Lord, spare her! But o'er +and above a' I would like to pray for his soul, that Satan might not +have it, for he came to me but a little lad.' + +At that moment Philip, smitten by his conscience for his hard manner +of speech, came back; but Alice did not hear or see him till he was +close by her, and then he had to touch her to recall her attention. + +'Mother,' said he, 'I was wrong. I'm fretted by many things. I +shouldn't ha' spoken so. It was ill-done of me.' + +'Oh, my lad!' said she, looking up and putting her thin arm on his +shoulder as he stooped, 'Satan is desiring after yo' that he may +sift yo' as wheat. Bide at whoam, bide at whoam, and go not after +them as care nought for holy things. Why need yo' go to Haytersbank +this night?' + +Philip reddened. He could not and would not give it up, and yet it +was difficult to resist the pleading of the usually stern old woman. + +'Nay,' said he, withdrawing himself ever so little from her hold; +'my aunt is but ailing, they're my own flesh and blood, and as good +folks as needs be, though they mayn't be o' our--o' your way o' +thinking in a' things.' + +'Our ways--your ways o' thinking, says he, as if they were no longer +his'n. And as good folks as need be,' repeated she, with returning +severity. 'Them's Satan's words, tho' yo' spoke 'em, Philip. I can +do nought again Satan, but I can speak to them as can; an' we'll see +which pulls hardest, for it'll be better for thee to be riven and +rent i' twain than to go body and soul to hell.' + +'But don't think, mother,' said Philip, his last words of +conciliation, for the clock had given warning for two, 'as I'm boun' +for hell, just because I go t' see my own folks, all I ha' left o' +kin.' And once more, after laying his hand with as much of a caress +as was in his nature on hers, he left the house. + +Probably Alice would have considered the first words that greeted +Philip on his entrance into the shop as an answer to her prayer, for +they were such as put a stop to his plan of going to see Sylvia that +evening; and if Alice had formed her inchoate thoughts into words, +Sylvia would have appeared as the nearest earthly representative of +the spirit of temptation whom she dreaded for Philip. + +As he took his place behind the counter, Coulson said to him in a +low voice,-- + +'Jeremiah Foster has been round to bid us to sup wi' him to-night. +He says that he and John have a little matter o' business to talk +over with us.' + +A glance from his eyes to Philip told the latter that Coulson +believed the business spoken of had something to do with the +partnership, respecting which there had been a silent intelligence +for some time between the shopmen. + +'And what did thou say?' asked Philip, doggedly unwilling, even yet, +to give up his purposed visit. + +'Say! why, what could a say, but that we'd come? There was summat +up, for sure; and summat as he thought we should be glad on. I could +tell it fra' t' look on his face.' + +'I don't think as I can go,' said Philip, feeling just then as if +the long-hoped-for partnership was as nothing compared to his plan. +It was always distasteful to him to have to give up a project, or to +disarrange an intended order of things, such was his nature; but +to-day it was absolute pain to yield his own purpose. + +'Why, man alive?' said Coulson, in amaze at his reluctance. + +'I didn't say I mightn't go,' said Philip, weighing consequences, +until called off to attend to customers. + +In the course of the afternoon, however, he felt himself more easy +in deferring his visit to Haytersbank till the next evening. Charley +Kinraid entered the shop, accompanied by Molly Brunton and her +sisters; and though they all went towards Hester's side of the shop, +and Philip and Coulson had many people to attend to, yet Hepburn's +sharpened ears caught much of what the young women were saying. From +that he gathered that Kinraid had promised them new year's gifts, +for the purchase of which they were come; and after a little more +listening he learnt that Kinraid was returning to Shields the next +day, having only come over to spend a holiday with his relations, +and being tied with ship's work at the other end. They all talked +together lightly and merrily, as if his going or staying was almost +a matter of indifference to himself and his cousins. The principal +thought of the young women was to secure the articles they most +fancied; Charley Kinraid was (so Philip thought) especially anxious +that the youngest and prettiest should be pleased. Hepburn watched +him perpetually with a kind of envy of his bright, courteous manner, +the natural gallantry of the sailor. If it were but clear that +Sylvia took as little thought of him as he did of her, to all +appearance, Philip could even have given him praise for manly good +looks, and a certain kind of geniality of disposition which made him +ready to smile pleasantly at all strangers, from babies upwards. + +As the party turned to leave the shop they saw Philip, the guest of +the night before; and they came over to shake hands with him across +the counter; Kinraid's hand was proffered among the number. Last +night Philip could not have believed it possible that such a +demonstration of fellowship should have passed between them; and +perhaps there was a slight hesitation of manner on his part, for +some idea or remembrance crossed Kinraid's mind which brought a keen +searching glance into the eyes which for a moment were fastened on +Philip's face. In spite of himself, and during the very action of +hand-shaking, Philip felt a cloud come over his face, not altering +or moving his features, but taking light and peace out of his +countenance. + +Molly Brunton began to say something, and he gladly turned to look +at her. She was asking him why he went away so early, for they had +kept it up for four hours after he left, and last of all, she added +(turning to Kinraid), her cousin Charley had danced a hornpipe among +the platters on the ground. + +Philip hardly knew what he said in reply, the mention of that pas +seul lifted such a weight off his heart. He could smile now, after +his grave fashion, and would have shaken hands again with Kinraid +had it been required; for it seemed to him that no one, caring ever +so little in the way that he did for Sylvia, could have borne four +mortal hours of a company where she had been, and was not; least of +all could have danced a hornpipe, either from gaiety of heart, or +even out of complaisance. He felt as if the yearning after the +absent one would have been a weight to his legs, as well as to his +spirit; and he imagined that all men were like himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +PARTNERSHIP + + +As darkness closed in, and the New Year's throng became scarce, +Philip's hesitation about accompanying Coulson faded away. He was +more comfortable respecting Sylvia, and his going to see her might +be deferred; and, after all, he felt that the wishes of his masters +ought to be attended to, and the honour of an invitation to the +private house of Jeremiah not to be slighted for anything short of a +positive engagement. Besides, the ambitious man of business existed +strongly in Philip. It would never do to slight advances towards the +second great earthly object in his life; one also on which the first +depended. + +So when the shop was closed, the two set out down Bridge Street to +cross the river to the house of Jeremiah Foster. They stood a moment +on the bridge to breathe the keen fresh sea air after their busy +day. The waters came down, swollen full and dark, with rapid rushing +speed from the snow-fed springs high up on the moorland above. The +close-packed houses in the old town seemed a cluster of white roofs +irregularly piled against the more unbroken white of the hill-side. +Lights twinkled here and there in the town, and were slung from +stern and bow of the ships in the harbour. The air was very still, +settling in for a frost; so still that all distant sounds seemed +near: the rumble of a returning cart in the High Street, the voices +on board ship, the closing of shutters and barring of doors in the +new town to which they were bound. But the sharp air was filled, as +it were, with saline particles in a freezing state; little pungent +crystals of sea salt burning lips and cheeks with their cold +keenness. It would not do to linger here in the very centre of the +valley up which passed the current of atmosphere coming straight +with the rushing tide from the icy northern seas. Besides, there was +the unusual honour of a supper with Jeremiah Foster awaiting them. +He had asked each of them separately to a meal before now; but they +had never gone together, and they felt that there was something +serious in the conjuncture. + +They began to climb the steep heights leading to the freshly-built +rows of the new town of Monkshaven, feeling as if they were rising +into aristocratic regions where no shop profaned the streets. +Jeremiah Foster's house was one of six, undistinguished in size, or +shape, or colour; but noticed in the daytime by all passers-by for +its spotless cleanliness of lintel and doorstep, window and window +frame. The very bricks seemed as though they came in for the daily +scrubbing which brightened handle, knocker, all down to the very +scraper. + +The two young men felt as shy of the interview with their master +under such unusual relations of guest and host, as a girl does of +her first party. Each rather drew back from the decided step of +knocking at the door; but with a rebuffing shake at his own folly, +Philip was the one to give a loud single rap. As if they had been +waited for, the door flew open, and a middle-aged servant stood +behind, as spotless and neat as the house itself; and smiled a +welcome to the familiar faces. + +'Let me dust yo' a bit, William,' said she, suiting the action to +the word. 'You've been leanin' again some whitewash, a'll be bound. +Ay, Philip,' continued she, turning him round with motherly freedom, +'yo'll do if yo'll but gi' your shoon a polishin' wipe on yon other +mat. This'n for takin' t' roughest mud off. Measter allays polishes +on that.' + +In the square parlour the same precise order was observed. Every +article of furniture was free from speck of dirt or particle of +dust; and everything was placed either in a parallel line, or at +exact right-angles with every other. Even John and Jeremiah sat in +symmetry on opposite sides of the fire-place; the very smiles on +their honest faces seemed drawn to a line of exactitude. + +Such formality, however admirable, was not calculated to promote +ease: it was not until after supper--until a good quantity of +Yorkshire pie had been swallowed, and washed down, too, with the +best and most generous wine in Jeremiah's cellar--that there was the +least geniality among them, in spite of the friendly kindness of the +host and his brother. The long silence, during which mute thanks for +the meal were given, having come to an end, Jeremiah called for +pipes, and three of the party began to smoke. + +Politics in those days were tickle subjects to meddle with, even in +the most private company. The nation was in a state of terror +against France, and against any at home who might be supposed to +sympathise with the enormities she had just been committing. The +oppressive act against seditious meetings had been passed the year +before; and people were doubtful to what extremity of severity it +might be construed. Even the law authorities forgot to be impartial, +but either their alarms or their interests made too many of them +vehement partisans instead of calm arbiters, and thus destroyed the +popular confidence in what should have been considered the supreme +tribunal of justice. Yet for all this, there were some who dared to +speak of reform of Parliament, as a preliminary step to fair +representation of the people, and to a reduction of the heavy +war-taxation that was imminent, if not already imposed. But these +pioneers of 1830 were generally obnoxious. The great body of the +people gloried in being Tories and haters of the French, with whom +they were on tenter-hooks to fight, almost unaware of the rising +reputation of the young Corsican warrior, whose name would be used +ere a dozen years had passed to hush English babies with a terror +such as that of Marlborough once had for the French. + +At such a place as Monkshaven all these opinions were held in +excess. One or two might, for the mere sake of argument, dispute on +certain points of history or government; but they took care to be +very sure of their listeners before such arguments touched on +anything of the present day; for it had been not unfrequently found +that the public duty of prosecuting opinions not your own overrode +the private duty of respecting confidence. Most of the Monkshaven +politicians confined themselves, therefore, to such general +questions as these: 'Could an Englishman lick more than four +Frenchmen at a time?' 'What was the proper punishment for members of +the Corresponding Society (correspondence with the French +directory), hanging and quartering, or burning?' 'Would the +forthcoming child of the Princess of Wales be a boy or a girl? If a +girl, would it be more loyal to call it Charlotte or Elizabeth?' + +The Fosters were quite secure enough of their guests this evening to +have spoken freely on politics had they been so inclined. And they +did begin on the outrages which had been lately offered to the king +in crossing St James's Park to go and open the House of Lords; but +soon, so accustomed were their minds to caution and restraint, the +talk dropped down to the high price of provisions. Bread at 1_s_. +3_d_. the quartern loaf, according to the London test. Wheat at +120_s_. per quarter, as the home-baking northerners viewed the +matter; and then the conversation died away to an ominous silence. +John looked at Jeremiah, as if asking him to begin. Jeremiah was the +host, and had been a married man. Jeremiah returned the look with +the same meaning in it. John, though a bachelor, was the elder +brother. The great church bell, brought from the Monkshaven +monastery centuries ago, high up on the opposite hill-side, began to +ring nine o'clock; it was getting late. Jeremiah began: + +'It seems a bad time for starting any one on business, wi' prices +and taxes and bread so dear; but John and I are getting into years, +and we've no children to follow us: yet we would fain draw out of +some of our worldly affairs. We would like to give up the shop, and +stick to banking, to which there seemeth a plain path. But first +there is the stock and goodwill of the shop to be disposed on.' + +A dead pause. This opening was not favourable to the hopes of the +two moneyless young men who had been hoping to succeed their masters +by the more gradual process of partnership. But it was only the kind +of speech that had been agreed upon by the two brothers with a view +of impressing on Hepburn and Coulson the great and unusual +responsibility of the situation into which the Fosters wished them +to enter. In some ways the talk of many was much less simple and +straightforward in those days than it is now. The study of effect +shown in the London diners-out of the last generation, who prepared +their conversation beforehand, was not without its parallel in +humbler spheres, and for different objects than self-display. The +brothers Foster had all but rehearsed the speeches they were about +to make this evening. They were aware of the youth of the parties to +whom they were going to make a most favourable proposal; and they +dreaded that if that proposal was too lightly made, it would be too +lightly considered, and the duties involved in it too carelessly +entered upon. So the _role_ of one brother was to suggest, that of +the other to repress. The young men, too, had their reserves. They +foresaw, and had long foreseen, what was coming that evening. They +were impatient to hear it in distinct words; and yet they had to +wait, as if unconscious, during all the long preamble. Do age and +youth never play the same parts now? To return. John Foster replied +to his brother: + +'The stock and goodwill! That would take much wealth. And there will +be fixtures to be considered. Philip, canst thee tell me the exact +amount of stock in the shop at present?' + +It had only just been taken; Philip had it at his fingers' ends. +'One thousand nine hundred and forty-one pounds, thirteen shillings +and twopence.' + +Coulson looked at him in a little dismay, and could not repress a +sigh. The figures put into words and spoken aloud seemed to indicate +so much larger an amount of money than when quickly written down in +numerals. But Philip read the countenances, nay, by some process of +which he was not himself aware, he read the minds of the brothers, +and felt no dismay at what he saw there. + +'And the fixtures?' asked John Foster. + +'The appraiser valued them at four hundred and thirty-five pounds +three and sixpence when father died. We have added to them since, +but we will reckon them at that. How much does that make with the +value of the stock?' + +'Two thousand one hundred and seventy-six pounds, sixteen shillings +and eightpence,' said Philip. + +Coulson had done the sum quicker, but was too much disheartened by +the amount to speak. + +'And the goodwill?' asked the pitiless John. 'What dost thee set +that at?' + +'I think, brother, that that would depend on who came forward with +the purchase-money of the stock and fixtures. To some folks we might +make it sit easy, if they were known to us, and those as we wished +well to. If Philip and William here, for instance, said they'd like +to purchase the business, I reckon thee and me would not ask 'em so +much as we should ask Millers' (Millers was an upstart petty rival +shop at the end of the bridge in the New Town). + +'I wish Philip and William was to come after us,' said John. 'But +that's out of the question,' he continued, knowing all the while +that, far from being out of the question, it was the very question, +and that it was as good as settled at this very time. + +No one spoke. Then Jeremiah went on: + +'It's out of the question, I reckon?' + +He looked at the two young men. Coulson shook his head. Philip more +bravely said,-- + +'I have fifty-three pounds seven and fourpence in yo'r hands, Master +John, and it's all I have i' the world.' + +'It's a pity,' said John, and again they were silent. Half-past nine +struck. It was time to be beginning to make an end. 'Perhaps, +brother, they have friends who could advance 'em the money. We might +make it sit light to them, for the sake of their good service?' + +Philip replied,-- + +'There's no one who can put forwards a penny for me: I have but few +kin, and they have little to spare beyond what they need.' + +Coulson said-- + +'My father and mother have nine on us.' + +'Let alone, let alone!' said John, relenting fast; for he was weary +of his part of cold, stern prudence. 'Brother, I think we have +enough of this world's goods to do what we like wi' our own.' + +Jeremiah was a little scandalized at the rapid melting away of +assumed character, and took a good pull at his pipe before he +replied-- + +'Upwards of two thousand pounds is a large sum to set on the +well-being and well-doing of two lads, the elder of whom is not +three-and-twenty. I fear we must look farther a-field.' + +'Why, John,' replied Jeremiah, 'it was but yesterday thee saidst +thee would rather have Philip and William than any men o' fifty that +thee knowed. And now to bring up their youth again them.' + +'Well, well! t' half on it is thine, and thou shall do even as thou +wilt. But I think as I must have security for my moiety, for it's a +risk--a great risk. Have ye any security to offer? any expectations? +any legacies, as other folk have a life-interest in at present?' + +No; neither of them had. So Jeremiah rejoined-- + +'Then, I suppose, I mun do as thee dost, John, and take the security +of character. And it's a great security too, lads, and t' best o' +all, and one that I couldn't ha' done without; no, not if yo'd pay +me down five thousand for goodwill, and stock, and fixtures. For +John Foster and Son has been a shop i' Monkshaven this eighty years +and more; and I dunnot think there's a man living--or dead, for that +matter--as can say Fosters wronged him of a penny, or gave short +measure to a child or a Cousin Betty.' + +They all four shook hands round with the same heartiness as if it +had been a legal ceremony necessary to the completion of the +partnership. The old men's faces were bright with smiles; the eyes +of the young ones sparkled with hope. + +'But, after all,' said Jeremiah, 'we've not told you particulars. +Yo're thanking us for a pig in a poke; but we had more forethought, +and we put all down on a piece o' paper.' + +He took down a folded piece of paper from the mantel-shelf, put on +his horn spectacles, and began to read aloud, occasionally peering +over his glasses to note the effect on the countenances of the young +men. The only thing he was in the habit of reading aloud was a +chapter in the Bible daily to his housekeeper servant; and, like +many, he reserved a peculiar tone for that solemn occupation--a tone +which he unconsciously employed for the present enumeration of +pounds, shillings, and pence. + +'Average returns of the last three years, one hundred and +twenty-seven pounds, three shillings, and seven penny and one-sixth +a week. Profits thereupon thirty-four per cent.--as near as may be. +Clear profits of the concern, after deducting all expenses except +rent--for t' house is our own--one thousand two hundred and two +pound a year.' + +This was far more than either Hepburn or Coulson had imagined it to +be; and a look of surprise, almost amounting to dismay, crept over +their faces, in spite of their endeavour to keep simply motionless +and attentive. + +'It's a deal of money, lads, and the Lord give you grace to guide +it,' said Jeremiah, putting down his paper for a minute. + +'Amen,' said John, shaking his head to give effect to his word. + +'Now what we propose is this,' continued Jeremiah, beginning afresh +to refer to his paper: 'We will call t' value of stock and fixtures +two thousand one hundred and fifty. You may have John Holden, +appraiser and auctioneer, in to set a price on them if yo' will; or +yo' may look over books and bills; or, better still, do both, and so +check one again t'other; but for t' sake o' making the ground o' the +bargain, I state the sum as above; and I reckon it so much capital +left in yo'r hands for the use o' which yo're bound to pay us five +per cent. quarterly--that's one hundred and seven pound ten per +annum at least for t' first year; and after it will be reduced by +the gradual payment on our money, which must be at the rate of +twenty per cent., thus paying us our principal back in five years. +And the rent, including all back yards, right of wharfage, +warehouse, and premises, is reckoned by us to be sixty-five pound +per annum. So yo' will have to pay us, John and Jeremiah Foster, +brothers, six hundred and twelve pound ten out of the profits of the +first year, leaving, at the present rate of profits, about five +hundred and eighty-nine pound ten, for the share to be divided +between yo'.' + +The plan had, in all its details, been carefully arranged by the two +brothers. They were afraid lest Hepburn and Coulson should be +dazzled by the amount of profits, and had so arranged the +sliding-scale of payment as to reduce the first year's income to +what the elder men thought a very moderate sum, but what to the +younger ones appeared an amount of wealth such as they, who had +neither of them ever owned much more than fifty pounds, considered +almost inexhaustible. It was certainly a remarkable instance of +prosperity and desert meeting together so early in life. + +For a moment or two the brothers were disappointed at not hearing +any reply from either of them. Then Philip stood up, for he felt as +if anything he could say sitting down would not be sufficiently +expressive of gratitude, and William instantly followed his example. +Hepburn began in a formal manner, something the way in which he had +read in the York newspapers that honourable members returned thanks +when their health was given. + +'I can hardly express my feelings' (Coulson nudged him) 'his +feelings, too--of gratitude. Oh, Master John! Master Jeremiah, I +thought it might come i' time; nay, I've thought it might come afore +long; but I niver thought as it would be so much, or made so easy. +We've got good kind friends--we have, have we not, William?--and +we'll do our best, and I hope as we shall come up to their wishes.' + +Philip's voice quivered a little, as some remembrance passed across +his mind; at this unusual moment of expansion out it came. 'I wish +mother could ha' seen this day.' + +'She shall see a better day, my lad, when thy name and William's is +painted over t' shop-door, and J. and J. Foster blacked out.' + +'Nay, master,' said William, 'that mun never be. I'd a'most sooner +not come in for the business. Anyhow, it must be 'late J. and J. +Foster,' and I'm not sure as I can stomach that.' + +'Well, well, William,' said John Foster, highly gratified, 'there be +time enough to talk over that. There was one thing more to be said, +was there not, brother Jeremiah? We do not wish to have this talked +over in Monkshaven until shortly before the time when yo' must enter +on the business. We have our own arrangements to make wi' regard to +the banking concern, and there'll be lawyer's work to do, after +yo've examined books and looked over stock again together; may-be +we've overstated it, or t' fixtures aren't worth so much as we said. +Anyhow yo' must each on yo' give us yo'r word for to keep fra' +naming this night's conversation to any one. Meantime, Jeremiah and +I will have to pay accounts, and take a kind of farewell of the +merchants and manufacturers with whom Fosters have had dealings this +seventy or eighty year; and when and where it seems fitting to us we +will take one of yo' to introduce as our successors and friends. But +all that's to come. But yo' must each give us yo'r word not to name +what has passed here to any one till further speech on the subject +has passed between us.' + +Coulson immediately gave the promise. Philip's assent came lagging. +He had thought of Sylvia living, almost as much as of the dead +mother, whose last words had been a committal of her child to the +Father of the friendless; and now that a short delay was placed +between the sight of the cup and his enjoyment of it, there was an +impatient chafing in the mind of the composed and self-restrained +Philip; and then repentance quick as lightning effaced the feeling, +and he pledged himself to the secrecy which was enjoined. Some few +more details as to their mode of procedure--of verifying the +Fosters' statements, which to the younger men seemed a perfectly +unnecessary piece of business--of probable journeys and +introductions, and then farewell was bidden, and Hepburn and Coulson +were in the passage donning their wraps, and rather to their +indignation being assisted therein by Martha, who was accustomed to +the office with her own master. Suddenly they were recalled into the +parlour. + +John Foster was fumbling with the papers a little nervously: +Jeremiah spoke-- + +'We have not thought it necessary to commend Hester Rose to you; if +she had been a lad she would have had a third o' the business along +wi' yo'. Being a woman, it's ill troubling her with a partnership; +better give her a fixed salary till such time as she marries.' + +He looked a little knowingly and curiously at the faces of the young +men he addressed. William Coulson seemed sheepish and uncomfortable, +but said nothing, leaving it as usual to Philip to be spokesman. + +'If we hadn't cared for Hester for hersel', master, we should ha' +cared for her as being forespoken by yo'. Yo' and Master John shall +fix what we ought t' pay her; and I think I may make bold to say +that, as our income rises, hers shall too--eh, Coulson?' (a sound of +assent quite distinct enough); 'for we both look on her as a sister +and on Alice like a mother, as I told her only this very day.' + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A DIFFICULT QUESTION + + +Philip went to bed with that kind of humble penitent gratitude in +his heart, which we sometimes feel after a sudden revulsion of +feeling from despondency to hope. The night before it seemed as if +all events were so arranged as to thwart him in his dearest wishes; +he felt now as if his discontent and repining, not twenty-four hours +before, had been almost impious, so great was the change in his +circumstances for the better. Now all seemed promising for the +fulfilment of what he most desired. He was almost convinced that he +was mistaken in thinking that Kinraid had had anything more than a +sailor's admiration for a pretty girl with regard to Sylvia; at any +rate, he was going away to-morrow, in all probability not to return +for another year (for Greenland ships left for the northern seas as +soon as there was a chance of the ice being broken up), and ere then +he himself might speak out openly, laying before her parents all his +fortunate prospects, and before her all his deep passionate love. + +So this night his prayers were more than the mere form that they had +been the night before; they were a vehement expression of gratitude +to God for having, as it were, interfered on his behalf, to grant +him the desire of his eyes and the lust of his heart. He was like +too many of us, he did not place his future life in the hands of +God, and only ask for grace to do His will in whatever circumstances +might arise; but he yearned in that terrible way after a blessing +which, when granted under such circumstances, too often turns out to +be equivalent to a curse. And that spirit brings with it the +material and earthly idea that all events that favour our wishes are +answers to our prayer; and so they are in one sense, but they need +prayer in a deeper and higher spirit to keep us from the temptation +to evil which such events invariably bring with them. + +Philip little knew how Sylvia's time had been passed that day. If he +had, he would have laid down this night with even a heavier heart +than he had done on the last. + +Charley Kinraid accompanied his cousins as far as the spot where the +path to Haytersbank Farm diverged. Then he stopped his merry talk, +and announced his intention of going to see farmer Robson. Bessy +Corney looked disappointed and a little sulky; but her sister Molly +Brunton laughed, and said,-- + +'Tell truth, lad! Dannel Robson 'd niver have a call fra' thee if he +hadn't a pretty daughter.' + +'Indeed, but he would,' replied Charley, rather annoyed; 'when I've +said a thing, I do it. I promised last night to go see him; besides, +I like the old man.' + +'Well! when shall we tell mother yo're comin' whoam?' + +'Toward eight o'clock--may-be sooner.' + +'Why it's bare five now! bless t' lad, does he think o' staying +theere a' neet, and they up so late last night, and Mrs. Robson +ailing beside? Mother 'll not think it kind on yo' either, will she, +Bess?' + +'I dunno. Charley mun do as he likes; I daresay no one'll miss him +if he does bide away till eight.' + +'Well, well! I can't tell what I shall do; but yo'd best not stop +lingering here, for it's getting on, and there'll be a keen frost by +t' look o' the stars.' + +Haytersbank was closed for the night as far as it ever was closed; +there were no shutters to the windows, nor did they care to draw the +inside curtains, so few were the passers-by. The house door was +fastened; but the shippen door a little on in the same long low +block of building stood open, and a dim light made an oblong upon +the snowy ground outside. As Kinraid drew near he heard talking +there, and a woman's voice; he threw a passing glance through the +window into the fire-lit house-place, and seeing Mrs. Robson asleep +by the fireside in her easy-chair, he went on. + +There was the intermittent sound of the sharp whistling of milk into +the pail, and Kester, sitting on a three-legged stool, cajoling a +capricious cow into letting her fragrant burden flow. Sylvia stood +near the farther window-ledge, on which a horn lantern was placed, +pretending to knit at a gray worsted stocking, but in reality +laughing at Kester's futile endeavours, and finding quite enough to +do with her eyes, in keeping herself untouched by the whisking tail, +or the occasional kick. The frosty air was mellowed by the warm and +odorous breath of the cattle--breath that hung about the place in +faint misty clouds. There was only a dim light; such as it was, it +was not dearly defined against the dark heavy shadow in which the +old black rafters and manger and partitions were enveloped. + +As Charley came to the door, Kester was saying, 'Quiet wi' thee, +wench! Theere now, she's a beauty, if she'll stand still. There's +niver sich a cow i' t' Riding; if she'll only behave hersel'. She's +a bonny lass, she is; let down her milk, theere's a pretty!' + +'Why, Kester,' laughed Sylvia, 'thou'rt asking her for her milk wi' +as many pretty speeches as if thou wert wooing a wife!' + +'Hey, lass!' said Kester, turning a bit towards her, and shutting +one eye to cock the other the better upon her; an operation which +puckered up his already wrinkled face into a thousand new lines and +folds. 'An' how does thee know how a man woos a wife, that thee +talks so knowin' about it? That's tellin'. Some un's been tryin' it +on thee.' + +'There's niver a one been so impudent,' said Sylvia, reddening and +tossing her head a little; 'I'd like to see 'em try me!' + +'Well, well!' said Kester, wilfully misunderstanding her meaning, +'thou mun be patient, wench; and if thou's a good lass, may-be thy +turn 'll come and they 'll try it.' + +'I wish thou'd talk of what thou's some knowledge on, Kester, +i'stead of i' that silly way,' replied Sylvia. + +'Then a mun talk no more 'bout women, for they're past knowin', an' +druv e'en King Solomon silly.' + +At this moment Charley stepped in. Sylvia gave a little start and +dropped her ball of worsted. Kester made as though absorbed in his +task of cajoling Black Nell; but his eyes and ears were both +vigilant. + +'I was going into the house, but I saw yo'r mother asleep, and I +didn't like to waken her, so I just came on here. Is yo'r father to +the fore?' + +'No,' said Sylvia, hanging down her head a little, wondering if he +could have heard the way in which she and Kester had been talking, +and thinking over her little foolish jokes with anger against +herself. 'Father is gone to Winthrop about some pigs as he's heerd +on. He'll not be back till seven o'clock or so.' + +It was but half-past five, and Sylvia in the irritation of the +moment believed that she wished Kinraid would go. But she would have +been extremely disappointed if he had. Kinraid himself seemed to +have no thought of the kind. He saw with his quick eyes, not +unaccustomed to women, that his coming so unexpectedly had fluttered +Sylvia, and anxious to make her quite at her ease with him, and not +unwilling to conciliate Kester, he addressed his next speech to him, +with the same kind of air of interest in the old man's pursuit that +a young man of a different class sometimes puts on when talking to +the chaperone of a pretty girl in a ball-room. + +'That's a handsome beast yo've just been milking, master.' + +'Ay; but handsome is as handsome does. It were only yesterday as she +aimed her leg right at t' pail wi' t' afterings in. She knowed it +were afterings as well as any Christian, and t' more t' mischief t' +better she likes it; an' if a hadn't been too quick for her, it +would have a' gone swash down i' t' litter. This'n 's a far better +cow i' t' long run, she's just a steady goer,' as the milky +down-pour came musical and even from the stall next to Black Nell's. + +Sylvia was knitting away vigorously, thinking all the while that it +was a great pity she had not put on a better gown, or even a cap +with brighter ribbon, and quite unconscious how very pretty she +looked standing against the faint light, her head a little bent +down; her hair catching bright golden touches, as it fell from under +her little linen cap; her pink bed-gown, confined by her +apron-string, giving a sort of easy grace to her figure; her dark +full linsey petticoat short above her trim ancles, looking far more +suitable to the place where she was standing than her long gown of +the night before would have done. Kinraid was wanting to talk to +her, and to make her talk, but was uncertain how to begin. In the +meantime Kester went on with the subject last spoken about. + +'Black Nell's at her fourth calf now, so she ought to ha' left off +her tricks and turned sober-like. But bless yo', there's some cows +as 'll be skittish till they're fat for t' butcher. Not but what a +like milking her better nor a steady goer; a man has allays summat +to be watchin' for; and a'm kind o' set up when a've mastered her at +last. T' young missus theere, she's mighty fond o' comin' t' see +Black Nell at her tantrums. She'd niver come near me if a' cows were +like this'n.' + +'Do you often come and see the cows milked?' asked Kinraid, + +'Many a time,' said Sylvia, smiling a little. 'Why, when we're +throng, I help Kester; but now we've only Black Nell and Daisy +giving milk. Kester knows as I can milk Black Nell quite easy,' she +continued, half vexed that Kester had not named this accomplishment. + +'Ay! when she's in a good frame o' mind, as she is sometimes. But t' +difficulty is to milk her at all times.' + +'I wish I'd come a bit sooner. I should like t' have seen you milk +Black Nell,' addressing Sylvia. + +'Yo'd better come to-morrow e'en, and see what a hand she'll mak' on +her,' said Kester. + +'To-morrow night I shall be far on my road back to Shields.' + +'To-morrow!' said Sylvia, suddenly looking up at him, and then +dropping her eyes, as she found he had been watching for the effect +of his intelligence on her. + +'I mun be back at t' whaler, where I'm engaged,' continued he. +'She's fitting up after a fresh fashion, and as I've been one as +wanted new ways, I mun be on the spot for t' look after her. Maybe I +shall take a run down here afore sailing in March. I'm sure I shall +try.' + +There was a good deal meant and understood by these last few words. +The tone in which they were spoken gave them a tender intensity not +lost upon either of the hearers. Kester cocked his eye once more, +but with as little obtrusiveness as he could, and pondered the +sailor's looks and ways. He remembered his coming about the place +the winter before, and how the old master had then appeared to have +taken to him; but at that time Sylvia had seemed to Kester too +little removed from a child to have either art or part in Kinraid's +visits; now, however, the case was different. Kester in his +sphere--among his circle of acquaintance, narrow though it was--had +heard with much pride of Sylvia's bearing away the bell at church +and at market, wherever girls of her age were congregated. He was a +north countryman, so he gave out no further sign of his feelings +than his mistress and Sylvia's mother had done on a like occasion. + +'T' lass is weel enough,' said he; but he grinned to himself, and +looked about, and listened to the hearsay of every lad, wondering +who was handsome, and brave, and good enough to be Sylvia's mate. +Now, of late, it had seemed to the canny farm-servant pretty clear +that Philip Hepburn was 'after her'; and to Philip, Kester had an +instinctive objection, a kind of natural antipathy such as has +existed in all ages between the dwellers in a town and those in the +country, between agriculture and trade. So, while Kinraid and Sylvia +kept up their half-tender, half-jesting conversation, Kester was +making up his slow persistent mind as to the desirability of the +young man then present as a husband for his darling, as much from +his being other than Philip in every respect, as from the individual +good qualities he possessed. Kester's first opportunity of favouring +Kinraid's suit consisted in being as long as possible over his +milking; so never were cows that required such 'stripping,' or were +expected to yield such 'afterings', as Black Nell and Daisy that +night. But all things must come to an end; and at length Kester got +up from his three-legged stool, on seeing what the others did +not--that the dip-candle in the lantern was coming to an end--and +that in two or three minutes more the shippen would be in darkness, +and so his pails of milk be endangered. In an instant Sylvia had +started out of her delicious dreamland, her drooping eyes were +raised, and recovered their power of observation; her ruddy arms +were freed from the apron in which she had enfolded them, as a +protection from the gathering cold, and she had seized and adjusted +the wooden yoke across her shoulders, ready to bear the brimming +milk-pails to the dairy. + +'Look yo' at her!' exclaimed Kester to Charley, as he adjusted the +fragrant pails on the yoke. 'She thinks she's missus a ready, and +she's allays for carrying in t' milk since t' rhumatiz cotched my +shouther i' t' back end; and when she says "Yea," it's as much as my +heed's worth to say "Nay."' + +And along the wall, round the corner, down the round slippery stones +of the rambling farmyard, behind the buildings, did Sylvia trip, +safe and well-poised, though the ground wore all one coating of +white snow, and in many places was so slippery as to oblige Kinraid +to linger near Kester, the lantern-bearer. Kester did not lose his +opportunity, though the cold misty night air provoked his asthmatic +cough when-ever he breathed, and often interrupted his words. + +'She's a good wench--a good wench as iver was--an come on a good +stock, an' that's summat, whether in a cow or a woman. A've known +her from a baby; she's a reet down good un.' + +By this time they had reached the back-kitchen door, just as Sylvia +had unladen herself, and was striking a light with flint and tinder. +The house seemed warm and inviting after the piercing outer air, +although the kitchen into which they entered contained only a raked +and slumbering fire at one end, over which, on a crook, hung the +immense pan of potatoes cooking for the evening meal of the pigs. To +this pan Kester immediately addressed himself, swinging it round +with ease, owing to the admirable simplicity of the old-fashioned +machinery. Kinraid stood between Kester and the door into the dairy, +through which Sylvia had vanished with the milk. He half wished to +conciliate Kester by helping him, but he seemed also attracted, by a +force which annihilated his will, to follow her wherever she went. +Kester read his mind. + +'Let alone, let alone,' said he; 'pigs' vittle takes noan such +dainty carryin' as milk. A may set it down an' niver spill a drop; +she's noan fit for t' serve swine, nor yo' other, mester; better +help her t' teem t' milk.' + +So Kinraid followed the light--his light--into the icy chill of the +dairy, where the bright polished tin cans were quickly dimmed with +the warm, sweet-smelling milk, that Sylvia was emptying out into the +brown pans. In his haste to help her, Charley took up one of the +pails. + +'Eh? that'n 's to be strained. Yo' have a' the cow's hair in. +Mother's very particular, and cannot abide a hair.' + +So she went over to her awkward dairymaid, and before she--but not +before he--was aware of the sweet proximity, she was adjusting his +happy awkward arms to the new office of holding a milk-strainer over +the bowl, and pouring the white liquid through it. + +'There!' said she, looking up for a moment, and half blushing; 'now +yo'll know how to do it next time.' + +'I wish next time was to come now,' said Kinraid; but she had +returned to her own pail, and seemed not to hear him. He followed +her to her side of the dairy. 'I've but a short memory, can yo' not +show me again how t' hold t' strainer?' + +'No,' said she, half laughing, but holding her strainer fast in +spite of his insinuating efforts to unlock her fingers. 'But there's +no need to tell me yo've getten a short memory.' + +'Why? what have I done? how dun you know it?' + +'Last night,' she began, and then she stopped, and turned away her +head, pretending to be busy in her dairy duties of rinsing and such +like. + +'Well!' said he, half conjecturing her meaning, and flattered by it, +if his conjecture were right. 'Last night--what?' + +'Oh, yo' know!' said she, as if impatient at being both literally +and metaphorically followed about, and driven into a corner. + +'No; tell me,' persisted he. + +'Well,' said she, 'if yo' will have it, I think yo' showed yo'd but +a short memory when yo' didn't know me again, and yo' were five +times at this house last winter, and that's not so long sin'. But I +suppose yo' see a vast o' things on yo'r voyages by land or by sea, +and then it's but natural yo' should forget.' She wished she could +go on talking, but could not think of anything more to say just +then; for, in the middle of her sentence, the flattering +interpretation he might put upon her words, on her knowing so +exactly the number of times he had been to Haytersbank, flashed upon +her, and she wanted to lead the conversation a little farther +afield--to make it a little less personal. This was not his wish, +however. In a tone which thrilled through her, even in her own +despite, he said,-- + +'Do yo' think that can ever happen again, Sylvia?' + +She was quite silent; almost trembling. He repeated the question as +if to force her to answer. Driven to bay, she equivocated. + +'What happen again? Let me go, I dunno what yo're talking about, and +I'm a'most numbed wi' cold.' + +For the frosty air came sharp in through the open lattice window, +and the ice was already forming on the milk. Kinraid would have +found a ready way of keeping his cousins, or indeed most young +women, warm; but he paused before he dared put his arm round Sylvia; +she had something so shy and wild in her look and manner; and her +very innocence of what her words, spoken by another girl, might lead +to, inspired him with respect, and kept him in check. So he +contented himself with saying,-- + +'I'll let yo' go into t' warm kitchen if yo'll tell me if yo' think +I can ever forget yo' again.' + +She looked up at him defiantly, and set her red lips firm. He +enjoyed her determination not to reply to this question; it showed +she felt its significance. Her pure eyes looked steadily into his; +nor was the expression in his such as to daunt her or make her +afraid. They were like two children defying each other; each +determined to conquer. At last she unclosed her lips, and nodding +her head as if in triumph, said, as she folded her arms once more in +her check apron,-- + +'Yo'll have to go home sometime.' + +'Not for a couple of hours yet,' said he; 'and yo'll be frozen +first; so yo'd better say if I can ever forget yo' again, without +more ado.' + +Perhaps the fresh voices breaking on the silence,--perhaps the tones +were less modulated than they had been before, but anyhow Bell +Robson's voice was heard calling Sylvia through the second door, +which opened from the dairy to the house-place, in which her mother +had been till this moment asleep. Sylvia darted off in obedience to +the call; glad to leave him, as at the moment Kinraid resentfully +imagined. Through the open door he heard the conversation between +mother and daughter, almost unconscious of its meaning, so difficult +did he find it to wrench his thoughts from the ideas he had just +been forming with Sylvia's bright lovely face right under his eyes. + +'Sylvia!' said her mother, 'who's yonder?' Bell was sitting up in +the attitude of one startled out of slumber into intensity of +listening; her hands on each of the chair-arms, as if just going to +rise. 'There's a fremd man i' t' house. I heerd his voice!' + +'It's only--it's just Charley Kinraid; he was a-talking to me i' t' +dairy.' + +'I' t' dairy, lass! and how com'd he i' t' dairy?' + +'He com'd to see feyther. Feyther asked him last night,' said +Sylvia, conscious that he could overhear every word that was said, +and a little suspecting that he was no great favourite with her +mother. + +'Thy feyther's out; how com'd he i' t' dairy?' persevered Bell. + +'He com'd past this window, and saw yo' asleep, and didn't like for +t' waken yo'; so he com'd on to t' shippen, and when I carried t' +milk in---' + +But now Kinraid came in, feeling the awkwardness of his situation a +little, yet with an expression so pleasant and manly in his open +face, and in his exculpatory manner, that Sylvia lost his first +words in a strange kind of pride of possession in him, about which +she did not reason nor care to define the grounds. But her mother +rose from her chair somewhat formally, as if she did not intend to +sit down again while he stayed, yet was too weak to be kept in that +standing attitude long. + +'I'm afeared, sir, Sylvie hasn't told yo' that my master's out, and +not like to be in till late. He'll be main and sorry to have missed +yo'.' + +There was nothing for it after this but to go. His only comfort was +that on Sylvia's rosy face he could read unmistakable signs of +regret and dismay. His sailor's life, in bringing him suddenly face +to face with unexpected events, had given him something of that +self-possession which we consider the attribute of a gentleman; and +with an apparent calmness which almost disappointed Sylvia, who +construed it into a symptom of indifference as to whether he went or +stayed, he bade her mother good-night, and only said, in holding her +hand a minute longer than was absolutely necessary,-- + +'I'm coming back ere I sail; and then, may-be, you'll answer yon +question.' + +He spoke low, and her mother was rearranging herself in her chair, +else Sylvia would have had to repeat the previous words. As it was, +with soft thrilling ideas ringing through her, she could get her +wheel, and sit down to her spinning by the fire; waiting for her +mother to speak first, Sylvia dreamt her dreams. + +Bell Robson was partly aware of the state of things, as far as it +lay on the surface. She was not aware how deep down certain feelings +had penetrated into the girl's heart who sat on the other side of +the fire, with a little sad air diffused over her face and figure. +Bell looked upon Sylvia as still a child, to be warned off forbidden +things by threats of danger. But the forbidden thing was already +tasted, and possible danger in its full acquisition only served to +make it more precious-sweet. + +Bell sat upright in her chair, gazing into the fire. Her milk-white +linen mob-cap fringed round and softened her face, from which the +usual apple-red was banished by illness, and the features, from the +same cause, rendered more prominent and stern. She had a clean buff +kerchief round her neck, and stuffed into the bosom of her Sunday +woollen gown of dark blue,--if she had been in working-trim she +would have worn a bedgown like Sylvia's. Her sleeves were pinned +back at the elbows, and her brown arms and hard-working hands lay +crossed in unwonted idleness on her check apron. Her knitting was by +her side; and if she had been going through any accustomed +calculation or consideration she would have had it busily clinking +in her fingers. But she had something quite beyond common to think +about, and, perhaps, to speak about; and for the minute she was not +equal to knitting. + +'Sylvie,' she began at length, 'did I e'er tell thee on Nancy +Hartley as I knew when I were a child? I'm thinking a deal on her +to-night; may-be it's because I've been dreaming on yon old times. +She was a bonny lass as ever were seen, I've heerd folk say; but +that were afore I knew her. When I knew her she were crazy, poor +wench; wi' her black hair a-streaming down her back, and her eyes, +as were a'most as black, allays crying out for pity, though never a +word she spoke but "He once was here." Just that o'er and o'er +again, whether she were cold or hot, full or hungry, "He once was +here," were all her speech. She had been farm-servant to my mother's +brother--James Hepburn, thy great-uncle as was; she were a poor, +friendless wench, a parish 'prentice, but honest and gaum-like, till +a lad, as nobody knowed, come o'er the hills one sheep-shearing fra' +Whitehaven; he had summat to do wi' th' sea, though not rightly to +be called a sailor: and he made a deal on Nancy Hartley, just to +beguile the time like; and he went away and ne'er sent a thought +after her more. It's the way as lads have; and there's no holding +'em when they're fellows as nobody knows--neither where they come +fro', nor what they've been doing a' their lives, till they come +athwart some poor wench like Nancy Hartley. She were but a softy +after all: for she left off doing her work in a proper manner. I've +heerd my aunt say as she found out as summat was wrong wi' Nancy as +soon as th' milk turned bingy, for there ne'er had been such a clean +lass about her milk-cans afore that; and from bad it grew to worse, +and she would sit and do nothing but play wi' her fingers fro' morn +till night, and if they asked her what ailed her, she just said, "He +once was here;" and if they bid her go about her work, it were a' +the same. And when they scolded her, and pretty sharp too, she would +stand up and put her hair from her eyes, and look about her like a +crazy thing searching for her wits, and ne'er finding them, for all +she could think on was just, "He once was here." It were a caution +to me again thinking a man t' mean what he says when he's a-talking +to a young woman.' + +'But what became on poor Nancy?' asked Sylvia. + +'What should become on her or on any lass as gives hersel' up to +thinking on a man who cares nought for her?' replied her mother, a +little severely. 'She were crazed, and my aunt couldn't keep her +on, could she? She did keep her a long weary time, thinking as she +would, may-be, come to hersel', and, anyhow, she were a motherless +wench. But at length she had for t' go where she came fro'--back to +Keswick workhouse: and when last I heerd on her she were chained to +th' great kitchen dresser i' t' workhouse; they'd beaten her till +she were taught to be silent and quiet i' th' daytime, but at night, +when she were left alone, she would take up th' oud cry, till it +wrung their heart, so they'd many a time to come down and beat her +again to get any peace. It were a caution to me, as I said afore, to +keep fro' thinking on men as thought nought on me.' + +'Poor crazy Nancy!' sighed Sylvia. The mother wondered if she had +taken the 'caution' to herself, or was only full of pity for the mad +girl, dead long before. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE ENGAGEMENT + + +'As the day lengthens so the cold strengthens.' It was so that year; +the hard frost which began on new year's eve lasted on and on into +late February, black and bitter, but welcome enough to the farmers, +as it kept back the too early growth of autumn-sown wheat, and gave +them the opportunity of leading manure. But it did not suit invalids +as well, and Bell Robson, though not getting worse, did not make any +progress towards amendment. Sylvia was kept very busy, +notwithstanding that she had the assistance of a poor widow-woman in +the neighbourhood on cleaning, or washing, or churning days. Her +life was quiet and monotonous, although hard-working; and while her +hands mechanically found and did their accustomed labour, the +thoughts that rose in her head always centred on Charley Kinraid, +his ways, his words, his looks, whether they all meant what she +would fain believe they did, and whether, meaning love at the time, +such a feeling was likely to endure. Her mother's story of crazy +Nancy had taken hold of her; but not as a 'caution,' rather as a +parallel case to her own. Like Nancy, and borrowing the poor girl's +own words, she would say softly to herself, 'He once was here'; but +all along she believed in her heart he would come back again to her, +though it touched her strangely to imagine the agonies of forsaken +love. + +Philip knew little of all this. He was very busy with facts and +figures, doggedly fighting through the necessary business, and only +now and then allowing himself the delicious relaxation of going to +Haytersbank in an evening, to inquire after his aunt's health, and +to see Sylvia; for the two Fosters were punctiliously anxious to +make their shopmen test all their statements; insisting on an +examination of the stock, as if Hepburn and Coulson were strangers +to the shop; having the Monkshaven auctioneer in to appraise the +fixtures and necessary furniture; going over the shop books for the +last twenty years with their successors, an employment which took up +evening after evening; and not unfrequently taking one of the young +men on the long commercial journeys which were tediously made in a +gig. By degrees both Hepburn and Coulson were introduced to distant +manufacturers and wholesale dealers. They would have been willing to +take the Fosters' word for every statement the brothers had made on +new year's day; but this, it was evident, would not have satisfied +their masters, who were scrupulous in insisting that whatever +advantage there was should always fall on the side of the younger +men. + +When Philip saw Sylvia she was always quiet and gentle; perhaps more +silent than she had been a year ago, and she did not attend so +briskly to what was passing around her. She was rather thinner and +paler; but whatever change there was in her was always an +improvement in Philip's eyes, so long as she spoke graciously to +him. He thought she was suffering from long-continued anxiety about +her mother, or that she had too much to do; and either cause was +enough to make him treat her with a grave regard and deference which +had a repressed tenderness in it, of which she, otherwise occupied, +was quite unaware. She liked him better, too, than she had done a +year or two before, because he did not show her any of the eager +attention which teased her then, although its meaning was not fully +understood. + +Things were much in this state when the frost broke, and milder +weather succeeded. This was the time so long looked forward to by +the invalid and her friends, as favouring the doctor's +recommendation of change of air. Her husband was to take her to +spend a fortnight with a kindly neighbour, who lived near the farm +they had occupied, forty miles or so inland, before they came to +Haytersbank. The widow-woman was to come and stay in the house, to +keep Sylvia company, during her mother's absence. Daniel, indeed, +was to return home after conveying his wife to her destination; but +there was so much to be done on the land at this time of the year, +that Sylvia would have been alone all day had it not been for the +arrangement just mentioned. + +There was active stirring in Monkshaven harbour as well as on shore. +The whalers were finishing their fittings-out for the Greenland +seas. It was a 'close' season, that is to say, there would be +difficulty in passing the barrier of ice which lay between the ships +and the whaling-grounds; and yet these must be reached before June, +or the year's expedition would be of little avail. Every +blacksmith's shop rung with the rhythmical clang of busy hammers, +beating out old iron, such as horseshoes, nails or stubs, into the +great harpoons; the quays were thronged with busy and important +sailors, rushing hither and thither, conscious of the demand in +which they were held at this season of the year. It was war time, +too. Many captains unable to procure men in Monkshaven would have to +complete their crews in the Shetlands. The shops in the town were +equally busy; stores had to be purchased by the whaling-masters, +warm clothing of all sorts to be provided. These were the larger +wholesale orders; but many a man, and woman, too, brought out their +small hoards to purchase extra comforts, or precious keepsakes for +some beloved one. It was the time of the great half-yearly traffic +of the place; another impetus was given to business when the whalers +returned in the autumn, and the men were flush of money, and full of +delight at once more seeing their homes and their friends. + +There was much to be done in Fosters' shop, and later hours were +kept than usual. Some perplexity or other was occupying John and +Jeremiah Foster; their minds were not so much on the alert as usual, +being engaged on some weighty matter of which they had as yet spoken +to no one. But it thus happened that they did not give the prompt +assistance they were accustomed to render at such times; and Coulson +had been away on some of the new expeditions devolving on him and +Philip as future partners. One evening after the shop was closed, +while they were examining the goods, and comparing the sales with +the entries in the day-book, Coulson suddenly inquired-- + +'By the way, Hester, does thee know where the parcel of best +bandanas is gone? There was four left, as I'm pretty sure, when I +set off to Sandsend; and to-day Mark Alderson came in, and would +fain have had one, and I could find none nowhere.' + +'I sold t' last to-day, to yon sailor, the specksioneer, who fought +the press-gang same time as poor Darley were killed. He took it, and +three yards of yon pink ribbon wi' t' black and yellow crosses on +it, as Philip could never abide. Philip has got 'em i' t' book, if +he'll only look.' + +'Is he here again?' said Philip; 'I didn't see him. What brings him +here, where he's noan wanted?' + +'T' shop were throng wi' folk,' said Hester, 'and he knew his own +mind about the handkercher, and didn't tarry long. Just as he was +leaving, his eye caught on t' ribbon, and he came back for it. It +were when yo' were serving Mary Darby and there was a vast o' folk +about yo'.' + +'I wish I'd seen him,' said Coulson. 'I'd ha' gi'en him a word and a +look he'd not ha' forgotten in a hurry.' + +'Why, what's up?' said Philip, surprised at William's unusual +manner, and, at the same time, rather gratified to find a reflection +of his own feelings about Kinraid. Coulson's face was pale with +anger, but for a moment or two he seemed uncertain whether he would +reply or not. + +'Up!' said he at length. 'It's just this: he came after my sister +for better nor two year; and a better lass--no, nor a prettier i' my +eyes--niver broke bread. And then my master saw another girl, that +he liked better'--William almost choked in his endeavour to keep +down all appearance of violent anger, and then went on, 'and that +he played t' same game wi', as I've heerd tell.' + +'And how did thy sister take it?' asked Philip, eagerly. + +'She died in a six-month,' said William; '_she_ forgived him, but +it's beyond me. I thought it were him when I heerd of t' work about +Darley; Kinraid--and coming fra' Newcassel, where Annie lived +'prentice--and I made inquiry, and it were t' same man. But I'll +say no more about him, for it stirs t' old Adam more nor I like, or +is fitting.' + +Out of respect to him, Philip asked no more questions although there +were many things that he fain would have known. Both Coulson and he +went silently and grimly through the remainder of their day's work. +Independent of any personal interest which either or both of them +had or might have in Kinraid's being a light o' love, this fault of +his was one with which the two grave, sedate young men had no +sympathy. Their hearts were true and constant, whatever else might +be their failings; and it is no new thing to 'damn the faults we +have no mind to.' Philip wished that it was not so late, or that +very evening he would have gone to keep guard over Sylvia in her +mother's absence--nay, perhaps he might have seen reason to give her +a warning of some kind. But, if he had done so, it would have been +locking the stable-door after the steed was stolen. Kinraid had +turned his steps towards Haytersbank Farm as soon as ever he had +completed his purchases. He had only come that afternoon to +Monkshaven, and for the sole purpose of seeing Sylvia once more +before he went to fulfil his engagement as specksioneer in the +_Urania_, a whaling-vessel that was to sail from North Shields on +Thursday morning, and this was Monday. + +Sylvia sat in the house-place, her back to the long low window, in +order to have all the light the afternoon hour afforded for her +work. A basket of her father's unmended stockings was on the little +round table beside her, and one was on her left hand, which she +supposed herself to be mending; but from time to time she made long +pauses, and looked in the fire; and yet there was but little motion +of flame or light in it out of which to conjure visions. It was +'redd up' for the afternoon; covered with a black mass of coal, over +which the equally black kettle hung on the crook. In the +back-kitchen Dolly Reid, Sylvia's assistant during her mother's +absence, chanted a lugubrious ditty, befitting her condition as a +widow, while she cleaned tins, and cans, and milking-pails. Perhaps +these bustling sounds prevented Sylvia from hearing approaching +footsteps coming down the brow with swift advance; at any rate, she +started and suddenly stood up as some one entered the open door. It +was strange she should be so much startled, for the person who +entered had been in her thoughts all during those long pauses. +Charley Kinraid and the story of crazy Nancy had been the subjects +for her dreams for many a day, and many a night. Now he stood there, +bright and handsome as ever, with just that much timidity in his +face, that anxiety as to his welcome, which gave his accost an added +charm, could she but have perceived it. But she was so afraid of +herself, so unwilling to show what she felt, and how much she had +been thinking of him in his absence, that her reception seemed cold +and still. She did not come forward to meet him; she went crimson to +the very roots of her hair; but that, in the waning light, he could +not see; and she shook so that she felt as if she could hardly +stand; but the tremor was not visible to him. She wondered if he +remembered the kiss that had passed between them on new year's +eve--the words that had been spoken in the dairy on new year's day; +the tones, the looks, that had accompanied those words. But all she +said was-- + +'I didn't think to see yo'. I thought yo'd ha' sailed.' + +'I told yo' I should come back, didn't I?' said he, still standing, +with his hat in his hand, waiting to be asked to sit down; and she, +in her bashfulness, forgetting to give the invitation, but, instead, +pretending to be attentively mending the stocking she held. Neither +could keep quiet and silent long. She felt his eyes were upon her, +watching every motion, and grew more and more confused in her +expression and behaviour. He was a little taken aback by the nature +of his reception, and was not sure at first whether to take the +great change in her manner, from what it had been when last he saw +her, as a favourable symptom or otherwise. By-and-by, luckily for +him, in some turn of her arm to reach the scissors on the table, she +caught the edge of her work-basket, and down it fell. She stooped to +pick up the scattered stockings and ball of worsted, and so did he; +and when they rose up, he had fast hold of her hand, and her face +was turned away, half ready to cry. + +'What ails yo' at me?' said he, beseechingly. 'Yo' might ha' +forgotten me; and yet I thought we made a bargain against forgetting +each other.' No answer. He went on: 'Yo've never been out o' my +thoughts, Sylvia Robson; and I'm come back to Monkshaven for nought +but to see you once and again afore I go away to the northern seas. +It's not two hour sin' I landed at Monkshaven, and I've been near +neither kith nor kin as yet; and now I'm here you won't speak to +me.' + +'I don't know what to say,' said she, in a low, almost inaudible +tone. Then hardening herself, and resolving to speak as if she did +not understand his only half-expressed meaning, she lifted up her +head, and all but looking at him--while she wrenched her hand out of +his--she said: 'Mother's gone to Middleham for a visit, and +feyther's out i' t' plough-field wi' Kester; but he'll be in afore +long.' + +Charley did not speak for a minute or so. Then he said-- + +'Yo're not so dull as to think I'm come all this way for t' see +either your father or your mother. I've a great respect for 'em +both; but I'd hardly ha' come all this way for to see 'em, and me +bound to be back i' Shields, if I walk every step of the way, by +Wednesday night. It's that yo' won't understand my meaning, Sylvia; +it's not that yo' don't, or that yo' can't.' He made no effort to +repossess himself of her hand. She was quite silent, but in spite of +herself she drew long hard breaths. 'I may go back to where I came +from,' he went on. 'I thought to go to sea wi' a blessed hope to +cheer me up, and a knowledge o' some one as loved me as I'd left +behind; some one as loved me half as much as I did her; for th' +measure o' my love toward her is so great and mighty, I'd be content +wi' half as much from her, till I'd taught her to love me more. But +if she's a cold heart and cannot care for a honest sailor, why, +then, I'd best go back at once.' + +He made for the door. He must have been pretty sure from some sign +or other, or he would never have left it to her womanly pride to +give way, and for her to make the next advance. He had not taken two +steps when she turned quickly towards him, and said something--the +echo of which, rather than the words themselves, reached him. + +'I didn't know yo' cared for me; yo' niver said so.' In an instant +he was back at her side, his arm round her in spite of her short +struggle, and his eager passionate voice saying, 'Yo' never knowed I +loved you, Sylvia? say it again, and look i' my face while yo' say +it, if yo' can. Why, last winter I thought yo'd be such a woman when +yo'd come to be one as my een had never looked upon, and this year, +ever sin' I saw yo' i' the kitchen corner sitting crouching behind +my uncle, I as good as swore I'd have yo' for wife, or never wed at +all. And it was not long ere yo' knowed it, for all yo' were so coy, +and now yo' have the face--no, yo' have not the face--come, my +darling, what is it?' for she was crying; and on his turning her wet +blushing face towards him the better to look at it, she suddenly hid +it in his breast. He lulled and soothed her in his arms, as if she +had been a weeping child and he her mother; and then they sat down +on the settle together, and when she was more composed they began to +talk. He asked her about her mother; not sorry in his heart at Bell +Robson's absence. He had intended if necessary to acknowledge his +wishes and desires with regard to Sylvia to her parents; but for +various reasons he was not sorry that circumstances had given him +the chance of seeing her alone, and obtaining her promise to marry +him without being obliged to tell either her father or her mother at +present. 'I ha' spent my money pretty free,' he said, 'and I've +ne'er a penny to the fore, and yo'r parents may look for something +better for yo', my pretty: but when I come back fro' this voyage I +shall stand a chance of having a share i' th' _Urania_, and may-be I +shall be mate as well as specksioneer; and I can get a matter of +from seventy to ninety pound a voyage, let alone th' half-guineas +for every whale I strike, and six shilling a gallon on th' oil; and +if I keep steady wi' Forbes and Company, they'll make me master i' +time, for I've had good schooling, and can work a ship as well as +any man; an' I leave yo' wi' yo'r parents, or take a cottage for yo' +nigh at hand; but I would like to have something to the fore, and +that I shall have, please God, when we come back i' th' autumn. I +shall go to sea happy, now, thinking I've yo'r word. Yo're not one +to go back from it, I'm sure, else it's a long time to leave such a +pretty girl as yo', and ne'er a chance of a letter reaching yo' just +to tell yo' once again how I love yo', and to bid yo' not forget +yo'r true love.' + +'There'll be no need o' that,' murmured Sylvia. + +She was too dizzy with happiness to have attended much to his +details of his worldly prospects, but at the sound of his tender +words of love her eager heart was ready to listen. + +'I don't know,' said he, wanting to draw her out into more +confession of her feelings. 'There's many a one ready to come after +yo'; and yo'r mother is not o'er captivated wi' me; and there's yon +tall fellow of a cousin as looks black at me, for if I'm not +mista'en he's a notion of being sweet on yo' hisself.' + +'Not he,' said Sylvia, with some contempt in her tone. 'He's so full +o' business and t' shop, and o' makin' money, and gettin' wealth.' + +'Ay, ay; but perhaps when he gets a rich man he'll come and ask my +Sylvia to be his wife, and what will she say then?' + +'He'll niver come asking such a foolish question,' said she, a +little impatiently; 'he knows what answer he'd get if he did.' + +Kinraid said, almost as if to himself, 'Yo'r mother favours him +though.' But she, weary of a subject she cared nothing about, and +eager to identify herself with all his interests, asked him about +his plans almost at the same time that he said these last words; and +they went on as lovers do, intermixing a great many tender +expressions with a very little conversation relating to facts. + +Dolly Reid came in, and went out softly, unheeded by them. But +Sylvia's listening ears caught her father's voice, as he and Kester +returned homewards from their day's work in the plough-field; and +she started away, and fled upstairs in shy affright, leaving Charley +to explain his presence in the solitary kitchen to her father. + +He came in, not seeing that any one was there at first; for they had +never thought of lighting a candle. Kinraid stepped forward into the +firelight; his purpose of concealing what he had said to Sylvia +quite melted away by the cordial welcome her father gave him the +instant that he recognized him. + +'Bless thee, lad! who'd ha' thought o' seein' thee? Why, if iver a +thought on thee at all, it were half way to Davis' Straits. To be +sure, t' winter's been a dree season, and thou'rt, may-be, i' t' +reet on 't to mak' a late start. Latest start as iver I made was +ninth o' March, an' we struck thirteen whales that year.' + +'I have something to say to you,' said Charley, in a hesitating +voice, so different to his usual hearty way, that Daniel gave him a +keen look of attention before he began to speak. And, perhaps, the +elder man was not unprepared for the communication that followed. At +any rate, it was not unwelcome. He liked Kinraid, and had strong +sympathy not merely with what he knew of the young sailor's +character, but with the life he led, and the business he followed. +Robson listened to all he said with approving nods and winks, till +Charley had told him everything he had to say; and then he turned +and struck his broad horny palm into Kinraid's as if concluding a +bargain, while he expressed in words his hearty consent to their +engagement. He wound up with a chuckle, as the thought struck him +that this great piece of business, of disposing of their only child, +had been concluded while his wife was away. + +'A'm noan so sure as t' missus 'll like it,' said he; 'tho' +whativer she'll ha' to say again it, mischief only knows. But she's +noan keen on matterimony; though a have made her as good a man as +there is in a' t' Ridings. Anyhow, a'm master, and that she knows. +But may-be, for t' sake o' peace an' quietness--tho' she's niver a +scolding tongue, that a will say for her--we'n best keep this matter +to ourselves till thou comes int' port again. T' lass upstairs 'll +like nought better than t' curl hersel' round a secret, and purr +o'er it, just as t' oud cat does o'er her blind kitten. But thou'll +be wanting to see t' lass, a'll be bound. An oud man like me isn't +as good company as a pretty lass.' Laughing a low rich laugh over +his own wit, Daniel went to the bottom of the stairs, and called, +'Sylvie, Sylvie! come down, lass! a's reet; come down!' + +For a time there was no answer. Then a door was unbolted, and Sylvia +said, + +'I can't come down again. I'm noan comin' down again to-night.' + +Daniel laughed the more at this, especially when he caught Charley's +look of disappointment. + +'Hearken how she's bolted her door. She'll noane come near us this +night. Eh! but she's a stiff little 'un; she's been our only one, and +we'n mostly let her have her own way. But we'll have a pipe and a +glass; and that, to my thinking, is as good company as iver a woman +in Yorkshire.' + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +REJECTED WARNINGS + + +The post arrived at Monkshaven three times in the week; sometimes, +indeed, there were not a dozen letters in the bag, which was brought +thither by a man in a light mail-cart, who took the better part of a +day to drive from York; dropping private bags here and there on the +moors, at some squire's lodge or roadside inn. Of the number of +letters that arrived in Monkshaven, the Fosters, shopkeepers and +bankers, had the largest share. + +The morning succeeding the day on which Sylvia had engaged herself +to Kinraid, the Fosters seemed unusually anxious to obtain their +letters. Several times Jeremiah came out of the parlour in which his +brother John was sitting in expectant silence, and, passing through +the shop, looked up and down the market-place in search of the old +lame woman, who was charitably employed to deliver letters, and who +must have been lamer than ever this morning, to judge from the +lateness of her coming. Although none but the Fosters knew the cause +of their impatience for their letters, yet there was such tacit +sympathy between them and those whom they employed, that Hepburn, +Coulson, and Hester were all much relieved when the old woman at +length appeared with her basket of letters. + +One of these seemed of especial consequence to the good brothers. +They each separately looked at the direction, and then at one +another; and without a word they returned with it unread into the +parlour, shutting the door, and drawing the green silk curtain +close, the better to read it in privacy. + +Both Coulson and Philip felt that something unusual was going on, +and were, perhaps, as full of consideration as to the possible +contents of this London letter, as of attention to their more +immediate business. But fortunately there was little doing in the +shop. Philip, indeed, was quite idle when John Foster opened the +parlour-door, and, half doubtfully, called him into the room. As the +door of communication shut the three in, Coulson felt himself a +little aggrieved. A minute ago Philip and he were on a level of +ignorance, from which the former was evidently going to be raised. +But he soon returned to his usual state of acquiescence in things as +they were, which was partly constitutional, and partly the result of +his Quaker training. + +It was apparently by John Foster's wish that Philip had been +summoned. Jeremiah, the less energetic and decided brother, was +still discussing the propriety of the step when Philip entered. + +'No need for haste, John; better not call the young man till we have +further considered the matter.' + +But the young man was there in presence; and John's will carried the +day. + +It seemed from his account to Philip (explanatory of what he, in +advance of his brother's slower judgment, thought to be a necessary +step), that the Fosters had for some time received anonymous +letters, warning them, with distinct meaning, though in ambiguous +terms, against a certain silk-manufacturer in Spitalfields, with +whom they had had straightforward business dealings for many years; +but to whom they had latterly advanced money. The letters hinted at +the utter insolvency of this manufacturer. They had urged their +correspondent to give them his name in confidence, and this +morning's letter had brought it; but the name was totally unknown to +them, though there seemed no reason to doubt the reality of either +it or the address, the latter of which was given in full. Certain +circumstances were mentioned regarding the transactions between the +Fosters and this manufacturer, which could be known only to those +who were in the confidence of one or the other; and to the Fosters +the man was, as has been said, a perfect stranger. Probably, they +would have been unwilling to incur the risk they had done on this +manufacturer Dickinson's account, if it had not been that he +belonged to the same denomination as themselves, and was publicly +distinguished for his excellent and philanthropic character; but +these letters were provocative of anxiety, especially since this +morning's post had brought out the writer's full name, and various +particulars showing his intimate knowledge of Dickinson's affairs. + +After much perplexed consultation, John had hit upon the plan of +sending Hepburn to London to make secret inquiries respecting the +true character and commercial position of the man whose creditors, +not a month ago, they had esteemed it an honour to be. + +Even now Jeremiah was ashamed of their want of confidence in one so +good; he believed that the information they had received would all +prove a mistake, founded on erroneous grounds, if not a pure +invention of an enemy; and he had only been brought partially to +consent to the sending of Hepburn, by his brother's pledging himself +that the real nature of Philip's errand should be unknown to any +human creature, save them three. + +As all this was being revealed to Philip, he sat apparently unmoved +and simply attentive. In fact, he was giving all his mind to +understanding the probabilities of the case, leaving his own +feelings in the background till his intellect should have done its +work. He said little; but what he did say was to the point, and +satisfied both brothers. John perceived that his messenger would +exercise penetration and act with energy; while Jeremiah was soothed +by Philip's caution in not hastily admitting the probability of any +charge against Dickinson, and in giving full weight to his previous +good conduct and good character. + +Philip had the satisfaction of feeling himself employed on a mission +which would call out his powers, and yet not exceed them. In his own +mind he forestalled the instructions of his masters, and was +silently in advance of John Foster's plans and arrangements, while +he appeared to listen to all that was said with quiet business-like +attention. + +It was settled that the next morning he was to make his way +northwards to Hartlepool, whence he could easily proceed either by +land or sea to Newcastle, from which place smacks were constantly +sailing to London. As to his personal conduct and behaviour there, +the brothers overwhelmed him with directions and advice; nor did +they fail to draw out of the strong box in the thick wall of their +counting-house a more than sufficient sum of money for all possible +expenses. Philip had never had so much in his hands before, and +hesitated to take it, saying it was more than he should require; but +they repeated, with fresh urgency, their warnings about the terrible +high prices of London, till he could only resolve to keep a strict +account, and bring back all that he did not expend, since nothing +but his taking the whole sum would satisfy his employers. + +When he was once more behind the counter, he had leisure enough for +consideration as far as Coulson could give it him. The latter was +silent, brooding over the confidence which Philip had apparently +received, but which was withheld from him. He did not yet know of +the culminating point--of Philip's proposed journey to London; that +great city of London, which, from its very inaccessibility fifty +years ago, loomed so magnificent through the mist of men's +imaginations. It is not to be denied that Philip felt exultant at +the mere fact of 'going to London.' But then again, the thought of +leaving Sylvia; of going out of possible daily reach of her; of not +seeing her for a week--a fortnight; nay, he might be away for a +month,--for no rash hurry was to mar his delicate negotiation,--gnawed +at his heart, and spoilt any enjoyment he might have anticipated +from gratified curiosity, or even from the consciousness of +being trusted by those whose trust and regard he valued. The +sense of what he was leaving grew upon him the longer he thought on +the subject; he almost wished that he had told his masters earlier +in the conversation of his unwillingness to leave Monkshaven for so +long a time; and then again he felt that the gratitude he owed them +quite prohibited his declining any task they might impose, +especially as they had more than once said that it would not do for +them to appear in the affair, and yet that to no one else could they +entrust so difficult and delicate a matter. Several times that day, +as he perceived Coulson's jealous sullenness, he thought in his +heart that the consequence of the excessive confidence for which +Coulson envied him was a burden from which he would be thankful to +be relieved. + +As they all sat at tea in Alice Rose's house-place, Philip announced +his intended journey; a piece of intelligence he had not +communicated earlier to Coulson because he had rather dreaded the +increase of dissatisfaction it was sure to produce, and of which he +knew the expression would be restrained by the presence of Alice +Rose and her daughter. + +'To Lunnon!' exclaimed Alice. + +Hester said nothing. + +'Well! some folks has the luck!' said Coulson. + +'Luck!' said Alice, turning sharp round on him. 'Niver let me hear +such a vain word out o' thy mouth, laddie, again. It's the Lord's +doing, and luck's the devil's way o' putting it. Maybe it's to try +Philip he's sent there; happen it may be a fiery furnace to him; for +I've heerd tell it's full o' temptations, and he may fall into +sin--and then where'd be the "luck" on it? But why art ta going? and +the morning, say'st thou? Why, thy best shirt is in t' suds, and no +time for t' starch and iron it. Whatten the great haste as should +take thee to Lunnon wi'out thy ruffled shirt?' + +'It's none o' my doing,' said Philip; 'there's business to be done, +and John Foster says I'm to do it; and I'm to start to-morrow.' + +'I'll not turn thee out wi'out thy ruffled shirt, if I sit up a' +neet,' said Alice, resolutely. + +'Niver fret thyself, mother, about t' shirt,' said Philip. 'If I +need a shirt, London's not what I take it for if I can't buy mysel' +one ready-made.' + +'Hearken to him!' said Alice. 'He speaks as if buying o' ready-made +shirts were nought to him, and he wi' a good half-dozen as I made +mysel'. Eh, lad? but if that's the frame o' mind thou'rt in, Lunnon +is like for to be a sore place o' temptation. There's pitfalls for +men, and traps for money at ivery turn, as I've heerd say. It would +ha' been better if John Foster had sent an older man on his +business, whativer it be.' + +'They seem to make a deal o' Philip all on a sudden,' said Coulson. +'He's sent for, and talked to i' privacy, while Hester and me is +left i' t' shop for t' bear t' brunt o' t' serving.' + +'Philip knows,' said Hester, and then, somehow, her voice failed her +and she stopped. + +Philip paid no attention to this half-uttered sentence; he was eager +to tell Coulson, as far as he could do so without betraying his +master's secret, how many drawbacks there were to his proposed +journey, in the responsibility which it involved, and his +unwillingness to leave Monkshaven: he said-- + +'Coulson, I'd give a deal it were thou that were going, and not me. +At least, there is many a time I'd give a deal. I'll not deny but at +other times I'm pleased at the thought on't. But, if I could I'd +change places wi' thee at this moment.' + +'It's fine talking,' said Coulson, half mollified, and yet not +caring to show it. 'I make no doubt it were an even chance betwixt +us two at first, which on us was to go; but somehow thou got the +start and thou'st stuck to it till it's too late for aught but to +say thou's sorry.' + +'Nay, William,' said Philip, rising, 'it's an ill look-out for the +future, if thee and me is to quarrel, like two silly wenches, o'er +each bit of pleasure, or what thou fancies to be pleasure, as falls +in t' way of either on us. I've said truth to thee, and played thee +fair, and I've got to go to Haytersbank for to wish 'em good-by, so +I'll not stay longer here to be misdoubted by thee.' + +He took his cap and was gone, not heeding Alice's shrill inquiry as +to his clothes and his ruffled shirt. Coulson sat still, penitent +and ashamed; at length he stole a look at Hester. She was playing +with her teaspoon, but he could see that she was choking down her +tears; he could not choose but force her to speak with an ill-timed +question. + +'What's to do, Hester?' said he. + +She lifted up those eyes, usually so soft and serene; now they were +full of the light of indignation shining through tears. + +'To do!' she said; 'Coulson, I'd thought better of thee, going and +doubting and envying Philip, as niver did thee an ill turn, or said +an ill word, or thought an ill thought by thee; and sending him away +out o' t' house this last night of all, may-be, wi' thy envyings and +jealousy.' + +She hastily got up and left the room. Alice was away, looking up +Philip's things for his journey. Coulson remained alone, feeling +like a guilty child, but dismayed by Hester's words, even more than +by his own regret at what he had said. + +Philip walked rapidly up the hill-road towards Haytersbank. He was +chafed and excited by Coulson's words, and the events of the day. He +had meant to shape his life, and now it was, as it were, being +shaped for him, and yet he was reproached for the course it was +taking, as much as though he were an active agent; accused of taking +advantage over Coulson, his intimate companion for years; he who +esteemed himself above taking an unfair advantage over any man! His +feeling on the subject was akin to that of Hazael, 'Is thy servant a +dog that he should do this thing?' + +His feelings, disturbed on this one point, shook his judgment off +its balance on another. The resolution he had deliberately formed of +not speaking to Sylvia on the subject of his love till he could +announce to her parents the fact of his succession to Fosters' +business, and till he had patiently, with long-continuing and deep +affection, worked his way into her regard, was set aside during the +present walk. He would speak to her of his passionate attachment, +before he left, for an uncertain length of time, and the certain +distance of London. And all the modification on this point which his +judgment could obtain from his impetuous and excited heart was, that +he would watch her words and manner well when he announced his +approaching absence, and if in them he read the slightest token of +tender regretful feeling, he would pour out his love at her feet, +not even urging the young girl to make any return, or to express the +feelings of which he hoped the germ was already budding in her. He +would be patient with her; he could not be patient himself. His +heart beating, his busy mind rehearsing the probable coming scene, +he turned into the field-path that led to Haytersbank. Coming along +it, and so meeting him, advanced Daniel Robson, in earnest talk with +Charley Kinraid. Kinraid, then, had been at the farm: Kinraid had +been seeing Sylvia, her mother away. The thought of poor dead Annie +Coulson flashed into Philip's mind. Could he be playing the same +game with Sylvia? Philip set his teeth and tightened his lips at the +thought of it. They had stopped talking; they had seen him already, +or his impulse would have been to dodge behind the wall and avoid +them; even though one of his purposes in going to Haytersbank had +been to bid his uncle farewell. + +Kinraid took him by surprise from the hearty greeting he gave him, +and which Philip would fain have avoided. But the specksioneer was +full of kindliness towards all the world, especially towards all +Sylvia's friends, and, convinced of her great love towards himself, +had forgotten any previous jealousy of Philip. Secure and exultant, +his broad, handsome, weather-bronzed face was as great a contrast to +Philip's long, thoughtful, sallow countenance, as his frank manner +was to the other's cold reserve. It was some minutes before Hepburn +could bring himself to tell the great event that was about to befall +him before this third person whom he considered as an intrusive +stranger. But as Kinraid seemed to have no idea of going on, and as +there really was no reason why he and all the world should not know +of Philip's intentions, he told his uncle that he was bound for +London the next day on business connected with the Fosters. + +Daniel was deeply struck with the fact that he was talking to a man +setting off for London at a day's notice. + +'Thou'll niver tell me this hasn't been brewin' longer nor twelve +hours; thou's a sly close chap, and we hannot seen thee this +se'nnight; thou'll ha' been thinkin' on this, and cogitating it, +may-be, a' that time.' + +'Nay,' said Philip, 'I knew nought about it last night; it's none o' +my doing, going, for I'd liefer ha' stayed where I am.' + +'Yo'll like it when once yo're there,' said Kinraid, with a +travelled air of superiority, as Philip fancied. + +'No, I shan't,' he replied, shortly. 'Liking has nought to do with +it.' + +'Ah' yo' knew nought about it last neet,' continued Daniel, +musingly. 'Well, life's soon o'er; else when I were a young fellow, +folks made their wills afore goin' to Lunnon.' + +'Yet I'll be bound to say yo' niver made a will before going to +sea,' said Philip, half smiling. + +'Na, na; but that's quite another mak' o' thing; going' to sea comes +natteral to a man, but goin' to Lunnon,--I were once there, and were +near deafened wi' t' throng and t' sound. I were but two hours i' t' +place, though our ship lay a fortneet off Gravesend.' + +Kinraid now seemed in a hurry; but Philip was stung with curiosity +to ascertain his movements, and suddenly addressed him: + +'I heard yo' were i' these parts. Are you for staying here long?' + +There was a certain abruptness in Philip's tone, if not in his +words, which made Kinraid look in his face with surprise, and answer +with equal curtness. + +'I'm off i' th' morning; and sail for the north seas day after.' + +He turned away, and began to whistle, as if he did not wish for any +further conversation with his interrogator. Philip, indeed, had +nothing more to say to him: he had learned all he wanted to know. + +'I'd like to bid good-by to Sylvie. Is she at home?' he asked of her +father. + +'A'm thinking thou'll not find her. She'll be off to Yesterbarrow t' +see if she'd get a settin' o' their eggs; her grey speckled hen is +cluckin', and nought 'll serve our Sylvia but their eggs to set her +upon. But, for a' that, she mayn't be gone yet. Best go on and see +for thysel'.' + +So they parted; but Philip had not gone many steps before his uncle +called him back, Kinraid slowly loitering on meanwhile. Robson was +fumbling among some dirty papers he had in an old leather case, +which he had produced out of his pocket. + +'Fact is, Philip, t' pleugh's in a bad way, gearin' and a', an' folk +is talkin' on a new kind o' mak'; and if thou's bound for York---' + +'I'm not going by York; I'm going by a Newcastle smack.' + +'Newcassel--Newcassel--it's pretty much t' same. Here, lad, thou can +read print easy; it's a bit as was cut out on a papper; there's +Newcassel, and York, and Durham, and a vast more towns named, wheere +folk can learn a' about t' new mak' o' pleugh.' + +'I see,' said Philip: '"Robinson, Side, Newcastle, can give all +requisite information."' + +'Ay, ay,' said Robson; 'thou's hit t' marrow on t' matter. Now, if +thou'rt i' Newcassel, thou can learn all about it; thou'rt little +better nor a woman, for sure, bein' mainly acquaint wi' ribbons, but +they'll tell thee--they'll tell thee, lad; and write down what they +sayn, and what's to be t' price, and look sharp as to what kind o' +folk they are as sells 'em, an' write and let me know. Thou'll be i' +Newcassel to-morrow, may-be? Well, then, I'll reckon to hear fro' +thee in a week, or, mayhap, less,--for t' land is backward, and I'd +like to know about t' pleughs. I'd a month's mind to write to +Brunton, as married Molly Corney, but writin' is more i' thy way an' +t' parson's nor mine; and if thou sells ribbons, Brunton sells +cheese, and that's no better.' + +Philip promised to do his best, and to write word to Robson, who, +satisfied with his willingness to undertake the commission, bade him +go on and see if he could not find the lass. Her father was right in +saying that she might not have set out for Yesterbarrow. She had +talked about it to Kinraid and her father in order to cover her +regret at her lover's accompanying her father to see some new kind +of harpoon about which the latter had spoken. But as soon as they +had left the house, and she had covertly watched them up the brow in +the field, she sate down to meditate and dream about her great +happiness in being beloved by her hero, Charley Kinraid. No gloomy +dread of his long summer's absence; no fear of the cold, glittering +icebergs bearing mercilessly down on the _Urania_, nor shuddering +anticipation of the dark waves of evil import, crossed her mind. He +loved her, and that was enough. Her eyes looked, trance-like, into a +dim, glorious future of life; her lips, still warm and reddened by +his kiss, were just parted in a happy smile, when she was startled +by the sound of an approaching footstep--a footstep quite familiar +enough for her to recognize it, and which was unwelcome now, as +disturbing her in the one blessed subject of thought in which alone +she cared to indulge. + +'Well, Philip! an' what brings _yo'_ here?' was her rather +ungracious greeting. + +'Why, Sylvie, are yo' sorry to see me?' asked Philip, reproachfully. +But she turned it off with assumed lightness. + +'Oh, yes,' said she. 'I've been wanting yo' this week past wi' t' +match to my blue ribbon yo' said yo'd get and bring me next time yo' +came.' + +'I've forgotten it, Sylvie. It's clean gone out of my mind,' said +Philip, with true regret. 'But I've had a deal to think on,' he +continued, penitently, as if anxious to be forgiven. Sylvia did not +want his penitence, did not care for her ribbon, was troubled by his +earnestness of manner--but he knew nothing of all that; he only knew +that she whom he loved had asked him to do something for her, and he +had neglected it; so, anxious to be excused and forgiven, he went on +with the apology she cared not to hear. + +If she had been less occupied with her own affairs, less engrossed +with deep feeling, she would have reproached him, if only in jest, +for his carelessness. As it was, she scarcely took in the sense of +his words. + +'You see, Sylvie, I've had a deal to think on; before long I intend +telling yo' all about it; just now I'm not free to do it. And when a +man's mind is full o' business, most particular when it's other +folk's as is trusted to him, he seems to lose count on the very +things he'd most care for at another time.' He paused a little. + +Sylvia's galloping thoughts were pulled suddenly up by his silence; +she felt that he wanted her to say something, but she could think of +nothing besides an ambiguous-- + +'Well?' + +'And I'm off to London i' t' morning,' added he, a little wistfully, +almost as if beseeching her to show or express some sorrow at a +journey, the very destination of which showed that he would be +absent for some time. + +'To Lunnon!' said she, with some surprise. 'Yo're niver thinking o' +going to live theere, for sure!' + +Surprise, and curiosity, and wonder; nothing more, as Philip's +instinct told him. But he reasoned that first correct impression +away with ingenious sophistry. + +'Not to live there: only to stay for some time. I shall be back, I +reckon, in a month or so.' + +'Oh! that's nought of a going away,' said she, rather petulantly. +'Them as goes to t' Greenland seas has to bide away for six months +and more,' and she sighed. + +Suddenly a light shone down into Philip's mind. His voice was +changed as he spoke next. + +'I met that good-for-nothing chap, Kinraid, wi' yo'r father just +now. He'll ha' been here, Sylvie?' + +She stooped for something she had dropped, and came up red as a +rose. + +'To be sure; what then?' And she eyed him defiantly, though in her +heart she trembled, she knew not why. + +'What then? and yo'r mother away. He's no company for such as thee, +at no time, Sylvie.' + +'Feyther and me chooses our own company, without iver asking leave +o' yo',' said Sylvia, hastily arranging the things in the little +wooden work-box that was on the table, preparatory to putting it +away. At the time, in his agitation, he saw, but did not affix any +meaning to it, that the half of some silver coin was among the +contents thus turned over before the box was locked. + +'But thy mother wouldn't like it, Sylvie; he's played false wi' +other lasses, he'll be playing thee false some o' these days, if +thou lets him come about thee. He went on wi' Annie Coulson, +William's sister, till he broke her heart; and sin then he's been on +wi' others.' + +'I dunnot believe a word on 't,' said Sylvia, standing up, all +aflame. + +'I niver telled a lie i' my life,' said Philip, almost choking with +grief at her manner to him, and the regard for his rival which she +betrayed. 'It were Willie Coulson as telled me, as solemn and +serious as one man can speak to another; and he said it weren't the +first nor the last time as he had made his own game with young +women.' + +'And how dare yo' come here to me wi' yo'r backbiting tales?' said +Sylvia, shivering all over with passion. + +Philip tried to keep calm, and to explain. + +'It were yo'r own mother, Sylvia, as knowed yo' had no brother, or +any one to see after yo'; and yo' so pretty, so pretty, Sylvia,' he +continued, shaking his head, sadly, 'that men run after yo' against +their will, as one may say; and yo'r mother bade me watch o'er ye +and see what company yo' kept, and who was following after yo', and +to warn yo', if need were.' + +'My mother niver bade yo' to come spying after me, and blaming me +for seeing a lad as my feyther thinks well on. An' I don't believe a +word about Annie Coulson; an' I'm not going to suffer yo' to come +wi' yo'r tales to me; say 'em out to his face, and hear what he'll +say to yo'.' + +'Sylvie, Sylvie,' cried poor Philip, as his offended cousin rushed +past him, and upstairs to her little bedroom, where he heard the +sound of the wooden bolt flying into its place. He could hear her +feet pacing quickly about through the unceiled rafters. He sate +still in despair, his head buried in his two hands. He sate till it +grew dusk, dark; the wood fire, not gathered together by careful +hands, died out into gray ashes. Dolly Reid had done her work and +gone home. There were but Philip and Sylvia in the house. He knew he +ought to be going home, for he had much to do, and many arrangements +to make. Yet it seemed as though he could not stir. At length he +raised his stiffened body, and stood up, dizzy. Up the little wooden +stairs he went, where he had never been before, to the small square +landing, almost filled up with the great chest for oat-cake. He +breathed hard for a minute, and then knocked at the door of Sylvia's +room. + +'Sylvie! I'm going away; say good-by.' No answer. Not a sound heard. +'Sylvie!' (a little louder, and less hoarsely spoken). There was no +reply. 'Sylvie! I shall be a long time away; perhaps I may niver +come back at all'; here he bitterly thought of an unregarded death. +'Say good-by.' No answer. He waited patiently. Can she be wearied +out, and gone to sleep, he wondered. Yet once again--'Good-by, +Sylvie, and God bless yo'! I'm sorry I vexed yo'.' + +No reply. + +With a heavy, heavy heart he creaked down the stairs, felt for his +cap, and left the house. + +'She's warned, any way,' thought he. Just at that moment the little +casement window of Sylvia's room was opened, and she said-- + +'Good-by, Philip!' + +The window was shut again as soon as the words were spoken. Philip +knew the uselessness of remaining; the need for his departure; and +yet he stood still for a little time like one entranced, as if his +will had lost all power to compel him to leave the place. Those two +words of hers, which two hours before would have been so far beneath +his aspirations, had now power to re-light hope, to quench reproach +or blame. + +'She's but a young lassie,' said he to himself; 'an' Kinraid has +been playing wi' her, as such as he can't help doing, once they get +among the women. An' I came down sudden on her about Annie Coulson, +and touched her pride. Maybe, too, it were ill advised to tell her +how her mother was feared for her. I couldn't ha' left the place +to-morrow if he'd been biding here; but he's off for half a year or +so, and I'll be home again as soon as iver I can. In half a year +such as he forgets, if iver he's thought serious about her; but in +a' my lifetime, if I live to fourscore, I can niver forget. God +bless her for saying, "Good-by, Philip."' He repeated the words +aloud in fond mimicry of her tones: 'Good-by, Philip.' + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +EDDY IN LOVE'S CURRENT + + +The next morning shone bright and clear, if ever a March morning +did. The beguiling month was coming in like a lamb, with whatever +storms it might go raging out. It was long since Philip had tasted +the freshness of the early air on the shore, or in the country, as +his employment at the shop detained him in Monkshaven till the +evening. And as he turned down the quays (or staithes) on the north +side of the river, towards the shore, and met the fresh sea-breeze +blowing right in his face, it was impossible not to feel bright and +elastic. With his knapsack slung over his shoulder, he was prepared +for a good stretch towards Hartlepool, whence a coach would take him +to Newcastle before night. For seven or eight miles the level sands +were as short and far more agreeable a road than the up and down +land-ways. Philip walked on pretty briskly, unconsciously enjoying +the sunny landscape before him; the crisp curling waves rushing +almost up to his feet, on his right hand, and then swishing back +over the fine small pebbles into the great swelling sea. To his left +were the cliffs rising one behind another, having deep gullies here +and there between, with long green slopes upward from the land, and +then sudden falls of brown and red soil or rock deepening to a yet +greater richness of colour at their base towards the blue ocean +before him. The loud, monotonous murmur of the advancing and +receding waters lulled him into dreaminess; the sunny look of +everything tinged his day-dreams with hope. So he trudged merrily +over the first mile or so; not an obstacle to his measured pace on +the hard, level pavement; not a creature to be seen since he had +left the little gathering of bare-legged urchins dabbling in the +sea-pools near Monkshaven. The cares of land were shut out by the +glorious barrier of rocks before him. There were some great masses +that had been detached by the action of the weather, and lay half +embedded in the sand, draperied over by the heavy pendent +olive-green seaweed. The waves were nearer at this point; the +advancing sea came up with a mighty distant length of roar; here and +there the smooth swell was lashed by the fret against unseen rocks +into white breakers; but otherwise the waves came up from the German +Ocean upon that English shore with a long steady roll that might +have taken its first impetus far away, in the haunt of the +sea-serpent on the coast of 'Norroway over the foam.' The air was +soft as May; right overhead the sky was blue, but it deadened into +gray near the sea lines. Flocks of seagulls hovered about the edge +of the waves, slowly rising and turning their white under-plumage to +glimmer in the sunlight as Philip approached. The whole scene was so +peaceful, so soothing, that it dispelled the cares and fears (too +well founded in fact) which had weighed down on his heart during the +dark hours of the past night. + +There was Haytersbank gully opening down its green entrance among +the warm brown bases of the cliffs. Below, in the sheltered +brushwood, among the last year's withered leaves, some primroses +might be found. He half thought of gathering Sylvia a posy of them, +and rushing up to the farm to make a little farewell peace-offering. +But on looking at his watch, he put all thoughts of such an action +out of his head; it was above an hour later than he had supposed, +and he must make all haste on to Hartlepool. Just as he was +approaching this gully, a man came dashing down, and ran out some +way upon the sand with the very force of his descent; then he turned +to the left and took the direction of Hartlepool a hundred yards or +so in advance of Philip. He never stayed to look round him, but went +swiftly and steadily on his way. By the peculiar lurch in his +walk--by everything--Philip knew it was the specksioneer, Kinraid. + +Now the road up Haytersbank gully led to the farm, and nowhere else. +Still any one wishing to descend to the shore might do so by first +going up to the Robsons' house, and skirting the walls till they +came to the little slender path down to the shore. But by the farm, +by the very house-door they must of necessity pass. Philip slackened +his pace, keeping under the shadow of the rock. By-and-by Kinraid, +walking on the sunlight open sands, turned round and looked long and +earnestly towards Haytersbank gully. Hepburn paused when he paused, +but as intently as he looked at some object above, so intently did +Hepburn look at him. No need to ascertain by sight towards whom his +looks, his thoughts were directed. He took off his hat and waved it, +touching one part of it as if with particular meaning. When he +turned away at last, Hepburn heaved a heavy sigh, and crept yet more +into the cold dank shadow of the cliffs. Each step was now a heavy +task, his sad heart tired and weary. After a while he climbed up a +few feet, so as to mingle his form yet more completely with the +stones and rocks around. Stumbling over the uneven and often jagged +points, slipping on the sea-weed, plunging into little pools of +water left by the ebbing tide in some natural basins, he yet kept +his eyes fixed as if in fascination on Kinraid, and made his way +almost alongside of him. But the last hour had pinched Hepburn's +features into something of the wan haggardness they would wear when +he should first be lying still for ever. + +And now the two men were drawing near a creek, about eight miles +from Monkshaven. The creek was formed by a beck (or small stream) +that came flowing down from the moors, and took its way to the sea +between the widening rocks. The melting of the snows and running of +the flooded water-springs above made this beck in the early +spring-time both deep and wide. Hepburn knew that here they both +must take a path leading inland to a narrow foot-bridge about a +quarter of a mile up the stream; indeed from this point, owing to +the jutting out of the rocks, the land path was the shortest; and +this way lay by the water-side at an angle right below the cliff to +which Hepburn's steps were leading him. He knew that on this long +level field path he might easily be seen by any one following; nay, +if he followed any one at a short distance, for it was full of +turnings; and he resolved, late as he was, to sit down for a while +till Kinraid was far enough in advance for him to escape being seen. +He came up to the last rock behind which he could be concealed; +seven or eight feet above the stream he stood, and looked cautiously +for the specksioneer. Up by the rushing stream he looked, then right +below. + +'It is God's providence,' he murmured. 'It is God's providence.' + +He crouched down where he had been standing and covered his face +with his hands. He tried to deafen as well as to blind himself, that +he might neither hear nor see anything of the coming event of which +he, an inhabitant of Monkshaven at that day, well understood the +betokening signs. + +Kinraid had taken the larger angle of the sands before turning up +towards the bridge. He came along now nearing the rocks. By this +time he was sufficiently buoyant to whistle to himself. It steeled +Philip's heart to what was coming to hear his rival whistling, 'Weel +may the keel row,' so soon after parting with Sylvia. + +The instant Kinraid turned the corner of the cliff, the ambush was +upon him. Four man-of-war's men sprang on him and strove to pinion +him. + +'In the King's name!' cried they, with rough, triumphant jeers. + +Their boat was moored not a dozen yards above; they were sent by the +tender of a frigate lying off Hartlepool for fresh water. The tender +was at anchor just beyond the jutting rocks in face. + +They knew that fishermen were in the habit of going to and from +their nets by the side of the creek; but such a prize as this +active, strong, and evidently superior sailor, was what they had not +hoped for, and their endeavours to secure him were in proportion to +the value of the prize. + +Although taken by surprise, and attacked by so many, Kinraid did not +lose his wits. He wrenched himself free, crying out loud: + +'Avast, I'm a protected whaler. I claim my protection. I've my +papers to show, I'm bonded specksioneer to the _Urania_ whaler, +Donkin captain, North Shields port.' + +As a protected whaler, the press-gang had, by the 17th section of +Act 26 Geo. III. no legal right to seize him, unless he had failed +to return to his ship by the 10th March following the date of his +bond. But of what use were the papers he hastily dragged out of his +breast; of what use were laws in those days of slow intercourse with +such as were powerful enough to protect, and in the time of popular +panic against a French invasion? + +'D--n your protection,' cried the leader of the press-gang; 'come +and serve his Majesty, that's better than catching whales.' + +'Is it though?' said the specksioneer, with a motion of his hand, +which the swift-eyed sailor opposed to him saw and interpreted +rightly. + +'Thou wilt, wilt thou? Close with him, Jack; and ware the cutlass.' + +In a minute his cutlass was forced from him, and it became a +hand-to-hand struggle, of which, from the difference in numbers, it +was not difficult to foretell the result. Yet Kinraid made desperate +efforts to free himself; he wasted no breath in words, but fought, +as the men said, 'like a very devil.' + +Hepburn heard loud pants of breath, great thuds, the dull struggle +of limbs on the sand, the growling curses of those who thought to +have managed their affair more easily; the sudden cry of some one +wounded, not Kinraid he knew, Kinraid would have borne any pain in +silence at such a moment; another wrestling, swearing, infuriated +strife, and then a strange silence. Hepburn sickened at the heart; +was then his rival dead? had he left this bright world? lost his +life--his love? For an instant Hepburn felt guilty of his death; he +said to himself he had never wished him dead, and yet in the +struggle he had kept aloof, and now it might be too late for ever. +Philip could not bear the suspense; he looked stealthily round the +corner of the rock behind which he had been hidden, and saw that +they had overpowered Kinraid, and, too exhausted to speak, were +binding him hand and foot to carry him to their boat. + +Kinraid lay as still as any hedgehog: he rolled when they pushed +him; he suffered himself to be dragged without any resistance, any +motion; the strong colour brought into his face while fighting was +gone now, his countenance was livid pale; his lips were tightly held +together, as if it cost him more effort to be passive, wooden, and +stiff in their hands than it had done to fight and struggle with all +his might. His eyes seemed the only part about him that showed +cognizance of what was going on. They were watchful, vivid, fierce +as those of a wild cat brought to bay, seeking in its desperate +quickened brain for some mode of escape not yet visible, and in all +probability never to become visible to the hopeless creature in its +supreme agony. + +Without a motion of his head, he was perceiving and taking in +everything while he lay bound at the bottom of the boat. A sailor +sat by his side, who had been hurt by a blow from him. The man held +his head in his hand, moaning; but every now and then he revenged +himself by a kick at the prostrate specksioneer, till even his +comrades stopped their cursing and swearing at their prisoner for +the trouble he had given them, to cry shame on their comrade. But +Kinraid never spoke, nor shrank from the outstretched foot. + +One of his captors, with the successful insolence of victory, +ventured to jeer him on the supposed reason for his vehement and +hopeless resistance. + +He might have said yet more insolent things; the kicks might have +hit harder; Kinraid did not hear or heed. His soul was beating +itself against the bars of inflexible circumstance; reviewing in one +terrible instant of time what had been, what might have been, what +was. Yet while these thoughts thus stabbed him, he was still +mechanically looking out for chances. He moved his head a little, so +as to turn towards Haytersbank, where Sylvia must be quickly, if +sadly, going about her simple daily work; and then his quick eye +caught Hepburn's face, blanched with excitement rather than fear, +watching eagerly from behind the rock, where he had sat breathless +during the affray and the impressment of his rival. + +'Come here, lad!' shouted the specksioneer as soon as he saw Philip, +heaving and writhing his body the while with so much vigour that the +sailors started away from the work they were engaged in about the +boat, and held him down once more, as if afraid he should break the +strong rope that held him like withes of green flax. But the bound +man had no such notion in his head. His mighty wish was to call +Hepburn near that he might send some message by him to Sylvia. 'Come +here, Hepburn,' he cried again, falling back this time so weak and +exhausted that the man-of-war's men became sympathetic. + +'Come down, peeping Tom, and don't be afeared,' they called out. + +'I'm not afeared,' said Philip; 'I'm no sailor for yo' t' impress +me: nor have yo' any right to take that fellow; he's a Greenland +specksioneer, under protection, as I know and can testify.' + +'Yo' and yo'r testify go hang. Make haste, man and hear what this +gem'man, as was in a dirty blubbery whale-ship, and is now in his +Majesty's service, has got to say. I dare say, Jack,' went on the +speaker, 'it's some message to his sweetheart, asking her to come +for to serve on board ship along with he, like Billy Taylor's young +woman.' + +Philip was coming towards them slowly, not from want of activity, +but because he was undecided what he should be called upon to do or +to say by the man whom he hated and dreaded, yet whom just now he +could not help admiring. + +Kinraid groaned with impatience at seeing one, free to move with +quick decision, so slow and dilatory. + +'Come on then,' cried the sailors, 'or we'll take you too on board, +and run you up and down the main-mast a few times. Nothing like life +aboard ship for quickening a land-lubber.' + +'Yo'd better take him and leave me,' said Kinraid, grimly. 'I've +been taught my lesson; and seemingly he has his yet to learn.' + +'His Majesty isn't a schoolmaster to need scholars; but a jolly good +captain to need men,' replied the leader of the gang, eyeing Philip +nevertheless, and questioning within himself how far, with only two +other available men, they durst venture on his capture as well as +the specksioneer's. It might be done, he thought, even though there +was this powerful captive aboard, and the boat to manage too; but, +running his eye over Philip's figure, he decided that the tall +stooping fellow was never cut out for a sailor, and that he should +get small thanks if he captured him, to pay him for the possible +risk of losing the other. Or else the mere fact of being a landsman +was of as little consequence to the press-gang, as the protecting +papers which Kinraid had vainly showed. + +'Yon fellow wouldn't have been worth his grog this many a day, and +be d--d to you,' said he, catching Hepburn by the shoulder, and +giving him a push. Philip stumbled over something in this, his +forced run. He looked down; his foot had caught in Kinraid's hat, +which had dropped off in the previous struggle. In the band that +went round the low crown, a ribbon was knotted; a piece of that same +ribbon which Philip had chosen out, with such tender hope, to give +to Sylvia for the Corneys' party on new year's eve. He knew every +delicate thread that made up the briar-rose pattern; and a spasm of +hatred towards Kinraid contracted his heart. He had been almost +relenting into pity for the man captured before his eyes; now he +abhorred him. + +Kinraid did not speak for a minute or two. The sailors, who had +begun to take him into favour, were all agog with curiosity to hear +the message to his sweetheart, which they believed he was going to +send. Hepburn's perceptions, quickened with his vehement agitation +of soul, were aware of this feeling of theirs; and it increased his +rage against Kinraid, who had exposed the idea of Sylvia to be the +subject of ribald whispers. But the specksioneer cared little what +others said or thought about the maiden, whom he yet saw before his +closed eyelids as she stood watching him, from the Haytersbank +gully, waving her hands, her handkerchief, all in one passionate +farewell. + +'What do yo' want wi' me?' asked Hepburn at last in a gloomy tone. +If he could have helped it, he would have kept silence till Kinraid +spoke first; but he could no longer endure the sailors' nudges, and +winks, and jests among themselves. + +'Tell Sylvia,' said Kinraid---- + +'There's a smart name for a sweetheart,' exclaimed one of the men; +but Kinraid went straight on,-- + +'What yo've seen; how I've been pressed by this cursed gang.' + +'Civil words, messmate, if you please. Sylvia can't abide cursing +and swearing, I'm sure. We're gentlemen serving his Majesty on board +the _Alcestis_, and this proper young fellow shall be helped on to +more honour and glory than he'd ever get bobbing for whales. Tell +Sylvia this, with my love; Jack Carter's love, if she's anxious +about my name.' + +One of the sailors laughed at this rude humour; another bade Carter +hold his stupid tongue. Philip hated him in his heart. Kinraid +hardly heard him. He was growing faint with the heavy blows he had +received, the stunning fall he had met with, and the reaction from +his dogged self-control at first. + +Philip did not speak nor move. + +'Tell her,' continued Kinraid, rousing himself for another effort, +'what yo've seen. Tell her I'll come back to her. Bid her not forget +the great oath we took together this morning; she's as much my wife +as if we'd gone to church;--I'll come back and marry her afore +long.' + +Philip said something inarticulately. + +'Hurra!' cried Carter, 'and I'll be best man. Tell her, too that +I'll have an eye on her sweetheart, and keep him from running after +other girls.' + +'Yo'll have yo'r hands full, then,' muttered Philip, his passion +boiling over at the thought of having been chosen out from among all +men to convey such a message as Kinraid's to Sylvia. + +'Make an end of yo'r d--d yarns, and be off,' said the man who had +been hurt by Kinraid, and who had sate apart and silent till now. + +Philip turned away; Kinraid raised himself and cried after him,-- + +'Hepburn, Hepburn! tell her---' what he added Philip could not hear, +for the words were lost before they reached him in the outward noise +of the regular splash of the oars and the rush of the wind down the +gully, with which mingled the closer sound that filled his ears of +his own hurrying blood surging up into his brain. He was conscious +that he had said something in reply to Kinraid's adjuration that he +would deliver his message to Sylvia, at the very time when Carter +had stung him into fresh anger by the allusion to the possibility of +the specksioneer's 'running after other girls,' for, for an instant, +Hepburn had been touched by the contrast of circumstances. Kinraid +an hour or two ago,--Kinraid a banished man; for in those days, an +impressed sailor might linger out years on some foreign station, far +from those he loved, who all this time remained ignorant of his +cruel fate. + +But Hepburn began to wonder what he himself had said--how much of a +promise he had made to deliver those last passionate words of +Kinraid's. He could not recollect how much, how little he had said; +he knew he had spoken hoarsely and low almost at the same time as +Carter had uttered his loud joke. But he doubted if Kinraid had +caught his words. + +And then the dread Inner Creature, who lurks in each of our hearts, +arose and said, 'It is as well: a promise given is a fetter to the +giver. But a promise is not given when it has not been received.' + +At a sudden impulse, he turned again towards the shore when he had +crossed the bridge, and almost ran towards the verge of the land. +Then he threw himself down on the soft fine turf that grew on the +margin of the cliffs overhanging the sea, and commanding an extent +of view towards the north. His face supported by his hands, he +looked down upon the blue rippling ocean, flashing here and there, +into the sunlight in long, glittering lines. The boat was still in +the distance, making her swift silent way with long regular bounds +to the tender that lay in the offing. + +Hepburn felt insecure, as in a nightmare dream, so long as the boat +did not reach her immediate destination. His contracted eyes could +see four minute figures rowing with ceaseless motion, and a fifth +sate at the helm. But he knew there was a sixth, unseen, lying, +bound and helpless, at the bottom of the boat; and his fancy kept +expecting this man to start up and break his bonds, and overcome all +the others, and return to the shore free and triumphant. + +It was by no fault of Hepburn's that the boat sped well away; that +she was now alongside the tender, dancing on the waves; now emptied +of her crew; now hoisted up to her place. No fault of his! and yet +it took him some time before he could reason himself into the belief +that his mad, feverish wishes not an hour before--his wild prayer to +be rid of his rival, as he himself had scrambled onward over the +rocks alongside of Kinraid's path on the sands--had not compelled +the event. + +'Anyhow,' thought he, as he rose up, 'my prayer is granted. God be +thanked!' + +Once more he looked out towards the ship. She had spread her +beautiful great sails, and was standing out to sea in the glittering +path of the descending sun. + +He saw that he had been delayed on his road, and had lingered long. +He shook his stiffened limbs, shouldered his knapsack, and prepared +to walk on to Hartlepool as swiftly as he could. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +AN IMPORTANT MISSION + + +Philip was too late for the coach he had hoped to go by, but there +was another that left at night, and which reached Newcastle in the +forenoon, so that, by the loss of a night's sleep, he might overtake +his lost time. But, restless and miserable, he could not stop in +Hartlepool longer than to get some hasty food at the inn from which +the coach started. He acquainted himself with the names of the towns +through which it would pass, and the inns at which it would stop, +and left word that the coachman was to be on the look-out for him +and pick him up at some one of these places. + +He was thoroughly worn out before this happened--too much tired to +gain any sleep in the coach. When he reached Newcastle, he went to +engage his passage in the next London-bound smack, and then directed +his steps to Robinson's, in the Side, to make all the inquiries he +could think of respecting the plough his uncle wanted to know about. + +So it was pretty late in the afternoon, indeed almost evening, +before he arrived at the small inn on the quay-side, where he +intended to sleep. It was but a rough kind of place, frequented +principally by sailors; he had been recommended to it by Daniel +Robson, who had known it well in former days. The accommodation in +it was, however, clean and homely, and the people keeping it were +respectable enough in their way. + +Still Hepburn was rather repelled by the appearance of the sailors +who sate drinking in the bar, and he asked, in a low voice, if there +was not another room. The woman stared in surprise, and only shook +her head. Hepburn went to a separate table, away from the roaring +fire, which on this cold March evening was the great attraction, and +called for food and drink. Then seeing that the other men were +eyeing him with the sociable idea of speaking to him, he asked for +pen and ink and paper, with the intention of defeating their purpose +by pre-occupation on his part. But when the paper came, the new pen, +the unused thickened ink, he hesitated long before he began to +write; and at last he slowly put down the words,-- + +'DEAR AND HONOURED UNCLE,'---- + +There was a pause; his meal was brought and hastily swallowed. Even +while he was eating it, he kept occasionally touching up the letters +of these words. When he had drunk a glass of ale he began again to +write: fluently this time, for he was giving an account of the +plough. Then came another long stop; he was weighing in his own mind +what he should say about Kinraid. Once he thought for a second of +writing to Sylvia herself, and telling her---how much? She might +treasure up her lover's words like grains of gold, while they were +lighter than dust in their meaning to Philip's mind; words which +such as the specksioneer used as counters to beguile and lead astray +silly women. It was for him to prove his constancy by action; and +the chances of his giving such proof were infinitesimal in Philip's +estimation. But should the latter mention the bare fact of Kinraid's +impressment to Robson? That would have been the natural course of +things, remembering that the last time Philip had seen either, they +were in each other's company. Twenty times he put his pen to the +paper with the intention of relating briefly the event that had +befallen Kinraid; and as often he stopped, as though the first word +would be irrevocable. While he thus sate pen in hand, thinking +himself wiser than conscience, and looking on beyond the next step +which she bade him take into an indefinite future, he caught some +fragments of the sailors' talk at the other end of the room, which +made him listen to their words. They were speaking of that very +Kinraid, the thought of whom filled his own mind like an actual +presence. In a rough, careless way they spoke of the specksioneer, +with admiration enough for his powers as a sailor and harpooner; and +from that they passed on to jesting mention of his power amongst +women, and one or two girls' names were spoken of in connection with +him. Hepburn silently added Annie Coulson and Sylvia Robson to this +list, and his cheeks turned paler as he did so. Long after they had +done speaking about Kinraid, after they had paid their shot, and +gone away, he sate in the same attitude, thinking bitter thoughts. + +The people of the house prepared for bed. Their silent guest took no +heed of their mute signs. At length the landlord spoke to him, and +he started, gathered his wits together with an effort, and prepared +to retire with the rest. But before he did so, he signed and +directed the letter to his uncle, leaving it still open, however, in +case some sudden feeling should prompt him to add a postscript. The +landlord volunteered the information that the letter his guest had +been writing must be posted early the next morning if it was going +south; as the mails in that direction only left Newcastle every +other day. + +All night long Hepburn wearied himself with passionate tossings, +prompted by stinging recollection. Towards morning he fell into a +dead sound sleep. He was roused by a hasty knocking at the door. It +was broad full daylight; he had overslept himself, and the smack was +leaving by the early tide. He was even now summoned on board. He +dressed, wafered his letter, and rushed with it to the neighbouring +post-office; and, without caring to touch the breakfast for which he +paid, he embarked. Once on board, he experienced the relief which it +always is to an undecided man, and generally is at first to any one +who has been paltering with duty, when circumstances decide for him. +In the first case, it is pleasant to be relieved from the burden of +decision; in the second, the responsibility seems to be shifted on +to impersonal events. + +And so Philip sailed out of the mouth of the Tyne on to the great +open sea. It would be a week before the smack reached London, even +if she pursued a tolerably straight course, but she had to keep a +sharp look-out after possible impressment of her crew; and it was +not until after many dodges and some adventures that, at the end of +a fortnight from the time of his leaving Monkshaven, Philip found +himself safely housed in London, and ready to begin the delicate +piece of work which was given him to do. + +He felt himself fully capable of unravelling each clue to +information, and deciding on the value of the knowledge so gained. +But during the leisure of the voyage he had wisely determined to +communicate everything he learnt about Dickinson, in short, every +step he took in the matter, by letter to his employers. And thus his +mind both in and out of his lodgings might have appeared to have +been fully occupied with the concerns of others. + +But there were times when the miserable luxury of dwelling upon his +own affairs was his--when he lay down in his bed till he fell into +restless sleep--when the point to which his steps tended in his +walks was ascertained. Then he gave himself up to memory, and regret +which often deepened into despair, and but seldom was cheered by +hope. + +He grew so impatient of the ignorance in which he was kept--for in +those days of heavy postage any correspondence he might have had on +mere Monkshaven intelligence was very limited--as to the affairs at +Haytersbank, that he cut out an advertisement respecting some new +kind of plough, from a newspaper that lay in the chop-house where he +usually dined, and rising early the next morning he employed the +time thus gained in going round to the shop where these new ploughs +were sold. + +That night he wrote another letter to Daniel Robson, with a long +account of the merits of the implements he had that day seen. With a +sick heart and a hesitating hand, he wound up with a message of +regard to his aunt and to Sylvia; an expression of regard which he +dared not make as warm as he wished, and which, consequently, fell +below the usual mark attained by such messages, and would have +appeared to any one who cared to think about it as cold and formal. + +When this letter was despatched, Hepburn began to wonder what he had +hoped for in writing it. He knew that Daniel could write--or rather +that he could make strange hieroglyphics, the meaning of which +puzzled others and often himself; but these pen-and-ink signs were +seldom employed by Robson, and never, so far as Philip knew, for the +purpose of letter-writing. But still he craved so for news of +Sylvia--even for a sight of paper which she had seen, and perhaps +touched--that he thought all his trouble about the plough (to say +nothing of the one-and-twopence postage which he had prepaid in +order to make sure of his letter's reception in the frugal household +at Haytersbank) well lost for the mere chance of his uncle's caring +enough for the intelligence to write in reply, or even to get some +friend to write an answer; for in such case, perhaps, Philip might +see her name mentioned in some way, even though it was only that she +sent her duty to him. + +But the post-office was dumb; no letter came from Daniel Robson. +Philip heard, it is true, from his employers pretty frequently on +business; and he felt sure they would have named it, if any ill had +befallen his uncle's family, for they knew of the relationship and +of his intimacy there. They generally ended their formal letters +with as formal a summary of Monkshaven news; but there was never a +mention of the Robsons, and that of itself was well, but it did not +soothe Philip's impatient curiosity. He had never confided his +attachment to his cousin to any one, it was not his way; but he +sometimes thought that if Coulson had not taken his present +appointment to a confidential piece of employment so ill, he would +have written to him and asked him to go up to Haytersbank Farm, and +let him know how they all were. + +All this time he was transacting the affair on which he had been +sent, with great skill; and, indeed, in several ways, he was quietly +laying the foundation for enlarging the business in Monkshaven. +Naturally grave and quiet, and slow to speak, he impressed those who +saw him with the idea of greater age and experience than he really +possessed. Indeed, those who encountered him in London, thought he +was absorbed in the business of money-making. Yet before the time +came when he could wind up affairs and return to Monkshaven, he +would have given all he possessed for a letter from his uncle, +telling him something about Sylvia. For he still hoped to hear from +Robson, although he knew that he hoped against reason. But we often +convince ourselves by good argument that what we wish for need never +have been expected; and then, at the end of our reasoning, find that +we might have saved ourselves the trouble, for that our wishes are +untouched, and are as strong enemies to our peace of mind as ever. +Hepburn's baulked hope was the Mordecai sitting in Haman's gate; all +his success in his errand to London, his well-doing in worldly +affairs, was tasteless, and gave him no pleasure, because of this +blank and void of all intelligence concerning Sylvia. + +And yet he came back with a letter from the Fosters in his pocket, +curt, yet expressive of deep gratitude for his discreet services in +London; and at another time--in fact, if Philip's life had been +ordered differently to what it was--it might have given this man a +not unworthy pleasure to remember that, without a penny of his own, +simply by diligence, honesty, and faithful quick-sightedness as to +the interests of his masters, he had risen to hold the promise of +being their successor, and to be ranked by them as a trusted friend. + +As the Newcastle smack neared the shore on her voyage home, Hepburn +looked wistfully out for the faint gray outline of Monkshaven Priory +against the sky, and the well-known cliffs; as if the masses of +inanimate stone could tell him any news of Sylvia. + +In the streets of Shields, just after landing, he encountered a +neighbour of the Robsons, and an acquaintance of his own. By this +honest man, he was welcomed as a great traveller is welcomed on his +return from a long voyage, with many hearty good shakes of the hand, +much repetition of kind wishes, and offers to treat him to drink. +Yet, from some insurmountable feeling, Philip avoided all mention of +the family who were the principal bond between the honest farmer and +himself. He did not know why, but he could not bear the shock of +first hearing her name in the open street, or in the rough +public-house. And thus he shrank from the intelligence he craved to +hear. + +Thus he knew no more about the Robsons when he returned to +Monkshaven, than he had done on the day when he had last seen them; +and, of course, his first task there was to give a long _viva voce_ +account of all his London proceedings to the two brothers Foster, +who, considering that they had heard the result of everything by +letter, seemed to take an insatiable interest in details. + +He could hardly tell why, but even when released from the Fosters' +parlour, he was unwilling to go to Haytersbank Farm. It was late, it +is true, but on a May evening even country people keep up till eight +or nine o'clock. Perhaps it was because Hepburn was still in his +travel-stained dress; having gone straight to the shop on his +arrival in Monkshaven. Perhaps it was because, if he went this night +for the short half-hour intervening before bed-time, he would have +no excuse for paying a longer visit on the following evening. At any +rate, he proceeded straight to Alice Rose's, as soon as he had +finished his interview with his employers. + +Both Hester and Coulson had given him their welcome home in the +shop, which they had, however, left an hour or two before him. + +Yet they gave him a fresh greeting, almost one in which surprise was +blended, when he came to his lodgings. Even Alice seemed gratified +by his spending this first evening with them, as if she had thought +it might have been otherwise. Weary though he was, he exerted +himself to talk and to relate what he had done and seen in London, +as far as he could without breaking confidence with his employers. +It was something to see the pleasure he gave to his auditors, +although there were several mixed feelings in their minds to produce +the expression of it which gratified him. Coulson was sorry for his +former ungenerous reception of the news that Philip was going to +London; Hester and her mother each secretly began to feel as if this +evening was like more happy evenings of old, before the Robsons came +to Haytersbank Farm; and who knows what faint delicious hopes this +resemblance may not have suggested? + +While Philip, restless and excited, feeling that he could not sleep, +was glad to pass away the waking hours that must intervene before +to-morrow night, at times, he tried to make them talk of what had +happened in Monkshaven during his absence, but all had gone on in an +eventless manner, as far as he could gather; if they knew of +anything affecting the Robsons, they avoided speaking of it to him; +and, indeed, how little likely were they ever to have heard their +names while he was away? + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +LOVED AND LOST + + +Philip walked towards the Robsons' farm like a man in a dream, who +has everything around him according to his wish, and yet is +conscious of a secret mysterious inevitable drawback to his +enjoyment. Hepburn did not care to think--would not realize what +this drawback, which need not have been mysterious in his case, was. + +The May evening was glorious in light and shadow. The crimson sun +warmed up the chilly northern air to a semblance of pleasant heat. +The spring sights and sounds were all about; the lambs were bleating +out their gentle weariness before they sank to rest by the side of +their mothers; the linnets were chirping in every bush of golden +gorse that grew out of the stone walls; the lark was singing her +good-night in the cloudless sky, before she dropped down to her nest +in the tender green wheat; all spoke of brooding peace--but Philip's +heart was not at peace. + +Yet he was going to proclaim his good fortune. His masters had that +day publicly announced that Coulson and he were to be their +successors, and he had now arrived at that longed-for point in his +business, when he had resolved to openly speak of his love to +Sylvia, and might openly strive to gain her love. But, alas! the +fulfilment of that wish of his had lagged sadly behind. He was +placed as far as he could, even in his most sanguine moments, have +hoped to be as regarded business, but Sylvia was as far from his +attainment as ever--nay, farther. Still the great obstacle was +removed in Kinraid's impressment. Philip took upon himself to decide +that, with such a man as the specksioneer, absence was equivalent to +faithless forgetfulness. He thought that he had just grounds for +this decision in the account he had heard of Kinraid's behaviour to +Annie Coulson; to the other nameless young girl, her successor in +his fickle heart; in the ribald talk of the sailors in the Newcastle +public-house. It would be well for Sylvia if she could forget as +quickly; and, to promote this oblivion, the name of her lover should +never be brought up, either in praise or blame. And Philip would be +patient and enduring; all the time watching over her, and labouring +to win her reluctant love. + +There she was! He saw her as he stood at the top of the little +hill-path leading down to the Robsons' door. She was out of doors, +in the garden, which, at some distance from the house, sloped up the +bank on the opposite side of the gully; much too far off to be +spoken to--not too far off to be gazed at by eyes that caressed her +every movement. How well Philip knew that garden; placed long ago by +some tenant of the farm on a southern slope; walled in with rough +moorland stones; planted with berry-bushes for use, and southernwood +and sweet-briar for sweetness of smell. When the Robsons had first +come to Haytersbank, and Sylvia was scarcely more than a pretty +child, how well he remembered helping her with the arrangement of +this garden; laying out his few spare pence in hen-and-chicken +daisies at one time, in flower-seeds at another; again in a +rose-tree in a pot. He knew how his unaccustomed hands had laboured +with the spade at forming a little primitive bridge over the beck in +the hollow before winter streams should make it too deep for +fording; how he had cut down branches of the mountain-ash and +covered them over, yet decked with their scarlet berries, with sods +of green turf, beyond which the brilliancy crept out; but now it was +months and years since he had been in that garden, which had lost +its charm for Sylvia, as she found the bleak sea-winds came up and +blighted all endeavours at cultivating more than the most useful +things--pot-herbs, marigolds, potatoes, onions, and such-like. Why +did she tarry there now, standing quite motionless up by the highest +bit of wall, looking over the sea, with her hand shading her eyes? +Quite motionless; as if she were a stone statue. He began to wish +she would move--would look at him--but any way that she would move, +and not stand gazing thus over that great dreary sea. + +He went down the path with an impatient step, and entered the +house-place. There sat his aunt spinning, and apparently as well as +ever. He could hear his uncle talking to Kester in the neighbouring +shippen; all was well in the household. Why was Sylvia standing in +the garden in that strange quiet way? + +'Why, lad! thou'rt a sight for sair een!' said his aunt, as she +stood up to welcome him back. 'An' when didst ta come, eh?--but thy +uncle will be glad to see thee, and to hear thee talk about yon +pleughs; he's thought a deal o' thy letters. I'll go call him in.' + +'Not yet,' said Philip, stopping her in her progress towards the +door. 'He's busy talking to Kester. I'm in no haste to be gone. I +can stay a couple of hours. Sit down, and tell me how you are +yoursel'--and how iverything is. And I've a deal to tell you.' + +'To be sure--to be sure. To think thou's been in Lunnon sin' I saw +thee!--well to be sure! There's a vast o' coming and going i' this +world. Thou'll mind yon specksioneer lad, him as was cousin to t' +Corneys--Charley Kinraid?' + +Mind him! As if he could forget him. + +'Well! he's dead and gone.' + +'Dead! Who told you? I don't understand,' said Philip, in strange +bewilderment. Could Kinraid have tried to escape after all, and been +wounded, killed in the attempt? If not, how should they know he was +dead? Missing he might be, though how this should be known was +strange, as he was supposed to be sailing to the Greenland seas. But +dead! What did they mean? At Philip's worst moment of hatred he had +hardly dared to wish him dead. + +'Dunnot yo' mention it afore our Sylvie; we niver speak on him to +her, for she takes it a deal to heart, though I'm thinkin' it were a +good thing for her; for he'd got a hold of her--he had on Bessy +Corney, too, as her mother telled me;--not that I iver let on to +them as Sylvia frets after him, so keep a calm sough, my lad. It's a +girl's fancy--just a kind o' calf-love; let it go by; and it's well +for her he's dead, though it's hard to say so on a drowned man.' + +'Drowned!' said Philip. 'How do yo' know?' half hoping that the poor +drenched swollen body might have been found, and thus all questions +and dilemmas solved. Kinraid might have struggled overboard with +ropes or handcuffs on, and so have been drowned. + +'Eh, lad! there's no misdoubtin' it. He were thought a deal on by t' +captain o' t' _Urania_; and when he niver come back on t' day when +she ought for to have sailed, he sent to Kinraid's people at +Cullercoats, and they sent to Brunton's i' Newcassel, and they knew +he'd been here. T' captain put off sailing for two or three days, +that he might ha' that much law; but when he heard as Kinraid were +not at Corneys', but had left 'em a'most on to a week, he went off +to them Northern seas wi' t' next best specksioneer he could find. +For there's no use speaking ill on t' dead; an' though I couldn't +abear his coming for iver about t' house, he were a rare good +specksioneer, as I've been told.' + +'But how do you know he was drowned?' said Philip, feeling guiltily +disappointed at his aunt's story. + +'Why, lad! I'm a'most ashamed to tell thee, I were sore put out +mysel'; but Sylvia were so broken-hearted like I couldn't cast it up +to her as I should ha' liked: th' silly lass had gone and gi'en him +a bit o' ribbon, as many a one knowed, for it had been a vast +noticed and admired that evenin' at th' Corneys'--new year's eve I +think it were--and t' poor vain peacock had tied it on his hat, so +that when t' tide----hist! there's Sylvie coming in at t' back-door; +never let on,' and in a forced made-up voice she inquired aloud, for +hitherto she had been speaking almost in a whisper,-- + +'And didst ta see King George an' Queen Charlotte?' + +Philip could not answer--did not hear. His soul had gone out to meet +Sylvia, who entered with quiet slowness quite unlike her former +self. Her face was wan and white; her gray eyes seemed larger, and +full of dumb tearless sorrow; she came up to Philip, as if his being +there touched her with no surprise, and gave him a gentle greeting +as if he were a familiar indifferent person whom she had seen but +yesterday. Philip, who had recollected the quarrel they had had, and +about Kinraid too, the very last time they had met, had expected +some trace of this remembrance to linger in her looks and speech to +him. But there was no such sign; her great sorrow had wiped away all +anger, almost all memory. Her mother looked at her anxiously, and +then said in the same manner of forced cheerfulness which she had +used before,-- + +'Here's Philip, lass, a' full o' Lunnon; call thy father in, an +we'll hear a' about t' new-fangled pleughs. It'll be rare an' nice +a' sitting together again.' + +Sylvia, silent and docile, went out to the shippen to obey her +mother's wish. Bell Robson leant forward towards Philip, +misinterpreting the expression on his face, which was guilt as much +as sympathy, and checked the possible repentance which might have +urged him on at that moment to tell all he knew, by saying, 'Lad! +it's a' for t' best. He were noane good enough for her; and I +misdoubt me he were only playin' wi' her as he'd done by others. Let +her a-be, let her a-be; she'll come round to be thankful.' + +Robson bustled in with loud welcome; all the louder and more +talkative because he, like his wife, assumed a cheerful manner +before Sylvia. Yet he, unlike his wife, had many a secret regret +over Kinraid's fate. At first, while merely the fact of his +disappearance was known, Daniel Robson had hit on the truth, and had +stuck to his opinion that the cursed press-gang were at the bottom +of it. He had backed his words by many an oath, and all the more +because he had not a single reason to give that applied to the +present occasion. No one on the lonely coast had remarked any sign +of the presence of the men-of-war, or the tenders that accompanied +them, for the purpose of impressment on the king's ships. At +Shields, and at the mouth of the Tyne, where they lay in greedy +wait, the owners of the _Urania_ had caused strict search to be made +for their skilled and protected specksioneer, but with no success. +All this positive evidence in contradiction to Daniel Robson's +opinion only made him cling to it the more; until the day when the +hat was found on the shore with Kinraid's name written out large and +fair in the inside, and the tell-tale bit of ribbon knotted in the +band. Then Daniel, by a sudden revulsion, gave up every hope; it +never entered his mind that it could have fallen off by any +accident. No! now Kinraid was dead and drowned, and it was a bad +job, and the sooner it could be forgotten the better for all +parties; and it was well no one knew how far it had gone with +Sylvia, especially now since Bessy Corney was crying her eyes out as +if he had been engaged to her. So Daniel said nothing to his wife +about the mischief that had gone on in her absence, and never spoke +to Sylvia about the affair; only he was more than usually tender to +her in his rough way, and thought, morning, noon, and night, on what +he could do to give her pleasure, and drive away all recollection of +her ill-starred love. + +To-night he would have her sit by him while Philip told his stories, +or heavily answered questions put to him. Sylvia sat on a stool by +her father's knee, holding one of his hands in both of hers; and +presently she laid down her head upon them, and Philip saw her sad +eyes looking into the flickering fire-light with long unwinking +stare, showing that her thoughts were far distant. He could hardly +go on with his tales of what he had seen, and what done, he was so +full of pity for her. Yet, for all his pity, he had now resolved +never to soothe her with the knowledge of what he knew, nor to +deliver the message sent by her false lover. He felt like a mother +withholding something injurious from the foolish wish of her +plaining child. + +But he went away without breathing a word of his good fortune in +business. The telling of such kind of good fortune seemed out of +place this night, when the thought of death and the loss of friends +seemed to brood over the household, and cast its shadow there, +obscuring for the time all worldly things. + +And so the great piece of news came out in the ordinary course of +gossip, told by some Monkshaven friend to Robson the next market +day. For months Philip had been looking forward to the sensation +which the intelligence would produce in the farm household, as a +preliminary to laying his good fortune at Sylvia's feet. And they +heard of it, and he away, and all chance of his making use of it in +the manner he had intended vanished for the present. + +Daniel was always curious after other people's affairs, and now was +more than ever bent on collecting scraps of news which might +possibly interest Sylvia, and rouse her out of the state of +indifference as to everything into which she had fallen. Perhaps he +thought that he had not acted altogether wisely in allowing her to +engage herself to Kinraid, for he was a man apt to judge by results; +and moreover he had had so much reason to repent of the +encouragement which he had given to the lover whose untimely end had +so deeply affected his only child, that he was more unwilling than +ever that his wife should know of the length to which the affair had +gone during her absence. He even urged secrecy upon Sylvia as a +personal favour; unwilling to encounter the silent blame which he +openly affected to despise. + +'We'll noane fret thy mother by lettin' on how oft he came and went. +She'll, may-be, be thinkin' he were for speakin' to thee, my poor +lass; an' it would put her out a deal, for she's a woman of a stern +mind towards matteremony. And she'll be noane so strong till +summer-weather comes, and I'd be loath to give her aught to worrit +hersel' about. So thee and me 'll keep our own counsel.' + +'I wish mother had been here, then she'd ha' known all, without my +telling her.' + +'Cheer up, lass; it's better as it is. Thou'll get o'er it sooner +for havin' no one to let on to. A myself am noane going to speak +on't again.' + +No more he did; but there was a strange tenderness in his tones when +he spoke to her; a half-pathetic way of seeking after her, if by any +chance she was absent for a minute from the places where he expected +to find her; a consideration for her, about this time, in his way of +bringing back trifling presents, or small pieces of news that he +thought might interest her, which sank deep into her heart. + +'And what dun yo' think a' t' folks is talkin' on i' Monkshaven?' +asked he, almost before he had taken off his coat, on the day when +he had heard of Philip's promotion in the world. 'Why, missus, thy +nephew, Philip Hepburn, has got his name up i' gold letters four +inch long o'er Fosters' door! Him and Coulson has set up shop +together, and Fosters is gone out!' + +'That's t' secret of his journey t' Lunnon,' said Bell, more +gratified than she chose to show. + +'Four inch long if they're theere at all! I heerd on it at t' Bay +Horse first; but I thought yo'd niver be satisfied 'bout I seed it +wi' my own eyes. They do say as Gregory Jones, t' plumber, got it +done i' York, for that nought else would satisfy old Jeremiah. It'll +be a matter o' some hundreds a year i' Philip's pocket.' + +'There'll be Fosters i' th' background, as one may say, to take t' +biggest share on t' profits,' said Bell. + +'Ay, ay, that's but as it should be, for I reckon they'll ha' to +find t' brass the first, my lass!' said he, turning to Sylvia. 'A'm +fain to tak' thee in to t' town next market-day, just for thee t' +see 't. A'll buy thee a bonny ribbon for thy hair out o' t' cousin's +own shop.' + +Some thought of another ribbon which had once tied up her hair, and +afterwards been cut in twain, must have crossed Sylvia's mind, for +she answered, as if she shrank from her father's words,-- + +'I cannot go, I'm noane wantin' a ribbon; I'm much obliged, father, +a' t' same.' + +Her mother read her heart clearly, and suffered with her, but never +spoke a word of sympathy. But she went on rather more quickly than +she would otherwise have done to question her husband as to all he +knew about this great rise of Philip's. Once or twice Sylvia joined +in with languid curiosity; but presently she became tired and went +to bed. For a few moments after she left, her parents sate silent. +Then Daniel, in a tone as if he were justifying his daughter, and +comforting himself as well as his wife, observed that it was almost +on for nine; the evenings were light so long now. Bell said nothing +in reply, but gathered up her wool, and began to arrange the things +for night. + +By-and-by Daniel broke the silence by saying,-- + +'A thowt at one time as Philip had a fancy for our Sylvie.' + +For a minute or two Bell did not speak. Then, with deeper insight +into her daughter's heart than her husband, in spite of his greater +knowledge of the events that had happened to affect it, she said,-- + +'If thou's thinking on a match between 'em, it 'll be a long time +afore th' poor sad wench is fit t' think on another man as +sweetheart.' + +'A said nought about sweethearts,' replied he, as if his wife had +reproached him in some way. 'Woman's allays so full o' sweethearts +and matteremony. A only said as a'd thowt once as Philip had a fancy +for our lass, and a think so still; and he'll be worth his two +hunder a year afore long. But a niver said nought about +sweethearts.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A REJECTED SUITOR + + +There were many domestic arrangements to be made in connection with +the new commercial ones which affected Hepburn and Coulson. + +The Fosters, with something of the busybodiness which is apt to +mingle itself with kindly patronage, had planned in their own minds +that the Rose household should be removed altogether to the house +belonging to the shop; and that Alice, with the assistance of the +capable servant, who, at present, managed all John's domestic +affairs, should continue as mistress of the house, with Philip and +Coulson for her lodgers. + +But arrangements without her consent did not suit Alice at any time, +and she had very good reasons for declining to accede to this. She +was not going to be uprooted at her time of life, she said, nor +would she consent to enter upon a future which might be so +uncertain. Why, Hepburn and Coulson were both young men, she said, +and they were as likely to marry as not; and then the bride would be +sure to wish to live in the good old-fashioned house at the back of +the shop. + +It was in vain she was told by every one concerned, that, in case of +such an event, the first married partner should take a house of his +own, leaving her in undisputed possession. She replied, with +apparent truth, that both might wish to marry, and surely the wife +of one ought to take possession of the house belonging to the +business; that she was not going to trust herself to the fancies of +young men, who were always, the best of them, going and doing the +very thing that was most foolish in the way of marriage; of which +state, in fact, she spoke with something of acrimonious contempt and +dislike, as if young people always got mismatched, yet had not the +sense to let older and wiser people choose for them. + +'Thou'll not have been understanding why Alice Rose spoke as she did +this morning,' said Jeremiah Foster to Philip, on the afternoon +succeeding the final discussion of this plan. 'She was a-thinking of +her youth, I reckon, when she was a well-favoured young woman, and +our John was full of the thought of marrying her. As he could not +have her, he has lived a bachelor all his days. But if I am not a +vast mistaken, all that he has will go to her and to Hester, for all +that Hester is the child of another man. Thee and Coulson should +have a try for Hester, Philip. I have told Coulson this day of +Hester's chances. I told him first because he is my wife's nephew; +but I tell thee now, Philip. It would be a good thing for the shop +if one of ye was married.' + +Philip reddened. Often as the idea of marriage had come into his +mind, this was the first time it had been gravely suggested to him +by another. But he replied quietly enough. + +'I don't think Hester Rose has any thought of matrimony.' + +'To be sure not; it is for thee, or for William Coulson, to make her +think. She, may-be, remembers enough of her mother's life with her +father to make her slow to think on such things. But it's in her to +think on matrimony; it's in all of us.' + +'Alice's husband was dead before I knew her,' said Philip, rather +evading the main subject. + +'It was a mercy when he were taken. A mercy to them who were left, I +mean. Alice was a bonny young woman, with a smile for everybody, +when he wed her--a smile for every one except our John, who never +could do enough to try and win one from her. But, no! she would have +none of him, but set her heart on Jack Rose, a sailor in a +whale-ship. And so they were married at last, though all her own +folks were against it. And he was a profligate sinner, and went +after other women, and drank, and beat her. She turned as stiff and +as grey as thou seest her now within a year of Hester's birth. I +believe they'd have perished for want and cold many a time if it had +not been for John. If she ever guessed where the money came from, it +must have hurt her pride above a bit, for she was always a proud +woman. But mother's love is stronger than pride.' + +Philip fell to thinking; a generation ago something of the same kind +had been going on as that which he was now living through, quick +with hopes and fears. A girl beloved by two--nay, those two so +identical in occupation as he and Kinraid were--Rose identical even +in character with what he knew of the specksioneer; a girl choosing +the wrong lover, and suffering and soured all her life in +consequence of her youth's mistake; was that to be Sylvia's +lot?--or, rather, was she not saved from it by the event of the +impressment, and by the course of silence he himself had resolved +upon? Then he went on to wonder if the lives of one generation were +but a repetition of the lives of those who had gone before, with no +variation but from the internal cause that some had greater capacity +for suffering than others. Would those very circumstances which made +the interest of his life now, return, in due cycle, when he was dead +and Sylvia was forgotten? + +Perplexed thoughts of this and a similar kind kept returning into +Philip's mind whenever he had leisure to give himself up to +consideration of anything but the immediate throng of business. And +every time he dwelt on this complication and succession of similar +events, he emerged from his reverie more and more satisfied with the +course he had taken in withholding from Sylvia all knowledge of her +lover's fate. + +It was settled at length that Philip was to remove to the house +belonging to the shop, Coulson remaining with Alice and her +daughter. But in the course of the summer the latter told his +partner that he had offered marriage to Hester on the previous day, +and been refused. It was an awkward affair altogether, as he lived +in their house, and was in daily companionship with Hester, who, +however, seemed to preserve her gentle calmness, with only a tinge +more of reserve in her manner to Coulson. + +'I wish yo' could find out what she has again' me, Philip,' said +Coulson, about a fortnight after he had made the proposal. The poor +young man thought that Hester's composure of manner towards him +since the event argued that he was not distasteful to her; and as he +was now on very happy terms with Philip, he came constantly to him, +as if the latter could interpret the meaning of all the little +occurrences between him and his beloved. 'I'm o' right age, not two +months betwixt us; and there's few in Monkshaven as would think on +her wi' better prospects than me; and she knows my folks; we're kind +o' cousins, in fact; and I'd be like a son to her mother; and +there's noane i' Monkshaven as can speak again' my character. +There's nought between yo' and her, is there, Philip?' + +'I ha' telled thee many a time that she and me is like brother and +sister. She's no more thought on me nor I have for her. So be +content wi't, for I'se not tell thee again.' + +'Don't be vexed, Philip; if thou knew what it was to be in love, +thou'd be always fancying things, just as I am.' + +'I might be,' said Philip; 'but I dunnut think I should be always +talking about my fancies.' + +'I wunnot talk any more after this once, if thou'll just find out +fra' thysel', as it were, what it is she has again' me. I'd go to +chapel for iver with her, if that's what she wants. Just ask her, +Philip.' + +'It's an awkward thing for me to be melling wi',' said Hepburn, +reluctantly. + +'But thou said thee and she were like brother and sister; and a +brother would ask a sister, and niver think twice about it.' + +'Well, well,' replied Philip, 'I'll see what I can do; but, lad, I +dunnot think she'll have thee. She doesn't fancy thee, and fancy is +three parts o' love, if reason is t' other fourth.' + +But somehow Philip could not begin on the subject with Hester. He +did not know why, except that, as he said, 'it was so awkward.' But +he really liked Coulson so much as to be anxious to do what the +latter wished, although he was almost convinced that it would be of +no use. So he watched his opportunity, and found Alice alone and at +leisure one Sunday evening. + +She was sitting by the window, reading her Bible, when he went in. +She gave him a curt welcome, hearty enough for her, for she was +always chary in her expressions of pleasure or satisfaction. But she +took off her horn spectacles and placed them in the book to keep her +place; and then turning more fully round on her chair, so as to face +him, she said,-- + +'Well, lad! and how does it go on? Though it's not a day for t' ask +about worldly things. But I niver see thee now but on Sabbath day, +and rarely then. Still we munnot speak o' such things on t' Lord's +day. So thee mun just say how t' shop is doing, and then we'll leave +such vain talk.' + +'T' shop is doing main an' well, thank ye, mother. But Coulson could +tell yo' o' that any day.' + +'I'd a deal rayther hear fra' thee, Philip. Coulson doesn't know how +t' manage his own business, let alone half the business as it took +John and Jeremiah's heads--ay, and tasked 'em, too--to manage. I've +no patience with Coulson.' + +'Why? he's a decent young fellow as ever there is in Monkshaven.' + +'He may be. He's noane cut his wisdom-teeth yet. But, for that +matter, there's other folks as far fra' sense as he is.' + +'Ay, and farther. Coulson mayn't be so bright at all times as he +might be, but he's a steady-goer, and I'd back him again' any chap +o' his age i' Monkshaven.' + +'I know who I'd sooner back in many a thing, Philip!' She said it +with so much meaning that he could not fail to understand that he +himself was meant, and he replied, ingenuously enough,-- + +'If yo' mean me, mother, I'll noane deny that in a thing or two I +may be more knowledgeable than Coulson. I've had a deal o' time on +my hands i' my youth, and I'd good schooling as long as father +lived.' + +'Lad! it's not schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as +carries a man through t' world. It's mother-wit. And it's noane +schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as takes a young woman. +It's summat as cannot be put into words.' + +'That's just what I told Coulson!' said Philip, quickly. 'He were +sore put about because Hester had gi'en him the bucket, and came to +me about it.' + +'And what did thou say?' asked Alice, her deep eyes gleaming at him +as if to read his face as well as his words. Philip, thinking he +could now do what Coulson had begged of him in the neatest manner, +went on,-- + +'I told him I'd help him all as I could---' + +'Thou did, did thou? Well, well, there's nought sa queer as folks, +that a will say,' muttered Alice, between her teeth. + +'--but that fancy had three parts to do wi' love,' continued Philip, +'and it would be hard, may-be, to get a reason for her not fancying +him. Yet I wish she'd think twice about it; he so set upon having +her, I think he'll do himself a mischief wi' fretting, if it goes on +as it is.' + +'It'll noane go on as it is,' said Alice, with gloomy oracularness. + +'How not?' asked Philip. Then, receiving no answer, he went on, 'He +loves her true, and he's within a month or two on her age, and his +character will bear handling on a' sides; and his share on t' shop +will be worth hundreds a year afore long.' + +Another pause. Alice was trying to bring down her pride to say +something, which she could not with all her efforts. + +'Maybe yo'll speak a word for him, mother,' said Philip, annoyed at +her silence. + +'I'll do no such thing. Marriages are best made wi'out melling. How +do I know but what she likes some one better?' + +'Our Hester's not th' lass to think on a young man unless he's been +a-wooing on her. And yo' know, mother, as well as I do--and Coulson +does too--she's niver given any one a chance to woo her; living half +her time here, and t' other half in t' shop, and niver speaking to +no one by t' way.' + +'I wish thou wouldn't come here troubling me on a Sabbath day wi' +thy vanity and thy worldly talk. I'd liefer by far be i' that world +wheere there's neither marrying nor giving in marriage, for it's all +a moithering mess here.' She turned to the closed Bible lying on the +dresser, and opened it with a bang. While she was adjusting her +spectacles on her nose, with hands trembling with passion, she heard +Philip say,-- + +'I ask yo'r pardon, I'm sure. I couldn't well come any other day.' + +'It's a' t' same--I care not. But thou might as well tell truth. +I'll be bound thou's been at Haytersbank Farm some day this week?' + +Philip reddened; in fact, he had forgotten how he had got to +consider his frequent visits to the farm as a regular piece of +occupation. He kept silence. + +Alice looked at him with a sharp intelligence that read his silence +through. + +'I thought so. Next time thou thinks to thyself, 'I'm more +knowledgeable than Coulson,' just remember Alice Rose's words, and +they are these:--If Coulson's too thick-sighted to see through a +board, thou'rt too blind to see through a window. As for comin' and +speakin' up for Coulson, why he'll be married to some one else afore +t' year's out, for all he thinks he's so set upon Hester now. Go thy +ways, and leave me to my Scripture, and come no more on Sabbath days +wi' thy vain babbling.' + +So Philip returned from his mission rather crestfallen, but quite as +far as ever from 'seeing through a glass window.' + +Before the year was out, Alice's prophecy was fulfilled. Coulson, +who found the position of a rejected lover in the same house with +the girl who had refused him, too uncomfortable to be endured, as +soon as he was convinced that his object was decidedly out of his +reach, turned his attention to some one else. He did not love his +new sweetheart as he had done Hester: there was more of reason and +less of fancy in his attachment. But it ended successfully; and +before the first snow fell, Philip was best man at his partner's +wedding. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +DEEPENING SHADOWS + + +But before Coulson was married, many small events happened--small +events to all but Philip. To him they were as the sun and moon. The +days when he went up to Haytersbank and Sylvia spoke to him, the +days when he went up and she had apparently no heart to speak to any +one, but left the room as soon as he came, or never entered it at +all, although she must have known that he was there--these were his +alternations from happiness to sorrow. + +From her parents he always had a welcome. Oppressed by their +daughter's depression of spirits, they hailed the coming of any +visitor as a change for her as well as for themselves. The former +intimacy with the Corneys was in abeyance for all parties, owing to +Bessy Corney's out-spoken grief for the loss of her cousin, as if +she had had reason to look upon him as her lover, whereas Sylvia's +parents felt this as a slur upon their daughter's cause of grief. +But although at this time the members of the two families ceased to +seek after each other's society, nothing was said. The thread of +friendship might be joined afresh at any time, only just now it was +broken; and Philip was glad of it. Before going to Haytersbank he +sought each time for some little present with which to make his +coming welcome. And now he wished even more than ever that Sylvia +had cared for learning; if she had he could have taken her many a +pretty ballad, or story-book, such as were then in vogue. He did try +her with the translation of the _Sorrows of Werther_, so popular at +the time that it had a place in all pedlars' baskets, with Law's +_Serious Call_, the _Pilgrim's Progress_, Klopstock's _Messiah_, and +_Paradise Lost_. But she could not read it for herself; and after +turning the leaves languidly over, and smiling a little at the +picture of Charlotte cutting bread and butter in a left-handed +manner, she put it aside on the shelf by the _Complete Farrier_; and +there Philip saw it, upside down and untouched, the next time he +came to the farm. + +Many a time during that summer did he turn to the few verses in +Genesis in which Jacob's twice seven years' service for Rachel is +related, and try and take fresh heart from the reward which came to +the patriarch's constancy at last. After trying books, nosegays, +small presents of pretty articles of dress, such as suited the +notions of those days, and finding them all received with the same +languid gratitude, he set himself to endeavour to please her in some +other way. It was time that he should change his tactics; for the +girl was becoming weary of the necessity for thanking him, every +time he came, for some little favour or other. She wished he would +let her alone and not watch her continually with such sad eyes. Her +father and mother hailed her first signs of impatient petulance +towards him as a return to the old state of things before Kinraid +had come to disturb the tenour of their lives; for even Daniel had +turned against the specksioneer, irritated by the Corneys' loud +moans over the loss of the man to whom their daughter said that she +was attached. If Daniel wished for him to be alive again, it was +mainly that the Corneys might be convinced that his last visit to +the neighbourhood of Monkshaven was for the sake of the pale and +silent Sylvia, and not for that of Bessy, who complained of +Kinraid's untimely death rather as if by it she had been cheated of +a husband than for any overwhelming personal love towards the +deceased. + +'If he were after her he were a big black scoundrel, that's what he +were; and a wish he were alive again to be hung. But a dunnot +believe it; them Corney lasses were allays a-talkin' an' a-thinking +on sweethearts, and niver a man crossed t' threshold but they tried +him on as a husband. An' their mother were no better: Kinraid has +spoken civil to Bessy as became a lad to a lass, and she makes an +ado over him as if they'd been to church together not a week sin'.' + +'I dunnot uphold t' Corneys; but Molly Corney--as is Molly Brunton +now--used to speak on this dead man to our Sylvie as if he were her +sweetheart in old days. Now there's no smoke without fire, and I'm +thinking it's likely enough he were one of them fellows as is always +after some lass or another, and, as often as not, two or three at a +time. Now look at Philip, what a different one he is! He's niver +thought on a woman but our Sylvie, I'll be bound. I wish he wern't +so old-fashioned and faint-hearted.' + +'Ay! and t' shop's doin' a vast o' business, I've heard say. He's a +deal better company, too, 'n or he used to be. He'd a way o' +preaching wi' him as a couldn't abide; but now he tak's his glass, +an' holds his tongue, leavin' room for wiser men to say their say.' + +Such was a conjugal colloquy about this time. Philip was gaining +ground with Daniel, and that was something towards winning Sylvia's +heart; for she was unaware of her father's change of feeling towards +Kinraid, and took all his tenderness towards herself as if they were +marks of his regard for her lost lover and his sympathy in her loss, +instead of which he was rather feeling as if it might be a good +thing after all that the fickle-hearted sailor was dead and drowned. +In fact, Daniel was very like a child in all the parts of his +character. He was strongly affected by whatever was present, and apt +to forget the absent. He acted on impulse, and too often had reason +to be sorry for it; but he hated his sorrow too much to let it teach +him wisdom for the future. With all his many faults, however, he had +something in him which made him be dearly loved, both by the +daughter whom he indulged, and the wife who was in fact superior to +him, but whom he imagined that he ruled with a wise and absolute +sway. + +Love to Sylvia gave Philip tact. He seemed to find out that to +please the women of the household he must pay all possible attention +to the man; and though he cared little in comparison for Daniel, yet +this autumn he was continually thinking of how he could please him. +When he had said or done anything to gratify or amuse her father, +Sylvia smiled and was kind. Whatever he did was right with his aunt; +but even she was unusually glad when her husband was pleased. Still +his progress was slow towards his object; and often he sighed +himself to sleep with the words, 'seven years, and maybe seven years +more'. Then in his dreams he saw Kinraid again, sometimes +struggling, sometimes sailing towards land, the only one on board a +swift advancing ship, alone on deck, stern and avenging; till Philip +awoke in remorseful terror. + +Such and similar dreams returned with the greater frequency when, in +the November of that year, the coast between Hartlepool and +Monkshaven was overshadowed by the presence of guard-ships, driven +south from their station at North Shields by the resolution which +the sailors of that port had entered into to resist the press-gang, +and the energy with which they had begun to carry out their +determination. For on a certain Tuesday evening yet remembered by +old inhabitants of North Shields, the sailors in the merchant +service met together and overpowered the press-gang, dismissing them +from the town with the highest contempt, and with their jackets +reversed. A numerous mob went with them to Chirton Bar; gave them +three cheers at parting, but vowed to tear them limb from limb +should they seek to re-enter North Shields. But a few days +afterwards some fresh cause of irritation arose, and five hundred +sailors, armed with such swords and pistols as they could collect, +paraded through the town in the most riotous manner, and at last +attempted to seize the tender Eleanor, on some pretext of the +ill-treatment of the impressed men aboard. This endeavour failed, +however, owing to the energetic conduct of the officers in command. +Next day this body of sailors set off for Newcastle; but learning, +before they reached the town, that there was a strong military and +civil force prepared to receive them there, they dispersed for the +time; but not before the good citizens had received a great fright, +the drums of the North Yorkshire militia beating to arms, and the +terrified people rushing out into the streets to learn the reason of +the alarm, and some of them seeing the militia, under the command of +the Earl of Fauconberg, marching from the guard-house adjoining New +Gate to the house of rendezvous for impressed seamen in the Broad +Chase. + +But a few weeks after, the impressment service took their revenge +for the insults they had been subjected to in North Shields. In the +dead of night a cordon was formed round that town by a regiment +stationed at Tynemouth barracks; the press-gangs belonging to armed +vessels lying off Shields harbour were let loose; no one within the +circle could escape, and upwards of two hundred and fifty men, +sailors, mechanics, labourers of every description, were forced on +board the armed ships. With that prize they set sail, and wisely +left the place, where deep passionate vengeance was sworn against +them. Not all the dread of an invasion by the French could reconcile +the people of these coasts to the necessity of impressment. Fear and +confusion prevailed after this to within many miles of the +sea-shore. A Yorkshire gentleman of rank said that his labourers +dispersed like a covey of birds, because a press-gang was reported +to have established itself so far inland as Tadcaster; and they only +returned to work on the assurance from the steward of his master's +protection, but even then begged leave to sleep on straw in the +stables or outhouses belonging to their landlord, not daring to +sleep at their own homes. No fish was caught, for the fishermen +dared not venture out to sea; the markets were deserted, as the +press-gangs might come down on any gathering of men; prices were +raised, and many were impoverished; many others ruined. For in the +great struggle in which England was then involved, the navy was +esteemed her safeguard; and men must be had at any price of money, +or suffering, or of injustice. Landsmen were kidnapped and taken to +London; there, in too many instances, to be discharged without +redress and penniless, because they were discovered to be useless +for the purpose for which they had been taken. + +Autumn brought back the whaling-ships. But the period of their +return was full of gloomy anxiety, instead of its being the annual +time of rejoicing and feasting; of gladdened households, where brave +steady husbands or sons returned; of unlimited and reckless +expenditure, and boisterous joviality among those who thought that +they had earned unbounded licence on shore by their six months of +compelled abstinence. In other years this had been the time for new +and handsome winter clothing; for cheerful if humble hospitality; +for the shopkeepers to display their gayest and best; for the +public-houses to be crowded; for the streets to be full of blue +jackets, rolling along with merry words and open hearts. In other +years the boiling-houses had been full of active workers, the +staithes crowded with barrels, the ship-carpenters' yards thronged +with seamen and captains; now a few men, tempted by high wages, went +stealthily by back lanes to their work, clustering together, with +sinister looks, glancing round corners, and fearful of every +approaching footstep, as if they were going on some unlawful +business, instead of true honest work. Most of them kept their +whaling-knives about them ready for bloody defence if they were +attacked. The shops were almost deserted; there was no unnecessary +expenditure by the men; they dared not venture out to buy lavish +presents for the wife or sweetheart or little children. The +public-houses kept scouts on the look-out; while fierce men drank +and swore deep oaths of vengeance in the bar--men who did not +maunder in their cups, nor grow foolishly merry, but in whom liquor +called forth all the desperate, bad passions of human nature. + +Indeed, all along the coast of Yorkshire, it seemed as if a blight +hung over the land and the people. Men dodged about their daily +business with hatred and suspicion in their eyes, and many a curse +went over the sea to the three fatal ships lying motionless at +anchor three miles off Monkshaven. When first Philip had heard in +his shop that these three men-of-war might be seen lying fell and +still on the gray horizon, his heart sank, and he scarcely dared to +ask their names. For if one should be the _Alcestis_; if Kinraid +should send word to Sylvia; if he should say he was living, and +loving, and faithful; if it should come to pass that the fact of the +undelivered message sent by her lover through Philip should reach +Sylvia's ears: what would be the position of the latter, not merely +in her love--that, of course, would be hopeless--but in her esteem? +All sophistry vanished; the fear of detection awakened Philip to a +sense of guilt; and, besides, he found out, that, in spite of all +idle talk and careless slander, he could not help believing that +Kinraid was in terrible earnest when he uttered those passionate +words, and entreated that they might be borne to Sylvia. Some +instinct told Philip that if the specksioneer had only flirted with +too many, yet that for Sylvia Robson his love was true and vehement. +Then Philip tried to convince himself that, from all that was said +of his previous character, Kinraid was not capable of an enduring +constant attachment; and with such poor opiate to his conscience as +he could obtain from this notion Philip was obliged to remain +content, until, a day or two after the first intelligence of the +presence of those three ships, he learned, with some trouble and +pains, that their names were the _Megoera_, the _Bellerophon_, and +the _Hanover_. + +Then he began to perceive how unlikely it was that the _Alcestis_ +should have been lingering on this shore all these many months. She +was, doubtless, gone far away by this time; she had, probably, +joined the fleet on the war station. Who could tell what had become +of her and her crew? she might have been in battle before now, and +if so--- + +So his previous fancies shrank to nothing, rebuked for their +improbability, and with them vanished his self-reproach. Yet there +were times when the popular attention seemed totally absorbed by the +dread of the press-gang; when no other subject was talked about--hardly, +in fact, thought about. At such flows of panic, Philip had his +own private fears lest a flash of light should come upon Sylvia, +and she should suddenly see that Kinraid's absence might be +accounted for in another way besides death. But when he reasoned, +this seemed unlikely. No man-of-war had been seen off the coast, or, +if seen, had never been spoken about, at the time of Kinraid's +disappearance. If he had vanished this winter time, every one would +have been convinced that the press-gang had seized upon him. Philip +had never heard any one breathe the dreaded name of the _Alcestis_. +Besides, he went on to think, at the farm they are out of hearing of +this one great weary subject of talk. But it was not so, as he +became convinced one evening. His aunt caught him a little aside +while Sylvia was in the dairy, and her husband talking in the +shippen with Kester. + +'For good's sake, Philip, dunnot thee bring us talk about t' +press-gang. It's a thing as has got hold on my measter, till thou'd +think him possessed. He's speaking perpetual on it i' such a way, +that thou'd think he were itching to kill 'em a' afore he tasted +bread again. He really trembles wi' rage and passion; an' a' night +it's just as bad. He starts up i' his sleep, swearing and cursing at +'em, till I'm sometimes afeard he'll mak' an end o' me by mistake. +And what mun he do last night but open out on Charley Kinraid, and +tell Sylvie he thought m'appen t' gang had got hold on him. It might +make her cry a' her saut tears o'er again.' + +Philip spoke, by no wish of his own, but as if compelled to speak. + +'An' who knows but what it's true?' + +The instant these words had come out of his lips he could have +bitten his tongue off. And yet afterwards it was a sort of balm to +his conscience that he had so spoken. + +'What nonsense, Philip!' said his aunt; 'why, these fearsome ships +were far out o' sight when he went away, good go wi' him, and Sylvie +just getting o'er her trouble so nicely, and even my master went on +for to say if they'd getten hold on him, he were not a chap to stay +wi' 'em; he'd gi'en proofs on his hatred to 'em, time on. He either +ha' made off--an' then sure enough we should ha' heerd on him +somehow--them Corneys is full on him still and they've a deal to wi' +his folk beyond Newcassel--or, as my master says, he were just t' +chap to hang or drown hissel, sooner nor do aught against his will.' + +'What did Sylvie say?' asked Philip, in a hoarse low voice. + +'Say? why, a' she could say was to burst out crying, and after a +bit, she just repeated her feyther's words, and said anyhow he was +dead, for he'd niver live to go to sea wi' a press-gang. She knowed +him too well for that. Thou sees she thinks a deal on him for a +spirited chap, as can do what he will. I belie' me she first began +to think on him time o' t' fight aboard th' _Good Fortune_, when +Darley were killed, and he would seem tame-like to her if he +couldn't conquer press-gangs, and men-o'-war. She's sooner think on +him drowned, as she's ne'er to see him again.' + +'It's best so,' said Philip, and then, to calm his unusually excited +aunt, he promised to avoid the subject of the press-gang as much as +possible. + +But it was a promise very difficult of performance, for Daniel +Robson was, as his wife said, like one possessed. He could hardly +think of anything else, though he himself was occasionally weary of +the same constantly recurring idea, and would fain have banished it +from his mind. He was too old a man to be likely to be taken by +them; he had no son to become their victim; but the terror of them, +which he had braved and defied in his youth, seemed to come back and +take possession of him in his age; and with the terror came +impatient hatred. Since his wife's illness the previous winter he +had been a more sober man until now. He was never exactly drunk, for +he had a strong, well-seasoned head; but the craving to hear the +last news of the actions of the press-gang drew him into Monkshaven +nearly every day at this dead agricultural season of the year; and a +public-house is generally the focus from which gossip radiates; and +probably the amount of drink thus consumed weakened Robson's power +over his mind, and caused the concentration of thought on one +subject. This may be a physiological explanation of what afterwards +was spoken of as a supernatural kind of possession, leading him to +his doom. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +RETALIATION + + +The public-house that had been chosen by the leaders of the +press-gang in Monkshaven at this time, for their rendezvous (or +'Randyvowse', as it was generally pronounced), was an inn of poor +repute, with a yard at the back which opened on to the staithe or +quay nearest to the open sea. A strong high stone wall bounded this +grass-grown mouldy yard on two sides; the house, and some unused +out-buildings, formed the other two. The choice of the place was +good enough, both as to situation, which was sufficiently isolated, +and yet near to the widening river; and as to the character of the +landlord, John Hobbs was a failing man, one who seemed as if doomed +to be unfortunate in all his undertakings, and the consequence of +all this was that he was envious of the more prosperous, and willing +to do anything that might bring him in a little present success in +life. His household consisted of his wife, her niece, who acted as +servant, and an out-of-doors man, a brother of Ned Simpson, the +well-doing butcher, who at one time had had a fancy for Sylvia. But +the one brother was prosperous, the other had gone on sinking in +life, like him who was now his master. Neither Hobbs nor his man +Simpson were absolutely bad men; if things had gone well with them +they might each have been as scrupulous and conscientious as their +neighbours, and even now, supposing the gain in money to be equal, +they would sooner have done good than evil; but a very small sum was +enough to turn the balance. And in a greater degree than in most +cases was the famous maxim of Rochefoucault true with them; for in +the misfortunes of their friends they seemed to see some +justification of their own. It was blind fate dealing out events, +not that the events themselves were the inevitable consequences of +folly or misconduct. To such men as these the large sum offered by +the lieutenant of the press-gang for the accommodation of the +Mariners' Arms was simply and immediately irresistible. The best +room in the dilapidated house was put at the service of the +commanding officer of the impress service, and all other +arrangements made at his desire, irrespective of all the former +unprofitable sources of custom and of business. If the relatives +both of Hobbs and of Simpson had not been so well known and so +prosperous in the town, they themselves would have received more +marks of popular ill opinion than they did during the winter the +events of which are now being recorded. As it was, people spoke to +them when they appeared at kirk or at market, but held no +conversation with them; no, not although they each appeared better +dressed than they had either of them done for years past, and +although their whole manner showed a change, inasmuch as they had +been formerly snarling and misanthropic, and were now civil almost +to deprecation. + +Every one who was capable of understanding the state of feeling in +Monkshaven at this time must have been aware that at any moment an +explosion might take place; and probably there were those who had +judgment enough to be surprised that it did not take place sooner +than it did. For until February there were only occasional cries and +growls of rage, as the press-gang made their captures first here, +then there; often, apparently, tranquil for days, then heard of at +some distance along the coast, then carrying off a seaman from the +very heart of the town. They seemed afraid of provoking any general +hostility, such as that which had driven them from Shields, and +would have conciliated the inhabitants if they could; the officers +on the service and on board the three men-of-war coming often into +the town, spending largely, talking to all with cheery friendliness, +and making themselves very popular in such society as they could +obtain access to at the houses of the neighbouring magistrates or at +the rectory. But this, however agreeable, did not forward the object +the impress service had in view; and, accordingly, a more decided +step was taken at a time when, although there was no apparent +evidence as to the fact, the town was full of the Greenland mariners +coming quietly in to renew their yearly engagements, which, when +done, would legally entitle them to protection from impressment. One +night--it was on a Saturday, February 23rd, when there was a bitter +black frost, with a north-east wind sweeping through the streets, +and men and women were close shut in their houses--all were startled +in their household content and warmth by the sound of the fire-bell +busily swinging, and pealing out for help. The fire-bell was kept in +the market-house where High Street and Bridge Street met: every one +knew what it meant. Some dwelling, or maybe a boiling-house was on +fire, and neighbourly assistance was summoned with all speed, in a +town where no water was laid on, nor fire-engines kept in readiness. +Men snatched up their hats, and rushed out, wives following, some +with the readiest wraps they could lay hands on, with which to +clothe the over-hasty husbands, others from that mixture of dread +and curiosity which draws people to the scene of any disaster. Those +of the market people who were making the best of their way +homewards, having waited in the town till the early darkness +concealed their path, turned back at the sound of the ever-clanging +fire-bell, ringing out faster and faster as if the danger became +every instant more pressing. + +As men ran against or alongside of each other, their breathless +question was ever, 'Where is it?' and no one could tell; so they +pressed onwards into the market-place, sure of obtaining the +information desired there, where the fire-bell kept calling out with +its furious metal tongue. + +The dull oil-lamps in the adjoining streets only made darkness +visible in the thronged market-place, where the buzz of many men's +unanswered questions was rising louder and louder. A strange feeling +of dread crept over those nearest to the closed market-house. Above +them in the air the bell was still clanging; but before them was a +door fast shut and locked; no one to speak and tell them why they +were summoned--where they ought to be. They were at the heart of the +mystery, and it was a silent blank! Their unformed dread took shape +at the cry from the outside of the crowd, from where men were still +coming down the eastern side of Bridge Street. 'The gang! the gang!' +shrieked out some one. 'The gang are upon us! Help! help!' Then the +fire-bell had been a decoy; a sort of seething the kid in its +mother's milk, leading men into a snare through their kindliest +feelings. Some dull sense of this added to utter dismay, and made +them struggle and strain to get to all the outlets save that in +which a fight was now going on; the swish of heavy whips, the thud +of bludgeons, the groans, the growls of wounded or infuriated men, +coming with terrible distinctness through the darkness to the +quickened ear of fear. + +A breathless group rushed up the blackness of a narrow entry to +stand still awhile, and recover strength for fresh running. For a +time nothing but heavy pants and gasps were heard amongst them. No +one knew his neighbour, and their good feeling, so lately abused and +preyed upon, made them full of suspicion. The first who spoke was +recognized by his voice. + +'Is it thee, Daniel Robson?' asked his neighbour, in a low tone. + +'Ay! Who else should it be?' + +'A dunno.' + +'If a am to be any one else, I'd like to be a chap of nobbut eight +stun. A'm welly done for!' + +'It were as bloody a shame as iver I heerd on. Who's to go t' t' +next fire, a'd like to know!' + +'A tell yo' what, lads,' said Daniel, recovering his breath, but +speaking in gasps. 'We were a pack o' cowards to let 'em carry off +yon chaps as easy as they did, a'm reckoning!' + +'A think so, indeed,' said another voice. + +Daniel went on-- + +'We was two hunder, if we was a man; an' t' gang has niver numbered +above twelve.' + +'But they was armed. A seen t' glitter on their cutlasses,' spoke +out a fresh voice. + +'What then!' replied he who had latest come, and who stood at the +mouth of the entry. 'A had my whalin' knife wi' me i' my pea-jacket +as my missus threw at me, and a'd ha' ripped 'em up as soon as +winkin', if a could ha' thought what was best to do wi' that d----d +bell makin' such a din reet above us. A man can but die onest, and +we was ready to go int' t' fire for t' save folks' lives, and yet +we'd none on us t' wit to see as we might ha' saved yon poor chaps +as screeched out for help.' + +'They'll ha' getten 'em to t' Randyvowse by now,' said some one. + +'They cannot tak' 'em aboard till morning; t' tide won't serve,' +said the last speaker but one. + +Daniel Robson spoke out the thought that was surging up into the +brain of every one there. + +'There's a chance for us a'. How many be we?' By dint of touching +each other the numbers were counted. Seven. 'Seven. But if us seven +turns out and rouses t' town, there'll be many a score ready to gang +t' Mariners' Arms, and it'll be easy work reskyin' them chaps as is +pressed. Us seven, each man jack on us, go and seek up his friends, +and get him as well as he can to t' church steps; then, mebbe, +there'll be some theere as'll not be so soft as we was, lettin' them +poor chaps be carried off from under our noses, just becase our ears +was busy listenin' to yon confounded bell, whose clip-clappin' +tongue a'll tear out afore this week is out.' + +Before Daniel had finished speaking, those nearest to the entrance +muttered their assent to his project, and had stolen off, keeping to +the darkest side of the streets and lanes, which they threaded in +different directions; most of them going straight as sleuth-hounds +to the haunts of the wildest and most desperate portion of the +seafaring population of Monkshaven. For, in the breasts of many, +revenge for the misery and alarm of the past winter took a deeper +and more ferocious form than Daniel had thought of when he made his +proposal of a rescue. To him it was an adventure like many he had +been engaged in in his younger days; indeed, the liquor he had drunk +had given him a fictitious youth for the time; and it was more in +the light of a rough frolic of which he was to be the leader, that +he limped along ( always lame from old attacks of rheumatism), +chuckling to himself at the apparent stillness of the town, which +gave no warning to the press-gang at the Rendezvous of anything in +the wind. Daniel, too, had his friends to summon; old hands like +himself, but 'deep uns', also, like himself, as he imagined. + +It was nine o'clock when all who were summoned met at the church +steps; and by nine o'clock, Monkshaven, in those days, was more +quiet and asleep than many a town at present is at midnight. The +church and churchyard above them were flooded with silver light, for +the moon was high in the heavens: the irregular steps were here and +there in pure white clearness, here and there in blackest shadow. +But more than half way up to the top, men clustered like bees; all +pressing so as to be near enough to question those who stood nearest +to the planning of the attack. Here and there, a woman, with wild +gestures and shrill voice, that no entreaty would hush down to the +whispered pitch of the men, pushed her way through the crowd--this +one imploring immediate action, that adjuring those around her to +smite and spare not those who had carried off her 'man',--the +father, the breadwinner. Low down in the darkened silent town were +many whose hearts went with the angry and excited crowd, and who +would bless them and caress them for that night's deeds. Daniel soon +found himself a laggard in planning, compared to some of those +around him. But when, with the rushing sound of many steps and but +few words, they had arrived at the blank, dark, shut-up Mariners' +Arms, they paused in surprise at the uninhabited look of the whole +house: it was Daniel once more who took the lead. + +'Speak 'em fair,' said he; 'try good words first. Hobbs 'll mebbe +let 'em out quiet, if we can catch a word wi' him. A say, Hobbs,' +said he, raising his voice, 'is a' shut up for t' neet; for a'd be +glad of a glass. A'm Dannel Robson, thou knows.' + +Not one word in reply, any more than from the tomb; but his speech +had been heard nevertheless. The crowd behind him began to jeer and +to threaten; there was no longer any keeping down their voices, +their rage, their terrible oaths. If doors and windows had not of +late been strengthened with bars of iron in anticipation of some +such occasion, they would have been broken in with the onset of the +fierce and now yelling crowd who rushed against them with the force +of a battering-ram, to recoil in baffled rage from the vain assault. +No sign, no sound from within, in that breathless pause. + +'Come away round here! a've found a way to t' back o' behint, where +belike it's not so well fenced,' said Daniel, who had made way for +younger and more powerful men to conduct the assault, and had +employed his time meanwhile in examining the back premises. The men +rushed after him, almost knocking him down, as he made his way into +the lane into which the doors of the outbuildings belonging to the +inn opened. Daniel had already broken the fastening of that which +opened into a damp, mouldy-smelling shippen, in one corner of which +a poor lean cow shifted herself on her legs, in an uneasy, restless +manner, as her sleeping-place was invaded by as many men as could +cram themselves into the dark hold. Daniel, at the end farthest from +the door, was almost smothered before he could break down the rotten +wooden shutter, that, when opened, displayed the weedy yard of the +old inn, the full clear light defining the outline of each blade of +grass by the delicate black shadow behind. + +This hole, used to give air and light to what had once been a +stable, in the days when horse travellers were in the habit of +coming to the Mariners' Arms, was large enough to admit the passage +of a man; and Daniel, in virtue of its discovery, was the first to +get through. But he was larger and heavier than he had been; his +lameness made him less agile, and the impatient crowd behind him +gave him a helping push that sent him down on the round stones with +which the yard was paved, and for the time disabled him so much that +he could only just crawl out of the way of leaping feet and heavy +nailed boots, which came through the opening till the yard was +filled with men, who now set up a fierce, derisive shout, which, to +their delight, was answered from within. No more silence, no more +dead opposition: a living struggle, a glowing, raging fight; and +Daniel thought he should be obliged to sit there still, leaning +against the wall, inactive, while the strife and the action were +going on in which he had once been foremost. + +He saw the stones torn up; he saw them used with good effect on the +unguarded back-door; he cried out in useless warning as he saw the +upper windows open, and aim taken among the crowd; but just then the +door gave way, and there was an involuntary forward motion in the +throng, so that no one was so disabled by the shots as to prevent +his forcing his way in with the rest. And now the sounds came veiled +by the walls as of some raging ravening beast growling over his +prey; the noise came and went--once utterly ceased; and Daniel +raised himself with difficulty to ascertain the cause, when again +the roar came clear and fresh, and men poured into the yard again, +shouting and rejoicing over the rescued victims of the press-gang. +Daniel hobbled up, and shouted, and rejoiced, and shook hands with +the rest, hardly caring to understand that the lieutenant and his +gang had quitted the house by a front window, and that all had +poured out in search of them; the greater part, however, returning +to liberate the prisoners, and then glut their vengeance on the +house and its contents. + +From all the windows, upper and lower, furniture was now being +thrown into the yard. The smash of glass, the heavier crash of wood, +the cries, the laughter, the oaths, all excited Daniel to the +utmost; and, forgetting his bruises, he pressed forwards to lend a +helping hand. The wild, rough success of his scheme almost turned +his head. He hurraed at every flagrant piece of destruction; he +shook hands with every one around him, and, at last, when the +destroyers inside paused to take breath, he cried out,-- + +'If a was as young as onest a was, a'd have t' Randyvowse down, and +mak' a bonfire on it. We'd ring t' fire-bell then t' some purpose.' + +No sooner said than done. Their excitement was ready to take the +slightest hint of mischief; old chairs, broken tables, odd drawers, +smashed chests, were rapidly and skilfully heaped into a pyramid, +and one, who at the first broaching of the idea had gone for live +coals the speedier to light up the fire, came now through the crowd +with a large shovelful of red-hot cinders. The rioters stopped to +take breath and look on like children at the uncertain flickering +blaze, which sprang high one moment, and dropped down the next only +to creep along the base of the heap of wreck, and make secure of its +future work. Then the lurid blaze darted up wild, high, and +irrepressible; and the men around gave a cry of fierce exultation, +and in rough mirth began to try and push each other in. In one of +the pauses of the rushing, roaring noise of the flames, the moaning +low and groan of the poor alarmed cow fastened up in the shippen +caught Daniel's ear, and he understood her groans as well as if they +had been words. He limped out of the yard through the now deserted +house, where men were busy at the mad work of destruction, and found +his way back to the lane into which the shippen opened. The cow was +dancing about at the roar, and dazzle, and heat of the fire; but +Daniel knew how to soothe her, and in a few minutes he had a rope +round her neck, and led her gently out from the scene of her alarm. +He was still in the lane when Simpson, the man-of-all-work at the +Mariners' Arms, crept out of some hiding-place in the deserted +outbuilding, and stood suddenly face to face with Robson. + +The man was white with fear and rage. + +'Here, tak' thy beast, and lead her wheere she'll noane hear yon +cries and shouts. She's fairly moithered wi' heat an' noise.' + +'They're brennin' ivery rag I have i' t' world,' gasped out Simpson: +'I niver had much, and now I'm a beggar.' + +'Well! thou shouldn't ha' turned again' thine own town-folks, and +harboured t' gang. Sarves thee reet. A'd noane be here leadin' +beasts if a were as young as a were; a'd be in t' thick on it.' + +'It was thee set 'm on--a heerd thee--a see'd thee a helping on 'em +t' break in; they'd niver ha' thought on attackin' t' house, and +settin' fire to yon things, if thou hadn't spoken on it.' Simpson +was now fairly crying. But Daniel did not realize what the loss of +all the small property he had in the world was to the poor fellow +(rapscallion though he was, broken down, unprosperous +ne'er-do-weel!) in his pride at the good work he believed he had set +on foot. + +'Ay,' said he; 'it's a great thing for folk to have a chap for t' +lead 'em wi' a head on his shouthers. A misdoubt me if there were a +felly theere as would ha' thought o' routling out yon wasps' nest; +it tak's a deal o' mother-wit to be up to things. But t' gang'll +niver harbour theere again, one while. A only wish we'd cotched 'em. +An' a should like t' ha' gi'en Hobbs a bit o' my mind.' + +'He's had his sauce,' said Simpson, dolefully. 'Him and me is +ruined.' + +'Tut, tut, thou's got thy brother, he's rich enough. And Hobbs 'll +do a deal better; he's had his lesson now, and he'll stick to his +own side time to come. Here, tak' thy beast an' look after her, for +my bones is achin'. An' mak' thysel' scarce, for some o' them fellys +has getten their blood up, an' wunnot be for treating thee o'er well +if they fall in wi' thee.' + +'Hobbs ought to be served out; it were him as made t' bargain wi' +lieutenant; and he's off safe wi' his wife and his money bag, and +a'm left a beggar this neet i' Monkshaven street. My brother and me +has had words, and he'll do nought for me but curse me. A had three +crown-pieces, and a good pair o' breeches, and a shirt, and a dare +say better nor two pair o' stockings. A wish t' gang, and thee, and +Hobbs and them mad folk up yonder, were a' down i' hell, a do.' + +'Coom, lad,' said Daniel, noways offended at his companion's wish on +his behalf. 'A'm noane flush mysel', but here's half-a-crown and +tuppence; it's a' a've getten wi' me, but it'll keep thee and t' +beast i' food and shelter to-neet, and get thee a glass o' comfort, +too. A had thought o' takin' one mysel', but a shannot ha' a penny +left, so a'll just toddle whoam to my missus.' + +Daniel was not in the habit of feeling any emotion at actions not +directly affecting himself; or else he might have despised the poor +wretch who immediately clutched at the money, and overwhelmed that +man with slobbery thanks whom he had not a minute before been +cursing. But all Simpson's stronger passions had been long ago used +up; now he only faintly liked and disliked, where once he loved and +hated; his only vehement feeling was for himself; that cared for, +other men might wither or flourish as best suited them. + +Many of the doors which had been close shut when the crowd went down +the High Street, were partially open as Daniel slowly returned; and +light streamed from them on the otherwise dark road. The news of the +successful attempt at rescue had reached those who had sate in +mourning and in desolation an hour or two ago, and several of these +pressed forwards as from their watching corner they recognized +Daniel's approach; they pressed forward into the street to shake him +by the hand, to thank him (for his name had been bruited abroad as +one of those who had planned the affair), and at several places he +was urged to have a dram--urgency that he was loath for many reasons +to refuse, but his increasing uneasiness and pain made him for once +abstinent, and only anxious to get home and rest. But he could not +help being both touched and flattered at the way in which those who +formed his 'world' looked upon him as a hero; and was not +insensible to the words of blessing which a wife, whose husband had +been impressed and rescued this night, poured down upon him as he +passed. + +'Theere, theere,--dunnot crack thy throat wi' blessin'. Thy man +would ha' done as much for me, though mebbe he mightn't ha' shown so +much gumption and capability; but them's gifts, and not to be proud +on.' + +When Daniel reached the top of the hill on the road home, he turned +to look round; but he was lame and bruised, he had gone along +slowly, the fire had pretty nearly died out, only a red hue in the +air about the houses at the end of the long High Street, and a hot +lurid mist against the hill-side beyond where the Mariners' Arms had +stood, were still left as signs and token of the deed of violence. + +Daniel looked and chuckled. 'That comes o' ringin' t' fire-bell,' +said he to himself; 'it were shame for it to be tellin' a lie, poor +oud story-teller.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +BRIEF REJOICING + + +Daniel's unusually late absence from home disturbed Bell and Sylvia +not a little. He was generally at home between eight and nine on +market days. They expected to see him the worse for liquor at such +times; but this did not shock them; he was no worse than most of his +neighbours, indeed better than several, who went off once or twice a +year, or even oftener, on drinking bouts of two or three days' +duration, returning pale, sodden, and somewhat shame-faced, when all +their money was gone; and, after the conjugal reception was well +over, settling down into hard-working and decently sober men until +the temptation again got power over them. But, on market days, every +man drank more than usual; every bargain or agreement was ratified +by drink; they came from greater or less distances, either afoot or +on horseback, and the 'good accommodation for man and beast' (as the +old inn-signs expressed it) always included a considerable amount of +liquor to be drunk by the man. + +Daniel's way of announcing his intention of drinking more than +ordinary was always the same. He would say at the last moment, +'Missus, I've a mind to get fuddled to-neet,' and be off, +disregarding her look of remonstrance, and little heeding the +injunctions she would call after him to beware of such and such +companions, or to attend to his footsteps on his road home. + +But this night he had given no such warning. Bell and Sylvia put the +candle on the low window-seat at the usual hour to guide him through +the fields--it was a habit kept up even on moonlight nights like +this--and sate on each side of the fire, at first scarcely caring to +listen, so secure were they of his return. Bell dozed, and Sylvia +sate gazing at the fire with abstracted eyes, thinking of the past +year and of the anniversary which was approaching of the day when +she had last seen the lover whom she believed to be dead, lying +somewhere fathoms deep beneath the surface of that sunny sea on +which she looked day by day without ever seeing his upturned face +through the depths, with whatsoever heart-sick longing for just one +more sight she yearned and inwardly cried. If she could set her eyes +on his bright, handsome face, that face which was fading from her +memory, overtasked in the too frequent efforts to recall it; if she +could but see him once again, coming over the waters beneath which +he lay with supernatural motion, awaiting her at the stile, with the +evening sun shining ruddy into his bonny eyes, even though, after +that one instant of vivid and visible life, he faded into mist; if +she could but see him now, sitting in the faintly flickering +fire-light in the old, happy, careless way, on a corner of the +dresser, his legs dangling, his busy fingers playing with some of +her woman's work;--she wrung her hands tight together as she +implored some, any Power, to let her see him just once again--just +once--for one minute of passionate delight. Never again would she +forget that dear face, if but once more she might set her eyes upon +it. + +Her mother's head fell with a sudden jerk, and she roused herself +up; and Sylvia put by her thought of the dead, and her craving after +his presence, into that receptacle of her heart where all such are +kept closed and sacred from the light of common day. + +'Feyther's late,' said Bell. + +'It's gone eight,' replied Sylvia. + +'But our clock is better nor an hour forrard,' answered Bell. + +'Ay, but t' wind brings Monkshaven bells clear to-night. I heerd t' +eight o'clock bell ringing not five minutes ago.' + +It was the fire-bell, but she had not distinguished the sound. + +There was another long silence; both wide awake this time. + +'He'll have his rheumatics again,' said Bell. + +'It's cold for sartin,' said Sylvia. 'March weather come afore its +time. But I'll make him a treacle-posset, it's a famous thing for +keeping off hoasts.' + +The treacle-posset was entertainment enough for both while it was +being made. But once placed in a little basin in the oven, there was +again time for wonder and anxiety. + +'He said nought about having a bout, did he, mother?' asked Sylvia +at length. + +'No,' said Bell, her face a little contracting. After a while she +added, 'There's many a one as has husbands that goes off drinking +without iver saying a word to their wives. My master is none o' that +mak'.' + +'Mother,' broke in Sylvia again, 'I'll just go and get t' lantern +out of t' shippen, and go up t' brow, and mebbe to t' ash-field +end.' + +'Do, lass,' said her mother. 'I'll get my wraps and go with thee.' + +'Thou shall do niver such a thing,' said Sylvia. 'Thou's too frail +to go out i' t' night air such a night as this.' + +'Then call Kester up.' + +'Not I. I'm noane afraid o' t' dark.' + +'But of what thou mayst meet i' t' dark, lass?' + +Sylvia shivered all over at the sudden thought, suggested by this +speech of her mother's, that the idea that had flashed into her own +mind of going to look for her father might be an answer to the +invocation to the Powers which she had made not long ago, that she +might indeed meet her dead lover at the ash-field stile; but though +she shivered as this superstitious fancy came into her head, her +heart beat firm and regular; not from darkness nor from the spirits +of the dead was she going to shrink; her great sorrow had taken away +all her girlish nervous fear. + +She went; and she came back. Neither man nor spirit had she seen; +the wind was blowing on the height enough to sweep all creatures +before it; but no one was coming. + +So they sate down again to keep watch. At length his step was heard +close to the door; and it startled them even in their state of +expectation. + +'Why, feyther!' cried Sylvia as he entered; while his wife stood up +trembling, but not saying a word. + +'A'm a'most done up,' said he, sitting heavily down on the chair +nearest the door. + +'Poor old feyther!' said Sylvia, stooping to take off his heavy +clogged shoes; while Bell took the posset out of the oven. + +'What's this? posset? what creatures women is for slops,' said he; +but he drank it all the same, while Sylvia fastened the door, and +brought the flaring candle from the window-seat. The fresh +arrangement of light displayed his face blackened with smoke, and +his clothes disarranged and torn. + +'Who's been melling wi' thee?' asked Bell. + +'No one has melled wi' me; but a've been mellin' wi' t' gang at +last.' + +'Thee: they niver were for pressing thee!' exclaimed both the women +at once. + +'No! they knowed better. They'n getten their belly-full as it is. +Next time they try it on, a reckon they'll ax if Daniel Robson is +wi'in hearin'. A've led a resky this neet, and saved nine or ten +honest chaps as was pressed, and carried off to t' Randyvowse. Me +and some others did it. And Hobbs' things and t' lieutenant's is a' +burnt; and by this time a reckon t' Randyvowse is pretty nigh four +walls, ready for a parish-pound.' + +'Thou'rt niver for saying thou burnt it down wi' t' gang in it, for +sure?' asked Bell. + +'Na, na, not this time. T' 'gang fled up t' hill like coneys; and +Hobbs and his folks carried off a bag o' money; but t' oud +tumbledown place is just a heap o' brick and mortar; an' t' +furniture is smoulderin' int' ashes; and, best of a', t' men is +free, and will niver be cotched wi' a fire-bell again.' + +And so he went on to tell of the ruse by which they had been enticed +into the market-place; interrupted from time to time by their eager +questions, and interrupting himself every now and then with +exclamations of weariness and pain, which made him at last say,-- + +'Now a'm willing to tell yo' a' about it to-morrow, for it's not +ivery day a man can do such great things; but to-neet a mun go to +bed, even if King George were wantin' for to know how a managed it +a'.' + +He went wearily upstairs, and wife and daughter both strove their +best to ease his aching limbs, and make him comfortable. The +warming-pan, only used on state occasions, was taken down and +unpapered for his service; and as he got between the warm sheets, he +thanked Sylvia and her mother in a sleepy voice, adding,-- + +'It's a vast o' comfort to think on yon poor lads as is sleepin' i' +their own homes this neet,' and then slumber fell upon him, and he +was hardly roused by Bell's softly kissing his weather-beaten cheek, +and saying low,-- + +'God bless thee, my man! Thou was allays for them that was down and +put upon.' + +He murmured some monosyllabic reply, unheard by his wife, who stole +away to undress herself noiselessly, and laid herself down on her +side of the bed as gently as her stiffened limbs would permit. + +They were late in rising the next morning. Kester was long since up +and at his work among the cattle before he saw the house-door open +to admit the fresh chill morning air; and even then Sylvia brushed +softly, and went about almost on tip-toe. When the porridge was +ready, Kester was called in to his breakfast, which he took sitting +at the dresser with the family. A large wooden platter stood in the +middle; and each had a bowl of the same material filled with milk. +The way was for every one to dip his pewter spoon into the central +dish, and convey as much or as little as he liked at a time of the +hot porridge into his pure fresh milk. But to-day Bell told Kester +to help himself all at once, and to take his bowl up to the master's +room and keep him company. For Daniel was in bed, resting from his +weariness, and bemoaning his painful bruises whenever he thought of +them. But his mind was still so much occupied with the affair of the +previous night, that Bell judged rightly that a new listener would +give ease to his body as well as to his mind, and her proposal of +Kester's carrying up his breakfast had been received by Daniel with +satisfaction. + +So Kester went up slowly, carrying his over-full basin tenderly, and +seated himself on the step leading down into the bed-room (for +levels had not been calculated when the old house was built) facing +his master, who, half sitting up in the blue check bed, not +unwillingly began his relation again; to which Kester listened so +attentively, that his spoon was often arrested in its progress from +the basin to his mouth, open ready to receive it, while he gazed +with unwinking eyes at Daniel narrating his exploits. + +But after Daniel had fought his battle o'er again to every auditor +within his reach, he found the seclusion of his chamber rather +oppressive, without even the usual week-days' noises below; so after +dinner, though far from well, he came down and wandered about the +stable and the fields nearest to the house, consulting with Kester +as to crops and manure for the most part; but every now and then +breaking out into an episodical chuckle over some part of last +night's proceedings. Kester enjoyed the day even more than his +master, for he had no bruises to remind him that, although a hero, +he was also flesh and blood. + +When they returned to the house they found Philip there, for it was +already dusk. It was Kester's usual Sunday plan to withdraw to bed +at as early an hour as he could manage to sleep, often in winter +before six; but now he was too full of interest in what Philip might +have to tell of Monkshaven news to forego his Sabbath privilege of +spending the evening sitting on the chair at the end of the dresser +behind the door. + +Philip was as close to Sylvia as he could possibly get without +giving her offence, when they came in. Her manner was listless and +civil; she had lost all that active feeling towards him which made +him positively distasteful, and had called out her girlish +irritation and impertinence. She now was rather glad to see him than +otherwise. He brought some change into the heavy monotony of her +life--monotony so peaceful until she had been stirred by passion out +of that content with the small daily events which had now become +burdensome recurrences. Insensibly to herself she was becoming +dependent on his timid devotion, his constant attention; and he, +lover-like, once so attracted, in spite of his judgment, by her +liveliness and piquancy, now doted on her languor, and thought her +silence more sweet than words. + +He had only just arrived when master and man came in. He had been to +afternoon chapel; none of them had thought of going to the distant +church; worship with them was only an occasional duty, and this day +their minds had been too full of the events of the night before. +Daniel sate himself heavily down in his accustomed chair, the +three-cornered arm-chair in the fireside corner, which no one +thought of anybody else ever occupying on any occasion whatever. In +a minute or two he interrupted Philip's words of greeting and +inquiry by breaking out into the story of the rescue of last night. +But to the mute surprise of Sylvia, the only one who noticed it, +Philip's face, instead of expressing admiration and pleasant wonder, +lengthened into dismay; once or twice he began to interrupt, but +stopped himself as if he would consider his words again. Kester was +never tired of hearing his master talk; by long living together they +understood every fold of each other's minds, and small expressions +had much significance to them. Bell, too, sate thankful that her +husband should have done such deeds. Only Sylvia was made uneasy by +Philip's face and manner. When Daniel had ended there was a great +silence, instead of the questions and compliments he looked to +receive. He became testy, and turning to Bell, said,-- + +'My nephew looks as though he was a-thinking more on t' little +profit he has made on his pins an' bobs, than as if he was heeding +how honest men were saved from being haled out to yon tender, an' +carried out o' sight o' wives and little 'uns for iver. Wives an' +little 'uns may go t' workhouse or clem for aught he cares. + +Philip went very red, and then more sallow than usual. He had not +been thinking of Charley Kinraid, but of quite another thing, while +Daniel had told his story; but this last speech of the old man's +brought up the remembrance that was always quick, do what he would +to smother or strangle it. He did not speak for a moment or two, +then he said,-- + +'To-day has not been like Sabbath in Monkshaven. T' rioters, as +folks call 'em, have been about all night. They wanted to give +battle to t' men-o'-war's men; and it were taken up by th' better +end, and they've sent to my Lord Malton for t' militia; and they're +come into t' town, and they're hunting for a justice for t' read th' +act; folk do say there'll be niver a shop opened to-morrow.' + +This was rather a more serious account of the progress of the affair +than any one had calculated upon. They looked grave upon it awhile, +then Daniel took heart and said,-- + +'A think we'd done a'most enough last neet; but men's not to be +stopped wi' a straw when their blood is up; still it's hard lines to +call out t' sojers, even if they be but militia. So what we seven +hatched in a dark entry has ta'en a lord to put a stop to 't!' +continued he, chuckling a little, but more faintly this time. + +Philip went on, still graver than before, boldly continuing to say +what he knew would be discordant to the family he loved so well. + +'I should ha' telled yo' all about it; I thought on it just as a bit +o' news; I'd niver thought on such a thing as uncle there having +been in it, and I'm main sorry to hear on it, I am.' + +'Why?' said Sylvia, breathlessly. + +'It's niver a thing to be sorry on. I'm proud and glad,' said Bell. + +'Let-a-be, let-a-be,' said Daniel, in much dudgeon. 'A were a fool +to tell him o' such-like doings, they're noane i' his line; we'll +talk on yard measures now. + +Philip took no notice of this poor attempt at sarcasm: he seemed as +if lost in thought, then he said,-- + +'I'm vexed to plague yo', but I'd best say all I've got i' my mind. +There was a vast o' folk at our chapel speaking about it--last +night's doings and this morning's work--and how them as set it afoot +was assured o' being clapt int' prison and tried for it; and when I +heered uncle say as he was one, it like ran through me; for they say +as t' justices will be all on t' Government side, and mad for +vengeance.' + +For an instant there was dead silence. The women looked at each +other with blank eyes, as if they were as yet unable to take in the +new idea that the conduct which had seemed to them a subject for +such just pride could be regarded by any one as deserving of +punishment or retribution. Daniel spoke before they had recovered +from their amazement. + +'A'm noane sorry for what a did, an' a'd do it again to-neet, if +need were. So theere's for thee. Thou may tell t' justices fra' me +that a reckon a did righter nor them, as letten poor fellys be +carried off i' t' very midst o' t' town they're called justices +for.' + +Perhaps Philip had better have held his tongue; but he believed in +the danger, which he was anxious to impress upon his uncle, in order +that, knowing what was to be apprehended, the latter might take some +pains to avert it. + +He went on. + +'But they're making a coil about the Randyvowse being all +destroyed!' + +Daniel had taken down his pipe from the shelf in the chimney corner, +and was stuffing tobacco into the bowl. He went on pretending to do +this a little while after it was filled; for, to tell the truth, he +was beginning to feel uncomfortable at the new view of his conduct +presented to him. Still he was not going to let this appear, so +lifting up his head with an indifferent air he lighted the pipe, +blew into it, took it out and examined it as something were wrong +about it, and until that was put to rights he was unable to attend +to anything else; all the while the faithful three who hung upon his +well-being, gazing, breathless, at his proceedings, and anxious for +his reply. + +'Randyvowse!' said he at length, 'it were a good job it were brenned +down, for such a harbour for vermin a never seed: t' rats ran across +t' yard by hunders an' thousands; an' it were no man's property as +a've heerd tell, but belonged to Chancery, up i' Lunnon; so wheere's +t' harm done, my fine felly?' + +Philip was silent. He did not care to brave any further his uncle's +angry frown and contracted eye. If he had only known of Daniel +Robson's part in the riot before he had left the town, he would have +taken care to have had better authority for the reality of the +danger which he had heard spoken about, and in which he could not +help believing. As it was, he could only keep quiet until he had +ascertained what was the legal peril overhanging the rioters, and +how far his uncle had been recognized. + +Daniel went on puffing angrily. Kester sighed audibly, and then was +sorry he had done so, and began to whistle. Bell, full of her new +fear, yet desirous to bring all present into some kind of harmony, +said,-- + +'It'll ha' been a loss to John Hobbs--all his things burnt, or +trampled on. Mebbe he desarved it all, but one's a kind o' tender +feeling to one's tables and chairs, special if one's had t' +bees-waxing on 'em.' + +'A wish he'd been burnt on t' top on 'em, a do,' growled out Daniel, +shaking the ash out of his pipe. + +'Don't speak so ill o' thysel',' said his wife. 'Thou'd ha' been t' +first t' pluck him down if he'd screeched out.' + +'An' a'll warrant if they come about wi' a paper asking for +feyther's name to make up for what Hobbs has lost by t' fire, +feyther 'll be for giving him summut,' said Sylvia. + +'Thou knows nought about it,' said Daniel. 'Hold thy tongue next +time till thou's axed to speak, my wench.' + +His sharp irritated way of speaking was so new to Sylvia, that the +tears sprang to her eyes, and her lip quivered. Philip saw it all, +and yearned over her. He plunged headlong into some other subject to +try and divert attention from her; but Daniel was too ill at ease to +talk much, and Bell was obliged to try and keep up the semblance of +conversation, with an occasional word or two from Kester, who seemed +instinctively to fall into her way of thinking, and to endeavour to +keep the dark thought in the background. + +Sylvia stole off to bed; more concerned at her father's angry way of +speaking than at the idea of his being amenable to law for what he +had done; the one was a sharp present evil, the other something +distant and unlikely. Yet a dim terror of this latter evil hung over +her, and once upstairs she threw herself on her bed and sobbed. +Philip heard her where he sate near the bottom of the short steep +staircase, and at every sob the cords of love round his heart seemed +tightened, and he felt as if he must there and then do something to +console her. + +But, instead, he sat on talking of nothings, a conversation in which +Daniel joined with somewhat of surliness, while Bell, grave and +anxious, kept wistfully looking from one to the other, desirous of +gleaning some further information on the subject, which had begun to +trouble her mind. She hoped some chance would give her the +opportunity of privately questioning Philip, but it seemed to be +equally her husband's wish to thwart any such intention of hers. He +remained in the house-place, till after Philip had left, although he +was evidently so much fatigued as to give some very distinct, though +unintentional, hints to his visitor to be gone. + +At length the house-door was locked on Philip, and then Daniel +prepared to go to bed. Kester had left for his loft above the +shippen more than an hour before. Bell had still to rake the fire, +and then she would follow her husband upstairs. + +As she was scraping up the ashes, she heard, intermixed with the +noise she was making, the sound of some one rapping gently at the +window. In her then frame of mind she started a little; but on +looking round, she saw Kester's face pressed against the glass, and, +reassured, she softly opened the door. There he stood in the dusk +outer air, distinct against the gray darkness beyond, and in his +hand something which she presently perceived was a pitchfork. + +'Missus!' whispered he, 'a've watched t' maister t' bed; an' now a'd +be greatly beholden to yo' if yo'd let me just lay me down i' t' +house-place. A'd warrant niver a constable i' a' Monkshaven should +get sight o' t' maister, an' me below t' keep ward.' + +Bell shivered a little. + +'Nay, Kester,' she said, patting her hand kindly on his shoulder; +'there's nought for t' fear. Thy master is not one for t' hurt +nobody; and I dunnot think they can harm him for setting yon poor +chaps free, as t' gang catched i' their wicked trap.' + +Kester stood still; then he shook his head slowly. + +'It's t' work at t' Randyvowse as a'm afeared on. Some folks thinks +such a deal o' a bonfire. Then a may lay me down afore t' fire, +missus?' said he, beseechingly. + +'Nay, Kester--' she began; but suddenly changing, she said, 'God +bless thee, my man; come in and lay thee down on t' settle, and I'll +cover thee up wi' my cloak as hangs behind t' door. We're not many +on us that love him, an' we'll be all on us under one roof, an' +niver a stone wall or a lock betwixt us.' + +So Kester took up his rest in the house-place that night, and none +knew of it besides Bell. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +COMING TROUBLES + + +The morning brought more peace if it did not entirely dissipate +fear. Daniel seemed to have got over his irritability, and was +unusually kind and tender to wife and daughter, especially striving +by silent little deeds to make up for the sharp words he had said +the night before to the latter. + +As if by common consent, all allusion to the Saturday night's +proceedings was avoided. They spoke of the day's work before them; +of the crops to be sown; of the cattle; of the markets; but each one +was conscious of a wish to know more distinctly what were the +chances of the danger that, to judge from Philip's words, hung over +them, falling upon them and cutting them off from all these places +for the coming days. + +Bell longed to send Kester down into Monkshaven as a sort of spy to +see how the land lay; but she dared not manifest her anxiety to her +husband, and could not see Kester alone. She wished that she had +told him to go to the town, when she had had him to herself in the +house-place the night before; now it seemed as though Daniel were +resolved not to part from him, and as though both had forgotten that +any peril had been anticipated. Sylvia and her mother, in like +manner, clung together, not speaking of their fears, yet each +knowing that it was ever present in the other's mind. + +So things went on till twelve o'clock--dinner-time. If at any time +that morning they had had the courage to speak together on the +thought which was engrossing all their minds, it is possible that +some means might have been found to avert the calamity that was +coming towards them with swift feet. But among the uneducated--the +partially educated--nay, even the weakly educated--the feeling +exists which prompted the futile experiment of the well-known +ostrich. They imagine that, by closing their own eyes to apprehended +evil, they avert it. The expression of fear is supposed to +accelerate the coming of its cause. Yet, on the other hand, they +shrink from acknowledging the long continuance of any blessing, in +the idea that when unusual happiness is spoken about, it disappears. +So, although perpetual complaints of past or present grievances and +sorrows are most common among this class, they shrink from embodying +apprehensions for the future in words, as if it then took shape and +drew near. + +They all four sate down to dinner, but not one of them was inclined +to eat. The food was scarcely touched on their plates, yet they were +trying to make talk among themselves as usual; they seemed as though +they dared not let themselves be silent, when Sylvia, sitting +opposite to the window, saw Philip at the top of the brow, running +rapidly towards the farm. She had been so full of the anticipation +of some kind of misfortune all the morning that she felt now as if +this was the very precursive circumstance she had been expecting; +she stood up, turning quite white, and, pointing with her finger, +said,-- + +'There he is!' + +Every one at table stood up too. An instant afterwards, Philip, +breathless, was in the room. + +He gasped out, 'They're coming! the warrant is out. You must go. I +hoped you were gone.' + +'God help us!' said Bell, and sate suddenly down, as if she had +received a blow that made her collapse into helplessness; but she +got up again directly. + +Sylvia flew for her father's hat. He really seemed the most unmoved +of the party. + +'A'm noane afeared,' said he. 'A'd do it o'er again, a would; an' +a'll tell 'em so. It's a fine time o' day when men's to be trapped +and carried off, an' them as lays traps to set 'em free is to be put +i' t' lock-ups for it.' + +'But there was rioting, beside the rescue; t' house was burnt,' +continued eager, breathless Philip. + +'An' a'm noane goin' t' say a'm sorry for that, neyther; tho', +mebbe, a wouldn't do it again.' + +Sylvia had his hat on his head by this time; and Bell, wan and +stiff, trembling all over, had his over-coat, and his leather purse +with the few coins she could muster, ready for him to put on. + +He looked at these preparations, at his wife and daughter, and his +colour changed from its ruddy brown. + +'A'd face lock-ups, an' a fair spell o' jail, but for these,' said +he, hesitating. + +'Oh!' said Philip, 'for God's sake, lose no time, but be off.' + +'Where mun he go?' asked Bell, as if Philip must decide all. + +'Anywhere, anywhere, out of this house--say Haverstone. This +evening, I'll go and meet him there and plan further; only be off +now.' Philip was so keenly eager, he hardly took note at the time of +Sylvia's one vivid look of unspoken thanks, yet he remembered it +afterwards. + +'A'll dang 'em dead,' said Kester, rushing to the door, for he saw +what the others did not--that all chance of escape was over; the +constables were already at the top of the little field-path not +twenty yards off. + +'Hide him, hide him,' cried Bell, wringing her hands in terror; for +she, indeed they all, knew that flight would now be impossible. +Daniel was heavy, rheumatic, and, moreover, had been pretty severely +bruised on that unlucky night. + +Philip, without another word, pushed Daniel before him upstairs, +feeling that his own presence at Haytersbank Farm at that hour of +the day would be a betrayal. They had just time to shut themselves +up in the larger bed-room, before they heard a scuffle and the +constables' entry down-stairs. + +'They're in,' said Philip, as Daniel squeezed himself under the bed; +and then they held quite still, Philip as much concealed by the +scanty, blue-check curtain as he could manage to be. They heard a +confusion of voices below, a hasty moving of chairs, a banging of +doors, a further parley, and then a woman's scream, shrill and +pitiful; then steps on the stairs. + +'That screech spoiled all,' sighed Philip. + +In one instant the door was opened, and each of the hiders was +conscious of the presence of the constables, although at first the +latter stood motionless, surveying the apparently empty room with +disappointment. Then in another moment they had rushed at Philip's +legs, exposed as these were. They drew him out with violence, and +then let him go. + +'Measter Hepburn!' said one in amaze. But immediately they put two +and two together; for in so small a place as Monkshaven every one's +relationships and connexions, and even likings, were known; and the +motive of Philip's coming out to Haytersbank was perfectly clear to +these men. + +'T' other 'll not be far off,' said the other constable. 'His plate +were down-stairs, full o' victual; a seed Measter Hepburn a-walking +briskly before me as a left Monkshaven.' + +'Here he be, here he be,' called out the other man, dragging Daniel +out by his legs, 'we've getten him.' + +Daniel kicked violently, and came out from his hiding-place in a +less ignominious way than by being pulled out by his heels. + +He shook himself, and then turned, facing his captors. + +'A wish a'd niver hidden mysel'; it were his doing,' jerking his +thumb toward Philip: 'a'm ready to stand by what a've done. Yo've +getten a warrant a'll be bound, for them justices is grand at +writin' when t' fight's over.' + +He was trying to carry it off with bravado, but Philip saw that he +had received a shock, from his sudden look of withered colour and +shrunken feature. + +'Don't handcuff him,' said Philip, putting money into the +constable's hand. 'You'll be able to guard him well enough without +them things.' + +Daniel turned round sharp at this whisper. + +'Let-a-be, let-a-be, my lad,' he said. 'It 'll be summut to think on +i' t' lock-up how two able-bodied fellys were so afeared on t' chap +as reskyed them honest sailors o' Saturday neet, as they mun put him +i' gyves, and he sixty-two come Martinmas, and sore laid up wi' t' +rheumatics.' + +But it was difficult to keep up this tone of bravado when he was led +a prisoner through his own house-place, and saw his poor wife +quivering and shaking all over with her efforts to keep back all +signs of emotion until he was gone; and Sylvia standing by her +mother, her arm round Bell's waist and stroking the poor shrunken +fingers which worked so perpetually and nervously in futile +unconscious restlessness. Kester was in a corner of the room, +sullenly standing. + +Bell quaked from head to foot as her husband came down-stairs a +prisoner. She opened her lips several times with an uneasy motion, +as if she would fain say something, but knew not what. Sylvia's +passionate swollen lips and her beautiful defiant eyes gave her face +quite a new aspect; she looked a helpless fury. + +'A may kiss my missus, a reckon,' said Daniel, coming to a +standstill as he passed near her. + +'Oh, Dannel, Dannel!' cried she, opening her arms wide to receive +him. 'Dannel, Dannel, my man!' and she shook with her crying, laying +her head on his shoulder, as if he was all her stay and comfort. + +'Come, missus! come, missus!' said he, 'there couldn't be more ado +if a'd been guilty of murder, an' yet a say again, as a said afore, +a'm noane ashamed o' my doings. Here, Sylvie, lass, tak' thy mother +off me, for a cannot do it mysel', it like sets me off.' His voice +was quavering as he said this. But he cheered up a little and said, +'Now, good-by, oud wench' (kissing her), 'and keep a good heart, +and let me see thee lookin' lusty and strong when a come back. +Good-by, my lass; look well after mother, and ask Philip for +guidance if it's needed.' + +He was taken out of his home, and then arose the shrill cries of the +women; but in a minute or two they were checked by the return of one +of the constables, who, cap in hand at the sight of so much grief, +said,-- + +'He wants a word wi' his daughter.' + +The party had come to a halt about ten yards from the house. Sylvia, +hastily wiping her tears on her apron, ran out and threw her arms +round her father, as if to burst out afresh on his neck. + +'Nay, nay, my wench, it's thee as mun be a comfort to mother: nay, +nay, or thou'll niver hear what a've got to say. Sylvie, my lass, +a'm main and sorry a were so short wi' thee last neet; a ax thy +pardon, lass, a were cross to thee, and sent thee to thy bed wi' a +sore heart. Thou munnot think on it again, but forgie me, now a'm +leavin' thee.' + +'Oh, feyther! feyther!' was all Sylvia could say; and at last they +had to make as though they would have used force to separate her +from their prisoner. Philip took her hand, and softly led her back +to her weeping mother. + +For some time nothing was to be heard in the little farmhouse +kitchen but the sobbing and wailing of the women. Philip stood by +silent, thinking, as well as he could, for his keen sympathy with +their grief, what had best be done next. Kester, after some growls +at Sylvia for having held back the uplifted arm which he thought +might have saved Daniel by a well-considered blow on his captors as +they entered the house, went back into his shippen--his cell for +meditation and consolation, where he might hope to soothe himself +before going out to his afternoon's work; labour which his master +had planned for him that very morning, with a strange foresight, as +Kester thought, for the job was one which would take him two or +three days without needing any further directions than those he had +received, and by the end of that time he thought that his master +would be at liberty again. So he--so they all thought in their +ignorance and inexperience. + +Although Daniel himself was unreasoning, hasty, impulsive--in a +word, often thinking and acting very foolishly--yet, somehow, either +from some quality in his character, or from the loyalty of nature in +those with whom he had to deal in his every-day life, he had made +his place and position clear as the arbiter and law-giver of his +household. On his decision, as that of husband, father, master, +perhaps superior natures waited. So now that he was gone and had +left them in such strange new circumstances so suddenly, it seemed +as though neither Bell nor Sylvia knew exactly what to do when their +grief was spent, so much had every household action and plan been +regulated by the thought of him. Meanwhile Philip had slowly been +arriving at the conclusion that he was more wanted at Monkshaven to +look after Daniel's interests, to learn what were the legal +probabilities in consequence of the old man's arrest, and to arrange +for his family accordingly, than standing still and silent in the +Haytersbank kitchen, too full of fellow-feeling and heavy foreboding +to comfort, awkwardly unsympathetic in appearance from the very +aching of his heart. + +So when his aunt, with instinctive sense of regularity and +propriety, began to put away the scarcely tasted dinner, and Sylvia, +blinded with crying, and convulsively sobbing, was yet trying to +help her mother, Philip took his hat, and brushing it round and +round with the sleeve of his coat, said,-- + +'I think I'll just go back, and see how matters stand.' He had a +more distinct plan in his head than these words implied, but it +depended on so many contingencies of which he was ignorant that he +said only these few words; and with a silent resolution to see them +again that day, but a dread of being compelled to express his fears, +so far beyond theirs, he went off without saying anything more. Then +Sylvia lifted up her voice with a great cry. Somehow she had +expected him to do something--what, she did not know; but he was +gone, and they were left without stay or help. + +'Hush thee, hush thee,' said her mother, trembling all over herself; +'it's for the best. The Lord knows.' + +'But I niver thought he'd leave us,' moaned Sylvia, half in her +mother's arms, and thinking of Philip. Her mother took the words as +applied to Daniel. + +'And he'd niver ha' left us, my wench, if he could ha' stayed.' + +'Oh, mother, mother, it's Philip as has left us, and he could ha' +stayed.' + +'He'll come back, or mebbe send, I'll be bound. Leastways he'll be +gone to see feyther, and he'll need comfort most on all, in a fremd +place--in Bridewell--and niver a morsel of victual or a piece o' +money.' And now she sate down, and wept the dry hot tears that come +with such difficulty to the eyes of the aged. And so--first one +grieving, and then the other, and each draining her own heart of +every possible hope by way of comfort, alternately trying to cheer +and console--the February afternoon passed away; the continuous rain +closing in the daylight even earlier than usual, and adding to the +dreariness, with the natural accompaniments of wailing winds, coming +with long sweeps over the moors, and making the sobbings at the +windows that always sound like the gasps of some one in great agony. +Meanwhile Philip had hastened back to Monkshaven. He had no +umbrella, he had to face the driving rain for the greater part of +the way; but he was thankful to the weather, for it kept men +indoors, and he wanted to meet no one, but to have time to think and +mature his plans. The town itself was, so to speak, in mourning. The +rescue of the sailors was a distinctly popular movement; the +subsequent violence (which had, indeed, gone much further than has +been described, after Daniel left it) was, in general, considered as +only a kind of due punishment inflicted in wild justice on the +press-gang and their abettors. The feeling of the Monkshaven people +was, therefore, in decided opposition to the vigorous steps taken by +the county magistrates, who, in consequence of an appeal from the +naval officers in charge of the impressment service, had called out +the militia (from a distant and inland county) stationed within a +few miles, and had thus summarily quenched the riots that were +continuing on the Sunday morning after a somewhat languid fashion; +the greater part of the destruction of property having been +accomplished during the previous night. Still there was little doubt +but that the violence would have been renewed as evening drew on, +and the more desperate part of the population and the enraged +sailors had had the Sabbath leisure to brood over their wrongs, and +to encourage each other in a passionate attempt at redress, or +revenge. So the authorities were quite justified in the decided +steps they had taken, both in their own estimation then, and now, in +ours, looking back on the affair in cold blood. But at the time +feeling ran strongly against them; and all means of expressing +itself in action being prevented, men brooded sullenly in their own +houses. Philip, as the representative of the family, the head of +which was now suffering for his deeds in the popular cause, would +have met with more sympathy, ay, and more respect than he imagined, +as he went along the streets, glancing from side to side, fearful of +meeting some who would shy him as the relation of one who had been +ignominiously taken to Bridewell a few hours before. But in spite of +this wincing of Philip's from observation and remark, he never +dreamed of acting otherwise than as became a brave true friend. And +this he did, and would have done, from a natural faithfulness and +constancy of disposition, without any special regard for Sylvia. + +He knew his services were needed in the shop; business which he had +left at a moment's warning awaited him, unfinished; but at this time +he could not bear the torture of giving explanations, and alleging +reasons to the languid intelligence and slow sympathies of Coulson. + +He went to the offices of Mr. Donkin, the oldest established and most +respected attorney in Monkshaven--he who had been employed to draw +up the law papers and deeds of partnership consequent on Hepburn and +Coulson succeeding to the shop of John and Jeremiah Foster, +Brothers. + +Mr. Donkin knew Philip from this circumstance. But, indeed, nearly +every one in Monkshaven knew each other; if not enough to speak to, +at least enough to be acquainted with the personal appearance and +reputation of most of those whom they met in the streets. It so +happened that Mr. Donkin had a favourable opinion of Philip; and +perhaps for this reason the latter had a shorter time to wait before +he obtained an interview with the head of the house, than many of +the clients who came for that purpose from town or country for many +miles round. + +Philip was ushered in. Mr. Donkin sate with his spectacles pushed up +on his forehead, ready to watch his countenance and listen to his +words. + +'Good afternoon, Mr. Hepburn!' + +'Good afternoon, sir.' Philip hesitated how to begin. Mr. Donkin +became impatient, and tapped with the fingers of his left hand on +his desk. Philip's sensitive nerves felt and rightly interpreted the +action. + +'Please, sir, I'm come to speak to you about Daniel Robson, of +Haytersbank Farm.' + +'Daniel Robson?' said Mr. Donkin, after a short pause, to try and +compel Philip into speed in his story. + +'Yes, sir. He's been taken up on account of this affair, sir, about +the press-gang on Saturday night.' + +'To be sure! I thought I knew the name.' And Mr. Donkin's face became +graver, and the expression more concentrated. Looking up suddenly at +Philip, he said, 'You are aware that I am the clerk to the +magistrates?' + +'No, sir,' in a tone that indicated the unexpressed 'What then?' + +'Well, but I am. And so of course, if you want my services or advice +in favour of a prisoner whom they have committed, or are going to +commit, you can't have them, that's all.' + +'I am very sorry--very!' said Philip; and then he was again silent +for a period; long enough to make the busy attorney impatient. + +'Well, Mr. Hepburn, have you anything else to say to me?' + +'Yes, sir. I've a deal to ask of you; for you see I don't rightly +understand what to do; and yet I'm all as Daniel's wife and daughter +has to look to; and I've their grief heavy on my heart. You could +not tell me what is to be done with Daniel, could you, sir?' + +'He'll be brought up before the magistrates to-morrow morning for +final examination, along with the others, you know, before he's sent +to York Castle to take his trial at the spring assizes.' + +'To York Castle, sir?' + +Mr. Donkin nodded, as if words were too precious to waste. + +'And when will he go?' asked poor Philip, in dismay. + +'To-morrow: most probably as soon as the examination is over. The +evidence is clear as to his being present, aiding and +abetting,--indicted on the 4th section of 1 George I., statute 1, +chapter 5. I'm afraid it's a bad look-out. Is he a friend of yours, +Mr. Hepburn?' + +'Only an uncle, sir,' said Philip, his heart getting full; more from +Mr. Donkin's manner than from his words. 'But what can they do to +him, sir?' + +'Do?' Mr. Donkin half smiled at the ignorance displayed. 'Why, hang +him, to be sure; if the judge is in a hanging mood. He's been either +a principal in the offence, or a principal in the second degree, +and, as such, liable to the full punishment. I drew up the warrant +myself this morning, though I left the exact name to be filled up by +my clerk.' + +'Oh, sir! can you do nothing for me?' asked Philip, with sharp +beseeching in his voice. He had never imagined that it was a capital +offence; and the thought of his aunt's and Sylvia's ignorance of the +possible fate awaiting him whom they so much loved, was like a stab +to his heart. + +'No, my good fellow. I'm sorry; but, you see, it's my duty to do all +I can to bring criminals to justice.' + +'My uncle thought he was doing such a fine deed.' + +'Demolishing and pulling down, destroying and burning +dwelling-houses and outhouses,' said Mr. Donkin. 'He must have some +peculiar notions.' + +'The people is so mad with the press-gang, and Daniel has been at +sea hisself; and took it so to heart when he heard of mariners and +seafaring folk being carried off, and just cheated into doing what +was kind and helpful--leastways, what would have been kind and +helpful, if there had been a fire. I'm against violence and riots +myself, sir, I'm sure; but I cannot help thinking as Daniel had a +deal to justify him on Saturday night, sir.' + +'Well; you must try and get a good lawyer to bring out all that side +of the question. There's a good deal to be said on it; but it's my +duty to get up all the evidence to prove that he and others were +present on the night in question; so, as you'll perceive, I can give +you no help in defending him.' + +'But who can, sir? I came to you as a friend who, I thought, would +see me through it. And I don't know any other lawyer; leastways, to +speak to.' + +Mr. Donkin was really more concerned for the misguided rioters than +he was aware; and he was aware of more interest than he cared to +express. So he softened his tone a little, and tried to give the +best advice in his power. + +'You'd better go to Edward Dawson on the other side of the river; he +that was articled clerk with me two years ago, you know. He's a +clever fellow, and has not too much practice; he'll do the best he +can for you. He'll have to be at the court-house, tell him, +to-morrow morning at ten, when the justices meet. He'll watch the +case for you; and then he'll give you his opinion, and tell you what +to do. You can't do better than follow his advice. I must do all I +can to collect evidence for a conviction, you know.' + +Philip stood up, looked at his hat, and then came forward and laid +down six and eightpence on the desk in a blushing, awkward way. + +'Pooh! pooh!' said Mr. Donkin, pushing the money away. 'Don't be a +fool; you'll need it all before the trial's over. I've done nothing, +man. It would be a pretty thing for me to be feed by both parties.' + +Philip took up the money, and left the room. In an instant he came +back again, glanced furtively at Mr. Donkin's face, and then, once +more having recourse to brushing his hat, he said, in a low voice-- + +'You'll not be hard upon him, sir, I hope?' + +'I must do my duty,' replied Mr. Donkin, a little sternly, 'without +any question of hardness.' + +Philip, discomfited, left the room; an instant of thought and Mr +Donkin had jumped up, and hastening to the door he opened it and +called after Philip. + +'Hepburn--Hepburn--I say, he'll be taken to York as soon as may be +to-morrow morning; if any one wants to see him before then, they'd +better look sharp about it.' + +Philip went quickly along the streets towards Mr. Dawson's, pondering +upon the meaning of all that he had heard, and what he had better +do. He had made his plans pretty clearly out by the time he arrived +at Mr. Dawson's smart door in one of the new streets on the other +side of the river. A clerk as smart as the door answered Philip's +hesitating knock, and replied to his inquiry as to whether Mr. Dawson +was at home, in the negative, adding, after a moment's pause-- + +'He'll be at home in less than an hour; he's only gone to make Mrs +Dawson's will--Mrs. Dawson, of Collyton--she's not expected to get +better.' + +Probably the clerk of an older-established attorney would not have +given so many particulars as to the nature of his master's +employment; but, as it happened it was of no consequence, the +unnecessary information made no impression on Philip's mind; he +thought the matter over and then said-- + +'I'll be back in an hour, then. It's gone a quarter to four; I'll be +back before five, tell Mr. Dawson.' + +He turned on his heel and went back to the High Street as fast as he +could, with a far more prompt and decided step than before. He +hastened through the streets, emptied by the bad weather, to the +principal inn of the town, the George--the sign of which was +fastened to a piece of wood stretched across the narrow street; and +going up to the bar with some timidity (for the inn was frequented +by the gentry of Monkshaven and the neighbourhood, and was +considered as a touch above such customers as Philip), he asked if +he could have a tax-cart made ready in a quarter of an hour, and +sent up to the door of his shop. + +'To be sure he could; how far was it to go?' + +Philip hesitated before he replied-- + +'Up the Knotting Lane, to the stile leading down to Haytersbank +Farm; they'll have to wait there for some as are coming.' + +'They must not wait long such an evening as this; standing in such +rain and wind as there'll be up there, is enough to kill a horse.' + +'They shan't wait long,' said Philip, decisively: 'in a quarter of +an hour, mind.' + +He now went back to the shop, beating against the storm, which was +increasing as the tide came in and the night hours approached. + +Coulson had no word for him, but he looked reproachfully at his +partner for his long, unexplained absence. Hester was putting away +the ribbons and handkerchiefs, and bright-coloured things which had +been used to deck the window; for no more customers were likely to +come this night through the blustering weather to a shop dimly +lighted by two tallow candles and an inefficient oil-lamp. Philip +came up to her, and stood looking at her with unseeing eyes; but the +strange consciousness of his fixed stare made her uncomfortable, and +called the faint flush to her pale cheeks, and at length compelled +her, as it were, to speak, and break the spell of the silence. So, +curiously enough, all three spoke at once. Hester asked (without +looking at Philip)-- + +'Yo're sadly wet, I'm feared?' + +Coulson said-- + +'Thou might have a bit o' news to tell one after being on the gad +all afternoon.' + +Philip whispered to Hester-- + +'Wilt come into t' parlour? I want a word wi' thee by oursel's.' + +Hester quietly finished rolling up the ribbon she had in her hands +when he spoke, and then followed him into the room behind the shop +before spoken of. + +Philip set down on the table the candle which he had brought out of +the shop, and turning round to Hester, took her trembling hand into +both of his, and gripping it nervously, said-- + +'Oh! Hester, thou must help me--thou will, will not thou?' + +Hester gulped down something that seemed to rise in her throat and +choke her, before she answered. + +'Anything, thou knows, Philip.' + +'Yes, yes, I know. Thou sees the matter is this: Daniel Robson--he +who married my aunt--is taken up for yon riot on Saturday night at +t' Mariners' Arms----' + +'They spoke on it this afternoon; they said the warrant was out,' +said Hester, filling up the sentence as Philip hesitated, lost for +an instant in his own thoughts. + +'Ay! the warrant is out, and he's in t' lock-up, and will be carried +to York Castle to-morrow morn; and I'm afeared it will go bad with +him; and they at Haytersbank is not prepared, and they must see him +again before he goes. Now, Hester, will thou go in a tax-cart as +will be here in less than ten minutes from t' George, and bring them +back here, and they must stay all night for to be ready to see him +to-morrow before he goes? It's dree weather for them, but they'll +not mind that.' + +He had used words as if he was making a request to Hester; but he +did not seem to await her answer, so sure was he that she would go. +She noticed this, and noticed also that the rain was spoken of in +reference to them, not to her. A cold shadow passed over her heart, +though it was nothing more than she already knew--that Sylvia was +the one centre of his thoughts and his love. + +'I'll go put on my things at once,' said she, gently. + +Philip pressed her hand tenderly, a glow of gratitude overspread +him. + +'Thou's a real good one, God bless thee!' said he. 'Thou must take +care of thyself, too,' continued he; 'there's wraps and plenty i' +th' house, and if there are not, there's those i' the shop as 'll be +none the worse for once wearing at such a time as this; and wrap +thee well up, and take shawls and cloaks for them, and mind as they +put 'em on. Thou'll have to get out at a stile, I'll tell t' driver +where; and thou must get over t' stile and follow t' path down two +fields, and th' house is right before ye, and bid 'em make haste and +lock up th' house, for they mun stay all night here. Kester 'll look +after things.' + +All this time Hester was hastily putting on her hat and cloak, which +she had fetched from the closet where they usually hung through the +day; now she stood listening, as it were, for final directions. + +'But suppose they will not come,' said she; 'they dunnot know me, +and mayn't believe my words.' + +'They must,' said he, impatiently. 'They don't know what awaits +'em,' he continued. 'I'll tell thee, because thou 'll not let out, +and it seems as if I mun tell some one--it were such a shock--he's +to be tried for 's life. They know not it's so serious; and, +Hester,' said he, going on in his search after sympathy, 'she's +like as if she was bound up in her father.' + +His lips quivered as he looked wistfully into Hester's face at these +words. No need to tell her who was _she_. No need to put into words +the fact, told plainer than words could have spoken it, that his +heart was bound up in Sylvia. + +Hester's face, instead of responding to his look, contracted a +little, and, for the life of her, she could not have helped +saying,-- + +'Why don't yo' go yourself, Philip?' + +'I can't, I can't,' said he, impatiently. 'I'd give the world to go, +for I might be able to comfort her; but there's lawyers to see, and +iver so much to do, and they've niver a man friend but me to do it +all. You'll tell her,' said Philip, insinuatingly, as if a fresh +thought had struck him, 'as how I would ha' come. I would fain ha' +come for 'em, myself, but I couldn't, because of th' lawyer,--mind +yo' say because of th' lawyer. I'd be loath for her to think I was +minding any business of my own at this time; and, whatever yo' do, +speak hopeful, and, for t' life of yo', don't speak of th' hanging, +it's likely it's a mistake o' Donkin's; and anyhow--there's t' +cart--anyhow I should perhaps not ha' telled thee, but it's a comfort +to make a clean breast to a friend at times. God bless thee, Hester. I +don't know what I should ha' done without thee,' said he, as he +wrapped her well up in the cart, and placed the bundles of cloaks +and things by her side. + +Along the street, in the jolting cart, as long as Hester could see +the misty light streaming out of the shop door, so long was Philip +standing bareheaded in the rain looking after her. But she knew that +it was not her own poor self that attracted his lingering gaze. It +was the thought of the person she was bound to. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A DREARY VIGIL + + +Through the dark rain, against the cold wind, shaken over the rough +stones, went Hester in the little tax-cart. Her heart kept rising +against her fate; the hot tears came unbidden to her eyes. But +rebellious heart was soothed, and hot tears were sent back to their +source before the time came for her alighting. + +The driver turned his horse in the narrow lane, and shouted after +her an injunction to make haste as, with her head bent low, she +struggled down to the path to Haytersbank Farm. She saw the light in +the window from the top of the brow, and involuntarily she slackened +her pace. She had never seen Bell Robson, and would Sylvia recollect +her? If she did not how awkward it would be to give the explanation +of who she was, and what her errand was, and why she was sent. +Nevertheless, it must be done; so on she went, and standing within +the little porch, she knocked faintly at the door; but in the +bluster of the elements the sound was lost. Again she knocked, and +now the murmur of women's voices inside was hushed, and some one +came quickly to the door, and opened it sharply. + +It was Sylvia. Although her face was completely in shadow, of course +Hester knew her well; but she, if indeed she would have recognized +Hester less disguised, did not know in the least who the woman, +muffled up in a great cloak, with her hat tied down with a silk +handkerchief, standing in the porch at this time of night, could be. +Nor, indeed, was she in a mood to care or to inquire. She said +hastily, in a voice rendered hoarse and arid with grief: + +'Go away. This is no house for strangers to come to. We've enough on +our own to think on;' and she hastily shut the door in Hester's +face, before the latter could put together the right words in which +to explain her errand. Hester stood outside in the dark, wet porch +discomfited, and wondering how next to obtain a hearing through the +shut and bolted door. Not long did she stand, however; some one was +again at the door, talking in a voice of distress and remonstrance, +and slowly unbarring the bolts. A tall, thin figure of an elderly +woman was seen against the warm fire-light inside as soon as the +door was opened; a hand was put out, like that which took the dove +into the ark, and Hester was drawn into the warmth and the light, +while Bell's voice went on speaking to Sylvia before addressing the +dripping stranger-- + +'It's not a night to turn a dog fra' t' door; it's ill letting our +grief harden our hearts. But oh! missus (to Hester), yo' mun forgive +us, for a great sorrow has fallen upon us this day, an' we're like +beside ourselves wi' crying an' plaining.' + +Bell sate down, and threw her apron over her poor worn face, as if +decently to shield the signs of her misery from a stranger's gaze. +Sylvia, all tear-swollen, and looking askance and almost fiercely at +the stranger who had made good her intrusion, was drawn, as it were, +to her mother's side, and, kneeling down by her, put her arms round +her waist, and almost lay across her lap, still gazing at Hester +with cold, distrustful eyes, the expression of which repelled and +daunted that poor, unwilling messenger, and made her silent for a +minute or so after her entrance. Bell suddenly put down her apron. + +'Yo're cold and drenched,' said she. 'Come near to t' fire and warm +yo'rsel'; yo' mun pardon us if we dunnot think on everything at +onest.' + +'Yo're very kind, very kind indeed,' said Hester, touched by the +poor woman's evident effort to forget her own grief in the duties of +hospitality, and loving Bell from that moment. + +'I'm Hester Rose,' she continued, half addressing Sylvia, who she +thought might remember the name, 'and Philip Hepburn has sent me in +a tax-cart to t' stile yonder, to fetch both on yo' back to +Monkshaven.' Sylvia raised her head and looked intently at Hester. +Bell clasped her hands tight together and leant forwards. + +'It's my master as wants us?' said she, in an eager, questioning +tone. + +'It's for to see yo'r master,' said Hester. 'Philip says he'll be +sent to York to-morrow, and yo'll be fain to see him before he goes; +and if yo'll come down to Monkshaven to-night, yo'll be on t' spot +again' the time comes when t' justices will let ye.' + +Bell was up and about, making for the place where she kept her +out-going things, almost before Hester had begun to speak. She +hardly understood about her husband's being sent to York, in the +possession of the idea that she might go and see him. She did not +understand or care how, in this wild night, she was to get to +Monkshaven; all she thought of was, that she might go and see her +husband. But Sylvia took in more points than her mother, and, almost +suspiciously, began to question Hester. + +'Why are they sending him to York? What made Philip leave us? Why +didn't he come hissel'?' + +'He couldn't come hissel', he bade me say; because he was bound to +be at the lawyer's at five, about yo'r father's business. I think +yo' might ha' known he would ha' come for any business of his own; +and, about York, it's Philip as telled me, and I never asked why. I +never thought on yo'r asking me so many questions. I thought yo'd be +ready to fly on any chance o' seeing your father.' Hester spoke out +the sad reproach that ran from her heart to her lips. To distrust +Philip! to linger when she might hasten! + +'Oh!' said Sylvia, breaking out into a wild cry, that carried with +it more conviction of agony than much weeping could have done. 'I +may be rude and hard, and I may ask strange questions, as if I cared +for t' answers yo' may gi' me; an', in my heart o' hearts, I care +for nought but to have father back wi' us, as love him so dear. I +can hardly tell what I say, much less why I say it. Mother is so +patient, it puts me past mysel', for I could fight wi' t' very +walls, I'm so mad wi' grieving. Sure, they'll let him come back wi' +us to-morrow, when they hear from his own sel' why he did it?' + +She looked eagerly at Hester for an answer to this last question, +which she had put in a soft, entreating tone, as if with Hester +herself the decision rested. Hester shook her head. Sylvia came up +to her and took her hands, almost fondling them. + +'Yo' dunnot think they'll be hard wi' him when they hear all about +it, done yo'? Why, York Castle's t' place they send a' t' thieves +and robbers to, not honest men like feyther.' + +Hester put her hand on Sylvia's shoulder with a soft, caressing +gesture. + +'Philip will know,' she said, using Philip's name as a kind of +spell--it would have been so to her. 'Come away to Philip,' said she +again, urging Sylvia, by her looks and manner, to prepare for the +little journey. Sylvia moved away for this purpose, saying to +herself,-- + +'It's going to see feyther: he will tell me all.' + +Poor Mrs. Robson was collecting a few clothes for her husband with an +eager, trembling hand, so trembling that article after article fell +to the floor, and it was Hester who picked them up; and at last, +after many vain attempts by the grief-shaken woman, it was Hester +who tied the bundle, and arranged the cloak, and fastened down the +hood; Sylvia standing by, not unobservant, though apparently +absorbed in her own thoughts. + +At length, all was arranged, and the key given over to Kester. As +they passed out into the storm, Sylvia said to Hester,-- + +'Thou's a real good wench. Thou's fitter to be about mother than me. +I'm but a cross-patch at best, an' now it's like as if I was no good +to nobody.' + +Sylvia began to cry, but Hester had no time to attend to her, even +had she the inclination: all her care was needed to help the hasty, +tottering steps of the wife who was feebly speeding up the wet and +slippery brow to her husband. All Bell thought of was that 'he' was +at the end of her toil. She hardly understood when she was to see +him; her weary heart and brain had only received one idea--that each +step she was now taking was leading her to him. Tired and exhausted +with her quick walk up hill, battling all the way with wind and +rain, she could hardly have held up another minute when they reached +the tax-cart in the lane, and Hester had almost to lift her on to +the front seat by the driver. She covered and wrapped up the poor +old woman, and afterwards placed herself in the straw at the back of +the cart, packed up close by the shivering, weeping Sylvia. Neither +of them spoke a word at first; but Hester's tender conscience smote +her for her silence before they had reached Monkshaven. She wanted +to say some kind word to Sylvia, and yet knew not how to begin. +Somehow, without knowing why, or reasoning upon it, she hit upon +Philip's message as the best comfort in her power to give. She had +delivered it before, but it had been apparently little heeded. + +'Philip bade me say it was business as kept him from fetchin' yo' +hissel'--business wi' the lawyer, about--about yo'r father.' + +'What do they say?' said Sylvia, suddenly, lifting her bowed head, +as though she would read her companion's face in the dim light. + +'I dunnot know,' said Hester, sadly. They were now jolting over the +paved streets, and not a word could be spoken. They were now at +Philip's door, which was opened to receive them even before they +arrived, as if some one had been watching and listening. The old +servant, Phoebe, the fixture in the house, who had belonged to it +and to the shop for the last twenty years, came out, holding a +candle and sheltering it in her hand from the weather, while Philip +helped the tottering steps of Mrs. Robson as she descended behind. As +Hester had got in last, so she had now to be the first to move. Just +as she was moving, Sylvia's cold little hand was laid on her arm. + +'I am main and thankful to yo'. I ask yo'r pardon for speaking +cross, but, indeed, my heart's a'most broken wi' fear about +feyther.' + +The voice was so plaintive, so full of tears, that Hester could not +but yearn towards the speaker. She bent over and kissed her cheek, +and then clambered unaided down by the wheel on the dark side of the +cart. Wistfully she longed for one word of thanks or recognition +from Philip, in whose service she had performed this hard task; but +he was otherwise occupied, and on casting a further glance back as +she turned the corner of the street, she saw Philip lifting Sylvia +carefully down in his arms from her footing on the top of the wheel, +and then they all went into the light and the warmth, the door was +shut, the lightened cart drove briskly away, and Hester, in rain, +and cold, and darkness, went homewards with her tired sad heart. + +Philip had done all he could, since his return from lawyer Dawson's, +to make his house bright and warm for the reception of his beloved. +He had a strong apprehension of the probable fate of poor Daniel +Robson; he had a warm sympathy with the miserable distress of the +wife and daughter; but still at the back of his mind his spirits +danced as if this was to them a festal occasion. He had even taken +unconscious pleasure in Phoebe's suspicious looks and tones, as he +had hurried and superintended her in her operations. A fire blazed +cheerily in the parlour, almost dazzling to the travellers brought +in from the darkness and the rain; candles burned--two candles, much +to Phoebe's discontent. Poor Bell Robson had to sit down almost as +soon as she entered the room, so worn out was she with fatigue and +excitement; yet she grudged every moment which separated her, as she +thought, from her husband. + +'I'm ready now,' said she, standing up, and rather repulsing +Sylvia's cares; 'I'm ready now,' said she, looking eagerly at +Philip, as if for him to lead the way. + +'It's not to-night,' replied he, almost apologetically. 'You can't +see him to-night; it's to-morrow morning before he goes to York; it +was better for yo' to be down here in town ready; and beside I +didn't know when I sent for ye that he was locked up for the night.' + +'Well-a-day, well-a-day,' said Bell, rocking herself backwards and +forwards, and trying to soothe herself with these words. Suddenly +she said,-- + +'But I've brought his comforter wi' me--his red woollen comforter as +he's allays slept in this twelvemonth past; he'll get his rheumatiz +again; oh, Philip, cannot I get it to him?' + +'I'll send it by Phoebe,' said Philip, who was busy making tea, +hospitable and awkward. + +'Cannot I take it mysel'?' repeated Bell. 'I could make surer nor +anybody else; they'd maybe not mind yon woman--Phoebe d'ye call +her?' + +'Nay, mother,' said Sylvia, 'thou's not fit to go.' + +'Shall I go?' asked Philip, hoping she would say 'no', and be +content with Phoebe, and leave him where he was. + +'Oh, Philip, would yo'?' said Sylvia, turning round. + +'Ay,' said Bell, 'if thou would take it they'd be minding yo'.' + +So there was nothing for it but for him to go, in the first flush of +his delightful rites of hospitality. + +'It's not far,' said he, consoling himself rather than them. 'I'll +be back in ten minutes, the tea is maskit, and Phoebe will take yo'r +wet things and dry 'em by t' kitchen fire; and here's the stairs,' +opening a door in the corner of the room, from which the stairs +immediately ascended. 'There's two rooms at the top; that to t' left +is all made ready, t' other is mine,' said he, reddening a little as +he spoke. Bell was busy undoing her bundle with trembling fingers. + +'Here,' said she; 'and oh, lad, here's a bit o' peppermint cake; +he's main and fond on it, and I catched sight on it by good luck +just t' last minute.' + +Philip was gone, and the excitement of Bell and Sylvia flagged once +more, and sank into wondering despondency. Sylvia, however, roused +herself enough to take off her mother's wet clothes, and she took +them timidly into the kitchen and arranged them before Phoebe's +fire. + +Phoebe opened her lips once or twice to speak in remonstrance, and +then, with an effort, gulped her words down; for her sympathy, like +that of all the rest of the Monkshaven world, was in favour of +Daniel Robson; and his daughter might place her dripping cloak this +night wherever she would, for Phoebe. + +Sylvia found her mother still sitting on the chair next the door, +where she had first placed herself on entering the room. + +'I'll gi'e you some tea, mother,' said she, struck with the shrunken +look of Bell's face. + +'No, no' said her mother. 'It's not manners for t' help oursel's.' + +'I'm sure Philip would ha' wished yo' for to take it,' said Sylvia, +pouring out a cup. + +Just then he returned, and something in his look, some dumb +expression of delight at her occupation, made her blush and hesitate +for an instant; but then she went on, and made a cup of tea ready, +saying something a little incoherent all the time about her mother's +need of it. After tea Bell Robson's weariness became so extreme, +that Philip and Sylvia urged her to go to bed. She resisted a +little, partly out of 'manners,' and partly because she kept +fancying, poor woman, that somehow or other her husband might send +for her. But about seven o'clock Sylvia persuaded her to come +upstairs. Sylvia, too, bade Philip good-night, and his look followed +the last wave of her dress as she disappeared up the stairs; then +leaning his chin on his hand, he gazed at vacancy and thought +deeply--for how long he knew not, so intent was his mind on the +chances of futurity. + +He was aroused by Sylvia's coming down-stairs into the sitting-room +again. He started up. + +'Mother is so shivery,' said she. 'May I go in there,' indicating +the kitchen, 'and make her a drop of gruel?' + +'Phoebe shall make it, not you,' said Philip, eagerly preventing +her, by going to the kitchen door and giving his orders. When he +turned round again, Sylvia was standing over the fire, leaning her +head against the stone mantel-piece for the comparative coolness. +She did not speak at first, or take any notice of him. He watched +her furtively, and saw that she was crying, the tears running down +her cheeks, and she too much absorbed in her thoughts to wipe them +away with her apron. + +While he was turning over in his mind what he could best say to +comfort her (his heart, like hers, being almost too full for words), +she suddenly looked him full in the face, saying,-- + +'Philip! won't they soon let him go? what can they do to him?' Her +open lips trembled while awaiting his answer, the tears came up and +filled her eyes. It was just the question he had most dreaded; it +led to the terror that possessed his own mind, but which he had +hoped to keep out of hers. He hesitated. 'Speak, lad!' said she, +impatiently, with a little passionate gesture. 'I can see thou +knows!' + +He had only made it worse by consideration; he rushed blindfold at a +reply. + +'He's ta'en up for felony.' + +'Felony,' said she. 'There thou're out; he's in for letting yon men +out; thou may call it rioting if thou's a mind to set folks again' +him, but it's too bad to cast such hard words at him as +yon--felony,' she repeated, in a half-offended tone. + +'It's what the lawyers call it,' said Philip, sadly; 'it's no word +o' mine.' + +'Lawyers is allays for making the worst o' things,' said she, a +little pacified, 'but folks shouldn't allays believe them.' + +'It's lawyers as has to judge i' t' long run.' + +'Cannot the justices, Mr. Harter and them as is no lawyers, give him +a sentence to-morrow, wi'out sending him to York?' + +'No!' said Philip, shaking his head. He went to the kitchen door and +asked if the gruel was not ready, so anxious was he to stop the +conversation at this point; but Phoebe, who held her young master in +but little respect, scolded him for a stupid man, who thought, like +all his sex, that gruel was to be made in a minute, whatever the +fire was, and bade him come and make it for himself if he was in +such a hurry. + +He had to return discomfited to Sylvia, who meanwhile had arranged +her thoughts ready to return to the charge. + +'And say he's sent to York, and say he's tried theere, what's t' +worst they can do again' him?' asked she, keeping down her agitation +to look at Philip the more sharply. Her eyes never slackened their +penetrating gaze at his countenance, until he replied, with the +utmost unwillingness, and most apparent confusion,-- + +'They may send him to Botany Bay.' + +He knew that he held back a worse contingency, and he was mortally +afraid that she would perceive this reserve. But what he did say was +so much beyond her utmost apprehension, which had only reached to +various terms of imprisonment, that she did not imagine the dark +shadow lurking behind. What he had said was too much for her. Her +eyes dilated, her lips blanched, her pale cheeks grew yet paler. +After a minute's look into his face, as if fascinated by some +horror, she stumbled backwards into the chair in the chimney comer, +and covered her face with her hands, moaning out some inarticulate +words. + +Philip was on his knees by her, dumb from excess of sympathy, +kissing her dress, all unfelt by her; he murmured half-words, he +began passionate sentences that died away upon his lips; and +she--she thought of nothing but her father, and was possessed and +rapt out of herself by the dread of losing him to that fearful +country which was almost like the grave to her, so all but +impassable was the gulf. But Philip knew that it was possible that +the separation impending might be that of the dark, mysterious +grave--that the gulf between the father and child might indeed be +that which no living, breathing, warm human creature can ever cross. + +'Sylvie, Sylvie!' said he,--and all their conversation had to be +carried on in low tones and whispers, for fear of the listening ears +above,--'don't,--don't, thou'rt rending my heart. Oh, Sylvie, +hearken. There's not a thing I'll not do; there's not a penny I've +got,--th' last drop of blood that's in me,--I'll give up my life for +his.' + +'Life,' said she, putting down her hands, and looking at him as if +her looks could pierce his soul; 'who talks o' touching his life? +Thou're going crazy, Philip, I think;' but she did not think so, +although she would fain have believed it. In her keen agony she read +his thoughts as though they were an open page; she sate there, +upright and stony, the conviction creeping over her face like the +grey shadow of death. No more tears, no more trembling, almost no +more breathing. He could not bear to see her, and yet she held his +eyes, and he feared to make the effort necessary to move or to turn +away, lest the shunning motion should carry conviction to her heart. +Alas! conviction of the probable danger to her father's life was +already there: it was that that was calming her down, tightening her +muscles, bracing her nerves. In that hour she lost all her early +youth. + +'Then he may be hung,' said she, low and solemnly, after a long +pause. Philip turned away his face, and did not utter a word. Again +deep silence, broken only by some homely sound in the kitchen. +'Mother must not know on it,' said Sylvia, in the same tone in which +she had spoken before. + +'It's t' worst as can happen to him,' said Philip. 'More likely +he'll be transported: maybe he'll be brought in innocent after all.' + +'No,' said Sylvia, heavily, as one without hope--as if she were +reading some dreadful doom in the tablets of the awful future. +'They'll hang him. Oh, feyther! feyther!' she choked out, almost +stuffing her apron into her mouth to deaden the sound, and catching +at Philip's hand, and wringing it with convulsive force, till the +pain that he loved was nearly more than he could bear. No words of +his could touch such agony; but irrepressibly, and as he would have +done it to a wounded child, he bent over her, and kissed her with a +tender, trembling kiss. She did not repulse it, probably she did not +even perceive it. + +At that moment Phoebe came in with the gruel. Philip saw her, and +knew, in an instant, what the old woman's conclusion must needs be; +but Sylvia had to be shaken by the now standing Philip, before she +could be brought back to the least consciousness of the present +time. She lifted up her white face to understand his words, then she +rose up like one who slowly comes to the use of her limbs. + +'I suppose I mun go,' she said; 'but I'd sooner face the dead. If +she asks me, Philip, what mun I say?' + +'She'll not ask yo',' said he, 'if yo' go about as common. She's +never asked yo' all this time, an' if she does, put her on to me. +I'll keep it from her as long as I can; I'll manage better nor I've +done wi' thee, Sylvie,' said he, with a sad, faint smile, looking +with fond penitence at her altered countenance. + +'Thou mustn't blame thysel',' said Sylvia, seeing his regret. 'I +brought it on me mysel'; I thought I would ha' t' truth, whativer +came on it, and now I'm not strong enough to stand it, God help me!' +she continued, piteously. + +'Oh, Sylvie, let me help yo'! I cannot do what God can,--I'm not +meaning that, but I can do next to Him of any man. I have loved yo' +for years an' years, in a way it's terrible to think on, if my love +can do nought now to comfort yo' in your sore distress.' + +'Cousin Philip,' she replied, in the same measured tone in which she +had always spoken since she had learnt the extent of her father's +danger, and the slow stillness of her words was in harmony with the +stony look of her face, 'thou's a comfort to me, I couldn't bide my +life without thee; but I cannot take in the thought o' love, it +seems beside me quite; I can think on nought but them that is quick +and them that is dead.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +GLOOMY DAYS + + +Philip had money in the Fosters' bank, not so much as it might have +been if he had not had to pay for the furniture in his house. Much +of this furniture was old, and had belonged to the brothers Foster, +and they had let Philip have it at a very reasonable rate; but still +the purchase of it had diminished the amount of his savings. But on +the sum which he possessed he drew largely--he drew all--nay, he +overdrew his account somewhat, to his former masters' dismay, +although the kindness of their hearts overruled the harder arguments +of their heads. + +All was wanted to defend Daniel Robson at the approaching York +assizes. His wife had handed over to Philip all the money or money's +worth she could lay her hands upon. Daniel himself was not one to be +much beforehand with the world; but to Bell's thrifty imagination +the round golden guineas, tied up in the old stocking-foot against +rent-day, seemed a mint of money on which Philip might draw +infinitely. As yet she did not comprehend the extent of her +husband's danger. Sylvia went about like one in a dream, keeping +back the hot tears that might interfere with the course of life she +had prescribed for herself in that terrible hour when she first +learnt all. Every penny of money either she or her mother could save +went to Philip. Kester's hoard, too, was placed in Hepburn's hands +at Sylvia's earnest entreaty; for Kester had no great opinion of +Philip's judgment, and would rather have taken his money straight +himself to Mr. Dawson, and begged him to use it for his master's +behoof. + +Indeed, if anything, the noiseless breach between Kester and Philip +had widened of late. It was seed-time, and Philip, in his great +anxiety for every possible interest that might affect Sylvia, and +also as some distraction from his extreme anxiety about her father, +had taken to study agriculture of an evening in some old books which +he had borrowed--_The Farmer's Complete Guide_, and such like; and +from time to time he came down upon the practical dogged Kester with +directions gathered from the theories in his books. Of course the +two fell out, but without many words. Kester persevered in his old +ways, making light of Philip and his books in manner and action, +till at length Philip withdrew from the contest. 'Many a man may +lead a horse to water, but there's few can make him drink,' and +Philip certainly was not one of those few. Kester, indeed, looked +upon him with jealous eyes on many accounts. He had favoured Charley +Kinraid as a lover of Sylvia's; and though he had no idea of the +truth--though he believed in the drowning of the specksioneer as +much as any one--yet the year which had elapsed since Kinraid's +supposed death was but a very short while to the middle-aged man, +who forgot how slowly time passes with the young; and he could often +have scolded Sylvia, if the poor girl had been a whit less heavy at +heart than she was, for letting Philip come so much about her--come, +though it was on her father's business. For the darkness of their +common dread drew them together, occasionally to the comparative +exclusion of Bell and Kester, which the latter perceived and +resented. Kester even allowed himself to go so far as to wonder what +Philip could want with all the money, which to him seemed +unaccountable; and once or twice the ugly thought crossed his mind, +that shops conducted by young men were often not so profitable as +when guided by older heads, and that some of the coin poured into +Philip's keeping might have another destination than the defence of +his master. Poor Philip! and he was spending all his own, and more +than all his own money, and no one ever knew it, as he had bound +down his friendly bankers to secrecy. + +Once only Kester ventured to speak to Sylvia on the subject of +Philip. She had followed her cousin to the field just in front of +their house, just outside the porch, to ask him some question she +dared not put in her mother's presence--(Bell, indeed, in her +anxiety, usually absorbed all the questions when Philip came)--and +stood, after Philip had bid her good-by, hardly thinking about him +at all, but looking unconsciously after him as he ascended the brow; +and at the top he had turned to take a last glance at the place his +love inhabited, and, seeing her, he had waved his hat in gratified +farewell. She, meanwhile, was roused from far other thoughts than of +him, and of his now acknowledged love, by the motion against the +sky, and was turning back into the house when she heard Kester's low +hoarse call, and saw him standing at the shippen door. + +'Come hither, wench,' said he, indignantly; 'is this a time for +courtin'?' + +'Courting?' said she, drawing up her head, and looking back at him +with proud defiance. + +'Ay, courtin'! what other mak' o' thing is't when thou's gazin' +after yon meddlesome chap, as if thou'd send thy eyes after him, and +he making marlocks back at thee? It's what we ca'ed courtin' i' my +young days anyhow. And it's noane a time for a wench to go courtin' +when her feyther's i' prison,' said he, with a consciousness as he +uttered these last words that he was cruel and unjust and going too +far, yet carried on to say them by his hot jealousy against Philip. + +Sylvia continued looking at him without speaking: she was too much +offended for expression. + +'Thou may glower an' thou may look, lass,' said he, 'but a'd thought +better on thee. It's like last week thy last sweetheart were +drowned; but thou's not one to waste time i' rememberin' them as is +gone--if, indeed, thou iver cared a button for yon Kinraid--if it +wasn't a make-believe.' + +Her lips were contracted and drawn up, showing her small glittering +teeth, which were scarcely apart as she breathed out-- + +'Thou thinks so, does thou, that I've forgetten _him_? Thou'd better +have a care o' thy tongue.' + +Then, as if fearful that her self-command might give way, she turned +into the house; and going through the kitchen like a blind person, +she went up to her now unused chamber, and threw herself, face +downwards, flat on her bed, almost smothering herself. + +Ever since Daniel's committal, the decay that had imperceptibly +begun in his wife's bodily and mental strength during her illness of +the previous winter, had been making quicker progress. She lost her +reticence of speech, and often talked to herself. She had not so +much forethought as of old; slight differences, it is true, but +which, with some others of the same description, gave foundation for +the homely expression which some now applied to Bell, 'She'll never +be t' same woman again. + +This afternoon she had cried herself to sleep in her chair after +Philip's departure. She had not heard Sylvia's sweeping passage +through the kitchen; but half an hour afterwards she was startled up +by Kester's abrupt entry. + +'Where's Sylvie?' asked he. + +'I don't know,' said Bell, looking scared, and as if she was ready +to cry. 'It's no news about him?' said she, standing up, and +supporting herself on the stick she was now accustomed to use. + +'Bless yo', no, dunnot be afeared, missus; it's only as a spoke +hasty to t' wench, an' a want t' tell her as a'm sorry,' said +Kester, advancing into the kitchen, and looking round for Sylvia. + +'Sylvie, Sylvie!' shouted he; 'she mun be i' t' house.' + +Sylvia came slowly down the stairs, and stood before him. Her face +was pale, her mouth set and determined; the light of her eyes veiled +in gloom. Kester shrank from her look, and even more from her +silence. + +'A'm come to ax pardon,' said he, after a little pause. + +She was still silent. + +'A'm noane above axing pardon, though a'm fifty and more, and thee's +but a silly wench, as a've nursed i' my arms. A'll say before thy +mother as a ought niver to ha' used them words, and as how a'm sorry +for 't.' + +'I don't understand it all,' said Bell, in a hurried and perplexed +tone. 'What has Kester been saying, my lass?' she added, turning to +Sylvia. + +Sylvia went a step or two nearer to her mother, and took hold of her +hand as if to quieten her; then facing once more round, she said +deliberately to Kester,-- + +'If thou wasn't Kester, I'd niver forgive thee. Niver,' she added, +with bitterness, as the words he had used recurred to her mind. +'It's in me to hate thee now, for saying what thou did; but thou're +dear old Kester after all, and I can't help mysel', I mun needs +forgive thee,' and she went towards him. He took her little head +between his horny hands and kissed it. She looked up with tears in +her eyes, saying softly,-- + +'Niver say things like them again. Niver speak on----' + +'A'll bite my tongue off first,' he interrupted. + +He kept his word. + +In all Philip's comings and goings to and from Haytersbank Farm at +this time, he never spoke again of his love. In look, words, manner, +he was like a thoughtful, tender brother; nothing more. He could be +nothing more in the presence of the great dread which loomed larger +upon him after every conversation with the lawyer. + +For Mr. Donkin had been right in his prognostication. Government took +up the attack on the Rendezvous with a high and heavy hand. It was +necessary to assert authority which had been of late too often +braved. An example must be made, to strike dismay into those who +opposed and defied the press-gang; and all the minor authorities who +held their powers from Government were in a similar manner severe +and relentless in the execution of their duty. So the attorney, who +went over to see the prisoner in York Castle, told Philip. He added +that Daniel still retained his pride in his achievement, and could +not be brought to understand the dangerous position in which he was +placed; that when pressed and questioned as to circumstances that +might possibly be used in his defence, he always wandered off to +accounts of previous outrages committed by the press-gang, or to +passionate abuse of the trick by which men had been lured from their +homes on the night in question to assist in putting out an imaginary +fire, and then seized and carried off. Some of this very natural +indignation might possibly have some effect on the jury; and this +seemed the only ground of hope, and was indeed a slight one, as the +judge was likely to warn the jury against allowing their natural +sympathy in such a case to divert their minds from the real +question. + +Such was the substance of what Philip heard, and heard repeatedly, +during his many visits to Mr. Dawson. And now the time of trial drew +near; for the York assizes opened on March the twelfth; not much +above three weeks since the offence was committed which took Daniel +from his home and placed him in peril of death. + +Philip was glad that, the extremity of his danger never having been +hinted to Bell, and travelling some forty miles being a most unusual +exertion at that time to persons of her class, the idea of going to +see her husband at York had never suggested itself to Bell's mind. +Her increasing feebleness made this seem a step only to be taken in +case of the fatal extreme necessity; such was the conclusion that +both Sylvia and he had come to; and it was the knowledge of this +that made Sylvia strangle her own daily longing to see her father. +Not but that her hopes were stronger than her fears. Philip never +told her the causes for despondency; she was young, and she, like +her father, could not understand how fearful sometimes is the +necessity for prompt and severe punishment of rebellion against +authority. + +Philip was to be in York during the time of the assizes; and it was +understood, almost without words, that if the terrible worst +occurred, the wife and daughter were to come to York as soon as +might be. For this end Philip silently made all the necessary +arrangements before leaving Monkshaven. The sympathy of all men was +with him; it was too large an occasion for Coulson to be anything +but magnanimous. He urged Philip to take all the time requisite; to +leave all business cares to him. And as Philip went about pale and +sad, there was another cheek that grew paler still, another eye that +filled with quiet tears as his heaviness of heart became more and +more apparent. The day for opening the assizes came on. Philip was +in York Minster, watching the solemn antique procession in which the +highest authority in the county accompanies the judges to the House +of the Lord, to be there admonished as to the nature of their +duties. As Philip listened to the sermon with a strained and beating +heart, his hopes rose higher than his fears for the first time, and +that evening he wrote his first letter to Sylvia. + + +'DEAR SYLVIA, + +'It will be longer first than I thought for. Mr. Dawson says Tuesday +in next week. But keep up your heart. I have been hearing the sermon +to-day which is preached to the judges; and the clergyman said so +much in it about mercy and forgiveness, I think they cannot fail to +be lenient this assize. I have seen uncle, who looks but thin, but +is in good heart: only he will keep saying he would do it over again +if he had the chance, which neither Mr. Dawson nor I think is wise in +him, in especial as the gaoler is by and hears every word as is +said. He was very fain of hearing all about home; and wants you to +rear Daisy's calf, as he thinks she will prove a good one. He bade +me give his best love to you and my aunt, and his kind duty to +Kester. + +'Sylvia, will you try and forget how I used to scold you about your +writing and spelling, and just write me two or three lines. I think +I would rather have them badly spelt than not, because then I shall +be sure they are yours. And never mind about capitals; I was a fool +to say such a deal about them, for a man does just as well without +them. A letter from you would do a vast to keep me patient all these +days till Tuesday. Direct-- + +'Mr. Philip Hepburn, + + 'Care of Mr. Fraser, Draper, + 'Micklegate, York. + 'My affectionate duty to my aunt. + 'Your respectful cousin and servant, + 'PHILIP HEPBURN. + +'P.S. The sermon was grand. The text was Zechariah vii. 9, "Execute +true judgment and show mercy." God grant it may have put mercy into +the judge's heart as is to try my uncle.' + + +Heavily the days passed over. On Sunday Bell and Sylvia went to +church, with a strange, half-superstitious feeling, as if they could +propitiate the Most High to order the events in their favour by +paying Him the compliment of attending to duties in their time of +sorrow which they had too often neglected in their prosperous days. + +But He 'who knoweth our frame, and remembereth that we are dust,' +took pity upon His children, and sent some of His blessed peace into +their hearts, else they could scarce have endured the agony of +suspense of those next hours. For as they came slowly and wearily +home from church, Sylvia could no longer bear her secret, but told +her mother of the peril in which Daniel stood. Cold as the March +wind blew, they had not felt it, and had sate down on a hedge bank +for Bell to rest. And then Sylvia spoke, trembling and sick for +fear, yet utterly unable to keep silence any longer. Bell heaved up +her hands, and let them fall down on her knees before she replied. + +'The Lord is above us,' said she, solemnly. 'He has sent a fear o' +this into my heart afore now. I niver breathed it to thee, my +lass----' + +'And I niver spoke on it to thee, mother, because----' + +Sylvia choked with crying, and laid her head on her mother's lap, +feeling that she was no longer the strong one, and the protector, +but the protected. Bell went on, stroking her head, + +'The Lord is like a tender nurse as weans a child to look on and to +like what it lothed once. He has sent me dreams as has prepared me +for this, if so be it comes to pass. + +'Philip is hopeful,' said Sylvia, raising her head and looking +through her tears at her mother. + +'Ay, he is. And I cannot tell, but I think it's not for nought as +the Lord has ta'en away all fear o' death out o' my heart. I think +He means as Daniel and me is to go hand-in-hand through the +valley--like as we walked up to our wedding in Crosthwaite Church. I +could never guide th' house without Daniel, and I should be feared +he'd take a deal more nor is good for him without me.' + +'But me, mother, thou's forgetting me,' moaned out Sylvia. 'Oh, +mother, mother, think on me!' + +'Nay, my lass, I'm noane forgetting yo'. I'd a sore heart a' last +winter a-thinking on thee, when that chap Kinraid were hanging about +thee. I'll noane speak ill on the dead, but I were uneasylike. But +sin' Philip and thee seem to ha' made it up----' + +Sylvia shivered, and opened her mouth to speak, but did not say a +word. + +'And sin' the Lord has been comforting me, and talking to me many a +time when thou's thought I were asleep, things has seemed to redd +theirselves up, and if Daniel goes, I'm ready to follow. I could +niver stand living to hear folks say he'd been hung; it seems so +unnatural and shameful.' + +'But, mother, he won't!--he shan't be hung!' said Sylvia, springing +to her feet. 'Philip says he won't.' + +Bell shook her head. They walked on, Sylvia both disheartened and +almost irritated at her mother's despondency. But before they went +to bed at night Bell said things which seemed as though the +morning's feelings had been but temporary, and as if she was +referring every decision to the period of her husband's return. +'When father comes home,' seemed a sort of burden at the beginning +or end of every sentence, and this reliance on his certain coming +back to them was almost as great a trial to Sylvia as the absence of +all hope had been in the morning. But that instinct told her that +her mother was becoming incapable of argument, she would have asked +her why her views were so essentially changed in so few hours. This +inability of reason in poor Bell made Sylvia feel very desolate. + +Monday passed over--how, neither of them knew, for neither spoke of +what was filling the thoughts of both. Before it was light on +Tuesday morning, Bell was astir. + +'It's very early, mother,' said weary, sleepy Sylvia, dreading +returning consciousness. + +'Ay, lass!' said Bell, in a brisk, cheerful tone; 'but he'll, maybe, +be home to-night, and I'se bound to have all things ready for him.' + +'Anyhow,' said Sylvia, sitting up in bed, 'he couldn't come home +to-night.' + +'Tut, lass! thou doesn't know how quick a man comes home to wife and +child. I'll be a' ready at any rate.' + +She hurried about in a way which Sylvia wondered to see; till at +length she fancied that perhaps her mother did so to drive away +thought. Every place was cleaned; there was scarce time allowed for +breakfast; till at last, long before mid-day, all the work was done, +and the two sat down to their spinning-wheels. Sylvia's spirits sank +lower and lower at each speech of her mother's, from whose mind all +fear seemed to have disappeared, leaving only a strange restless +kind of excitement. + +'It's time for t' potatoes,' said Bell, after her wool had snapped +many a time from her uneven tread. + +'Mother,' said Sylvia, 'it's but just gone ten!' + +'Put 'em on,' said Bell, without attending to the full meaning of +her daughter's words. 'It'll, maybe, hasten t' day on if we get +dinner done betimes.' + +'But Kester is in t' Far Acre field, and he'll not be home till +noon.' + +This seemed to settle matters for a while; but then Bell pushed her +wheel away, and began searching for her hood and cloak. Sylvia found +them for her, and then asked sadly-- + +'What does ta want 'em for, mother?' + +'I'll go up t' brow and through t' field, and just have a look down +t' lane.' + +'I'll go wi' thee,' said Sylvia, feeling all the time the +uselessness of any looking for intelligence from York so early in +the day. Very patiently did she wait by her mother's side during the +long half-hour which Bell spent in gazing down the road for those +who never came. + +When they got home Sylvia put the potatoes on to boil; but when +dinner was ready and the three were seated at the dresser, Bell +pushed her plate away from her, saying it was so long after dinner +time that she was past eating. Kester would have said something +about its being only half-past twelve, but Sylvia gave him a look +beseeching silence, and he went on with his dinner without a word, +only brushing away the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand +from time to time. + +'A'll noane go far fra' home t' rest o' t' day,' said he, in a +whisper to Sylvia, as he went out. + +'Will this day niver come to an end?' cried Bell, plaintively. + +'Oh, mother! it'll come to an end some time, never fear. I've heerd +say-- +"Be the day weary or be the day long, +At length it ringeth to even-song."' + +'To even-song--to even-song,' repeated Bell. 'D'ye think now that +even-song means death, Sylvie?' + +'I cannot tell--I cannot bear it. Mother,' said Sylvia, in despair, +'I'll make some clap-bread: that's a heavy job, and will while away +t' afternoon.' + +'Ay, do!' replied the mother. 'He'll like it fresh--he'll like it +fresh.' + +Murmuring and talking to herself, she fell into a doze, from which +Sylvia was careful not to disturb her. + +The days were now getting long, although as cold as ever; and at +Haytersbank Farm the light lingered, as there was no near horizon to +bring on early darkness. Sylvia had all ready for her mother's tea +against she wakened; but she slept on and on, the peaceful sleep of +a child, and Sylvia did not care to waken her. Just after the sun +had set, she saw Kester outside the window making signs to her to +come out. She stole out on tip-toe by the back-kitchen, the door of +which was standing open. She almost ran against Philip, who did not +perceive her, as he was awaiting her coming the other way round the +corner of the house, and who turned upon her a face whose import she +read in an instant. 'Philip!' was all she said, and then she fainted +at his feet, coming down with a heavy bang on the round paving +stones of the yard. + +'Kester! Kester!' he cried, for she looked like one dead, and with +all his strength the wearied man could not lift her and carry her +into the house. + +With Kester's help she was borne into the back-kitchen, and Kester +rushed to the pump for some cold water to throw over her. + +While Philip, kneeling at her head, was partly supporting her in his +arms, and heedless of any sight or sound, the shadow of some one +fell upon him. He looked up and saw his aunt; the old dignified, +sensible expression on her face, exactly like her former self, +composed, strong, and calm. + +'My lass,' said she, sitting down by Philip, and gently taking her +out of his arms into her own. 'Lass, bear up! we mun bear up, and be +agait on our way to him, he'll be needing us now. Bear up, my lass! +the Lord will give us strength. We mun go to him; ay, time's +precious; thou mun cry thy cry at after!' + +Sylvia opened her dim eyes, and heard her mother's voice; the ideas +came slowly into her mind, and slowly she rose up, standing still, +like one who has been stunned, to regain her strength; and then, +taking hold of her mother's arm, she said, in a soft, strange +voice-- + +'Let's go. I'm ready.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE ORDEAL + + +It was the afternoon of an April day in that same year, and the sky +was blue above, with little sailing white clouds catching the +pleasant sunlight. The earth in that northern country had scarcely +yet put on her robe of green. The few trees grew near brooks running +down from the moors and the higher ground. The air was full of +pleasant sounds prophesying of the coming summer. The rush, and +murmur, and tinkle of the hidden watercourses; the song of the lark +poised high up in the sunny air; the bleat of the lambs calling to +their mothers--everything inanimate was full of hope and gladness. + +For the first time for a mournful month the front door of +Haytersbank Farm was open; the warm spring air might enter, and +displace the sad dark gloom, if it could. There was a newly-lighted +fire in the unused grate; and Kester was in the kitchen, with his +clogs off his feet, so as not to dirty the spotless floor, stirring +here and there, and trying in his awkward way to make things look +home-like and cheerful. He had brought in some wild daffodils which +he had been to seek in the dawn, and he placed them in a jug on the +dresser. Dolly Reid, the woman who had come to help Sylvia during +her mother's illness a year ago, was attending to something in the +back-kitchen, making a noise among the milk-cans, and singing a +ballad to herself as she worked; yet every now and then she checked +herself in her singing, as if a sudden recollection came upon her +that this was neither the time nor the place for songs. Once or +twice she took up the funeral psalm which is sung by the bearers of +the body in that country-- + +Our God, our help in ages past. + +But it was of no use: the pleasant April weather out of doors, and +perhaps the natural spring in the body, disposed her nature to +cheerfulness, and insensibly she returned to her old ditty. + +Kester was turning over many things in his rude honest mind as he +stood there, giving his finishing touches every now and then to the +aspect of the house-place, in preparation for the return of the +widow and daughter of his old master. + +It was a month and more since they had left home; more than a +fortnight since Kester, with three halfpence in his pocket, had set +out after his day's work to go to York--to walk all night long, and +to wish Daniel Robson his last farewell. + +Daniel had tried to keep up and had brought out one or two familiar, +thread-bare, well-worn jokes, such as he had made Kester chuckle +over many a time and oft, when the two had been together afield or +in the shippen at the home which he should never more see. But no +'Old Grouse in the gunroom' could make Kester smile, or do anything +except groan in but a heart-broken sort of fashion, and presently +the talk had become more suitable to the occasion, Daniel being up +to the last the more composed of the two; for Kester, when turned +out of the condemned cell, fairly broke down into the heavy sobbing +he had never thought to sob again on earth. He had left Bell and +Sylvia in their lodging at York, under Philip's care; he dared not +go to see them; he could not trust himself; he had sent them his +duty, and bade Philip tell Sylvia that the game-hen had brought out +fifteen chickens at a hatch. + +Yet although Kester sent this message through Philip--although he +saw and recognized all that Philip was doing in their behalf, in the +behalf of Daniel Robson, the condemned felon, his honoured master--he +liked Hepburn not a whit better than he had done before all this +sorrow had come upon them. + +Philip had, perhaps, shown a want of tact in his conduct to Kester. +Acute with passionate keenness in one direction, he had a sort of +dull straightforwardness in all others. For instance, he had +returned Kester the money which the latter had so gladly advanced +towards the expenses incurred in defending Daniel. Now the money +which Philip gave him back was part of an advance which Foster +Brothers had made on Philip's own account. Philip had thought that +it was hard on Kester to lose his savings in a hopeless cause, and +had made a point of repaying the old man; but Kester would far +rather have felt that the earnings of the sweat of his brow had gone +in the attempt to save his master's life than have had twice ten +times as many golden guineas. + +Moreover, it seemed to take his action in lending his hoard out of +the sphere of love, and make it but a leaden common loan, when it +was Philip who brought him the sum, not Sylvia, into whose hands he +had given it. + +With these feelings Kester felt his heart shut up as he saw the +long-watched-for two coming down the little path with a third +person; with Philip holding up the failing steps of poor Bell +Robson, as, loaded with her heavy mourning, and feeble from the +illness which had detained her in York ever since the day of her +husband's execution, she came faltering back to her desolate home. +Sylvia was also occupied in attending to her mother; one or twice, +when they paused a little, she and Philip spoke, in the familiar way +in which there is no coyness nor reserve. Kester caught up his +clogs, and went quickly out through the back-kitchen into the +farm-yard, not staying to greet them, as he had meant to do; and yet +it was dull-sighted of him not to have perceived that whatever might +be the relations between Philip and Sylvia, he was sure to have +accompanied them home; for, alas! he was the only male protector of +their blood remaining in the world. Poor Kester, who would fain have +taken that office upon himself, chose to esteem himself cast off, +and went heavily about the farmyard, knowing that he ought to go in +and bid such poor welcome as he had to offer, yet feeling too much +to like to show himself before Philip. + +It was long, too, before any one had leisure to come and seek him. +Bell's mind had flashed up for a time, till the fatal day, only to +be reduced by her subsequent illness into complete and hopeless +childishness. It was all Philip and Sylvia could do to manage her in +the first excitement of returning home; her restless inquiry for him +who would never more be present in the familiar scene, her feverish +weariness and uneasiness, all required tender soothing and most +patient endurance of her refusals to be satisfied with what they +said or did. + +At length she took some food, and, refreshed by it, and warmed by +the fire, she sank asleep in her chair. Then Philip would fain have +spoken with Sylvia before the hour came at which he must return to +Monkshaven, but she eluded him, and went in search of Kester, whose +presence she had missed. + +She had guessed some of the causes which kept him from greeting them +on their first return. But it was not as if she had shaped these +causes into the definite form of words. It is astonishing to look +back and find how differently constituted were the minds of most +people fifty or sixty years ago; they felt, they understood, without +going through reasoning or analytic processes, and if this was the +case among the more educated people, of course it was still more so +in the class to which Sylvia belonged. She knew by some sort of +intuition that if Philip accompanied them home (as, indeed, under +the circumstances, was so natural as to be almost unavoidable), the +old servant and friend of the family would absent himself; and so +she slipped away at the first possible moment to go in search of +him. There he was in the farm-yard, leaning over the gate that +opened into the home-field, apparently watching the poultry that +scratched and pecked at the new-springing grass with the utmost +relish. A little farther off were the ewes with their new-dropped +lambs, beyond that the great old thorn-tree with its round fresh +clusters of buds, again beyond that there was a glimpse of the vast +sunny rippling sea; but Sylvia knew well that Kester was looking at +none of these things. She went up to him and touched his arm. He +started from his reverie, and turned round upon her with his dim +eyes full of unshed tears. When he saw her black dress, her deep +mourning, he had hard work to keep from breaking out, but by dint of +a good brush of his eyes with the back of his hand, and a moment's +pause, he could look at her again with tolerable calmness. + +'Why, Kester: why didst niver come to speak to us?' said Sylvia, +finding it necessary to be cheerful if she could. + +'A dun know; niver ax me. A say, they'n gi'en Dick Simpson' (whose +evidence had been all material against poor Daniel Robson at the +trial) 'a' t' rotten eggs and fou' things they could o' Saturday, +they did,' continued he, in a tone of satisfaction; 'ay, and they +niver stopped t' see whether t' eggs were rotten or fresh when their +blood was up--nor whether stones was hard or soft,' he added, in a +lower tone, and chuckling a little. + +Sylvia was silent. He looked at her now, chuckling still. Her face +was white, her lips tightened, her eyes a-flame. She drew a long +breath. + +'I wish I'd been theere! I wish I could do him an ill turn,' sighed +she, with some kind of expression on her face that made Kester quail +a little. + +'Nay, lass! he'll get it fra' others. Niver fret thysel' about sich +rubbish. A'n done ill to speak on him.' + +'No! thou hasn't. Then as was friends o' father's I'll love for iver +and iver; them as helped for t' hang him' (she shuddered from head +to foot--a sharp irrepressible shudder!) 'I'll niver +forgive--niver!' + +'Niver's a long word,' said Kester, musingly. 'A could horsewhip +him, or cast stones at him, or duck him mysel'; but, lass! niver's a +long word!' + +'Well! niver heed if it is--it's me as said it, and I'm turned +savage late days. Come in, Kester, and see poor mother.' + +'A cannot,' said he, turning his wrinkled puckered face away, that +she might not see the twitchings of emotion on it. 'There's kine to +be fetched up, and what not, and he's theere, isn't he, Sylvie?' +facing round upon her with inquisitiveness. Under his peering eyes +she reddened a little. + +'Yes, if it's Philip thou means; he's been all we've had to look to +sin'.' Again the shudder. + +'Well, now he'll be seein' after his shop, a reckon?' + +Sylvia was calling to the old mare nibbling tufts of early-springing +grass here and there, and half unconsciously coaxing the creature to +come up to the gate to be stroked. But she heard Kester's words well +enough, and so he saw, although she made this excuse not to reply. +But Kester was not to be put off. + +'Folks is talkin' about thee and him; thou'll ha' to mind lest thee +and him gets yo'r names coupled together.' + +'It's right down cruel on folks, then,' said she, crimsoning from +some emotion. 'As if any man as was a man wouldn't do all he could +for two lone women at such a time--and he a cousin, too! Tell me who +said so,' continued she, firing round at Kester, 'and I'll niver +forgive 'em--that's all.' + +'Hoots!' said Kester, a little conscious that he himself was the +principal representative of that name of multitude folk. 'Here's a +pretty lass; she's' got "a'll niver forgi'e" at her tongue's end wi' +a vengeance.' + +Sylvia was a little confused. + +'Oh, Kester, man,' said she, 'my heart is sore again' every one, for +feyther's sake.' + +And at length the natural relief of plentiful tears came; and +Kester, with instinctive wisdom, let her weep undisturbed; indeed, +he cried not a little himself. They were interrupted by Philip's +voice from the back-door. + +'Sylvie, your mother's awake, and wants you!' + +'Come, Kester, come,' and taking hold of him she drew him with her +into the house. + +Bell rose as they came in, holding by the arms of the chair. At +first she received Kester as though he had been a stranger. + +'I'm glad to see yo', sir; t' master's out, but he'll be in afore +long. It'll be about t' lambs yo're come, mebbe?' + +'Mother!' said Sylvia, 'dunnot yo' see? it's Kester,--Kester, wi' +his Sunday clothes on.' + +'Kester! ay, sure it is; my eyes have getten so sore and dim of +late; just as if I'd been greeting. I'm sure, lad, I'm glad to see +thee! It's a long time I've been away, but it were not +pleasure-seeking as took me, it were business o' some mak'--tell +him, Sylvie, what it were, for my head's clean gone. I only know I +wouldn't ha' left home if I could ha' helped it; for I think I +should ha' kept my health better if I'd bided at home wi' my master. +I wonder as he's not comed in for t' bid me welcome? Is he far +afield, think ye, Kester?' + +Kester looked at Sylvia, mutely imploring her to help him out in the +dilemma of answering, but she was doing all she could to help +crying. Philip came to the rescue. + +'Aunt,' said he, 'the clock has stopped; can you tell me where t' +find t' key, and I'll wind it up.' + +'T' key,' said she, hurriedly, 't' key, it's behind th' big Bible on +yon shelf. But I'd rayther thou wouldn't touch it, lad; it's t' +master's work, and he distrusts folk meddling wi' it.' + +Day after day there was this constant reference to her dead husband. +In one sense it was a blessing; all the circumstances attendant on +his sad and untimely end were swept out of her mind along with the +recollection of the fact itself. She referred to him as absent, and +had always some plausible way of accounting for it, which satisfied +her own mind; and, accordingly they fell into the habit of humouring +her, and speaking of him as gone to Monkshaven, or afield, or +wearied out, and taking a nap upstairs, as her fancy led her to +believe for the moment. But this forgetfulness, though happy for +herself, was terrible for her child. It was a constant renewing of +Sylvia's grief, while her mother could give her no sympathy, no +help, or strength in any circumstances that arose out of this grief. +She was driven more and more upon Philip; his advice and his +affection became daily more necessary to her. + +Kester saw what would be the end of all this more clearly than +Sylvia did herself; and, impotent to hinder what he feared and +disliked, he grew more and more surly every day. Yet he tried to +labour hard and well for the interests of the family, as if they +were bound up in his good management of the cattle and land. He was +out and about by the earliest dawn, working all day long with might +and main. He bought himself a pair of new spectacles, which might, +he fancied, enable him to read the _Farmer's Complete Guide_, his +dead master's _vade-mecum_. But he had never learnt more than his +capital letters, and had forgotten many of them; so the spectacles +did him but little good. Then he would take the book to Sylvia, and +ask her to read to him the instructions he needed; instructions, be +it noted, that he would formerly have despised as mere +book-learning: but his present sense of responsibility had made him +humble. + +Sylvia would find the place with all deliberation: and putting her +finger under the line to keep the exact place of the word she was +reading, she would strive in good earnest to read out the directions +given; but when every fourth word had to be spelt, it was rather +hopeless work, especially as all these words were unintelligible to +the open-mouthed listener, however intent he might be. He had +generally to fall back on his own experience; and, guided by that, +things were not doing badly in his estimation, when, one day, Sylvia +said to him, as they were in the hay-field, heaping up the hay into +cocks with Dolly Reid's assistance-- + +'Kester--I didn't tell thee--there were a letter from Measter Hall, +Lord Malton's steward, that came last night and that Philip read +me.' + +She stopped for a moment. + +'Ay, lass! Philip read it thee, and whatten might it say?' + +'Only that he had an offer for Haytersbank Farm, and would set +mother free to go as soon as t' crops was off t' ground.' + +She sighed a little as she said this. + +"'Only!" sayst ta? Whatten business has he for to go an' offer to +let t' farm afore iver he were told as yo' wished to leave it?' +observed Kester, in high dudgeon. + +'Oh!' replied Sylvia, throwing down her rake, as if weary of life. +'What could we do wi' t' farm and land? If it were all dairy I might +ha' done, but wi' so much on it arable.' + +'And if 'tis arable is not I allays to t' fore?' + +'Oh, man, dunnot find fault wi' me! I'm just fain to lie down and +die, if it were not for mother.' + +'Ay! thy mother will be sore unsettled if thou's for quitting +Haytersbank,' said merciless Kester. + +'I cannot help it; I cannot help it! What can I do? It would take +two pair o' men's hands to keep t' land up as Measter Hall likes it; +and beside----' + +'Beside what?' said Kester, looking up at her with his sudden odd +look, one eye shut, the other open: there she stood, her two hands +clasped tight together, her eyes filling with tears, her face pale +and sad. 'Beside what?' he asked again, sharply. + +'T' answer's sent to Measter Hall--Philip wrote it last night; so +there's no use planning and fretting, it were done for t' best, and +mun be done.' She stooped and picked up her rake, and began tossing +the hay with energy, the tears streaming down her cheeks unheeded. +It was Kester's turn to throw down his rake. She took no notice, he +did not feel sure that she had observed his action. He began to walk +towards the field-gate; this movement did catch her eye, for in a +minute her hand was on his arm, and she was stooping forward to look +into his face. It was working and twitching with emotion. 'Kester! +oh, man! speak out, but dunnot leave me a this-ns. What could I ha' +done? Mother is gone dateless wi' sorrow, and I am but a young lass, +i' years I mean; for I'm old enough wi' weeping.' + +'I'd ha' put up for t' farm mysel', sooner than had thee turned +out,' said Kester, in a low voice; then working himself up into a +passion, as a new suspicion crossed his mind, he added, 'An' what +for didn't yo' tell me on t' letter? Yo' were in a mighty hurry to +settle it a', and get rid on t' oud place.' + +'Measter Hall had sent a notice to quit on Midsummer day; but Philip +had answered it hisself. Thou knows I'm not good at reading writing, +'special when a letter's full o' long words, and Philip had ta'en it +in hand to answer.' + +'Wi'out asking thee?' + +Sylvia went on without minding the interruption. + +'And Measter Hall makes a good offer, for t' man as is going to come +in will take t' stock and a' t' implements; and if mother--if we--if +I--like, th' furniture and a'----' + +'Furniture!' said Kester, in grim surprise. 'What's to come o' t' +missus and thee, that yo'll not need a bed to lie on, or a pot to +boil yo'r vittel in?' + +Sylvia reddened, but kept silence. + +'Cannot yo' speak?' + +'Oh, Kester, I didn't think thou'd turn again' me, and me so +friendless. It's as if I'd been doin' something wrong, and I have so +striven to act as is best; there's mother as well as me to be +thought on.' + +'Cannot yo' answer a question?' said Kester, once more. 'Whatten's +up that t' missus and yo'll not need bed and table, pots and pans?' + +'I think I'm going to marry Philip,' said Sylvia, in so low a tone, +that if Kester had not suspected what her answer was to be, he could +not have understood it. + +After a moment's pause he recommenced his walk towards the +field-gate. But she went after him and held him tight by the arm, +speaking rapidly. + +'Kester, what could I do? What can I do? He's my cousin, and mother +knows him, and likes him; and he's been so good to us in a' this +time o' trouble and heavy grief, and he'll keep mother in comfort +all t' rest of her days.' + +'Ay, and thee in comfort. There's a deal in a well-filled purse in a +wench's eyes, or one would ha' thought it weren't so easy forgettin' +yon lad as loved thee as t' apple on his eye.' + +'Kester, Kester,' she cried, 'I've niver forgotten Charley; I think +on him, I see him ivery night lying drowned at t' bottom o' t' sea. +Forgetten him! Man! it's easy talking!' She was like a wild creature +that sees its young, but is unable to reach it without a deadly +spring, and yet is preparing to take that fatal leap. Kester himself +was almost startled, and yet it was as if he must go on torturing +her. + +'An' who telled thee so sure and certain as he were drowned? He +might ha' been carried off by t' press-gang as well as other men.' + +'Oh! if I were but dead that I might know all!' cried she, flinging +herself down on the hay. + +Kester kept silence. Then she sprang up again, and looking with +eager wistfulness into his face, she said,-- + +'Tell me t' chances. Tell me quick! Philip's very good, and kind, +and he says he shall die if I will not marry him, and there's no +home for mother and me,--no home for her, for as for me I dunnot +care what becomes on me; but if Charley's alive I cannot marry +Philip--no, not if he dies for want o' me--and as for mother, poor +mother, Kester, it's an awful strait; only first tell me if there's +a chance, just one in a thousand, only one in a hundred thousand, as +Charley were ta'en by t' gang?' She was breathless by this time, +what with her hurried words, and what with the beating of her heart. +Kester took time to answer. He had spoken before too hastily, this +time he weighed his words. + +'Kinraid went away from this here place t' join his ship. An' he +niver joined it no more; an' t' captain an' all his friends at +Newcassel as iver were, made search for him, on board t' king's +ships. That's more nor fifteen month ago, an' nought has iver been +heerd on him by any man. That's what's to be said on one side o' t' +matter. Then on t' other there's this as is known. His hat were cast +up by t' sea wi' a ribbon in it, as there's reason t' think as he'd +not ha' parted wi' so quick if he'd had his own will.' + +'But yo' said as he might ha' been carried off by t' gang--yo' did, +Kester, tho' now yo're a' for t' other side.' + +'My lass, a'd fain have him alive, an' a dunnot fancy Philip for thy +husband; but it's a serious judgment as thou's put me on, an' a'm +trying it fair. There's allays one chance i' a thousand as he's +alive, for no man iver saw him dead. But t' gang were noane about +Monkshaven then: there were niver a tender on t' coast nearer than +Shields, an' those theere were searched.' + +He did not say any more, but turned back into the field, and took up +his hay-making again. + +Sylvia stood quite still, thinking, and wistfully longing for some +kind of certainty. + +Kester came up to her. + +'Sylvie, thou knows Philip paid me back my money, and it were eight +pound fifteen and three-pence; and t' hay and stock 'll sell for +summat above t' rent; and a've a sister as is a decent widow-woman, +tho' but badly off, livin' at Dale End; and if thee and thy mother +'ll go live wi' her, a'll give thee well on to all a can earn, and +it'll be a matter o' five shilling a week. But dunnot go and marry a +man as thou's noane taken wi', and another as is most like for t' be +dead, but who, mebbe, is alive, havin' a pull on thy heart.' + +Sylvia began to cry as if her heart was broken. She had promised +herself more fully to Philip the night before than she had told +Kester; and, with some pains and much patience, her cousin, her +lover, alas! her future husband, had made the fact clear to the +bewildered mind of her poor mother, who had all day long shown that +her mind and heart were full of the subject, and that the +contemplation of it was giving her as much peace as she could ever +know. And now Kester's words came to call up echoes in the poor +girl's heart. Just as she was in this miserable state, wishing that +the grave lay open before her, and that she could lie down, and be +covered up by the soft green turf from all the bitter sorrows and +carking cares and weary bewilderments of this life; wishing that her +father was alive, that Charley was once more here; that she had not +repeated the solemn words by which she had promised herself to +Philip only the very evening before, she heard a soft, low whistle, +and, looking round unconsciously, there was her lover and affianced +husband, leaning on the gate, and gazing into the field with +passionate eyes, devouring the fair face and figure of her, his +future wife. + +'Oh, Kester,' said she once more, 'what mun I do? I'm pledged to him +as strong as words can make it, and mother blessed us both wi' more +sense than she's had for weeks. Kester, man, speak! Shall I go and +break it all off?--say.' + +'Nay, it's noane for me t' say; m'appen thou's gone too far. Them +above only knows what is best.' + +Again that long, cooing whistle. 'Sylvie!' + +'He's been very kind to us all,' said Sylvia, laying her rake down +with slow care, 'and I'll try t' make him happy.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +WEDDING RAIMENT + + +Philip and Sylvia were engaged. It was not so happy a state of +things as Philip had imagined. He had already found that out, +although it was not twenty-four hours since Sylvia had promised to +be his. He could not have defined why he was dissatisfied; if he had +been compelled to account for his feeling, he would probably have +alleged as a reason that Sylvia's manner was so unchanged by her new +position towards him. She was quiet and gentle; but no shyer, no +brighter, no coyer, no happier, than she had been for months before. +When she joined him at the field-gate, his heart was beating fast, +his eyes were beaming out love at her approach. She neither blushed +nor smiled, but seemed absorbed in thought of some kind. But she +resisted his silent effort to draw her away from the path leading to +the house, and turned her face steadily homewards. He murmured soft +words, which she scarcely heard. Right in their way was the stone +trough for the fresh bubbling water, that, issuing from a roadside +spring, served for all the household purposes of Haytersbank Farm. +By it were the milk-cans, glittering and clean. Sylvia knew she +should have to stop for these, and carry them back home in readiness +for the evening's milking; and at this time, during this action, she +resolved to say what was on her mind. + +They were there. Sylvia spoke. + +'Philip, Kester has been saying as how it might ha' been----' + +'Well!' said Philip. + +Sylvia sate down on the edge of the trough, and dipped her hot +little hand in the water. Then she went on quickly, and lifting her +beautiful eyes to Philip's face, with a look of inquiry--'He thinks +as Charley Kinraid may ha' been took by t' press-gang.' + +It was the first time she had named the name of her former lover to +her present one since the day, long ago now, when they had +quarrelled about him; and the rosy colour flushed her all over; but +her sweet, trustful eyes never flinched from their steady, +unconscious gaze. + +Philip's heart stopped beating; literally, as if he had come to a +sudden precipice, while he had thought himself securely walking on +sunny greensward. He went purple all over from dismay; he dared not +take his eyes away from that sad, earnest look of hers, but he was +thankful that a mist came before them and drew a veil before his +brain. He heard his own voice saying words he did not seem to have +framed in his own mind. + +'Kester's a d--d fool,' he growled. + +'He says there's mebbe but one chance i' a hundred,' said Sylvia, +pleading, as it were, for Kester; 'but oh! Philip, think yo' there's +just that one chance?' + +'Ay, there's a chance, sure enough,' said Philip, in a kind of +fierce despair that made him reckless what he said or did. 'There's +a chance, I suppose, for iverything i' life as we have not seen with +our own eyes as it may not ha' happened. Kester may say next as +there's a chance as your father is not dead, because we none on us +saw him----' + +'Hung,' he was going to have said, but a touch of humanity came back +into his stony heart. Sylvia sent up a little sharp cry at his +words. He longed at the sound to take her in his arms and hush her +up, as a mother hushes her weeping child. But the very longing, +having to be repressed, only made him more beside himself with +guilt, anxiety, and rage. They were quite still now. Sylvia looking +sadly down into the bubbling, merry, flowing water: Philip glaring +at her, wishing that the next word were spoken, though it might stab +him to the heart. But she did not speak. + +At length, unable to bear it any longer, he said, 'Thou sets a deal +o' store on that man, Sylvie.' + +If 'that man' had been there at the moment, Philip would have +grappled with him, and not let go his hold till one or the other +were dead. Sylvia caught some of the passionate meaning of the +gloomy, miserable tone of Philip's voice as he said these words. She +looked up at him. + +'I thought yo' knowed that I cared a deal for him.' + +There was something so pleading and innocent in her pale, troubled +face, so pathetic in her tone, that Philip's anger, which had been +excited against her, as well as against all the rest of the world, +melted away into love; and once more he felt that have her for his +own he must, at any cost. He sate down by her, and spoke to her in +quite a different manner to that which he had used before, with a +ready tact and art which some strange instinct or tempter 'close at +his ear' supplied. + +'Yes, darling, I knew yo' cared for him. I'll not say ill of him +that is--dead--ay, dead and drowned--whativer Kester may +say--before now; but if I chose I could tell tales.' + +'No! tell no tales; I'll not hear them,' said she, wrenching herself +out of Philip's clasping arm. 'They may misca' him for iver, and +I'll not believe 'em.' + +'I'll niver miscall one who is dead,' said Philip; each new +unconscious sign of the strength of Sylvia's love for her former +lover only making him the more anxious to convince her that he was +dead, only rendering him more keen at deceiving his own conscience +by repeating to it the lie that long ere this Kinraid was in all +probability dead--killed by either the chances of war or tempestuous +sea; that, even if not, he was as good as dead to her; so that the +word 'dead' might be used in all honest certainty, as in one of its +meanings Kinraid was dead for sure. + +'Think yo' that if he were not dead he wouldn't ha' written ere this +to some one of his kin, if not to thee? Yet none of his folk +Newcassel-way but believe him dead.' + +'So Kester says,' sighed Sylvia. + +Philip took heart. He put his arm softly round her again, and +murmured-- + +'My lassie, try not to think on them as is gone, as is dead, but t' +think a bit more on him as loves yo' wi' heart, and soul, and might, +and has done iver sin' he first set eyes on yo'. Oh, Sylvie, my love +for thee is just terrible.' + +At this moment Dolly Reid was seen at the back-door of the +farmhouse, and catching sight of Sylvia, she called out-- + +'Sylvia, thy mother is axing for thee, and I cannot make her mind +easy.' + +In a moment Sylvia had sprung up from her seat, and was running in +to soothe and comfort her mother's troubled fancies. + +Philip sate on by the well-side, his face buried in his two hands. +Presently he lifted himself up, drank some water eagerly out of his +hollowed palm, sighed, and shook himself, and followed his cousin +into the house. Sometimes he came unexpectedly to the limits of his +influence over her. In general she obeyed his expressed wishes with +gentle indifference, as if she had no preferences of her own; once +or twice he found that she was doing what he desired out of the +spirit of obedience, which, as her mother's daughter, she believed +to be her duty towards her affianced husband. And this last motive +for action depressed her lover more than anything. He wanted the old +Sylvia back again; captious, capricious, wilful, haughty, merry, +charming. Alas! that Sylvia was gone for ever. + +But once especially his power, arising from whatever cause, was +stopped entirely short--was utterly of no avail. + +It was on the occasion of Dick Simpson's mortal illness. Sylvia and +her mother kept aloof from every one. They had never been intimate +with any family but the Corneys, and even this friendship had +considerably cooled since Molly's marriage, and most especially +since Kinraid's supposed death, when Bessy Corney and Sylvia had +been, as it were, rival mourners. But many people, both in +Monkshaven and the country round about, held the Robson family in +great respect, although Mrs. Robson herself was accounted 'high' and +'distant;' and poor little Sylvia, in her heyday of beautiful youth +and high spirits, had been spoken of as 'a bit flighty,' and 'a +set-up lassie.' Still, when their great sorrow fell upon them, there +were plenty of friends to sympathize deeply with them; and, as +Daniel had suffered in a popular cause, there were even more who, +scarcely knowing them personally, were ready to give them all the +marks of respect and friendly feeling in their power. But neither +Bell nor Sylvia were aware of this. The former had lost all +perception of what was not immediately before her; the latter shrank +from all encounters of any kind with a sore heart, and sensitive +avoidance of everything that could make her a subject of remark. So +the poor afflicted people at Haytersbank knew little of Monkshaven +news. What little did come to their ears came through Dolly Reid, +when she returned from selling the farm produce of the week; and +often, indeed, even then she found Sylvia too much absorbed in other +cares or thoughts to listen to her gossip. So no one had ever named +that Simpson was supposed to be dying till Philip began on the +subject one evening. Sylvia's face suddenly flashed into glow and +life. + +'He's dying, is he? t' earth is well rid on such a fellow!' + +'Eh, Sylvie, that's a hard speech o' thine!' said Philip; 'it gives +me but poor heart to ask a favour of thee!' + +'If it's aught about Simpson,' replied she, and then she interrupted +herself. 'But say on; it were ill-mannered in me for t' interrupt +yo'.' + +'Thou would be sorry to see him, I think, Sylvie. He cannot get over +the way, t' folk met him, and pelted him when he came back fra' +York,--and he's weak and faint, and beside himself at times; and +he'll lie a dreaming, and a-fancying they're all at him again, +hooting, and yelling, and pelting him.' + +'I'm glad on 't,' said Sylvia; 'it's t' best news I've heered for +many a day,--he, to turn again' feyther, who gave him money fo t' +get a lodging that night, when he'd no place to go to. It were his +evidence as hung feyther; and he's rightly punished for it now.' + +'For a' that,--and he's done a vast o' wrong beside, he's dying now, +Sylvie!' + +'Well! let him die--it's t' best thing he could do!' + +'But he's lying i' such dree poverty,--and niver a friend to go near +him,--niver a person to speak a kind word t' him.' + +'It seems as yo've been speaking wi' him, at any rate,' said Sylvia, +turning round on Philip. + +'Ay. He sent for me by Nell Manning, th' old beggar-woman, who +sometimes goes in and makes his bed for him, poor wretch,--he's +lying in t' ruins of th' cow-house of th' Mariners' Arms, Sylvie.' + +'Well!' said she, in the same hard, dry tone. + +'And I went and fetched th' parish doctor, for I thought he'd ha' +died before my face,--he was so wan, and ashen-grey, so thin, too, +his eyes seem pushed out of his bony face.' + +'That last time--feyther's eyes were starting, wild-like, and as if +he couldn't meet ours, or bear the sight on our weeping.' + +It was a bad look-out for Philip's purpose; but after a pause he +went bravely on. + +'He's a poor dying creature, anyhow. T' doctor said so, and told him +he hadn't many hours, let alone days, to live.' + +'And he'd shrink fra' dying wi' a' his sins on his head?' said +Sylvia, almost exultingly. + +Philip shook his head. 'He said this world had been too strong for +him, and men too hard upon him; he could niver do any good here, and +he thought he should, maybe, find folks i' t' next place more +merciful.' + +'He'll meet feyther theere,' said Sylvia, still hard and bitter. + +'He's a poor ignorant creature, and doesn't seem to know rightly who +he's like to meet; only he seems glad to get away fra' Monkshaven +folks; he were really hurt, I am afeared, that night, Sylvie,--and +he speaks as if he'd had hard times of it ever since he were a +child,--and he talks as if he were really grieved for t' part t' +lawyers made him take at th' trial,--they made him speak, against +his will, he says.' + +'Couldn't he ha' bitten his tongue out?' asked Sylvia. 'It's fine +talking o' sorrow when the thing is done!' + +'Well, anyhow he's sorry now; and he's not long for to live. And, +Sylvie, he bid me ask thee, if, for the sake of all that is dear to +thee both here, and i' th' world to come, thou'd go wi' me, and just +say to him that thou forgives him his part that day.' + +'He sent thee on that errand, did he? And thou could come and ask +me? I've a mind to break it off for iver wi' thee, Philip.' She kept +gasping, as if she could not say any more. Philip watched and waited +till her breath came, his own half choked. + +'Thee and me was niver meant to go together. It's not in me to +forgive,--I sometimes think it's not in me to forget. I wonder, +Philip, if thy feyther had done a kind deed--and a right deed--and a +merciful deed--and some one as he'd been good to, even i' t' midst +of his just anger, had gone and let on about him to th' judge, as +was trying to hang him,--and had getten him hanged,--hanged dead, so +that his wife were a widow, and his child fatherless for +ivermore,--I wonder if thy veins would run milk and water, so that +thou could go and make friends, and speak soft wi' him as had caused +thy feyther's death?' + +'It's said in t' Bible, Sylvie, that we're to forgive.' + +'Ay, there's some things as I know I niver forgive; and there's +others as I can't--and I won't, either.' + +'But, Sylvie, yo' pray to be forgiven your trespasses, as you +forgive them as trespass against you.' + +'Well, if I'm to be taken at my word, I'll noane pray at all, that's +all. It's well enough for them as has but little to forgive to use +them words; and I don't reckon it's kind, or pretty behaved in yo', +Philip, to bring up Scripture again' me. Thou may go about thy +business.' + +'Thou'rt vexed with me, Sylvie; and I'm not meaning but that it +would go hard with thee to forgive him; but I think it would be +right and Christian-like i' thee, and that thou'd find thy comfort +in thinking on it after. If thou'd only go, and see his wistful +eyes--I think they'd plead wi' thee more than his words, or mine +either.' + +'I tell thee my flesh and blood wasn't made for forgiving and +forgetting. Once for all, thou must take my word. When I love I +love, and when I hate I hate; and him as has done hard to me, or to +mine, I may keep fra' striking or murdering, but I'll niver forgive. +I should be just a monster, fit to be shown at a fair, if I could +forgive him as got feyther hanged.' + +Philip was silent, thinking what more he could urge. + +'Yo'd better be off,' said Sylvia, in a minute or two. 'Yo' and me +has got wrong, and it'll take a night's sleep to set us right. Yo've +said all yo' can for him; and perhaps it's not yo' as is to blame, +but yo'r nature. But I'm put out wi' thee, and want thee out o' my +sight for awhile.' + +One or two more speeches of this kind convinced him that it would be +wise in him to take her at her word. He went back to Simpson, and +found him, though still alive, past the understanding of any words +of human forgiveness. Philip had almost wished he had not troubled +or irritated Sylvia by urging the dying man's request: the +performance of this duty seemed now to have been such a useless +office. + +After all, the performance of a duty is never a useless office, +though we may not see the consequences, or they may be quite +different to what we expected or calculated on. In the pause of +active work, when daylight was done, and the evening shades came on, +Sylvia had time to think; and her heart grew sad and soft, in +comparison to what it had been when Philip's urgency had called out +all her angry opposition. She thought of her father--his sharp +passions, his frequent forgiveness, or rather his forgetfulness that +he had even been injured. All Sylvia's persistent or enduring +qualities were derived from her mother, her impulses from her +father. It was her dead father whose example filled her mind this +evening in the soft and tender twilight. She did not say to herself +that she would go and tell Simpson that she forgave him; but she +thought that if Philip asked her again that she should do so. + +But when she saw Philip again he told her that Simpson was dead; and +passed on from what he had reason to think would be an unpleasant +subject to her. Thus he never learnt how her conduct might have been +more gentle and relenting than her words--words which came up into +his memory at a future time, with full measure of miserable +significance. + +In general, Sylvia was gentle and good enough; but Philip wanted her +to be shy and tender with him, and this she was not. She spoke to +him, her pretty eyes looking straight and composedly at him. She +consulted him like the family friend that he was: she met him +quietly in all the arrangements for the time of their marriage, +which she looked upon more as a change of home, as the leaving of +Haytersbank, as it would affect her mother, than in any more +directly personal way. Philip was beginning to feel, though not as +yet to acknowledge, that the fruit he had so inordinately longed for +was but of the nature of an apple of Sodom. + +Long ago, lodging in widow Rose's garret, he had been in the habit +of watching some pigeons that were kept by a neighbour; the flock +disported themselves on the steep tiled roofs just opposite to the +attic window, and insensibly Philip grew to know their ways, and one +pretty, soft little dove was somehow perpetually associated in his +mind with his idea of his cousin Sylvia. The pigeon would sit in one +particular place, sunning herself, and puffing out her feathered +breast, with all the blue and rose-coloured lights gleaming in the +morning rays, cooing softly to herself as she dressed her plumage. +Philip fancied that he saw the same colours in a certain piece of +shot silk--now in the shop; and none other seemed to him so suitable +for his darling's wedding-dress. He carried enough to make a gown, +and gave it to her one evening, as she sate on the grass just +outside the house, half attending to her mother, half engaged in +knitting stockings for her scanty marriage outfit. He was glad that +the sun was not gone down, thus allowing him to display the changing +colours in fuller light. Sylvia admired it duly; even Mrs. Robson was +pleased and attracted by the soft yet brilliant hues. Philip +whispered to Sylvia--(he took delight in whispers,--she, on the +contrary, always spoke to him in her usual tone of voice)-- + +'Thou'lt look so pretty in it, sweetheart,--o' Thursday fortnight!' + +'Thursday fortnight. On the fourth yo're thinking on. But I cannot +wear it then,--I shall be i' black.' + +'Not on that day, sure!' said Philip. + +'Why not? There's nought t' happen on that day for t' make me forget +feyther. I couldn't put off my black, Philip,--no, not to save my +life! Yon silk is just lovely, far too good for the likes of +me,--and I'm sure I'm much beholden to yo'; and I'll have it made up +first of any gown after last April come two years,--but, oh, Philip, +I cannot put off my mourning!' + +'Not for our wedding-day!' said Philip, sadly. + +'No, lad, I really cannot. I'm just sorry about it, for I see +thou'rt set upon it; and thou'rt so kind and good, I sometimes think +I can niver be thankful enough to thee. When I think on what would +ha' become of mother and me if we hadn't had thee for a friend i' +need, I'm noane ungrateful, Philip; tho' I sometimes fancy thou'rt +thinking I am.' + +'I don't want yo' to be grateful, Sylvie,' said poor Philip, +dissatisfied, yet unable to explain what he did want; only knowing +that there was something he lacked, yet fain would have had. + +As the marriage-day drew near, all Sylvia's care seemed to be for +her mother; all her anxiety was regarding the appurtenances of the +home she was leaving. In vain Philip tried to interest her in +details of his improvements or contrivances in the new home to which +he was going to take her. She did not tell him; but the idea of the +house behind the shop was associated in her mind with two times of +discomfort and misery. The first time she had gone into the parlour +about which Philip spoke so much was at the time of the press-gang +riot, when she had fainted from terror and excitement; the second +was on that night of misery when she and her mother had gone in to +Monkshaven, to bid her father farewell before he was taken to York; +in that room, on that night, she had first learnt something of the +fatal peril in which he stood. She could not show the bright shy +curiosity about her future dwelling that is common enough with girls +who are going to be married. All she could do was to restrain +herself from sighing, and listen patiently, when he talked on the +subject. In time he saw that she shrank from it; so he held his +peace, and planned and worked for her in silence,--smiling to +himself as he looked on each completed arrangement for her pleasure +or comfort; and knowing well that her happiness was involved in what +fragments of peace and material comfort might remain to her mother. + +The wedding-day drew near apace. It was Philip's plan that after +they had been married in Kirk Moorside church, he and his Sylvia, +his cousin, his love, his wife, should go for the day to Robin +Hood's Bay, returning in the evening to the house behind the shop in +the market-place. There they were to find Bell Robson installed in +her future home; for Haytersbank Farm was to be given up to the new +tenant on the very day of the wedding. Sylvia would not be married +any sooner; she said that she must stay there till the very last; +and had said it with such determination that Philip had desisted +from all urgency at once. + +He had told her that all should be settled for her mother's comfort +during their few hours' absence; otherwise Sylvia would not have +gone at all. He told her he should ask Hester, who was always so +good and kind--who never yet had said him nay, to go to church with +them as bridesmaid--for Sylvia would give no thought or care to +anything but her mother--and that they would leave her at +Haytersbank as they returned from church; she would manage Mrs +Robson's removal--she would do this--do that--do everything. Such +friendly confidence had Philip in Hester's willingness and tender +skill. Sylvia acquiesced at length, and Philip took upon himself to +speak to Hester on the subject. + +'Hester,' said he, one day when he was preparing to go home after +the shop was closed; 'would yo' mind stopping a bit? I should like +to show yo' the place now it's done up; and I've a favour to ask on +yo' besides.' He was so happy he did not see her shiver all over. +She hesitated just a moment before she answered,-- + +'I'll stay, if thou wishes it, Philip. But I'm no judge o' fashions +and such like.' + +'Thou'rt a judge o' comfort, and that's what I've been aiming at. I +were niver so comfortable in a' my life as when I were a lodger at +thy house,' said he, with brotherly tenderness in his tone. 'If my +mind had been at ease I could ha' said I niver were happier in all +my days than under thy roof; and I know it were thy doing for the +most part. So come along, Hester, and tell me if there's aught more +I can put in for Sylvie.' + +It might not have been a very appropriate text, but such as it was +the words, 'From him that would ask of thee turn not thou away,' +seemed the only source of strength that could have enabled her to go +patiently through the next half-hour. As it was, she unselfishly +brought all her mind to bear upon the subject; admired this, thought +and decided upon that, as one by one Philip showed her all his +alterations and improvements. Never was such a quiet little bit of +unconscious and unrecognized heroism. She really ended by such a +conquest of self that she could absolutely sympathize with the proud +expectant lover, and had quenched all envy of the beloved, in +sympathy with the delight she imagined Sylvia must experience when +she discovered all these proofs of Philip's fond consideration and +care. But it was a great strain on the heart, that source of life; +and when Hester returned into the parlour, after her deliberate +survey of the house, she felt as weary and depressed in bodily +strength as if she had gone through an illness of many days. She +sate down on the nearest chair, and felt as though she never could +rise again. Philip, joyous and content, stood near her talking. + +'And, Hester,' said he, 'Sylvie has given me a message for thee--she +says thou must be her bridesmaid--she'll have none other.' + +'I cannot,' said Hester, with sudden sharpness. + +'Oh, yes, but yo' must. It wouldn't be like my wedding if thou +wasn't there: why I've looked upon thee as a sister iver since I +came to lodge with thy mother.' + +Hester shook her head. Did her duty require her not to turn away +from this asking, too? Philip saw her reluctance, and, by intuition +rather than reason, he knew that what she would not do for gaiety or +pleasure she would consent to, if by so doing she could render any +service to another. So he went on. + +'Besides, Sylvie and me has planned to go for our wedding jaunt to +Robin Hood's Bay. I ha' been to engage a shandry this very morn, +before t' shop was opened; and there's no one to leave wi' my aunt. +Th' poor old body is sore crushed with sorrow; and is, as one may +say, childish at times; she's to come down here, that we may find +her when we come back at night; and there's niver a one she'll come +with so willing and so happy as with thee, Hester. Sylvie and me has +both said so.' + +Hester looked up in his face with her grave honest eyes. + +'I cannot go to church wi' thee, Philip; and thou must not ask me +any further. But I'll go betimes to Haytersbank Farm, and I'll do my +best to make the old lady happy, and to follow out thy directions in +bringing her here before nightfall.' + +Philip was on the point of urging her afresh to go with them to +church; but something in her eyes brought a thought across his mind, +as transitory as a breath passes over a looking-glass, and he +desisted from his entreaty, and put away his thought as a piece of +vain coxcombry, insulting to Hester. He passed rapidly on to all the +careful directions rendered necessary by her compliance with the +latter part of his request, coupling Sylvia's name with his +perpetually; so that Hester looked upon her as a happy girl, as +eager in planning all the details of her marriage as though no heavy +shameful sorrow had passed over her head not many months ago. + +Hester did not see Sylvia's white, dreamy, resolute face, that +answered the solemn questions of the marriage service in a voice +that did not seem her own. Hester was not with them to notice the +heavy abstraction that made the bride as if unconscious of her +husband's loving words, and then start and smile, and reply with a +sad gentleness of tone. No! Hester's duty lay in conveying the poor +widow and mother down from Haytersbank to the new home in +Monkshaven; and for all Hester's assistance and thoughtfulness, it +was a dreary, painful piece of work--the poor old woman crying like +a child, with bewilderment at the confused bustle which, in spite of +all Sylvia's careful forethought, could not be avoided on this final +day, when her mother had to be carried away from the homestead over +which she had so long presided. But all this was as nothing to the +distress which overwhelmed poor Bell Robson when she entered +Philip's house; the parlour--the whole place so associated with the +keen agony she had undergone there, that the stab of memory +penetrated through her deadened senses, and brought her back to +misery. In vain Hester tried to console her by telling her the fact +of Sylvia's marriage with Philip in every form of words that +occurred to her. Bell only remembered her husband's fate, which +filled up her poor wandering mind, and coloured everything; insomuch +that Sylvia not being at hand to reply to her mother's cry for her, +the latter imagined that her child, as well as her husband, was in +danger of trial and death, and refused to be comforted by any +endeavour of the patient sympathizing Hester. In a pause of Mrs +Robson's sobs, Hester heard the welcome sound of the wheels of the +returning shandry, bearing the bride and bridegroom home. It stopped +at the door--an instant, and Sylvia, white as a sheet at the sound +of her mother's wailings, which she had caught while yet at a +distance, with the quick ears of love, came running in; her mother +feebly rose and tottered towards her, and fell into her arms, +saying, 'Oh! Sylvie, Sylvie, take me home, and away from this cruel +place!' + +Hester could not but be touched with the young girl's manner to her +mother--as tender, as protecting as if their relation to each other +had been reversed, and she was lulling and tenderly soothing a +wayward, frightened child. She had neither eyes nor ears for any one +till her mother was sitting in trembling peace, holding her +daughter's hand tight in both of hers, as if afraid of losing sight +of her: then Sylvia turned to Hester, and, with the sweet grace +which is a natural gift to some happy people, thanked her; in common +words enough she thanked her, but in that nameless manner, and with +that strange, rare charm which made Hester feel as if she had never +been thanked in all her life before; and from that time forth she +understood, if she did not always yield to, the unconscious +fascination which Sylvia could exercise over others at times. + +Did it enter into Philip's heart to perceive that he had wedded his +long-sought bride in mourning raiment, and that the first sounds +which greeted them as they approached their home were those of +weeping and wailing? + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +HAPPY DAYS + + +And now Philip seemed as prosperous as his heart could desire. The +business flourished, and money beyond his moderate wants came in. As +for himself he required very little; but he had always looked +forward to placing his idol in a befitting shrine; and means for +this were now furnished to him. The dress, the comforts, the +position he had desired for Sylvia were all hers. She did not need +to do a stroke of household work if she preferred to 'sit in her +parlour and sew up a seam'. Indeed Phoebe resented any interference +in the domestic labour, which she had performed so long, that she +looked upon the kitchen as a private empire of her own. 'Mrs +Hepburn' (as Sylvia was now termed) had a good dark silk gown-piece +in her drawers, as well as the poor dove-coloured, against the day +when she chose to leave off mourning; and stuff for either gray or +scarlet cloaks was hers at her bidding. + +What she cared for far more were the comforts with which it was in +her power to surround her mother. In this Philip vied with her; for +besides his old love, and new pity for his aunt Bell, he never +forgot how she had welcomed him to Haytersbank, and favoured his +love to Sylvia, in the yearning days when he little hoped he should +ever win his cousin to be his wife. But even if he had not had these +grateful and affectionate feelings towards the poor woman, he would +have done much for her if only to gain the sweet, rare smiles which +his wife never bestowed upon him so freely as when she saw him +attending to 'mother,' for so both of them now called Bell. For her +creature comforts, her silk gowns, and her humble luxury, Sylvia did +not care; Philip was almost annoyed at the indifference she often +manifested to all his efforts to surround her with such things. It +was even a hardship to her to leave off her country dress, her +uncovered hair, her linsey petticoat, and loose bed-gown, and to don +a stiff and stately gown for her morning dress. Sitting in the dark +parlour at the back of the shop, and doing 'white work,' was much +more wearying to her than running out into the fields to bring up +the cows, or spinning wool, or making up butter. She sometimes +thought to herself that it was a strange kind of life where there +were no out-door animals to look after; the 'ox and the ass' had +hitherto come into all her ideas of humanity; and her care and +gentleness had made the dumb creatures round her father's home into +mute friends with loving eyes, looking at her as if wistful to speak +in words the grateful regard that she could read without the poor +expression of language. + +She missed the free open air, the great dome of sky above the +fields; she rebelled against the necessity of 'dressing' (as she +called it) to go out, although she acknowledged that it was a +necessity where the first step beyond the threshold must be into a +populous street. + +It is possible that Philip was right at one time when he had thought +to win her by material advantages; but the old vanities had been +burnt out of her by the hot iron of acute suffering. A great deal of +passionate feeling still existed, concealed and latent; but at this +period it appeared as though she were indifferent to most things, +and had lost the power of either hoping or fearing much. She was +stunned into a sort of temporary numbness on most points; those on +which she was sensitive being such as referred to the injustice and +oppression of her father's death, or anything that concerned her +mother. + +She was quiet even to passiveness in all her dealings with Philip; +he would have given not a little for some of the old bursts of +impatience, the old pettishness, which, naughty as they were, had +gone to form his idea of the former Sylvia. Once or twice he was +almost vexed with her for her docility; he wanted her so much to +have a will of her own, if only that he might know how to rouse her +to pleasure by gratifying it. Indeed he seldom fell asleep at nights +without his last thoughts being devoted to some little plan for the +morrow, that he fancied she would like; and when he wakened in the +early dawn he looked to see if she were indeed sleeping by his side, +or whether it was not all a dream that he called Sylvia 'wife.' + +He was aware that her affection for him was not to be spoken of in +the same way as his for her, but he found much happiness in only +being allowed to love and cherish her; and with the patient +perseverance that was one remarkable feature in his character, he +went on striving to deepen and increase her love when most other men +would have given up the endeavour, made themselves content with half +a heart, and turned to some other object of attainment. All this +time Philip was troubled by a dream that recurred whenever he was +over-fatigued, or otherwise not in perfect health. Over and over +again in this first year of married life he dreamt this dream; +perhaps as many as eight or nine times, and it never varied. It was +always of Kinraid's return; Kinraid was full of life in Philip's +dream, though in his waking hours he could and did convince himself +by all the laws of probability that his rival was dead. He never +remembered the exact sequence of events in that terrible dream after +he had roused himself, with a fight and a struggle, from his +feverish slumbers. He was generally sitting up in bed when he found +himself conscious, his heart beating wildly, with a conviction of +Kinraid's living presence somewhere near him in the darkness. +Occasionally Sylvia was disturbed by his agitation, and would +question him about his dreams, having, like most of her class at +that time, great faith in their prophetic interpretation; but Philip +never gave her any truth in his reply. + +After all, and though he did not acknowledge it even to himself, the +long-desired happiness was not so delicious and perfect as he had +anticipated. Many have felt the same in their first year of married +life; but the faithful, patient nature that still works on, striving +to gain love, and capable itself of steady love all the while, is a +gift not given to all. + +For many weeks after their wedding, Kester never came near them: a +chance word or two from Sylvia showed Philip that she had noticed +this and regretted it; and, accordingly, he made it his business at +the next leisure opportunity to go to Haytersbank (never saying a +word to his wife of his purpose), and seek out Kester. + +All the whole place was altered! It was new white-washed, new +thatched: the patches of colour in the surrounding ground were +changed with altered tillage; the great geraniums were gone from the +window, and instead, was a smart knitted blind. Children played +before the house-door; a dog lying on the step flew at Philip; all +was so strange, that it was even the strangest thing of all for +Kester to appear where everything else was so altered! + +Philip had to put up with a good deal of crabbed behaviour on the +part of the latter before he could induce Kester to promise to come +down into the town and see Sylvia in her new home. + +Somehow, the visit when paid was but a failure; at least, it seemed +so at the time, though probably it broke the ice of restraint which +was forming over the familiar intercourse between Kester and Sylvia. +The old servant was daunted by seeing Sylvia in a strange place, and +stood, sleeking his hair down, and furtively looking about him, +instead of seating himself on the chair Sylvia had so eagerly +brought forward for him. + +Then his sense of the estrangement caused by their new positions +infected her, and she began to cry pitifully, saying,-- + +'Oh, Kester! Kester! tell me about Haytersbank! Is it just as it +used to be in feyther's days?' + +'Well, a cannot say as it is,' said Kester, thankful to have a +subject started. 'They'n pleughed up t' oud pasture-field, and are +settin' it for 'taters. They're not for much cattle, isn't +Higginses. They'll be for corn in t' next year, a reckon, and +they'll just ha' their pains for their payment. But they're allays +so pig-headed, is folk fra' a distance.' + +So they went on discoursing on Haytersbank and the old days, till +Bell Robson, having finished her afternoon nap, came slowly +down-stairs to join them; and after that the conversation became so +broken up, from the desire of the other two to attend and reply as +best they could to her fragmentary and disjointed talk, that Kester +took his leave before long; falling, as he did so, into the formal +and unnaturally respectful manner which he had adopted on first +coming in. + +But Sylvia ran after him, and brought him back from the door. + +'To think of thy going away, Kester, without either bit or drink; +nay, come back wi' thee, and taste wine and cake.' + +Kester stood at the door, half shy, half pleased, while Sylvia, in +all the glow and hurry of a young housekeeper's hospitality, sought +for the decanter of wine, and a wine-glass in the corner cupboard, +and hastily cut an immense wedge of cake, which she crammed into his +hand in spite of his remonstrances; and then she poured him out an +overflowing glass of wine, which Kester would far rather have gone +without, as he knew manners too well to suppose that he might taste +it without having gone through the preliminary ceremony of wishing +the donor health and happiness. He stood red and half smiling, with +his cake in one hand, his wine in the other, and then began,-- + + 'Long may ye live, + Happy may ye he, + And blest with a num'rous + Pro-ge-ny.' + +'Theere, that's po'try for yo' as I larnt i' my youth. But there's a +deal to be said as cannot be put int' po'try, an' yet a cannot say +it, somehow. It 'd tax a parson t' say a' as a've getten i' my mind. +It's like a heap o' woo' just after shearin' time; it's worth a +deal, but it tak's a vast o' combin', an' cardin', an' spinnin' +afore it can be made use on. If a were up to t' use o' words, a +could say a mighty deal; but somehow a'm tongue-teed when a come to +want my words most, so a'll only just mak' bold t' say as a think +yo've done pretty well for yo'rsel', getten a house-full o' +furniture' (looking around him as he said this), 'an' vittle an' +clothin' for t' axing, belike, an' a home for t' missus in her time +o' need; an' mebbe not such a bad husband as a once thought yon man +'ud mak'; a'm not above sayin' as he's, mebbe, better nor a took him +for;--so here's to ye both, and wishin' ye health and happiness, ay, +and money to buy yo' another, as country folk say.' + +Having ended his oration, much to his own satisfaction, Kester +tossed off his glass of wine, smacked his lips, wiped his mouth with +the back of his hand, pocketed his cake, and made off. + +That night Sylvia spoke of his visit to her husband. Philip never +said how he himself had brought it to pass, nor did he name the fact +that he had heard the old man come in just as he himself had +intended going into the parlour for tea, but had kept away, as he +thought Sylvia and Kester would most enjoy their interview +undisturbed. And Sylvia felt as if her husband's silence was +unsympathizing, and shut up the feelings that were just beginning to +expand towards him. She sank again into the listless state of +indifference from which nothing but some reference to former days, +or present consideration for her mother, could rouse her. + +Hester was almost surprised at Sylvia's evident liking for her. By +slow degrees Hester was learning to love the woman, whose position +as Philip's wife she would have envied so keenly had she not been so +truly good and pious. But Sylvia seemed as though she had given +Hester her whole affection all at once. Hester could not understand +this, while she was touched and melted by the trust it implied. For +one thing Sylvia remembered and regretted--her harsh treatment of +Hester the rainy, stormy night on which the latter had come to +Haytersbank to seek her and her mother, and bring them into +Monkshaven to see the imprisoned father and husband. Sylvia had been +struck with Hester's patient endurance of her rudeness, a rudeness +which she was conscious that she herself should have immediately and +vehemently resented. Sylvia did not understand how a totally +different character from hers might immediately forgive the anger +she could not forget; and because Hester had been so meek at the +time, Sylvia, who knew how passing and transitory was her own anger, +thought that all was forgotten; while Hester believed that the +words, which she herself could not have uttered except under deep +provocation, meant much more than they did, and admired and wondered +at Sylvia for having so entirely conquered her anger against her. + +Again, the two different women were divergently affected by the +extreme fondness which Bell had shown towards Hester ever since +Sylvia's wedding-day. Sylvia, who had always received more love from +others than she knew what to do with, had the most entire faith in +her own supremacy in her mother's heart, though at times Hester +would do certain things more to the poor old woman's satisfaction. +Hester, who had craved for the affection which had been withheld +from her, and had from that one circumstance become distrustful of +her own power of inspiring regard, while she exaggerated the delight +of being beloved, feared lest Sylvia should become jealous of her +mother's open display of great attachment and occasional preference +for Hester. But such a thought never entered Sylvia's mind. She was +more thankful than she knew how to express towards any one who made +her mother happy; as has been already said, the contributing to Bell +Robson's pleasures earned Philip more of his wife's smiles than +anything else. And Sylvia threw her whole heart into the words and +caresses she lavished on Hester whenever poor Mrs. Robson spoke of +the goodness and kindness of the latter. Hester attributed more +virtue to these sweet words and deeds of gratitude than they +deserved; they did not imply in Sylvia any victory over evil +temptation, as they would have done in Hester. + +It seemed to be Sylvia's fate to captivate more people than she +cared to like back again. She turned the heads of John and Jeremiah +Foster, who could hardly congratulate Philip enough on his choice of +a wife. + +They had been prepared to be critical on one who had interfered with +their favourite project of a marriage between Philip and Hester; +and, though full of compassion for the cruelty of Daniel Robson's +fate, they were too completely men of business not to have some +apprehension that the connection of Philip Hepburn with the daughter +of a man who was hanged, might injure the shop over which both his +and their name appeared. But all the possible proprieties demanded +that they should pay attention to the bride of their former shopman +and present successor; and the very first visitors whom Sylvia had +received after her marriage had been John and Jeremiah Foster, in +their sabbath-day clothes. They found her in the parlour (so +familiar to both of them!) clear-starching her mother's caps, which +had to be got up in some particular fashion that Sylvia was afraid +of dictating to Phoebe. + +She was a little disturbed at her visitors discovering her at this +employment; but she was on her own ground, and that gave her +self-possession; and she welcomed the two old men so sweetly and +modestly, and looked so pretty and feminine, and, besides, so +notable in her handiwork, that she conquered all their prejudices at +one blow; and their first thought on leaving the shop was how to do +her honour, by inviting her to a supper party at Jeremiah Foster's +house. + +Sylvia was dismayed when she was bidden to this wedding feast, and +Philip had to use all his authority, though tenderly, to make her +consent to go at all. She had been to merry country parties like the +Corneys', and to bright haymaking romps in the open air; but never +to a set stately party at a friend's house. + +She would fain have made attendance on her mother an excuse; but +Philip knew he must not listen to any such plea, and applied to +Hester in the dilemma, asking her to remain with Mrs. Robson while he +and Sylvia went out visiting; and Hester had willingly, nay, eagerly +consented--it was much more to her taste than going out. + +So Philip and Sylvia set out, arm-in-arm, down Bridge Street, across +the bridge, and then clambered up the hill. On the way he gave her +the directions she asked for about her behaviour as bride and most +honoured guest; and altogether succeeded, against his intention and +will, in frightening her so completely as to the grandeur and +importance of the occasion, and the necessity of remembering certain +set rules, and making certain set speeches and attending to them +when the right time came, that, if any one so naturally graceful +could have been awkward, Sylvia would have been so that night. + +As it was, she sate, pale and weary-looking, on the very edge of her +chair; she uttered the formal words which Philip had told her were +appropriate to the occasion, and she heartily wished herself safe at +home and in bed. Yet she left but one unanimous impression on the +company when she went away, namely, that she was the prettiest and +best-behaved woman they had ever seen, and that Philip Hepburn had +done well in choosing her, felon's daughter though she might be. + +Both the hosts had followed her into the lobby to help Philip in +cloaking her, and putting on her pattens. They were full of +old-fashioned compliments and good wishes; one speech of theirs came +up to her memory in future years:-- + +'Now, Sylvia Hepburn,' said Jeremiah, 'I've known thy husband long, +and I don't say but what thou hast done well in choosing him; but if +he ever neglects or ill-uses thee, come to me, and I'll give him a +sound lecture on his conduct. Mind, I'm thy friend from this day +forrards, and ready to take thy part against him!' + +Philip smiled as if the day would never come when he should neglect +or ill-use his darling; Sylvia smiled a little, without much +attending to, or caring for, the words that were detaining her, +tired as she was; John and Jeremiah chuckled over the joke; but the +words came up again in after days, as words idly spoken sometimes +do. + +Before the end of that first year, Philip had learnt to be jealous +of his wife's new love for Hester. To the latter, Sylvia gave the +free confidence on many things which Philip fancied she withheld +from him. A suspicion crossed his mind, from time to time, that +Sylvia might speak of her former lover to Hester. It would be not +unnatural, he thought, if she did so, believing him to be dead; but +the idea irritated him. + +He was entirely mistaken, however; Sylvia, with all her apparent +frankness, kept her deep sorrows to herself. She never mentioned her +father's name, though he was continually present to her mind. Nor +did she speak of Kinraid to human being, though, for his sake, her +voice softened when, by chance, she spoke to a passing sailor; and +for his sake her eyes lingered on such men longer than on others, +trying to discover in them something of the old familiar gait; and +partly for his dead sake, and partly because of the freedom of the +outlook and the freshness of the air, she was glad occasionally to +escape from the comfortable imprisonment of her 'parlour', and the +close streets around the market-place, and to mount the cliffs and +sit on the turf, gazing abroad over the wide still expanse of the +open sea; for, at that height, even breaking waves only looked like +broken lines of white foam on the blue watery plain. + +She did not want any companion on these rambles, which had somewhat +of the delight of stolen pleasures; for all the other respectable +matrons and town-dwellers whom she knew were content to have always +a business object for their walk, or else to stop at home in their +own households; and Sylvia was rather ashamed of her own yearnings +for solitude and open air, and the sight and sound of the +mother-like sea. She used to take off her hat, and sit there, her +hands clasping her knees, the salt air lifting her bright curls, +gazing at the distant horizon over the sea, in a sad dreaminess of +thought; if she had been asked on what she meditated, she could not +have told you. + +But, by-and-by, the time came when she was a prisoner in the house; +a prisoner in her room, lying in bed with a little baby by her +side--her child, Philip's child. His pride, his delight knew no +bounds; this was a new fast tie between them; this would reconcile +her to the kind of life that, with all its respectability and +comfort, was so different from what she had lived before, and which +Philip had often perceived that she felt to be dull and restraining. +He already began to trace in the little girl, only a few days old, +the lovely curves that he knew so well by heart in the mother's +face. Sylvia, too, pale, still, and weak, was very happy; yes, +really happy for the first time since her irrevocable marriage. For +its irrevocableness had weighed much upon her with a sense of dull +hopelessness; she felt all Philip's kindness, she was grateful to +him for his tender regard towards her mother, she was learning to +love him as well as to like and respect him. She did not know what +else she could have done but marry so true a friend, and she and her +mother so friendless; but, at the same time, it was like lead on her +morning spirits when she awoke and remembered that the decision was +made, the dead was done, the choice taken which comes to most people +but once in their lives. Now the little baby came in upon this state +of mind like a ray of sunlight into a gloomy room. + +Even her mother was rejoiced and proud; even with her crazed brain +and broken heart, the sight of sweet, peaceful infancy brought light +to her. All the old ways of holding a baby, of hushing it to sleep, +of tenderly guarding its little limbs from injury, came back, like +the habits of her youth, to Bell; and she was never so happy or so +easy in her mind, or so sensible and connected in her ideas, as when +she had Sylvia's baby in her arms. + +It was a pretty sight to see, however familiar to all of us such +things may be--the pale, worn old woman, in her quaint, +old-fashioned country dress, holding the little infant on her knees, +looking at its open, unspeculative eyes, and talking the little +language to it as though it could understand; the father on his +knees, kept prisoner by a small, small finger curled round his +strong and sinewy one, and gazing at the tiny creature with +wondering idolatry; the young mother, fair, pale, and smiling, +propped up on pillows in order that she, too, might see the +wonderful babe; it was astonishing how the doctor could come and go +without being drawn into the admiring vortex, and look at this baby +just as if babies came into the world every day. + +'Philip,' said Sylvia, one night, as he sate as still as a mouse in +her room, imagining her to be asleep. He was by her bed-side in a +moment. + +'I've been thinking what she's to be called. Isabella, after mother; +and what were yo'r mother's name?' + +'Margaret,' said he. + +'Margaret Isabella; Isabella Margaret. Mother's called Bell. She +might be called Bella.' + +'I could ha' wished her to be called after thee.' + +She made a little impatient movement. + +'Nay; Sylvia's not a lucky name. Best be called after thy mother and +mine. And I want for to ask Hester to be godmother.' + +'Anything thou likes, sweetheart. Shall we call her Rose, after +Hester Rose?' + +'No, no!' said Sylvia; 'she mun be called after my mother, or thine, +or both. I should like her to be called Bella, after mother, because +she's so fond of baby.' + +'Anything to please thee, darling.' + +'Don't say that as if it didn't signify; there's a deal in having a +pretty name,' said Sylvia, a little annoyed. 'I ha' allays hated +being called Sylvia. It were after father's mother, Sylvia Steele.' + +'I niver thought any name in a' the world so sweet and pretty as +Sylvia,' said Philip, fondly; but she was too much absorbed in her +own thoughts to notice either his manner or his words. + +'There, yo'll not mind if it is Bella, because yo' see my mother is +alive to be pleased by its being named after her, and Hester may be +godmother, and I'll ha' t' dove-coloured silk as yo' gave me afore +we were married made up into a cloak for it to go to church in.' + +'I got it for thee,' said Philip, a little disappointed. 'It'll be +too good for the baby.' + +'Eh! but I'm so careless, I should be spilling something on it? But +if thou got it for me I cannot find i' my heart for t' wear it on +baby, and I'll have it made into a christening gown for mysel'. But +I'll niver feel at my ease in it, for fear of spoiling it.' + +'Well! an' if thou does spoil it, love, I'll get thee another. I +make account of riches only for thee; that I may be able to get thee +whativer thou's a fancy for, for either thysel', or thy mother.' + +She lifted her pale face from her pillow, and put up her lips to +kiss him for these words. + +Perhaps on that day Philip reached the zenith of his life's +happiness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +EVIL OMENS + + +The first step in Philip's declension happened in this way. Sylvia +had made rapid progress in her recovery; but now she seemed at a +stationary point of weakness; wakeful nights succeeding to languid +days. Occasionally she caught a little sleep in the afternoons, but +she usually awoke startled and feverish. + +One afternoon Philip had stolen upstairs to look at her and his +child; but the efforts he made at careful noiselessness made the +door creak on its hinges as he opened it. The woman employed to +nurse her had taken the baby into another room that no sound might +rouse her from her slumber; and Philip would probably have been +warned against entering the chamber where his wife lay sleeping had +he been perceived by the nurse. As it was, he opened the door, made +a noise, and Sylvia started up, her face all one flush, her eyes +wild and uncertain; she looked about her as if she did not know +where she was; pushed the hair off her hot forehead; all which +actions Philip saw, dismayed and regretful. But he kept still, +hoping that she would lie down and compose herself. Instead she +stretched out her arms imploringly, and said, in a voice full of +yearning and tears,-- + +'Oh! Charley! come to me--come to me!' and then as she more fully +became aware of the place where she was, her actual situation, she +sank back and feebly began to cry. Philip's heart boiled within him; +any man's would under the circumstances, but he had the sense of +guilty concealment to aggravate the intensity of his feelings. Her +weak cry after another man, too, irritated him, partly through his +anxious love, which made him wise to know how much physical harm she +was doing herself. At this moment he stirred, or unintentionally +made some sound: she started up afresh, and called out,-- + +'Oh, who's theere? Do, for God's sake, tell me who yo' are!' + +'It's me,' said Philip, coming forwards, striving to keep down the +miserable complication of love and jealousy, and remorse and anger, +that made his heart beat so wildly, and almost took him out of +himself. Indeed, he must have been quite beside himself for the +time, or he could never have gone on to utter the unwise, cruel +words he did. But she spoke first, in a distressed and plaintive +tone of voice. + +'Oh, Philip, I've been asleep, and yet I think I was awake! And I +saw Charley Kinraid as plain as iver I see thee now, and he wasn't +drowned at all. I'm sure he's alive somewheere; he were so clear and +life-like. Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?' + +She wrung her hands in feverish distress. Urged by passionate +feelings of various kinds, and also by his desire to quench the +agitation which was doing her harm, Philip spoke, hardly knowing +what he said. + +'Kinraid's dead, I tell yo', Sylvie! And what kind of a woman are +yo' to go dreaming of another man i' this way, and taking on so +about him, when yo're a wedded wife, with a child as yo've borne to +another man?' + +In a moment he could have bitten out his tongue. She looked at him +with the mute reproach which some of us see (God help us!) in the +eyes of the dead, as they come before our sad memories in the +night-season; looked at him with such a solemn, searching look, +never saying a word of reply or defence. Then she lay down, +motionless and silent. He had been instantly stung with remorse for +his speech; the words were not beyond his lips when an agony had +entered his heart; but her steady, dilated eyes had kept him dumb +and motionless as if by a spell. + +Now he rushed to the bed on which she lay, and half knelt, half +threw himself upon it, imploring her to forgive him; regardless for +the time of any evil consequences to her, it seemed as if he must +have her pardon--her relenting--at any price, even if they both died +in the act of reconciliation. But she lay speechless, and, as far as +she could be, motionless, the bed trembling under her with the +quivering she could not still. + +Philip's wild tones caught the nurse's ears, and she entered full of +the dignified indignation of wisdom. + +'Are yo' for killing yo'r wife, measter?' she asked. 'She's noane so +strong as she can bear flytin' and scoldin', nor will she be for +many a week to come. Go down wi' ye, and leave her i' peace if yo're +a man as can be called a man!' + +Her anger was rising as she caught sight of Sylvia's averted face. +It was flushed crimson, her eyes full of intense emotion of some +kind, her lips compressed; but an involuntary twitching +overmastering her resolute stillness from time to time. Philip, who +did not see the averted face, nor understand the real danger in +which he was placing his wife, felt as though he must have one word, +one responsive touch of the hand which lay passive in his, which was +not even drawn away from the kisses with which he covered it, any +more than if it had been an impassive stone. The nurse had fairly to +take him by the shoulders, and turn him out of the room. + +In half an hour the doctor had to be summoned. Of course, the nurse +gave him her version of the events of the afternoon, with much +_animus_ against Philip; and the doctor thought it his duty to have +some very serious conversation with him. + +'I do assure you, Mr. Hepburn, that, in the state your wife has been +in for some days, it was little less than madness on your part to +speak to her about anything that could give rise to strong emotion.' + +'It was madness, sir!' replied Philip, in a low, miserable tone of +voice. The doctor's heart was touched, in spite of the nurse's +accusations against the scolding husband. Yet the danger was now too +serious for him to mince matters. + +'I must tell you that I cannot answer for her life, unless the +greatest precautions are taken on your part, and unless the measures +I shall use have the effect I wish for in the next twenty-four +hours. She is on the verge of a brain fever. Any allusion to the +subject which has been the final cause of the state in which she now +is must be most cautiously avoided, even to a chance word which may +bring it to her memory.' + +And so on; but Philip seemed to hear only this: then he might not +express contrition, or sue for pardon, he must go on unforgiven +through all this stress of anxiety; and even if she recovered the +doctor warned him of the undesirableness of recurring to what had +passed! + +Heavy miserable times of endurance and waiting have to be passed +through by all during the course of their lives; and Philip had had +his share of such seasons, when the heart, and the will, and the +speech, and the limbs, must be bound down with strong resolution to +patience. + +For many days, nay, for weeks, he was forbidden to see Sylvia, as +the very sound of his footstep brought on a recurrence of the fever +and convulsive movement. Yet she seemed, from questions she feebly +asked the nurse, to have forgotten all that had happened on the day +of her attack from the time when she dropped off to sleep. But how +much she remembered of after occurrences no one could ascertain. She +was quiet enough when, at length, Philip was allowed to see her. But +he was half jealous of his child, when he watched how she could +smile at it, while she never changed a muscle of her face at all he +could do or say. + +And of a piece with this extreme quietude and reserve was her +behaviour to him when at length she had fully recovered, and was +able to go about the house again. Philip thought many a time of the +words she had used long before--before their marriage. Ominous words +they were. + +'It's not in me to forgive; I sometimes think it's not in me to +forget.' + +Philip was tender even to humility in his conduct towards her. But +nothing stirred her from her fortress of reserve. And he knew she +was so different; he knew how loving, nay, passionate, was her +nature--vehement, demonstrative--oh! how could he stir her once more +into expression, even if the first show or speech she made was of +anger? Then he tried being angry with her himself; he was sometimes +unjust to her consciously and of a purpose, in order to provoke her +into defending herself, and appealing against his unkindness. He +only seemed to drive her love away still more. + +If any one had known all that was passing in that household, while +yet the story of it was not ended, nor, indeed, come to its crisis, +their hearts would have been sorry for the man who lingered long at +the door of the room in which his wife sate cooing and talking to +her baby, and sometimes laughing back to it, or who was soothing the +querulousness of failing age with every possible patience of love; +sorry for the poor listener who was hungering for the profusion of +tenderness thus scattered on the senseless air, yet only by stealth +caught the echoes of what ought to have been his. + +It was so difficult to complain, too; impossible, in fact. +Everything that a wife could do from duty she did; but the love +seemed to have fled, and, in such cases, no reproaches or complaints +can avail to bring it back. So reason outsiders, and are convinced +of the result before the experiment is made. But Philip could not +reason, or could not yield to reason; and so he complained and +reproached. She did not much answer him; but he thought that her +eyes expressed the old words,-- + +'It's not in me to forgive; I sometimes think it's not in me to +forget.' + +However, it is an old story, an ascertained fact, that, even in the +most tender and stable masculine natures, at the supremest season of +their lives, there is room for other thoughts and passions than such +as are connected with love. Even with the most domestic and +affectionate men, their emotions seem to be kept in a cell distinct +and away from their actual lives. Philip had other thoughts and +other occupations than those connected with his wife during all this +time. + +An uncle of his mother's, a Cumberland 'statesman', of whose +existence he was barely conscious, died about this time, leaving to +his unknown great-nephew four or five hundred pounds, which put him +at once in a different position with regard to his business. +Henceforward his ambition was roused,--such humble ambition as +befitted a shop-keeper in a country town sixty or seventy years ago. +To be respected by the men around him had always been an object with +him, and was, perhaps, becoming more so than ever now, as a sort of +refuge from his deep, sorrowful mortification in other directions. +He was greatly pleased at being made a sidesman; and, in preparation +for the further honour of being churchwarden, he went regularly +twice a day to church on Sundays. There was enough religious feeling +in him to make him disguise the worldly reason for such conduct from +himself. He believed that he went because he thought it right to +attend public worship in the parish church whenever it was offered +up; but it may be questioned of him, as of many others, how far he +would have been as regular in attendance in a place where he was not +known. With this, however, we have nothing to do. The fact was that +he went regularly to church, and he wished his wife to accompany him +to the pew, newly painted, with his name on the door, where he sate +in full sight of the clergyman and congregation. + +Sylvia had never been in the habit of such regular church-going, and +she felt it as a hardship, and slipped out of the duty as often as +ever she could. In her unmarried days, she and her parents had gone +annually to the mother-church of the parish in which Haytersbank was +situated: on the Monday succeeding the Sunday next after the Romish +Saint's Day, to whom the church was dedicated, there was a great +feast or wake held; and, on the Sunday, all the parishioners came to +church from far and near. Frequently, too, in the course of the +year, Sylvia would accompany one or other of her parents to Scarby +Moorside afternoon service,--when the hay was got in, and the corn +not ready for cutting, or the cows were dry and there was no +afternoon milking. Many clergymen were languid in those days, and +did not too curiously inquire into the reasons which gave them such +small congregations in country parishes. + +Now she was married, this weekly church-going which Philip seemed to +expect from her, became a tie and a small hardship, which connected +itself with her life of respectability and prosperity. 'A crust of +bread and liberty' was much more accordant to Sylvia's nature than +plenty of creature comforts and many restraints. Another wish of +Philip's, against which she said no word, but constantly rebelled in +thought and deed, was his desire that the servant he had engaged +during the time of her illness to take charge of the baby, should +always carry it whenever it was taken out for a walk. Sylvia often +felt, now she was strong, as if she would far rather have been +without the responsibility of having this nursemaid, of whom she +was, in reality, rather afraid. The good side of it was that it set +her at liberty to attend to her mother at times when she would have +been otherwise occupied with her baby; but Bell required very little +from any one: she was easily pleased, unexacting, and methodical +even in her dotage; preserving the quiet, undemonstrative habits of +her earlier life now that the faculty of reason, which had been at +the basis of the formation of such habits, was gone. She took great +delight in watching the baby, and was pleased to have it in her care +for a short time; but she dozed so much that it prevented her having +any strong wish on the subject. + +So Sylvia contrived to get her baby as much as possible to herself, +in spite of the nursemaid; and, above all, she would carry it out, +softly cradled in her arms, warm pillowed on her breast, and bear it +to the freedom and solitude of the sea-shore on the west side of the +town where the cliffs were not so high, and there was a good space +of sand and shingle at all low tides. + +Once here, she was as happy as she ever expected to be in this +world. The fresh sea-breeze restored something of the colour of +former days to her cheeks, the old buoyancy to her spirits; here she +might talk her heart-full of loving nonsense to her baby; here it +was all her own; no father to share in it, no nursemaid to dispute +the wisdom of anything she did with it. She sang to it, she tossed +it; it crowed and it laughed back again, till both were weary; and +then she would sit down on a broken piece of rock, and fall to +gazing on the advancing waves catching the sunlight on their crests, +advancing, receding, for ever and for ever, as they had done all her +life long--as they did when she had walked with them that once by +the side of Kinraid; those cruel waves that, forgetful of the happy +lovers' talk by the side of their waters, had carried one away, and +drowned him deep till he was dead. Every time she sate down to look +at the sea, this process of thought was gone through up to this +point; the next step would, she knew, bring her to the question she +dared not, must not ask. He was dead; he must be dead; for was she +not Philip's wife? Then came up the recollection of Philip's speech, +never forgotten, only buried out of sight: 'What kind of a woman are +yo' to go on dreaming of another man, and yo' a wedded wife?' She +used to shudder as if cold steel had been plunged into her warm, +living body as she remembered these words; cruel words, harmlessly +provoked. They were too much associated with physical pains to be +dwelt upon; only their memory was always there. She paid for these +happy rambles with her baby by the depression which awaited her on +her re-entrance into the dark, confined house that was her home; its +very fulness of comfort was an oppression. Then, when her husband +saw her pale and fatigued, he was annoyed, and sometimes upbraided +her for doing what was so unnecessary as to load herself with her +child. She knew full well it was not that that caused her weariness. +By-and-by, when he inquired and discovered that all these walks were +taken in one direction, out towards the sea, he grew jealous of her +love for the inanimate ocean. Was it connected in her mind with the +thought of Kinraid? Why did she so perseveringly, in wind or cold, +go out to the sea-shore; the western side, too, where, if she went +but far enough, she would come upon the mouth of the Haytersbank +gully, the point at which she had last seen Kinraid? Such fancies +haunted Philip's mind for hours after she had acknowledged the +direction of her walks. But he never said a word that could +distinctly tell her he disliked her going to the sea, otherwise she +would have obeyed him in this, as in everything else; for absolute +obedience to her husband seemed to be her rule of life at this +period--obedience to him who would so gladly have obeyed her +smallest wish had she but expressed it! She never knew that Philip +had any painful association with the particular point on the +sea-shore that she instinctively avoided, both from a consciousness +of wifely duty, and also because the sight of it brought up so much +sharp pain. + +Philip used to wonder if the dream that preceded her illness was the +suggestive cause that drew her so often to the shore. Her illness +consequent upon that dream had filled his mind, so that for many +months he himself had had no haunting vision of Kinraid to disturb +his slumbers. But now the old dream of Kinraid's actual presence by +Philip's bedside began to return with fearful vividness. Night after +night it recurred; each time with some new touch of reality, and +close approach; till it was as if the fate that overtakes all men +were then, even then, knocking at his door. + +In his business Philip prospered. Men praised him because he did +well to himself. He had the perseverance, the capability for +head-work and calculation, the steadiness and general forethought +which might have made him a great merchant if he had lived in a +large city. Without any effort of his own, almost, too, without +Coulson's being aware of it, Philip was now in the position of +superior partner; the one to suggest and arrange, while Coulson only +carried out the plans that emanated from Philip. The whole work of +life was suited to the man: he did not aspire to any different +position, only to the full development of the capabilities of that +which he already held. He had originated several fresh schemes with +regard to the traffic of the shop; and his old masters, with all +their love of tried ways, and distrust of everything new, had been +candid enough to confess that their successors' plans had resulted +in success. 'Their successors.' Philip was content with having the +power when the exercise of it was required, and never named his own +important share in the new improvements. Possibly, if he had, +Coulson's vanity might have taken the alarm, and he might not have +been so acquiescent for the future. As it was, he forgot his own +subordinate share, and always used the imperial 'we', 'we thought', +'it struck us,' &c. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +RESCUED FROM THE WAVES + + +Meanwhile Hester came and went as usual; in so quiet and methodical +a way, with so even and undisturbed a temper, that she was almost +forgotten when everything went well in the shop or household. She +was a star, the brightness of which was only recognized in times of +darkness. She herself was almost surprised at her own increasing +regard for Sylvia. She had not thought she should ever be able to +love the woman who had been such a laggard in acknowledging Philip's +merits; and from all she had ever heard of Sylvia before she came to +know her, from the angry words with which Sylvia had received her +when she had first gone to Haytersbank Farm, Hester had intended to +remain on friendly terms, but to avoid intimacy. But her kindness to +Bell Robson had won both the mother's and daughter's hearts; and in +spite of herself, certainly against her own mother's advice, she had +become the familiar friend and welcome guest of the household. + +Now the very change in Sylvia's whole manner and ways, which grieved +and vexed Philip, made his wife the more attractive to Hester. +Brought up among Quakers, although not one herself, she admired and +respected the staidness and outward peacefulness common amongst the +young women of that sect. Sylvia, whom she had expected to find +volatile, talkative, vain, and wilful, was quiet and still, as if +she had been born a Friend: she seemed to have no will of her own; +she served her mother and child for love; she obeyed her husband in +all things, and never appeared to pine after gaiety or pleasure. And +yet at times Hester thought, or rather a flash came across her mind, +as if all things were not as right as they seemed. Philip looked +older, more care-worn; nay, even Hester was obliged to allow to +herself that she had heard him speak to his wife in sharp, aggrieved +tones. Innocent Hester! she could not understand how the very +qualities she so admired in Sylvia were just what were so foreign to +her nature that the husband, who had known her from a child, felt +what an unnatural restraint she was putting upon herself, and would +have hailed petulant words or wilful actions with an unspeakable +thankfulness for relief. + +One day--it was in the spring of 1798--Hester was engaged to stay to +tea with the Hepburns, in order that after that early meal she might +set to again in helping Philip and Coulson to pack away the winter +cloths and flannels, for which there was no longer any use. The +tea-time was half-past four; about four o'clock a heavy April shower +came on, the hail pattering against the window-panes so as to awaken +Mrs. Robson from her afternoon's nap. She came down the corkscrew +stairs, and found Phoebe in the parlour arranging the tea-things. + +Phoebe and Mrs. Robson were better friends than Phoebe and her young +mistress; and so they began to talk a little together in a +comfortable, familiar way. Once or twice Philip looked in, as if he +would be glad to see the tea-table in readiness; and then Phoebe +would put on a spurt of busy bustle, which ceased almost as soon as +his back was turned, so eager was she to obtain Mrs. Robson's +sympathy in some little dispute that had occurred between her and +the nurse-maid. The latter had misappropriated some hot water, +prepared and required by Phoebe, to the washing of the baby's +clothes; it was a long story, and would have tired the patience of +any one in full possession of their senses; but the details were +just within poor Bell's comprehension, and she was listening with +the greatest sympathy. Both the women were unaware of the lapse of +time; but it was of consequence to Philip, as the extra labour was +not to be begun until after tea, and the daylight hours were +precious. + +At a quarter to five Hester and he came in, and then Phoebe began to +hurry. Hester went up to sit by Bell and talk to her. Philip spoke +to Phoebe in the familiar words of country-folk. Indeed, until his +marriage, Phoebe had always called him by his Christian name, and +had found it very difficult to change it into 'master.' + +'Where's Sylvie?' said he. + +'Gone out wi' t' babby,' replied Phoebe. + +'Why can't Nancy carry it out?' asked Philip. + +It was touching on the old grievance: he was tired, and he spoke +with sharp annoyance. Phoebe might easily have told him the real +state of the case; Nancy was busy at her washing, which would have +been reason enough. But the nursemaid had vexed her, and she did not +like Philip's sharpness, so she only said,-- + +'It's noane o' my business; it's yo' t' look after yo'r own wife and +child; but yo'r but a lad after a'.' + +This was not conciliatory speech, and just put the last stroke to +Philip's fit of ill-temper. + +'I'm not for my tea to-night,' said he, to Hester, when all was +ready. 'Sylvie's not here, and nothing is nice, or as it should be. +I'll go and set to on t' stock-taking. Don't yo' hurry, Hester; stop +and chat a bit with th' old lady.' + +'Nay, Philip,' said Hester, 'thou's sadly tired; just take this cup +o' tea; Sylvia 'll be grieved if yo' haven't something.' + +'Sylvia doesn't care whether I'm full or fasting,' replied he, +impatiently putting aside the cup. 'If she did she'd ha' taken care +to be in, and ha' seen to things being as I like them.' + +Now in general Philip was the least particular of men about meals; +and to do Sylvia justice, she was scrupulously attentive to every +household duty in which old Phoebe would allow her to meddle, and +always careful to see after her husband's comforts. But Philip was +too vexed at her absence to perceive the injustice of what he was +saying, nor was he aware how Bell Robson had been attending to what +he said. But she was sadly discomfited by it, understanding just +enough of the grievance in hand to think that her daughter was +neglectful of those duties which she herself had always regarded as +paramount to all others; nor could Hester convince her that Philip +had not meant what he said; neither could she turn the poor old +woman's thoughts from the words which had caused her distress. + +Presently Sylvia came in, bright and cheerful, although breathless +with hurry. + +'Oh,' said she, taking off her wet shawl, 'we've had to shelter from +such a storm of rain, baby and me--but see! she's none the worse for +it, as bonny as iver, bless her.' + +Hester began some speech of admiration for the child in order to +prevent Bell from delivering the lecture she felt sure was coming +down on the unsuspecting Sylvia; but all in vain. + +'Philip's been complaining on thee, Sylvie,' said Bell, in the way +in which she had spoken to her daughter when she was a little child; +grave and severe in tone and look, more than in words. 'I forget +justly what about, but he spoke on thy neglecting him continual. +It's not right, my lass, it's not right; a woman should--but my +head's very tired, and all I can think on to say is, it's not +right.' + +'Philip been complaining of me, and to mother!' said Sylvia, ready +to burst into tears, so grieved and angry was she. + +'No!' said Hester, 'thy mother has taken it a little too strong; he +were vexed like at his tea not being ready.' + +Sylvia said no more, but the bright colour faded from her cheek, and +the contraction of care returned to her brow. She occupied herself +with taking off her baby's walking things. Hester lingered, anxious +to soothe and make peace; she was looking sorrowfully at Sylvia, +when she saw tears dropping on the baby's cloak, and then it seemed +as if she must speak a word of comfort before going to the +shop-work, where she knew she was expected by both Philip and +Coulson. She poured out a cup of tea, and coming close up to Sylvia, +and kneeling down by her, she whispered,-- + +'Just take him this into t' ware-room; it'll put all to rights if +thou'll take it to him wi' thy own hands.' + +Sylvia looked up, and Hester then more fully saw how she had been +crying. She whispered in reply, for fear of disturbing her mother,-- + +'I don't mind anything but his speaking ill on me to mother. I know +I'm for iver trying and trying to be a good wife to him, an' it's +very dull work; harder than yo' think on, Hester,--an' I would ha' +been home for tea to-night only I was afeared of baby getting wet +wi' t' storm o' hail as we had down on t' shore; and we sheltered +under a rock. It's a weary coming home to this dark place, and to +find my own mother set against me.' + +'Take him his tea, like a good lassie. I'll answer for it he'll be +all right. A man takes it hardly when he comes in tired, a-thinking +his wife 'll be there to cheer him up a bit, to find her off, and +niver know nought of t' reason why.' + +'I'm glad enough I've getten a baby,' said Sylvia, 'but for aught +else I wish I'd niver been married, I do!' + +'Hush thee, lass!' said Hester, rising up indignant; 'now that is a +sin. Eh! if thou only knew the lot o' some folk. But let's talk no +more on that, that cannot be helped; go, take him his tea, for it's +a sad thing to think on him fasting all this time.' + +Hester's voice was raised by the simple fact of her change of +position; and the word fasting caught Mrs. Robson's ear, as she sate +at her knitting by the chimney-corner. + +'Fasting? he said thou didn't care if he were full or fasting. +Lassie! it's not right in thee, I say; go, take him his tea at +once.' + +Sylvia rose, and gave up the baby, which she had been suckling, to +Nancy, who having done her washing, had come for her charge, to put +it to bed. Sylvia kissed it fondly, making a little moan of sad, +passionate tenderness as she did so. Then she took the cup of tea; +but she said, rather defiantly, to Hester,-- + +'I'll go to him with it, because mother bids me, and it'll ease her +mind.' + +Then louder to her mother, she added,-- + +'Mother, I'll take him his tea, though I couldn't help the being +out.' + +If the act itself was conciliatory, the spirit in which she was +going to do it was the reverse. Hester followed her slowly into the +ware-room, with intentional delay, thinking that her presence might +be an obstacle to their mutually understanding one another. Sylvia +held the cup and plate of bread and butter out to Philip, but +avoided meeting his eye, and said not a word of explanation, or +regret, or self-justification. If she had spoken, though ever so +crossly, Philip would have been relieved, and would have preferred +it to her silence. He wanted to provoke her to speech, but did not +know how to begin. + +'Thou's been out again wandering on that sea-shore!' said he. She +did not answer him. 'I cannot think what's always taking thee there, +when one would ha' thought a walk up to Esdale would be far more +sheltered, both for thee and baby in such weather as this. Thou'll +be having that baby ill some of these days.' + +At this, she looked up at him, and her lips moved as though she were +going to say something. Oh, how he wished she would, that they might +come to a wholesome quarrel, and a making friends again, and a +tender kissing, in which he might whisper penitence for all his +hasty words, or unreasonable vexation. But she had come resolved not +to speak, for fear of showing too much passion, too much emotion. +Only as she was going away she turned and said,-- + +'Philip, mother hasn't many more years to live; dunnot grieve her, +and set her again' me by finding fault wi' me afore her. Our being +wed were a great mistake; but before t' poor old widow woman let us +make as if we were happy.' + +'Sylvie! Sylvie!' he called after her. She must have heard, but she +did not turn. He went after her, and seized her by the arm rather +roughly; she had stung him to the heart with her calm words, which +seemed to reveal a long-formed conviction. + +'Sylvie!' said he, almost fiercely, 'what do yo' mean by what you've +said? Speak! I will have an answer.' + +He almost shook her: she was half frightened by his vehemence of +behaviour, which she took for pure anger, while it was the outburst +of agonized and unrequited love. + +'Let me go! Oh, Philip, yo' hurt me!' + +Just at this moment Hester came up; Philip was ashamed of his +passionate ways in her serene presence, and loosened his grasp of +his wife, and she ran away; ran into her mother's empty room, as to +a solitary place, and there burst into that sobbing, miserable +crying which we instinctively know is too surely lessening the +length of our days on earth to be indulged in often. + +When she had exhausted that first burst and lay weak and quiet for a +time, she listened in dreading expectation of the sound of his +footstep coming in search of her to make friends. But he was +detained below on business, and never came. Instead, her mother came +clambering up the stairs; she was now in the habit of going to bed +between seven and eight, and to-night she was retiring at even an +earlier hour. + +Sylvia sprang up and drew down the window-blind, and made her face +and manner as composed as possible, in order to soothe and comfort +her mother's last waking hours. She helped her to bed with gentle +patience; the restraint imposed upon her by her tender filial love +was good for her, though all the time she was longing to be alone to +have another wild outburst. When her mother was going off to sleep, +Sylvia went to look at her baby, also in a soft sleep. Then she +gazed out at the evening sky, high above the tiled roofs of the +opposite houses, and the longing to be out under the peaceful +heavens took possession of her once more. + +'It's my only comfort,' said she to herself; 'and there's no earthly +harm in it. I would ha' been at home to his tea, if I could; but +when he doesn't want me, and mother doesn't want me, and baby is +either in my arms or asleep; why, I'll go any cry my fill out under +yon great quiet sky. I cannot stay in t' house to be choked up wi' +my tears, nor yet to have him coming about me either for scolding or +peace-making.' + +So she put on her things and went out again; this time along the +High Street, and up the long flights of steps towards the parish +church, and there she stood and thought that here she had first met +Kinraid, at Darley's burying, and she tried to recall the very look +of all the sad, earnest faces round the open grave--the whole scene, +in fact; and let herself give way to the miserable regrets she had +so often tried to control. Then she walked on, crying bitterly, +almost unawares to herself; on through the high, bleak fields at the +summit of the cliffs; fields bounded by loose stone fences, and far +from all sight of the habitation of man. But, below, the sea rose +and raged; it was high water at the highest tide, and the wind blew +gustily from the land, vainly combating the great waves that came +invincibly up with a roar and an impotent furious dash against the +base of the cliffs below. + +Sylvia heard the sound of the passionate rush and rebound of many +waters, like the shock of mighty guns, whenever the other sound of +the blustering gusty wind was lulled for an instant. She was more +quieted by this tempest of the elements than she would have been had +all nature seemed as still as she had imagined it to be while she +was yet in-doors and only saw a part of the serene sky. + +She fixed on a certain point, in her own mind, which she would +reach, and then turn back again. It was where the outline of the +land curved inwards, dipping into a little bay. Here the field-path +she had hitherto followed descended somewhat abruptly to a cluster +of fishermen's cottages, hardly large enough to be called a village; +and then the narrow roadway wound up the rising ground till it again +reached the summit of the cliffs that stretched along the coast for +many and many a mile. + +Sylvia said to herself that she would turn homewards when she came +within sight of this cove,--Headlington Cove, they called it. All +the way along she had met no one since she had left the town, but +just as she had got over the last stile, or ladder of +stepping-stones, into the field from which the path descended, she +came upon a number of people--quite a crowd, in fact; men moving +forward in a steady line, hauling at a rope, a chain, or something +of that kind; boys, children, and women holding babies in their +arms, as if all were fain to come out and partake in some general +interest. + +They kept within a certain distance from the edge of the cliff, and +Sylvia, advancing a little, now saw the reason why. The great cable +the men held was attached to some part of a smack, which could now +be seen by her in the waters below, half dismantled, and all but a +wreck, yet with her deck covered with living men, as far as the +waning light would allow her to see. The vessel strained to get free +of the strong guiding cable; the tide was turning, the wind was +blowing off shore, and Sylvia knew without being told, that almost +parallel to this was a line of sunken rocks that had been fatal to +many a ship before now, if she had tried to take the inner channel +instead of keeping out to sea for miles, and then steering in +straight for Monkshaven port. And the ships that had been thus lost +had been in good plight and order compared to this vessel, which +seemed nothing but a hull without mast or sail. + +By this time, the crowd--the fishermen from the hamlet down below, +with their wives and children--all had come but the bedridden--had +reached the place where Sylvia stood. The women, in a state of wild +excitement, rushed on, encouraging their husbands and sons by words, +even while they hindered them by actions; and, from time to time, +one of them would run to the edge of the cliff and shout out some +brave words of hope in her shrill voice to the crew on the deck +below. Whether these latter heard it or not, no one could tell; but +it seemed as if all human voice must be lost in the tempestuous stun +and tumult of wind and wave. It was generally a woman with a child +in her arms who so employed herself. As the strain upon the cable +became greater, and the ground on which they strove more uneven, +every hand was needed to hold and push, and all those women who were +unencumbered held by the dear rope on which so many lives were +depending. On they came, a long line of human beings, black against +the ruddy sunset sky. As they came near Sylvia, a woman cried out,-- + +'Dunnot stand idle, lass, but houd on wi' us; there's many a bonny +life at stake, and many a mother's heart a-hangin' on this bit o' +hemp. Tak' houd, lass, and give a firm grip, and God remember thee +i' thy need.' + +Sylvia needed no second word; a place was made for her, and in an +instant more the rope was pulling against her hands till it seemed +as though she was holding fire in her bare palms. Never a one of +them thought of letting go for an instant, though when all was over +many of their hands were raw and bleeding. Some strong, experienced +fishermen passed a word along the line from time to time, giving +directions as to how it should be held according to varying +occasions; but few among the rest had breath or strength enough to +speak. The women and children that accompanied them ran on before, +breaking down the loose stone fences, so as to obviate delay or +hindrance; they talked continually, exhorting, encouraging, +explaining. From their many words and fragmentary sentences, Sylvia +learnt that the vessel was supposed to be a Newcastle smack sailing +from London, that had taken the dangerous inner channel to save +time, and had been caught in the storm, which she was too crazy to +withstand; and that if by some daring contrivance of the fishermen +who had first seen her the cable had not been got ashore, she would +have been cast upon the rocks before this, and 'all on board +perished'. + +'It were dayleet then,' quoth one woman; 'a could see their faces, +they were so near. They were as pale as dead men, an' one was +prayin' down on his knees. There was a king's officer aboard, for I +saw t' gowd about him.' + +'He'd maybe come from these hom'ard parts, and be comin' to see his +own folk; else it's no common for king's officers to sail in aught +but king's ships.' + +'Eh! but it's gettin' dark! See there's t' leeghts in t' houses in +t' New Town! T' grass is crispin' wi' t' white frost under out feet. +It'll be a hard tug round t' point, and then she'll be gettin' into +still waters.' + +One more great push and mighty strain, and the danger was past; the +vessel--or what remained of her--was in the harbour, among the +lights and cheerful sounds of safety. The fishermen sprang down the +cliff to the quay-side, anxious to see the men whose lives they had +saved; the women, weary and over-excited, began to cry. Not Sylvia, +however; her fount of tears had been exhausted earlier in the day: +her principal feeling was of gladness and high rejoicing that they +were saved who had been so near to death not half an hour before. + +She would have liked to have seen the men, and shaken hands with +them all round. But instead she must go home, and well would it be +with her if she was in time for her husband's supper, and escaped +any notice of her absence. So she separated herself from the groups +of women who sate on the grass in the churchyard, awaiting the +return of such of their husbands as could resist the fascinations of +the Monkshaven public houses. As Sylvia went down the church steps, +she came upon one of the fishermen who had helped to tow the vessel +into port. + +'There was seventeen men and boys aboard her, and a navy-lieutenant +as had comed as passenger. It were a good job as we could manage +her. Good-neet to thee, thou'll sleep all t' sounder for havin' lent +a hand.' + +The street air felt hot and close after the sharp keen atmosphere of +the heights above; the decent shops and houses had all their +shutters put up, and were preparing for their early bed-time. +Already lights shone here and there in the upper chambers, and +Sylvia scarcely met any one. + +She went round up the passage from the quay-side, and in by the +private door. All was still; the basins of bread and milk that she +and her husband were in the habit of having for supper stood in the +fender before the fire, each with a plate upon them. Nancy had gone +to bed, Phoebe dozed in the kitchen; Philip was still in the +ware-room, arranging goods and taking stock along with Coulson, for +Hester had gone home to her mother. + +Sylvia was not willing to go and seek out Philip, after the manner +in which they had parted. All the despondency of her life became +present to her again as she sate down within her home. She had +forgotten it in her interest and excitement, but now it came back +again. + +Still she was hungry, and youthful, and tired. She took her basin +up, and was eating her supper when she heard a cry of her baby +upstairs, and ran away to attend to it. When it had been fed and +hushed away to sleep, she went in to see her mother, attracted by +some unusual noise in her room. + +She found Mrs. Robson awake, and restless, and ailing; dwelling much +on what Philip had said in his anger against Sylvia. It was really +necessary for her daughter to remain with her; so Sylvia stole out, +and went quickly down-stairs to Philip--now sitting tired and worn +out, and eating his supper with little or no appetite--and told him +she meant to pass the night with her mother. + +His answer of acquiescence was so short and careless, or so it +seemed to her, that she did not tell him any more of what she had +done or seen that evening, or even dwell upon any details of her +mother's indisposition. + +As soon as she had left the room, Philip set down his half-finished +basin of bread and milk, and sate long, his face hidden in his +folded arms. The wick of the candle grew long and black, and fell, +and sputtered, and guttered; he sate on, unheeding either it or the +pale gray fire that was dying out--dead at last. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +AN APPARITION + + +Mrs. Robson was very poorly all night long. Uneasy thoughts seemed +to haunt and perplex her brain, and she neither slept nor woke, but +was restless and uneasy in her talk and movements. + +Sylvia lay down by her, but got so little sleep, that at length she +preferred sitting in the easy-chair by the bedside. Here she dropped +off to slumber in spite of herself; the scene of the evening before +seemed to be repeated; the cries of the many people, the heavy roar +and dash of the threatening waves, were repeated in her ears; and +something was said to her through all the conflicting noises,--what +it was she could not catch, though she strained to hear the hoarse +murmur that, in her dream, she believed to convey a meaning of the +utmost importance to her. + +This dream, that mysterious, only half-intelligible sound, recurred +whenever she dozed, and her inability to hear the words uttered +distressed her so much, that at length she sate bolt upright, +resolved to sleep no more. Her mother was talking in a +half-conscious way; Philip's speech of the evening before was +evidently running in her mind. + +'Sylvie, if thou're not a good wife to him, it'll just break my +heart outright. A woman should obey her husband, and not go her own +gait. I never leave the house wi'out telling father, and getting his +leave.' + +And then she began to cry pitifully, and to say unconnected things, +till Sylvia, to soothe her, took her hand, and promised never to +leave the house without asking her husband's permission, though in +making this promise, she felt as if she were sacrificing her last +pleasure to her mother's wish; for she knew well enough that Philip +would always raise objections to the rambles which reminded her of +her old free open-air life. + +But to comfort and cherish her mother she would have done anything; +yet this very morning that was dawning, she must go and ask his +permission for a simple errand, or break her word. + +She knew from experience that nothing quieted her mother so well as +balm-tea; it might be that the herb really possessed some sedative +power; it might be only early faith, and often repeated experience, +but it had always had a tranquillizing effect; and more than once, +during the restless hours of the night, Mrs. Robson had asked for it; +but Sylvia's stock of last year's dead leaves was exhausted. Still +she knew where a plant of balm grew in the sheltered corner of +Haytersbank Farm garden; she knew that the tenants who had succeeded +them in the occupation of the farm had had to leave it in +consequence of a death, and that the place was unoccupied; and in +the darkness she had planned that if she could leave her mother +after the dawn came, and she had attended to her baby, she would +walk quickly to the old garden, and gather the tender sprigs which +she was sure to find there. + +Now she must go and ask Philip; and till she held her baby to her +breast, she bitterly wished that she were free from the duties and +chains of matrimony. But the touch of its waxen fingers, the hold of +its little mouth, made her relax into docility and gentleness. She +gave it back to Nancy to be dressed, and softly opened the door of +Philip's bed-room. + +'Philip!' said she, gently. 'Philip!' + +He started up from dreams of her; of her, angry. He saw her there, +rather pale with her night's watch and anxiety, but looking meek, +and a little beseeching. + +'Mother has had such a bad night! she fancied once as some balm-tea +would do her good--it allays used to: but my dried balm is all gone, +and I thought there'd be sure to be some in t' old garden at +Haytersbank. Feyther planted a bush just for mother, wheere it +allays came up early, nigh t' old elder-tree; and if yo'd not mind, +I could run theere while she sleeps, and be back again in an hour, +and it's not seven now.' + +'Thou's not wear thyself out with running, Sylvie,' said Philip, +eagerly; 'I'll get up and go myself, or, perhaps,' continued he, +catching the shadow that was coming over her face, 'thou'd rather go +thyself: it's only that I'm so afraid of thy tiring thyself.' + +'It'll not tire me,' said Sylvia. 'Afore I was married, I was out +often far farther than that, afield to fetch up t' kine, before my +breakfast.' + +'Well, go if thou will,' said Philip. 'But get somewhat to eat +first, and don't hurry; there's no need for that.' + +She had got her hat and shawl, and was off before he had finished +his last words. + +The long High Street was almost empty of people at that early hour; +one side was entirely covered by the cool morning shadow which lay +on the pavement, and crept up the opposite houses till only the +topmost story caught the rosy sunlight. Up the hill-road, through +the gap in the stone wall, across the dewy fields, Sylvia went by +the very shortest path she knew. + +She had only once been at Haytersbank since her wedding-day. On that +occasion the place had seemed strangely and dissonantly changed by +the numerous children who were diverting themselves before the open +door, and whose playthings and clothes strewed the house-place, and +made it one busy scene of confusion and untidiness, more like the +Corneys' kitchen in former times, than her mother's orderly and +quiet abode. Those little children were fatherless now; and the +house was shut up, awaiting the entry of some new tenant. There were +no shutters to shut; the long low window was blinking in the rays of +the morning sun; the house and cow-house doors were closed, and no +poultry wandered about the field in search of stray grains of corn, +or early worms. It was a strange and unfamiliar silence, and struck +solemnly on Sylvia's mind. Only a thrush in the old orchard down in +the hollow, out of sight, whistled and gurgled with continual shrill +melody. + +Sylvia went slowly past the house and down the path leading to the +wild, deserted bit of garden. She saw that the last tenants had had +a pump sunk for them, and resented the innovation, as though the +well she was passing could feel the insult. Over it grew two +hawthorn trees; on the bent trunk of one of them she used to sit, +long ago: the charm of the position being enhanced by the possible +danger of falling into the well and being drowned. The rusty unused +chain was wound round the windlass; the bucket was falling to pieces +from dryness. A lean cat came from some outhouse, and mewed +pitifully with hunger; accompanying Sylvia to the garden, as if glad +of some human companionship, yet refusing to allow itself to be +touched. Primroses grew in the sheltered places, just as they +formerly did; and made the uncultivated ground seem less deserted +than the garden, where the last year's weeds were rotting away, and +cumbering the ground. + +Sylvia forced her way through the berry bushes to the herb-plot, and +plucked the tender leaves she had come to seek; sighing a little all +the time. Then she retraced her steps; paused softly before the +house-door, and entered the porch and kissed the senseless wood. + +She tried to tempt the poor gaunt cat into her arms, meaning to +carry it home and befriend it; but it was scared by her endeavour +and ran back to its home in the outhouse, making a green path across +the white dew of the meadow. Then Sylvia began to hasten home, +thinking, and remembering--at the stile that led into the road she +was brought short up. + +Some one stood in the lane just on the other side of the gap; his +back was to the morning sun; all she saw at first was the uniform of +a naval officer, so well known in Monkshaven in those days. + +Sylvia went hurrying past him, not looking again, although her +clothes almost brushed his, as he stood there still. She had not +gone a yard--no, not half a yard--when her heart leaped up and fell +again dead within her, as if she had been shot. + +'Sylvia!' he said, in a voice tremulous with joy and passionate +love. 'Sylvia!' + +She looked round; he had turned a little, so that the light fell +straight on his face. It was bronzed, and the lines were +strengthened; but it was the same face she had last seen in +Haytersbank Gully three long years ago, and had never thought to see +in life again. + +He was close to her and held out his fond arms; she went fluttering +towards their embrace, as if drawn by the old fascination; but when +she felt them close round her, she started away, and cried out with +a great pitiful shriek, and put her hands up to her forehead as if +trying to clear away some bewildering mist. + +Then she looked at him once more, a terrible story in her eyes, if +he could but have read it. + +Twice she opened her stiff lips to speak, and twice the words were +overwhelmed by the surges of her misery, which bore them back into +the depths of her heart. + +He thought that he had come upon her too suddenly, and he attempted +to soothe her with soft murmurs of love, and to woo her to his +outstretched hungry arms once more. But when she saw this motion of +his, she made a gesture as though pushing him away; and with an +inarticulate moan of agony she put her hands to her head once more, +and turning away began to run blindly towards the town for +protection. + +For a minute or so he was stunned with surprise at her behaviour; +and then he thought it accounted for by the shock of his accost, and +that she needed time to understand the unexpected joy. So he +followed her swiftly, ever keeping her in view, but not trying to +overtake her too speedily. + +'I have frightened my poor love,' he kept thinking. And by this +thought he tried to repress his impatience and check the speed he +longed to use; yet he was always so near behind that her quickened +sense heard his well-known footsteps following, and a mad notion +flashed across her brain that she would go to the wide full river, +and end the hopeless misery she felt enshrouding her. There was a +sure hiding-place from all human reproach and heavy mortal woe +beneath the rushing waters borne landwards by the morning tide. + +No one can tell what changed her course; perhaps the thought of her +sucking child; perhaps her mother; perhaps an angel of God; no one +on earth knows, but as she ran along the quay-side she all at once +turned up an entry, and through an open door. + +He, following all the time, came into a quiet dark parlour, with a +cloth and tea-things on the table ready for breakfast; the change +from the bright sunny air out of doors to the deep shadow of this +room made him think for the first moment that she had passed on, and +that no one was there, and he stood for an instant baffled, and +hearing no sound but the beating of his own heart; but an +irrepressible sobbing gasp made him look round, and there he saw her +cowered behind the door, her face covered tight up, and sharp +shudders going through her whole frame. + +'My love, my darling!' said he, going up to her, and trying to raise +her, and to loosen her hands away from her face. 'I've been too +sudden for thee: it was thoughtless in me; but I have so looked +forward to this time, and seeing thee come along the field, and go +past me, but I should ha' been more tender and careful of thee. Nay! +let me have another look of thy sweet face.' + +All this he whispered in the old tones of manoeuvring love, in that +voice she had yearned and hungered to hear in life, and had not +heard, for all her longing, save in her dreams. + +She tried to crouch more and more into the corner, into the hidden +shadow--to sink into the ground out of sight. + +Once more he spoke, beseeching her to lift up her face, to let him +hear her speak. + +But she only moaned. + +'Sylvia!' said he, thinking he could change his tactics, and pique +her into speaking, that he would make a pretence of suspicion and +offence. + +'Sylvia! one would think you weren't glad to see me back again at +length. I only came in late last night, and my first thought on +wakening was of you; it has been ever since I left you.' + +Sylvia took her hands away from her face; it was gray as the face of +death; her awful eyes were passionless in her despair. + +'Where have yo' been?' she asked, in slow, hoarse tones, as if her +voice were half strangled within her. + +'Been!' said he, a red light coming into his eyes, as he bent his +looks upon her; now, indeed, a true and not an assumed suspicion +entering his mind. + +'Been!' he repeated; then, coming a step nearer to her, and taking +her hand, not tenderly this time, but with a resolution to be +satisfied. + +'Did not your cousin--Hepburn, I mean--did not he tell you?--he saw +the press-gang seize me,--I gave him a message to you--I bade you +keep true to me as I would be to you.' + +Between every clause of this speech he paused and gasped for her +answer; but none came. Her eyes dilated and held his steady gaze +prisoner as with a magical charm--neither could look away from the +other's wild, searching gaze. When he had ended, she was silent for +a moment, then she cried out, shrill and fierce,-- + +'Philip!' No answer. + +Wilder and shriller still, 'Philip!' she cried. + +He was in the distant ware-room completing the last night's work +before the regular shop hours began; before breakfast, also, that +his wife might not find him waiting and impatient. + +He heard her cry; it cut through doors, and still air, and great +bales of woollen stuff; he thought that she had hurt herself, that +her mother was worse, that her baby was ill, and he hastened to the +spot whence the cry proceeded. + +On opening the door that separated the shop from the sitting-room, +he saw the back of a naval officer, and his wife on the ground, +huddled up in a heap; when she perceived him come in, she dragged +herself up by means of a chair, groping like a blind person, and +came and stood facing him. + +The officer turned fiercely round, and would have come towards +Philip, who was so bewildered by the scene that even yet he did not +understand who the stranger was, did not perceive for an instant +that he saw the realization of his greatest dread. + +But Sylvia laid her hand on Kinraid's arm, and assumed to herself +the right of speech. Philip did not know her voice, it was so +changed. + +'Philip,' she said, 'this is Kinraid come back again to wed me. He +is alive; he has niver been dead, only taken by t' press-gang. And +he says yo' saw it, and knew it all t' time. Speak, was it so?' + +Philip knew not what to say, whither to turn, under what refuge of +words or acts to shelter. + +Sylvia's influence was keeping Kinraid silent, but he was rapidly +passing beyond it. + +'Speak!' he cried, loosening himself from Sylvia's light grasp, and +coming towards Philip, with a threatening gesture. 'Did I not bid +you tell her how it was? Did I not bid you say how I would be +faithful to her, and she was to be faithful to me? Oh! you damned +scoundrel! have you kept it from her all that time, and let her +think me dead, or false? Take that!' + +His closed fist was up to strike the man, who hung his head with +bitterest shame and miserable self-reproach; but Sylvia came swift +between the blow and its victim. + +'Charley, thou shan't strike him,' she said. 'He is a damned +scoundrel' (this was said in the hardest, quietest tone) 'but he is +my husband.' + +'Oh! thou false heart!' exclaimed Kinraid, turning sharp on her. 'If +ever I trusted woman, I trusted you, Sylvia Robson.' + +He made as though throwing her from him, with a gesture of contempt +that stung her to life. + +'Oh, Charley!' she cried, springing to him, 'dunnot cut me to the +quick; have pity on me, though he had none. I did so love thee; it +was my very heart-strings as gave way when they told me thou was +drowned--feyther, and th' Corneys, and all, iverybody. Thy hat and +t' bit o' ribbon I gave thee were found drenched and dripping wi' +sea-water; and I went mourning for thee all the day long--dunnot +turn away from me; only hearken this once, and then kill me dead, +and I'll bless yo',--and have niver been mysel' since; niver ceased +to feel t' sun grow dark and th' air chill and dreary when I thought +on t' time when thou was alive. I did, my Charley, my own love! And +I thought thou was dead for iver, and I wished I were lying beside +thee. Oh, Charley! Philip, theere, where he stands, could tell yo' +this was true. Philip, wasn't it so?' + +'Would God I were dead!' moaned forth the unhappy, guilty man. But +she had turned to Kinraid, and was speaking again to him, and +neither of them heard or heeded him--they were drawing closer and +closer together--she, with her cheeks and eyes aflame, talking +eagerly. + +'And feyther was taken up, and all for setting some free as t' +press-gang had gotten by a foul trick; and he were put i' York +prison, and tried, and hung!--hung! Charley!--good kind feyther was +hung on a gallows; and mother lost her sense and grew silly in +grief, and we were like to be turned out on t' wide world, and poor +mother dateless--and I thought yo' were dead--oh! I thought yo' were +dead, I did--oh, Charley, Charley!' + +By this time they were in each other's arms, she with her head on +his shoulder, crying as if her heart would break. + +Philip came forwards and took hold of her to pull her away; but +Charley held her tight, mutely defying Philip. Unconsciously she was +Philip's protection, in that hour of danger, from a blow which might +have been his death if strong will could have aided it to kill. + +'Sylvie!' said he, grasping her tight. 'Listen to me. He didn't love +yo' as I did. He had loved other women. I, yo'--yo' alone. He loved +other girls before yo', and had left off loving 'em. I--I wish God +would free my heart from the pang; but it will go on till I die, +whether yo' love me or not. And then--where was I? Oh! that very +night that he was taken, I was a-thinking on yo' and on him; and I +might ha' given yo' his message, but I heard them speaking of him as +knew him well; talking of his false fickle ways. How was I to know +he would keep true to thee? It might be a sin in me, I cannot say; +my heart and my sense are gone dead within me. I know this, I've +loved yo' as no man but me ever loved before. Have some pity and +forgiveness on me, if it's only because I've been so tormented with +my love.' + +He looked at her with feverish eager wistfulness; it faded away into +despair as she made no sign of having even heard his words. He let +go his hold of her, and his arm fell loosely by his side. + +'I may die,' he said, 'for my life is ended!' + +'Sylvia!' spoke out Kinraid, bold and fervent, 'your marriage is no +marriage. You were tricked into it. You are my wife, not his. I am +your husband; we plighted each other our troth. See! here is my half +of the sixpence.' + +He pulled it out from his bosom, tied by a black ribbon round his +neck. + +'When they stripped me and searched me in th' French prison, I +managed to keep this. No lies can break the oath we swore to each +other. I can get your pretence of a marriage set aside. I'm in +favour with my admiral, and he'll do a deal for me, and back me out. +Come with me; your marriage shall be set aside, and we'll be married +again, all square and above-board. Come away. Leave that damned +fellow to repent of the trick he played an honest sailor; we'll be +true, whatever has come and gone. Come, Sylvia.' + +His arm was round her waist, and he was drawing her towards the +door, his face all crimson with eagerness and hope. Just then the +baby cried. + +'Hark!' said she, starting away from Kinraid, 'baby's crying for me. +His child--yes, it is his child--I'd forgotten that--forgotten all. +I'll make my vow now, lest I lose mysel' again. I'll never forgive +yon man, nor live with him as his wife again. All that's done and +ended. He's spoilt my life,--he's spoilt it for as long as iver I +live on this earth; but neither yo' nor him shall spoil my soul. It +goes hard wi' me, Charley, it does indeed. I'll just give yo' one +kiss--one little kiss--and then, so help me God, I'll niver see nor +hear till--no, not that, not that is needed--I'll niver see--sure +that's enough--I'll never see yo' again on this side heaven, so help +me God! I'm bound and tied, but I've sworn my oath to him as well as +yo': there's things I will do, and there's things I won't. Kiss me +once more. God help me, he's gone!' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +A RECKLESS RECRUIT + + +She lay across a chair, her arms helplessly stretched out, her face +unseen. Every now and then a thrill ran through her body: she was +talking to herself all the time with incessant low incontinence of +words. + +Philip stood near her, motionless: he did not know whether she was +conscious of his presence; in fact, he knew nothing but that he and +she were sundered for ever; he could only take in that one idea, and +it numbed all other thought. + +Once more her baby cried for the comfort she alone could give. + +She rose to her feet, but staggered when she tried to walk; her +glazed eyes fell upon Philip as he instinctively made a step to hold +her steady. No light came into her eyes any more than if she had +looked upon a perfect stranger; not even was there the contraction +of dislike. Some other figure filled her mind, and she saw him no +more than she saw the inanimate table. That way of looking at him +withered him up more than any sign of aversion would have done. + +He watched her laboriously climb the stairs, and vanish out of +sight; and sat down with a sudden feeling of extreme bodily +weakness. + +The door of communication between the parlour and the shop was +opened. That was the first event of which Philip took note; but +Phoebe had come in unawares to him, with the intention of removing +the breakfast things on her return from market, and seeing them +unused, and knowing that Sylvia had sate up all night with her +mother, she had gone back to the kitchen. Philip had neither seen +nor heard her. + +Now Coulson came in, amazed at Hepburn's non-appearance in the shop. + +'Why! Philip, what's ado? How ill yo' look, man!' exclaimed he, +thoroughly alarmed by Philip's ghastly appearance. 'What's the +matter?' + +'I!' said Philip, slowly gathering his thoughts. 'Why should there +be anything the matter?' + +His instinct, quicker to act than his reason, made him shrink from +his misery being noticed, much more made any subject for explanation +or sympathy. + +'There may be nothing the matter wi' thee,' said Coulson, 'but +thou's the look of a corpse on thy face. I was afeared something was +wrong, for it's half-past nine, and thee so punctual!' + +He almost guarded Philip into the shop, and kept furtively watching +him, and perplexing himself with Philip's odd, strange ways. + +Hester, too, observed the heavy broken-down expression on Philip's +ashen face, and her heart ached for him; but after that first +glance, which told her so much, she avoided all appearance of +noticing or watching. Only a shadow brooded over her sweet, calm +face, and once or twice she sighed to herself. + +It was market-day, and people came in and out, bringing their store +of gossip from the country, or the town--from the farm or the +quay-side. + +Among the pieces of news, the rescue of the smack the night before +furnished a large topic; and by-and-by Philip heard a name that +startled him into attention. + +The landlady of a small public-house much frequented by sailors was +talking to Coulson. + +'There was a sailor aboard of her as knowed Kinraid by sight, in +Shields, years ago; and he called him by his name afore they were +well out o' t' river. And Kinraid was no ways set up, for all his +lieutenant's uniform (and eh! but they say he looks handsome in +it!); but he tells 'm all about it--how he was pressed aboard a +man-o'-war, an' for his good conduct were made a warrant officer, +boatswain, or something!' + +All the people in the shop were listening now; Philip alone seemed +engrossed in folding up a piece of cloth, so as to leave no possible +chance of creases in it; yet he lost not a syllable of the good +woman's narration. + +She, pleased with the enlarged audience her tale had attracted, went +on with fresh vigour. + +'An' there's a gallant captain, one Sir Sidney Smith, and he'd a +notion o' goin' smack into a French port, an' carryin' off a vessel +from right under their very noses; an' says he, "Which of yo' +British sailors 'll go along with me to death or glory?" So Kinraid +stands up like a man, an' "I'll go with yo', captain," he says. So +they, an' some others as brave, went off, an' did their work, an' +choose whativer it was, they did it famously; but they got caught by +them French, an' were clapped into prison i' France for iver so +long; but at last one Philip--Philip somethin' (he were a Frenchman, +I know)--helped 'em to escape, in a fishin'-boat. But they were +welcomed by th' whole British squadron as was i' t' Channel for t' +piece of daring they'd done i' cuttin' out t' ship from a French +port; an' Captain Sir Sidney Smith was made an admiral, an' him as +we used t' call Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, is made a +lieutenant, an' a commissioned officer i' t' King's service; and is +come to great glory, and slep in my house this very blessed night as +is just past!' + +A murmur of applause and interest and rejoicing buzzed all around +Philip. All this was publicly known about Kinraid,--and how much +more? All Monkshaven might hear tomorrow--nay, to-day--of Philip's +treachery to the hero of the hour; how he had concealed his fate, +and supplanted him in his love. + +Philip shrank from the burst of popular indignation which he knew +must follow. Any wrong done to one who stands on the pinnacle of the +people's favour is resented by each individual as a personal injury; +and among a primitive set of country-folk, who recognize the wild +passion in love, as it exists untamed by the trammels of reason and +self-restraint, any story of baulked affections, or treachery in +such matters, spreads like wildfire. + +Philip knew this quite well; his doom of disgrace lay plain before +him, if only Kinraid spoke the word. His head was bent down while he +thus listened and reflected. He half resolved on doing something; he +lifted up his head, caught the reflection of his face in the little +strip of glass on the opposite side, in which the women might look +at themselves in their contemplated purchases, and quite resolved. + +The sight he saw in the mirror was his own long, sad, pale face, +made plainer and grayer by the heavy pressure of the morning's +events. He saw his stooping figure, his rounded shoulders, with +something like a feeling of disgust at his personal appearance as he +remembered the square, upright build of Kinraid; his fine uniform, +with epaulette and sword-belt; his handsome brown face; his dark +eyes, splendid with the fire of passion and indignation; his white +teeth, gleaming out with the terrible smile of scorn. + +The comparison drove Philip from passive hopelessness to active +despair. + +He went abruptly from the crowded shop into the empty parlour, and +on into the kitchen, where he took up a piece of bread, and heedless +of Phoebe's look and words, began to eat it before he even left the +place; for he needed the strength that food would give; he needed it +to carry him out of the sight and the knowledge of all who might +hear what he had done, and point their fingers at him. + +He paused a moment in the parlour, and then, setting his teeth tight +together, he went upstairs. + +First of all he went into the bit of a room opening out of theirs, +in which his baby slept. He dearly loved the child, and many a time +would run in and play a while with it; and in such gambols he and +Sylvia had passed their happiest moments of wedded life. + +The little Bella was having her morning slumber; Nancy used to tell +long afterwards how he knelt down by the side of her cot, and was so +strange she thought he must have prayed, for all it was nigh upon +eleven o'clock, and folk in their senses only said their prayers +when they got up, and when they went to bed. + +Then he rose, and stooped over, and gave the child a long, +lingering, soft, fond kiss. And on tip-toe he passed away into the +room where his aunt lay; his aunt who had been so true a friend to +him! He was thankful to know that in her present state she was safe +from the knowledge of what was past, safe from the sound of the +shame to come. + +He had not meant to see Sylvia again; he dreaded the look of her +hatred, her scorn, but there, outside her mother's bed, she lay, +apparently asleep. Mrs. Robson, too, was sleeping, her face towards +the wall. Philip could not help it; he went to have one last look at +his wife. She was turned towards her mother, her face averted from +him; he could see the tear-stains, the swollen eyelids, the lips yet +quivering: he stooped down, and bent to kiss the little hand that +lay listless by her side. As his hot breath neared that hand it was +twitched away, and a shiver ran through the whole prostrate body. +And then he knew that she was not asleep, only worn out by her +misery,--misery that he had caused. + +He sighed heavily; but he went away, down-stairs, and away for ever. +Only as he entered the parlour his eyes caught on two silhouettes, +one of himself, one of Sylvia, done in the first month of their +marriage, by some wandering artist, if so he could be called. They +were hanging against the wall in little oval wooden frames; black +profiles, with the lights done in gold; about as poor semblances of +humanity as could be conceived; but Philip went up, and after +looking for a minute or so at Sylvia's, he took it down, and +buttoned his waistcoat over it. + +It was the only thing he took away from his home. + +He went down the entry on to the quay. The river was there, and +waters, they say, have a luring power, and a weird promise of rest +in their perpetual monotony of sound. But many people were there, if +such a temptation presented itself to Philip's mind; the sight of +his fellow-townsmen, perhaps of his acquaintances, drove him up +another entry--the town is burrowed with such--back into the High +Street, which he straightway crossed into a well-known court, out of +which rough steps led to the summit of the hill, and on to the fells +and moors beyond. + +He plunged and panted up this rough ascent. From the top he could +look down on the whole town lying below, severed by the bright +shining river into two parts. To the right lay the sea, shimmering +and heaving; there were the cluster of masts rising out of the +little port; the irregular roofs of the houses; which of them, +thought he, as he carried his eye along the quay-side to the +market-place, which of them was his? and he singled it out in its +unfamiliar aspect, and saw the thin blue smoke rising from the +kitchen chimney, where even now Phoebe was cooking the household +meal that he never more must share. + +Up at that thought and away, he knew not nor cared not whither. He +went through the ploughed fields where the corn was newly springing; +he came down upon the vast sunny sea, and turned his back upon it +with loathing; he made his way inland to the high green pastures; +the short upland turf above which the larks hung poised 'at heaven's +gate'. He strode along, so straight and heedless of briar and bush, +that the wild black cattle ceased from grazing, and looked after him +with their great blank puzzled eyes. + +He had passed all enclosures and stone fences now, and was fairly on +the desolate brown moors; through the withered last year's ling and +fern, through the prickly gorse, he tramped, crushing down the +tender shoots of this year's growth, and heedless of the startled +plover's cry, goaded by the furies. His only relief from thought, +from the remembrance of Sylvia's looks and words, was in violent +bodily action. + +So he went on till evening shadows and ruddy evening lights came out +upon the wild fells. + +He had crossed roads and lanes, with a bitter avoidance of men's +tracks; but now the strong instinct of self-preservation came out, +and his aching limbs, his weary heart, giving great pants and beats +for a time, and then ceasing altogether till a mist swam and +quivered before his aching eyes, warned him that he must find some +shelter and food, or lie down to die. He fell down now, often; +stumbling over the slightest obstacle. He had passed the cattle +pastures; he was among the black-faced sheep; and they, too, ceased +nibbling, and looked after him, and somehow, in his poor wandering +imagination, their silly faces turned to likenesses of Monkshaven +people--people who ought to be far, far away. + +'Thou'll be belated on these fells, if thou doesn't tak' heed,' +shouted some one. + +Philip looked abroad to see whence the voice proceeded. + +An old stiff-legged shepherd, in a smock-frock, was within a couple +of hundred yards. Philip did not answer, but staggered and stumbled +towards him. + +'Good lork!' said the man, 'wheere hast ta been? Thou's seen Oud +Harry, I think, thou looks so scared.' + +Philip rallied himself, and tried to speak up to the old standard of +respectability; but the effort was pitiful to see, had any one been +by, who could have understood the pain it caused to restrain cries +of bodily and mental agony. + +'I've lost my way, that's all.' + +''Twould ha' been enough, too, I'm thinkin', if I hadn't come out +after t' ewes. There's t' Three Griffins near at hand: a sup o' +Hollands 'll set thee to reeghts.' + +Philip followed faintly. He could not see before him, and was guided +by the sound of footsteps rather than by the sight of the figure +moving onwards. He kept stumbling; and he knew that the old shepherd +swore at him; but he also knew such curses proceeded from no +ill-will, only from annoyance at the delay in going and 'seem' after +t' ewes.' But had the man's words conveyed the utmost expression of +hatred, Philip would neither have wondered at them, nor resented +them. + +They came into a wild mountain road, unfenced from the fells. A +hundred yards off, and there was a small public-house, with a broad +ruddy oblong of firelight shining across the tract. + +'Theere!' said the old man. 'Thee cannot well miss that. A dunno +tho', thee bees sich a gawby.' + +So he went on, and delivered Philip safely up to the landlord. + +'Here's a felly as a fund on t' fell side, just as one as if he were +drunk; but he's sober enough, a reckon, only summat's wrong i' his +head, a'm thinkin'.' + +'No!' said Philip, sitting down on the first chair he came to. 'I'm +right enough; just fairly wearied out: lost my way,' and he fainted. + +There was a recruiting sergeant of marines sitting in the +house-place, drinking. He, too, like Philip, had lost his way; but +was turning his blunder to account by telling all manner of +wonderful stories to two or three rustics who had come in ready to +drink on any pretence; especially if they could get good liquor +without paying for it. + +The sergeant rose as Philip fell back, and brought up his own mug of +beer, into which a noggin of gin had been put (called in Yorkshire +'dog's-nose'). He partly poured and partly spilt some of this +beverage on Philip's face; some drops went through the pale and +parted lips, and with a start the worn-out man revived. + +'Bring him some victual, landlord,' called out the recruiting +sergeant. 'I'll stand shot.' + +They brought some cold bacon and coarse oat-cake. The sergeant asked +for pepper and salt; minced the food fine and made it savoury, and +kept administering it by teaspoonfuls; urging Philip to drink from +time to time from his own cup of dog's-nose. + +A burning thirst, which needed no stimulant from either pepper or +salt, took possession of Philip, and he drank freely, scarcely +recognizing what he drank. It took effect on one so habitually +sober; and he was soon in that state when the imagination works +wildly and freely. + +He saw the sergeant before him, handsome, and bright, and active, in +his gay red uniform, without a care, as it seemed to Philip, taking +life lightly; admired and respected everywhere because of his cloth. + +If Philip were gay, and brisk, well-dressed like him, returning with +martial glory to Monkshaven, would not Sylvia love him once more? +Could not he win her heart? He was brave by nature, and the prospect +of danger did not daunt him, if ever it presented itself to his +imagination. + +He thought he was cautious in entering on the subject of enlistment +with his new friend, the sergeant; but the latter was twenty times +as cunning as he, and knew by experience how to bait his hook. + +Philip was older by some years than the regulation age; but, at that +time of great demand for men, the question of age was lightly +entertained. The sergeant was profuse in statements of the +advantages presented to a man of education in his branch of the +service; how such a one was sure to rise; in fact, it would have +seemed from the sergeant's account, as though the difficulty +consisted in remaining in the ranks. + +Philip's dizzy head thought the subject over and over again, each +time with failing power of reason. + +At length, almost, as it would seem, by some sleight of hand, he +found the fatal shilling in his palm, and had promised to go before +the nearest magistrate to be sworn in as one of his Majesty's +marines the next morning. And after that he remembered nothing more. + +He wakened up in a little truckle-bed in the same room as the +sergeant, who lay sleeping the sleep of full contentment; while +gradually, drop by drop, the bitter recollections of the day before +came, filling up Philip's cup of agony. + +He knew that he had received the bounty-money; and though he was +aware that he had been partly tricked into it, and had no hope, no +care, indeed, for any of the advantages so liberally promised him +the night before, yet he was resigned, with utterly despondent +passiveness, to the fate to which he had pledged himself. Anything +was welcome that severed him from his former life, that could make +him forget it, if that were possible; and also welcome anything +which increased the chances of death without the sinfulness of his +own participation in the act. He found in the dark recess of his +mind the dead body of his fancy of the previous night; that he might +come home, handsome and glorious, to win the love that had never +been his. + +But he only sighed over it, and put it aside out of his sight--so +full of despair was he. He could eat no breakfast, though the +sergeant ordered of the best. The latter kept watching his new +recruit out of the corner of his eye, expecting a remonstrance, or +dreading a sudden bolt. + +But Philip walked with him the two or three miles in the most +submissive silence, never uttering a syllable of regret or +repentance; and before Justice Cholmley, of Holm-Fell Hall, he was +sworn into his Majesty's service, under the name of Stephen Freeman. +With a new name, he began a new life. Alas! the old life lives for +ever! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THINGS UNUTTERABLE + + +After Philip had passed out of the room, Sylvia lay perfectly still, +from very exhaustion. Her mother slept on, happily unconscious of +all the turmoil that had taken place; yes, happily, though the heavy +sleep was to end in death. But of this her daughter knew nothing, +imagining that it was refreshing slumber, instead of an ebbing of +life. Both mother and daughter lay motionless till Phoebe entered +the room to tell Sylvia that dinner was on the table. + +Then Sylvia sate up, and put back her hair, bewildered and uncertain +as to what was to be done next; how she should meet the husband to +whom she had discarded all allegiance, repudiated the solemn promise +of love and obedience which she had vowed. + +Phoebe came into the room, with natural interest in the invalid, +scarcely older than herself. + +'How is t' old lady?' asked she, in a low voice. + +Sylvia turned her head round to look; her mother had never moved, +but was breathing in a loud uncomfortable manner, that made her +stoop over her to see the averted face more nearly. + +'Phoebe!' she cried, 'come here! She looks strange and odd; her eyes +are open, but don't see me. Phoebe! Phoebe!' + +'Sure enough, she's in a bad way!' said Phoebe, climbing stiffly on +to the bed to have a nearer view. 'Hold her head a little up t' ease +her breathin' while I go for master; he'll be for sendin' for t' +doctor, I'll be bound.' + +Sylvia took her mother's head and laid it fondly on her breast, +speaking to her and trying to rouse her; but it was of no avail: the +hard, stertorous breathing grew worse and worse. + +Sylvia cried out for help; Nancy came, the baby in her arms. They +had been in several times before that morning; and the child came +smiling and crowing at its mother, who was supporting her own dying +parent. + +'Oh, Nancy!' said Sylvia; 'what is the matter with mother? yo' can +see her face; tell me quick!' + +Nancy set the baby on the bed for all reply, and ran out of the +room, crying out, + +'Master! master! Come quick! T' old missus is a-dying!' + +This appeared to be no news to Sylvia, and yet the words came on her +with a great shock, but for all that she could not cry; she was +surprised herself at her own deadness of feeling. + +Her baby crawled to her, and she had to hold and guard both her +mother and her child. It seemed a long, long time before any one +came, and then she heard muffled voices, and a heavy tramp: it was +Phoebe leading the doctor upstairs, and Nancy creeping in behind to +hear his opinion. + +He did not ask many questions, and Phoebe replied more frequently to +his inquiries than did Sylvia, who looked into his face with a +blank, tearless, speechless despair, that gave him more pain than +the sight of her dying mother. + +The long decay of Mrs. Robson's faculties and health, of which he was +well aware, had in a certain manner prepared him for some such +sudden termination of the life whose duration was hardly desirable, +although he gave several directions as to her treatment; but the +white, pinched face, the great dilated eye, the slow comprehension +of the younger woman, struck him with alarm; and he went on asking +for various particulars, more with a view of rousing Sylvia, if even +it were to tears, than for any other purpose that the information +thus obtained could answer. + +'You had best have pillows propped up behind her--it will not be +for long; she does not know that you are holding her, and it is only +tiring you to no purpose!' + +Sylvia's terrible stare continued: he put his advice into action, +and gently tried to loosen her clasp, and tender hold. This she +resisted; laying her cheek against her poor mother's unconscious +face. + +'Where is Hepburn?' said he. 'He ought to be here!' + +Phoebe looked at Nancy, Nancy at Phoebe. It was the latter who +replied, + +'He's neither i' t' house nor i' t' shop. A seed him go past t' +kitchen window better nor an hour ago; but neither William Coulson +or Hester Rose knows where he's gone to. + +Dr Morgan's lips were puckered up into a whistle, but he made no +sound. + +'Give me baby!' he said, suddenly. Nancy had taken her up off the +bed where she had been sitting, encircled by her mother's arm. The +nursemaid gave her to the doctor. He watched the mother's eye, it +followed her child, and he was rejoiced. He gave a little pinch to +the baby's soft flesh, and she cried out piteously; again the same +action, the same result. Sylvia laid her mother down, and stretched +out her arms for her child, hushing it, and moaning over it. + +'So far so good!' said Dr Morgan to himself. 'But where is the +husband? He ought to be here.' He went down-stairs to make inquiry +for Philip; that poor young creature, about whose health he had +never felt thoroughly satisfied since the fever after her +confinement, was in an anxious condition, and with an inevitable +shock awaiting her. Her husband ought to be with her, and supporting +her to bear it. + +Dr Morgan went into the shop. Hester alone was there. Coulson had +gone to his comfortable dinner at his well-ordered house, with his +common-place wife. If he had felt anxious about Philip's looks and +strange disappearance, he had also managed to account for them in +some indifferent way. + +Hester was alone with the shop-boy; few people came in during the +universal Monkshaven dinner-hour. She was resting her head on her +hand, and puzzled and distressed about many things--all that was +implied by the proceedings of the evening before between Philip and +Sylvia; and that was confirmed by Philip's miserable looks and +strange abstracted ways to-day. Oh! how easy Hester would have found +it to make him happy! not merely how easy, but what happiness it +would have been to her to merge her every wish into the one great +object of fulfiling his will. To her, an on-looker, the course of +married life, which should lead to perfect happiness, seemed to +plain! Alas! it is often so! and the resisting forces which make all +such harmony and delight impossible are not recognized by the +bystanders, hardly by the actors. But if these resisting forces are +only superficial, or constitutional, they are but the necessary +discipline here, and do not radically affect the love which will +make all things right in heaven. + +Some glimmering of this latter comforting truth shed its light on +Hester's troubled thoughts from time to time. But again, how easy +would it have been to her to tread the maze that led to Philip's +happiness; and how difficult it seemed to the wife he had chosen! + +She was aroused by Dr Morgan's voice. + +'So both Coulson and Hepburn have left the shop to your care, +Hester. I want Hepburn, though; his wife is in a very anxious state. +Where is he? can you tell me?' + +'Sylvia in an anxious state! I've not seen her to-day, but last +night she looked as well as could be.' + +'Ay, ay; but many a thing happens in four-and-twenty hours. Her +mother is dying, may be dead by this time; and her husband should be +there with her. Can't you send for him?' + +'I don't know where he is,' said Hester. 'He went off from here all +on a sudden, when there was all the market-folks in t' shop; I +thought he'd maybe gone to John Foster's about th' money, for they +was paying a deal in. I'll send there and inquire.' + +No! the messenger brought back word that he had not been seen at +their bank all morning. Further inquiries were made by the anxious +Hester, by the doctor, by Coulson; all they could learn was that +Phoebe had seen him pass the kitchen window about eleven o'clock, +when she was peeling the potatoes for dinner; and two lads playing +on the quay-side thought they had seen him among a group of sailors; +but these latter, as far as they could be identified, had no +knowledge of his appearance among them. + +Before night the whole town was excited about his disappearance. +Before night Bell Robson had gone to her long home. And Sylvia still +lay quiet and tearless, apparently more unmoved than any other +creature by the events of the day, and the strange vanishing of her +husband. + +The only thing she seemed to care for was her baby; she held it +tight in her arms, and Dr Morgan bade them leave it there, its touch +might draw the desired tears into her weary, sleepless eyes, and +charm the aching pain out of them. + +They were afraid lest she should inquire for her husband, whose +non-appearance at such a time of sorrow to his wife must (they +thought) seem strange to her. And night drew on while they were all +in this state. She had gone back to her own room without a word when +they had desired her to do so; caressing her child in her arms, and +sitting down on the first chair she came to, with a heavy sigh, as +if even this slight bodily exertion had been too much for her. They +saw her eyes turn towards the door every time it was opened, and +they thought it was with anxious expectation of one who could not be +found, though many were seeking for him in all probable places. + +When night came some one had to tell her of her husband's +disappearance; and Dr Morgan was the person who undertook this. + +He came into her room about nine o'clock; her baby was sleeping in +her arms; she herself pale as death, still silent and tearless, +though strangely watchful of gestures and sounds, and probably +cognizant of more than they imagined. + +'Well, Mrs. Hepburn,' said he, as cheerfully as he could, 'I should +advise your going to bed early; for I fancy your husband won't come +home to-night. Some journey or other, that perhaps Coulson can +explain better than I can, will most likely keep him away till +to-morrow. It's very unfortunate that he should be away at such a +sad time as this, as I'm sure he'll feel when he returns; but we +must make the best of it.' + +He watched her to see the effect of his words. + +She sighed, that was all. He still remained a little while. She +lifted her head up a little and asked, + +'How long do yo' think she was unconscious, doctor? Could she hear +things, think yo', afore she fell into that strange kind o' +slumber?' + +'I cannot tell,' said he, shaking his head. 'Was she breathing in +that hard snoring kind of way when you left her this morning?' + +'Yes, I think so; I cannot tell, so much has happened.' + +'When you came back to her, after your breakfast, I think you said +she was in much the same position?' + +'Yes, and yet I may be telling yo' lies; if I could but think: but +it's my head as is aching so; doctor, I wish yo'd go, for I need +being alone, I'm so mazed.' + +'Good-night, then, for you're a wise woman, I see, and mean to go to +bed, and have a good night with baby there.' + +But he went down to Phoebe, and told her to go in from time to time, +and see how her mistress was. + +He found Hester Rose and the old servant together; both had been +crying, both were evidently in great trouble about the death and the +mystery of the day. + +Hester asked if she might go up and see Sylvia, and the doctor gave +his leave, talking meanwhile with Phoebe over the kitchen fire. +Hester came down again without seeing Sylvia. The door of the room +was bolted, and everything quiet inside. + +'Does she know where her husband is, think you?' asked the doctor at +this account of Hester's. 'She's not anxious about him at any rate: +or else the shock of her mother's death has been too much for her. +We must hope for some change in the morning; a good fit of crying, +or a fidget about her husband, would be more natural. Good-night to +you both,' and off he went. + +Phoebe and Hester avoided looking at each other at these words. Both +were conscious of the probability of something having gone seriously +wrong between the husband and wife. Hester had the recollection of +the previous night, Phoebe the untasted breakfast of to-day to go +upon. + +She spoke first. + +'A just wish he'd come home to still folks' tongues. It need niver +ha' been known if t' old lady hadn't died this day of all others. +It's such a thing for t' shop t' have one o' t' partners missin', +an' no one for t' know what's comed on him. It niver happened i' +Fosters' days, that's a' I know.' + +'He'll maybe come back yet,' said Hester. 'It's not so very late.' + +'It were market day, and a',' continued Phoebe, 'just as if +iverything mun go wrong together; an' a' t' country customers'll go +back wi' fine tale i' their mouths, as Measter Hepburn was strayed +an' missin' just like a beast o' some kind.' + +'Hark! isn't that a step?' said Hester suddenly, as a footfall +sounded in the now quiet street; but it passed the door, and the +hope that had arisen on its approach fell as the sound died away. + +'He'll noane come to-night,' said Phoebe, who had been as eager a +listener as Hester, however. 'Thou'd best go thy ways home; a shall +stay up, for it's not seemly for us a' t' go to our beds, an' a +corpse in t' house; an' Nancy, as might ha' watched, is gone to her +bed this hour past, like a lazy boots as she is. A can hear, too, if +t' measter does come home; tho' a'll be bound he wunnot; choose +wheere he is, he'll be i' bed by now, for it's well on to eleven. +I'll let thee out by t' shop-door, and stand by it till thou's close +at home, for it's ill for a young woman to be i' t' street so late.' + +So she held the door open, and shaded the candle from the flickering +outer air, while Hester went to her home with a heavy heart. + +Heavily and hopelessly did they all meet in the morning. No news of +Philip, no change in Sylvia; an unceasing flow of angling and +conjecture and gossip radiating from the shop into the town. + +Hester could have entreated Coulson on her knees to cease from +repeating the details of a story of which every word touched on a +raw place in her sensitive heart; moreover, when they talked +together so eagerly, she could not hear the coming footsteps on the +pavement without. + +Once some one hit very near the truth in a chance remark. + +'It seems strange,' she said, 'how as one man turns up, another just +disappears. Why, it were but upo' Tuesday as Kinraid come back, as +all his own folk had thought to be dead; and next day here's Measter +Hepburn as is gone no one knows wheere!' + +'That's t' way i' this world,' replied Coulson, a little +sententiously. 'This life is full o' changes o' one kind or another; +them that's dead is alive; and as for poor Philip, though he was +alive, he looked fitter to be dead when he came into t' shop o' +Wednesday morning.' + +'And how does she take it?' nodding to where Sylvia was supposed to +be. + +'Oh! she's not herself, so to say. She were just stunned by finding +her mother was dying in her very arms when she thought as she were +only sleeping; yet she's never been able to cry a drop; so that t' +sorrow's gone inwards on her brain, and from all I can hear, she +doesn't rightly understand as her husband is missing. T' doctor says +if she could but cry, she'd come to a juster comprehension of +things.' + +'And what do John and Jeremiah Foster say to it all?' + +'They're down here many a time in t' day to ask if he's come back, +or how she is; for they made a deal on 'em both. They're going t' +attend t' funeral to-morrow, and have given orders as t' shop is to +be shut up in t' morning.' + +To the surprise of every one, Sylvia, who had never left her room +since the night of her mother's death, and was supposed to be almost +unconscious of all that was going on in the house, declared her +intention of following her mother to the grave. No one could do more +than remonstrate: no one had sufficient authority to interfere with +her. Dr Morgan even thought that she might possibly be roused to +tears by the occasion; only he begged Hester to go with her, that +she might have the solace of some woman's company. + +She went through the greater part of the ceremony in the same hard, +unmoved manner in which she had received everything for days past. + +But on looking up once, as they formed round the open grave, she saw +Kester, in his Sunday clothes, with a bit of new crape round his +hat, crying as if his heart would break over the coffin of his good, +kind mistress. + +His evident distress, the unexpected sight, suddenly loosed the +fountain of Sylvia's tears, and her sobs grew so terrible that +Hester feared she would not be able to remain until the end of the +funeral. But she struggled hard to stay till the last, and then she +made an effort to go round by the place where Kester stood. + +'Come and see me,' was all she could say for crying: and Kester only +nodded his head--he could not speak a word. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +MYSTERIOUS TIDINGS + + +That very evening Kester came, humbly knocking at the kitchen-door. +Phoebe opened it. He asked to see Sylvia. + +'A know not if she'll see thee,' said Phoebe. 'There's no makin' her +out; sometimes she's for one thing, sometimes she's for another.' + +'She bid me come and see her,' said Kester. 'Only this mornin', at +missus' buryin', she telled me to come.' + +So Phoebe went off to inform Sylvia that Kester was there; and +returned with the desire that he would walk into the parlour. An +instant after he was gone, Phoebe heard him return, and carefully +shut the two doors of communication between the kitchen and +sitting-room. + +Sylvia was in the latter when Kester came in, holding her baby close +to her; indeed, she seldom let it go now-a-days to any one else, +making Nancy's place quite a sinecure, much to Phoebe's indignation. + +Sylvia's face was shrunk, and white, and thin; her lovely eyes alone +retained the youthful, almost childlike, expression. She went up to +Kester, and shook his horny hand, she herself trembling all over. + +'Don't talk to me of her,' she said hastily. 'I cannot stand it. +It's a blessing for her to be gone, but, oh----' + +She began to cry, and then cheered herself up, and swallowed down +her sobs. + +'Kester,' she went on, hastily, 'Charley Kinraid isn't dead; dost ta +know? He's alive, and he were here o' Tuesday--no, Monday, was it? I +cannot tell--but he were here!' + +'A knowed as he weren't dead. Every one is a-speaking on it. But a +didn't know as thee'd ha' seen him. A took comfort i' thinkin' as +thou'd ha' been wi' thy mother a' t' time as he were i' t' place.' + +'Then he's gone?' said Sylvia. + +'Gone; ay, days past. As far as a know, he but stopped a' neet. A +thought to mysel' (but yo' may be sure a said nought to nobody), +he's heerd as our Sylvia were married, and has put it in his pipe, +and ta'en hissel' off to smoke it.' + +'Kester!' said Sylvia, leaning forwards, and whispering. 'I saw him. +He was here. Philip saw him. Philip had known as he wasn't dead a' +this time!' + +Kester stood up suddenly. + +'By goom, that chap has a deal t' answer for.' + +A bright red spot was on each of Sylvia's white cheeks; and for a +minute or so neither of them spoke. + +Then she went on, still whispering out her words. + +'Kester, I'm more afeared than I dare tell any one: can they ha' +met, think yo'? T' very thought turns me sick. I told Philip my +mind, and took a vow again' him--but it would be awful to think on +harm happening to him through Kinraid. Yet he went out that morning, +and has niver been seen or heard on sin'; and Kinraid were just fell +again' him, and as for that matter, so was I; but----' + +The red spot vanished as she faced her own imagination. + +Kester spoke. + +'It's a thing as can be easy looked into. What day an' time were it +when Philip left this house?' + +'Tuesday--the day she died. I saw him in her room that morning +between breakfast and dinner; I could a'most swear to it's being +close after eleven. I mind counting t' clock. It was that very morn +as Kinraid were here.' + +'A'll go an' have a pint o' beer at t' King's Arms, down on t' +quay-side; it were theere he put up at. An' a'm pretty sure as he +only stopped one night, and left i' t' morning betimes. But a'll go +see.' + +'Do,' said Sylvia, 'and go out through t' shop; they're all watching +and watching me to see how I take things; and daren't let on about +t' fire as is burning up my heart. Coulson is i' t' shop, but he'll +not notice thee like Phoebe.' + +By-and-by Kester came back. It seemed as though Sylvia had never +stirred; she looked eagerly at him, but did not speak. + +'He went away i' Rob Mason's mail-cart, him as tak's t' letters to +Hartlepool. T' lieutenant (as they ca' him down at t' King's Arms; +they're as proud on his uniform as if it had been a new-painted sign +to swing o'er their doors), t' lieutenant had reckoned upo' stayin' +longer wi' 'em; but he went out betimes o' Tuesday morn', an' came +back a' ruffled up, an paid his bill--paid for his breakfast, though +he touched noane on it--an' went off i' Rob postman's mail-cart, as +starts reg'lar at ten o'clock. Corneys has been theere askin' for +him, an' makin' a piece o' work, as he niver went near em; and they +bees cousins. Niver a one among 'em knows as he were here as far as +a could mak' out.' + +'Thank yo', Kester,' said Sylvia, falling back in her chair, as if +all the energy that had kept her stiff and upright was gone now that +her anxiety was relieved. + +She was silent for a long time; her eyes shut, her cheek laid on her +child's head. Kester spoke next. + +'A think it's pretty clear as they'n niver met. But it's a' t' more +wonder where thy husband's gone to. Thee and him had words about it, +and thou telled him thy mind, thou said?' + +'Yes,' said Sylvia, not moving. 'I'm afeared lest mother knows what +I said to him, there, where she's gone to--I am-' the tears filled +her shut eyes, and came softly overflowing down her cheeks; 'and yet +it were true, what I said, I cannot forgive him; he's just spoilt my +life, and I'm not one-and-twenty yet, and he knowed how wretched, +how very wretched, I were. A word fra' him would ha' mended it a'; +and Charley had bid him speak the word, and give me his faithful +love, and Philip saw my heart ache day after day, and niver let on +as him I was mourning for was alive, and had sent me word as he'd +keep true to me, as I were to do to him.' + +'A wish a'd been theere; a'd ha' felled him to t' ground,' said +Kester, clenching his stiff, hard hand with indignation. + +Sylvia was silent again: pale and weary she sate, her eyes still +shut. + +Then she said, + +'Yet he were so good to mother; and mother loved him so. Oh, +Kester!' lifting herself up, opening her great wistful eyes, 'it's +well for folks as can die; they're spared a deal o' misery.' + +'Ay!' said he. 'But there's folk as one 'ud like to keep fra' +shirkin' their misery. Think yo' now as Philip is livin'?' + +Sylvia shivered all over, and hesitated before she replied. + +'I dunnot know. I said such things; he deserved 'em all----' + +'Well, well, lass!' said Kester, sorry that he had asked the +question which was producing so much emotion of one kind or another. +'Neither thee nor me can tell; we can neither help nor hinder, +seein' as he's ta'en hissel' off out on our sight, we'd best not +think on him. A'll try an' tell thee some news, if a can think on it +wi' my mind so full. Thou knows Haytersbank folk ha' flitted, and t' +oud place is empty?' + +'Yes!' said Sylvia, with the indifference of one wearied out with +feeling. + +'A only telled yo' t' account like for me bein' at a loose end i' +Monkshaven. My sister, her as lived at Dale End an' is a widow, has +comed int' town to live; an' a'm lodging wi' her, an' jobbin' about. +A'm gettin' pretty well to do, an' a'm noane far t' seek, an' a'm +going now: only first a just wanted for t' say as a'm thy oldest +friend, a reckon, and if a can do a turn for thee, or go an errand, +like as a've done to-day, or if it's any comfort to talk a bit to +one who's known thy life from a babby, why yo've only t' send for +me, an' a'd come if it were twenty mile. A'm lodgin' at Peggy +Dawson's, t' lath and plaster cottage at t' right hand o' t' bridge, +a' among t' new houses, as they're thinkin' o' buildin' near t' sea: +no one can miss it.' + +He stood up and shook hands with her. As he did so, he looked at her +sleeping baby. + +'She's liker yo' than him. A think a'll say, God bless her.' + +With the heavy sound of his out-going footsteps, baby awoke. She +ought before this time to have been asleep in her bed, and the +disturbance made her cry fretfully. + +'Hush thee, darling, hush thee!' murmured her mother; 'there's no +one left to love me but thee, and I cannot stand thy weeping, my +pretty one. Hush thee, my babe, hush thee!' + +She whispered soft in the little one's ear as she took her upstairs +to bed. + +About three weeks after the miserable date of Bell Robson's death +and Philip's disappearance, Hester Rose received a letter from him. +She knew the writing on the address well; and it made her tremble so +much that it was many minutes before she dared to open it, and make +herself acquainted with the facts it might disclose. + +But she need not have feared; there were no facts told, unless the +vague date of 'London' might be something to learn. Even that much +might have been found out by the post-mark, only she had been too +much taken by surprise to examine it. + +It ran as follows:-- + + +'DEAR HESTER,-- + +'Tell those whom it may concern, that I have left Monkshaven for +ever. No one need trouble themselves about me; I am provided for. +Please to make my humble apologies to my kind friends, the Messrs +Foster, and to my partner, William Coulson. Please to accept of my +love, and to join the same to your mother. Please to give my +particular and respectful duty and kind love to my aunt Isabella +Robson. Her daughter Sylvia knows what I have always felt, and shall +always feel, for her better than I can ever put into language, so I +send her no message; God bless and keep my child. You must all look +on me as one dead; as I am to you, and maybe shall soon be in +reality. + +'Your affectionate and obedient friend to command, + +'PHILIP HEPBURN. + +'P.S.--Oh, Hester! for God's sake and mine, look +after ('my wife,' scratched out) Sylvia and my child. I think +Jeremiah Foster will help you to be a friend to them. This is the +last solemn request of P. H. She is but very young.' + + +Hester read this letter again and again, till her heart caught the +echo of its hopelessness, and sank within her. She put it in her +pocket, and reflected upon it all the day long as she served in the +shop. + +The customers found her as gentle, but far more inattentive than +usual. She thought that in the evening she would go across the +bridge, and consult with the two good old brothers Foster. But +something occurred to put off the fulfilment of this plan. + +That same morning Sylvia had preceded her, with no one to consult, +because consultation would have required previous confidence, and +confidence would have necessitated such a confession about Kinraid +as it was most difficult for Sylvia to make. The poor young wife yet +felt that some step must be taken by her; and what it was to be she +could not imagine. + +She had no home to go to; for as Philip was gone away, she remained +where she was only on sufferance; she did not know what means of +livelihood she had; she was willing to work, nay, would be thankful +to take up her old life of country labour; but with her baby, what +could she do? + +In this dilemma, the recollection of the old man's kindly speech and +offer of assistance, made, it is true, half in joke, at the end of +her wedding visit, came into her mind; and she resolved to go and +ask for some of the friendly counsel and assistance then offered. + +It would be the first time of her going out since her mother's +funeral, and she dreaded the effort on that account. More even than +on that account did she shrink from going into the streets again. +She could not get over the impression that Kinraid must be lingering +near; and she distrusted herself so much that it was a positive +terror to think of meeting him again. She felt as though, if she but +caught a sight of him, the glitter of his uniform, or heard his +well-known voice in only a distant syllable of talk, her heart would +stop, and she should die from very fright of what would come next. +Or rather so she felt, and so she thought before she took her baby +in her arms, as Nancy gave it to her after putting on its +out-of-door attire. + +With it in her arms she was protected, and the whole current of her +thoughts was changed. The infant was wailing and suffering with its +teething, and the mother's heart was so occupied in soothing and +consoling her moaning child, that the dangerous quay-side and the +bridge were passed almost before she was aware; nor did she notice +the eager curiosity and respectful attention of those she met who +recognized her even through the heavy veil which formed part of the +draping mourning provided for her by Hester and Coulson, in the +first unconscious days after her mother's death. + +Though public opinion as yet reserved its verdict upon Philip's +disappearance--warned possibly by Kinraid's story against hasty +decisions and judgments in such times as those of war and general +disturbance--yet every one agreed that no more pitiful fate could +have befallen Philip's wife. + +Marked out by her striking beauty as an object of admiring interest +even in those days when she sate in girlhood's smiling peace by her +mother at the Market Cross--her father had lost his life in a +popular cause, and ignominious as the manner of his death might be, +he was looked upon as a martyr to his zeal in avenging the wrongs of +his townsmen; Sylvia had married amongst them too, and her quiet +daily life was well known to them; and now her husband had been +carried off from her side just on the very day when she needed his +comfort most. + +For the general opinion was that Philip had been 'carried off'--in +seaport towns such occurrences were not uncommon in those +days--either by land-crimps or water-crimps. + +So Sylvia was treated with silent reverence, as one sorely +afflicted, by all the unheeded people she met in her faltering walk +to Jeremiah Foster's. + +She had calculated her time so as to fall in with him at his dinner +hour, even though it obliged her to go to his own house rather than +to the bank where he and his brother spent all the business hours of +the day. + +Sylvia was so nearly exhausted by the length of her walk and the +weight of her baby, that all she could do when the door was opened +was to totter into the nearest seat, sit down, and begin to cry. + +In an instant kind hands were about her, loosening her heavy cloak, +offering to relieve her of her child, who clung to her all the more +firmly, and some one was pressing a glass of wine against her lips. + +'No, sir, I cannot take it! wine allays gives me th' headache; if I +might have just a drink o' water. Thank you, ma'am' (to the +respectable-looking old servant), 'I'm well enough now; and perhaps, +sir, I might speak a word with yo', for it's that I've come for.' + +'It's a pity, Sylvia Hepburn, as thee didst not come to me at the +bank, for it's been a long toil for thee all this way in the heat, +with thy child. But if there's aught I can do or say for thee, thou +hast but to name it, I am sure. Martha! wilt thou relieve her of her +child while she comes with me into the parlour?' + +But the wilful little Bella stoutly refused to go to any one, and +Sylvia was not willing to part with her, tired though she was. + +So the baby was carried into the parlour, and much of her after-life +depended on this trivial fact. + +Once installed in the easy-chair, and face to face with Jeremiah, +Sylvia did not know how to begin. + +Jeremiah saw this, and kindly gave her time to recover herself, by +pulling out his great gold watch, and letting the seal dangle before +the child's eyes, almost within reach of the child's eager little +fingers. + +'She favours you a deal,' said he, at last. 'More than her father,' +he went on, purposely introducing Philip's name, so as to break the +ice; for he rightly conjectured she had come to speak to him about +something connected with her husband. + +Still Sylvia said nothing; she was choking down tears and shyness, +and unwillingness to take as confidant a man of whom she knew so +little, on such slight ground (as she now felt it to be) as the +little kindly speech with which she had been dismissed from that +house the last time that she entered it. + +'It's no use keeping yo', sir,' she broke out at last. 'It's about +Philip as I comed to speak. Do yo' know any thing whatsomever about +him? He niver had a chance o' saying anything, I know; but maybe +he's written?' + +'Not a line, my poor young woman!' said Jeremiah, hastily putting an +end to that vain idea. + +'Then he's either dead or gone away for iver,' she whispered. 'I mun +be both feyther and mother to my child.' + +'Oh! thee must not give it up,' replied he. 'Many a one is carried +off to the wars, or to the tenders o' men-o'-war; and then they turn +out to be unfit for service, and are sent home. Philip 'll come back +before the year's out; thee'll see that.' + +'No; he'll niver come back. And I'm not sure as I should iver wish +him t' come back, if I could but know what was gone wi' him. Yo' +see, sir, though I were sore set again' him, I shouldn't like harm +to happen him.' + +'There is something behind all this that I do not understand. Can +thee tell me what it is?' + +'I must, sir, if yo're to help me wi' your counsel; and I came up +here to ask for it.' + +Another long pause, during which Jeremiah made a feint of playing +with the child, who danced and shouted with tantalized impatience at +not being able to obtain possession of the seal, and at length +stretched out her soft round little arms to go to the owner of the +coveted possession. Surprise at this action roused Sylvia, and she +made some comment upon it. + +'I niver knew her t' go to any one afore. I hope she'll not be +troublesome to yo', sir?' + +The old man, who had often longed for a child of his own in days +gone by, was highly pleased by this mark of baby's confidence, and +almost forgot, in trying to strengthen her regard by all the winning +wiles in his power, how her poor mother was still lingering over +some painful story which she could not bring herself to tell. + +'I'm afeared of speaking wrong again' any one, sir. And mother were +so fond o' Philip; but he kept something from me as would ha' made +me a different woman, and some one else, happen, a different man. I +were troth-plighted wi' Kinraid the specksioneer, him as was cousin +to th' Corneys o' Moss Brow, and comed back lieutenant i' t' navy +last Tuesday three weeks, after ivery one had thought him dead and +gone these three years.' + +She paused. + +'Well?' said Jeremiah, with interest; although his attention +appeared to be divided between the mother's story and the eager +playfulness of the baby on his knee. + +'Philip knew he were alive; he'd seen him taken by t' press-gang, +and Charley had sent a message to me by Philip.' + +Her white face was reddening, her eyes flashing at this point of her +story. + +'And he niver told me a word on it, not when he saw me like to break +my heart in thinking as Kinraid were dead; he kept it a' to hissel'; +and watched me cry, and niver said a word to comfort me wi' t' +truth. It would ha' been a great comfort, sir, only t' have had his +message if I'd niver ha' been to see him again. But Philip niver let +on to any one, as I iver heared on, that he'd seen Charley that +morning as t' press-gang took him. Yo' know about feyther's death, +and how friendless mother and me was left? and so I married him; for +he were a good friend to us then, and I were dazed like wi' sorrow, +and could see naught else to do for mother. He were allays very +tender and good to her, for sure.' + +Again a long pause of silent recollection, broken by one or two deep +sighs. + +'If I go on, sir, now, I mun ask yo' to promise as yo'll niver tell. +I do so need some one to tell me what I ought to do, and I were led +here, like, else I would ha' died wi' it all within my teeth. Yo'll +promise, sir?' + +Jeremiah Foster looked in her face, and seeing the wistful, eager +look, he was touched almost against his judgment into giving the +promise required; she went on. + +'Upon a Tuesday morning, three weeks ago, I think, tho' for t' +matter o' time it might ha' been three years, Kinraid come home; +come back for t' claim me as his wife, and I were wed to Philip! I +met him i' t' road at first; and I couldn't tell him theere. He +followed me into t' house--Philip's house, sir, behind t' shop--and +somehow I told him all, how I were a wedded wife to another. Then he +up and said I'd a false heart--me false, sir, as had eaten my daily +bread in bitterness, and had wept t' nights through, all for sorrow +and mourning for his death! Then he said as Philip knowed all t' +time he were alive and coming back for me; and I couldn't believe +it, and I called Philip, and he come, and a' that Charley had said +were true; and yet I were Philip's wife! So I took a mighty oath, +and I said as I'd niver hold Philip to be my lawful husband again, +nor iver forgive him for t' evil he'd wrought us, but hold him as a +stranger and one as had done me a heavy wrong.' + +She stopped speaking; her story seemed to her to end there. But her +listener said, after a pause, + +'It were a cruel wrong, I grant thee that; but thy oath were a sin, +and thy words were evil, my poor lass. What happened next?' + +'I don't justly remember,' she said, wearily. 'Kinraid went away, +and mother cried out; and I went to her. She were asleep, I thought, +so I lay down by her, to wish I were dead, and to think on what +would come on my child if I died; and Philip came in softly, and I +made as if I were asleep; and that's t' very last as I've iver seen +or heared of him.' + +Jeremiah Foster groaned as she ended her story. Then he pulled +himself up, and said, in a cheerful tone of voice, + +'He'll come back, Sylvia Hepburn. He'll think better of it: never +fear!' + +'I fear his coming back!' said she. 'That's what I'm feared on; I +would wish as I knew on his well-doing i' some other place; but him +and me can niver live together again.' + +'Nay,' pleaded Jeremiah. 'Thee art sorry what thee said; thee were +sore put about, or thee wouldn't have said it.' + +He was trying to be a peace-maker, and to heal over conjugal +differences; but he did not go deep enough. + +'I'm not sorry,' said she, slowly. 'I were too deeply wronged to be +"put about"; that would go off wi' a night's sleep. It's only the +thought of mother (she's dead and happy, and knows nought of all +this, I trust) that comes between me and hating Philip. I'm not +sorry for what I said.' + +Jeremiah had never met with any one so frank and undisguised in +expressions of wrong feeling, and he scarcely knew what to say. + +He looked extremely grieved, and not a little shocked. So pretty and +delicate a young creature to use such strong relentless language! + +She seemed to read his thoughts, for she made answer to them. + +'I dare say you think I'm very wicked, sir, not to be sorry. Perhaps +I am. I can't think o' that for remembering how I've suffered; and +he knew how miserable I was, and might ha' cleared my misery away +wi' a word; and he held his peace, and now it's too late! I'm sick +o' men and their cruel, deceitful ways. I wish I were dead.' + +She was crying before she had ended this speech, and seeing her +tears, the child began to cry too, stretching out its little arms to +go back to its mother. The hard stony look on her face melted away +into the softest, tenderest love as she clasped the little one to +her, and tried to soothe its frightened sobs. + +A bright thought came into the old man's mind. + +He had been taking a complete dislike to her till her pretty way +with her baby showed him that she had a heart of flesh within her. + +'Poor little one!' said he, 'thy mother had need love thee, for +she's deprived thee of thy father's love. Thou'rt half-way to being +an orphan; yet I cannot call thee one of the fatherless to whom God +will be a father. Thou'rt a desolate babe, thou may'st well cry; +thine earthly parents have forsaken thee, and I know not if the Lord +will take thee up.' + +Sylvia looked up at him affrighted; holding her baby tighter to her, +she exclaimed. + +'Don't speak so, sir! it's cursing, sir! I haven't forsaken her! Oh, +sir! those are awful sayings.' + +'Thee hast sworn never to forgive thy husband, nor to live with him +again. Dost thee know that by the law of the land, he may claim his +child; and then thou wilt have to forsake it, or to be forsworn? +Poor little maiden!' continued he, once more luring the baby to him +with the temptation of the watch and chain. + +Sylvia thought for a while before speaking. Then she said, + +'I cannot tell what ways to take. Whiles I think my head is crazed. +It were a cruel turn he did me!' + +'It was. I couldn't have thought him guilty of such baseness.' + +This acquiescence, which was perfectly honest on Jeremiah's part, +almost took Sylvia by surprise. Why might she not hate one who had +been both cruel and base in his treatment of her? And yet she +recoiled from the application of such hard terms by another to +Philip, by a cool-judging and indifferent person, as she esteemed +Jeremiah to be. From some inscrutable turn in her thoughts, she +began to defend him, or at least to palliate the harsh judgment +which she herself had been the first to pronounce. + +'He were so tender to mother; she were dearly fond on him; he niver +spared aught he could do for her, else I would niver ha' married +him.' + +'He was a good and kind-hearted lad from the time he was fifteen. +And I never found him out in any falsehood, no more did my brother.' + +'But it were all the same as a lie,' said Sylvia, swiftly changing +her ground, 'to leave me to think as Charley were dead, when he +knowed all t' time he were alive.' + +'It was. It was a self-seeking lie; putting thee to pain to get his +own ends. And the end of it has been that he is driven forth like +Cain.' + +'I niver told him to go, sir.' + +'But thy words sent him forth, Sylvia.' + +'I cannot unsay them, sir; and I believe as I should say them +again.' + +But she said this as one who rather hopes for a contradiction. + +All Jeremiah replied, however, was, 'Poor wee child!' in a pitiful +tone, addressed to the baby. + +Sylvia's eyes filled with tears. + +'Oh, sir, I'll do anything as iver yo' can tell me for her. That's +what I came for t' ask yo'. I know I mun not stay theere, and Philip +gone away; and I dunnot know what to do: and I'll do aught, only I +must keep her wi' me. Whativer can I do, sir?' + +Jeremiah thought it over for a minute or two. Then he replied, + +'I must have time to think. I must talk it over with brother John.' + +'But you've given me yo'r word, sir!' exclaimed she. + +'I have given thee my word never to tell any one of what has passed +between thee and thy husband, but I must take counsel with my +brother as to what is to be done with thee and thy child, now that +thy husband has left the shop.' + +This was said so gravely as almost to be a reproach, and he got up, +as a sign that the interview was ended. + +He gave the baby back to its mother; but not without a solemn +blessing, so solemn that, to Sylvia's superstitious and excited +mind, it undid the terrors of what she had esteemed to be a curse. + +'The Lord bless thee and keep thee! The Lord make His face to shine +upon thee!' + +All the way down the hill-side, Sylvia kept kissing the child, and +whispering to its unconscious ears,-- + +'I'll love thee for both, my treasure, I will. I'll hap thee round +wi' my love, so as thou shall niver need a feyther's.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +BEREAVEMENT + + +Hester had been prevented by her mother's indisposition from taking +Philip's letter to the Fosters, to hold a consultation with them +over its contents. + +Alice Rose was slowly failing, and the long days which she had to +spend alone told much upon her spirits, and consequently upon her +health. + +All this came out in the conversation which ensued after reading +Hepburn's letter in the little parlour at the bank on the day after +Sylvia had had her confidential interview with Jeremiah Foster. + +He was a true man of honour, and never so much as alluded to her +visit to him; but what she had then told him influenced him very +much in the formation of the project which he proposed to his +brother and Hester. + +He recommended her remaining where she was, living still in the +house behind the shop; for he thought within himself that she might +have exaggerated the effect of her words upon Philip; that, after +all, it might have been some cause totally disconnected with them, +which had blotted out her husband's place among the men of +Monkshaven; and that it would be so much easier for both to resume +their natural relations, both towards each other and towards the +world, if Sylvia remained where her husband had left her--in an +expectant attitude, so to speak. + +Jeremiah Foster questioned Hester straitly about her letter: whether +she had made known its contents to any one. No, not to any one. +Neither to her mother nor to William Coulson? No, to neither. + +She looked at him as she replied to his inquiries, and he looked at +her, each wondering if the other could be in the least aware that a +conjugal quarrel might be at the root of the dilemma in which they +were placed by Hepburn's disappearance. + +But neither Hester, who had witnessed the misunderstanding between +the husband and wife on the evening, before the morning on which +Philip went away, nor Jeremiah Foster, who had learnt from Sylvia +the true reason of her husband's disappearance, gave the slightest +reason to the other to think that they each supposed they had a clue +to the reason of Hepburn's sudden departure. + +What Jeremiah Foster, after a night's consideration, had to propose +was this; that Hester and her mother should come and occupy the +house in the market-place, conjointly with Sylvia and her child. +Hester's interest in the shop was by this time acknowledged. +Jeremiah had made over to her so much of his share in the business, +that she had a right to be considered as a kind of partner; and she +had long been the superintendent of that department of goods which +were exclusively devoted to women. So her daily presence was +requisite for more reasons than one. + +Yet her mother's health and spirits were such as to render it +unadvisable that the old woman should be too much left alone; and +Sylvia's devotion to her own mother seemed to point her out as the +very person who could be a gentle and tender companion to Alice Rose +during those hours when her own daughter would necessarily be +engaged in the shop. + +Many desirable objects seemed to be gained by this removal of Alice: +an occupation was provided for Sylvia, which would detain her in the +place where her husband had left her, and where (Jeremiah Foster +fairly expected in spite of his letter) he was likely to come back +to find her; and Alice Rose, the early love of one of the brothers, +the old friend of the other, would be well cared for, and under her +daughter's immediate supervision during the whole of the time that +she was occupied in the shop. + +Philip's share of the business, augmented by the money which he had +put in from the legacy of his old Cumberland uncle, would bring in +profits enough to support Sylvia and her child in ease and comfort +until that time, which they all anticipated, when he should return +from his mysterious wandering--mysterious, whether his going forth +had been voluntary or involuntary. + +Thus far was settled; and Jeremiah Foster went to tell Sylvia of the +plan. + +She was too much a child, too entirely unaccustomed to any +independence of action, to do anything but leave herself in his +hands. Her very confession, made to him the day before, when she +sought his counsel, seemed to place her at his disposal. Otherwise, +she had had notions of the possibility of a free country life once +more--how provided for and arranged she hardly knew; but Haytersbank +was to let, and Kester disengaged, and it had just seemed possible +that she might have to return to her early home, and to her old +life. She knew that it would take much money to stock the farm +again, and that her hands were tied from much useful activity by the +love and care she owed to her baby. But still, somehow, she hoped +and she fancied, till Jeremiah Foster's measured words and +carefully-arranged plan made her silently relinquish her green, +breezy vision. + +Hester, too, had her own private rebellion--hushed into submission +by her gentle piety. If Sylvia had been able to make Philip happy, +Hester could have felt lovingly and almost gratefully towards her; +but Sylvia had failed in this. + +Philip had been made unhappy, and was driven forth a wanderer into +the wide world--never to come back! And his last words to Hester, +the postscript of his letter, containing the very pith of it, was to +ask her to take charge and care of the wife whose want of love +towards him had uprooted him from the place where he was valued and +honoured. + +It cost Hester many a struggle and many a self-reproach before she +could make herself feel what she saw all along--that in everything +Philip treated her like a sister. But even a sister might well be +indignant if she saw her brother's love disregarded and slighted, +and his life embittered by the thoughtless conduct of a wife! Still +Hester fought against herself, and for Philip's sake she sought to +see the good in Sylvia, and she strove to love her as well as to +take care of her. + +With the baby, of course, the case was different. Without thought or +struggle, or reason, every one loved the little girl. Coulson and +his buxom wife, who were childless, were never weary of making much +of her. Hester's happiest hours were spent with that little child. +Jeremiah Foster almost looked upon her as his own from the day when +she honoured him by yielding to the temptation of the chain and +seal, and coming to his knee; not a customer to the shop but knew +the smiling child's sad history, and many a country-woman would save +a rosy-cheeked apple from out her store that autumn to bring it on +next market-day for 'Philip Hepburn's baby, as had lost its father, +bless it.' + +Even stern Alice Rose was graciously inclined towards the little +Bella; and though her idea of the number of the elect was growing +narrower and narrower every day, she would have been loth to exclude +the innocent little child, that stroked her wrinkled cheeks so +softly every night in return for her blessing, from the few that +should be saved. Nay, for the child's sake, she relented towards the +mother; and strove to have Sylvia rescued from the many castaways +with fervent prayer, or, as she phrased it, 'wrestling with the +Lord'. + +Alice had a sort of instinct that the little child, so tenderly +loved by, so fondly loving, the mother whose ewe-lamb she was, could +not be even in heaven without yearning for the creature she had +loved best on earth; and the old woman believed that this was the +principal reason for her prayers for Sylvia; but unconsciously to +herself, Alice Rose was touched by the filial attentions she +constantly received from the young mother, whom she believed to be +foredoomed to condemnation. + +Sylvia rarely went to church or chapel, nor did she read her Bible; +for though she spoke little of her ignorance, and would fain, for +her child's sake, have remedied it now it was too late, she had lost +what little fluency of reading she had ever had, and could only make +out her words with much spelling and difficulty. So the taking her +Bible in hand would have been a mere form; though of this Alice Rose +knew nothing. + +No one knew much of what was passing in Sylvia; she did not know +herself. Sometimes in the nights she would waken, crying, with a +terrible sense of desolation; every one who loved her, or whom she +had loved, had vanished out of her life; every one but her child, +who lay in her arms, warm and soft. + +But then Jeremiah Foster's words came upon her; words that she had +taken for cursing at the time; and she would so gladly have had some +clue by which to penetrate the darkness of the unknown region from +whence both blessing and cursing came, and to know if she had indeed +done something which should cause her sin to be visited on that +soft, sweet, innocent darling. + +If any one would teach her to read! If any one would explain to her +the hard words she heard in church or chapel, so that she might find +out the meaning of sin and godliness!--words that had only passed +over the surface of her mind till now! For her child's sake she +should like to do the will of God, if she only knew what that was, +and how to be worked out in her daily life. + +But there was no one she dared confess her ignorance to and ask +information from. Jeremiah Foster had spoken as if her child, sweet +little merry Bella, with a loving word and a kiss for every one, was +to suffer heavily for the just and true words her wronged and +indignant mother had spoken. Alice always spoke as if there were no +hope for her; and blamed her, nevertheless, for not using the means +of grace that it was not in her power to avail herself of. + +And Hester, that Sylvia would fain have loved for her uniform +gentleness and patience with all around her, seemed so cold in her +unruffled and undemonstrative behaviour; and moreover, Sylvia felt +that Hester blamed her perpetual silence regarding Philip's absence +without knowing how bitter a cause Sylvia had for casting him off. + +The only person who seemed to have pity upon her was Kester; and his +pity was shown in looks rather than words; for when he came to see +her, which he did from time to time, by a kind of mutual tacit +consent, they spoke but little of former days. + +He was still lodging with his sister, widow Dobson, working at odd +jobs, some of which took him into the country for weeks at a time. +But on his returns to Monkshaven he was sure to come and see her and +the little Bella; indeed, when his employment was in the immediate +neighbourhood of the town, he never allowed a week to pass away +without a visit. + +There was not much conversation between him and Sylvia at such +times. They skimmed over the surface of the small events in which +both took an interest; only now and then a sudden glance, a checked +speech, told each that there were deeps not forgotten, although they +were never mentioned. + +Twice Sylvia--below her breath--had asked Kester, just as she was +holding the door open for his departure, if anything had ever been +heard of Kinraid since his one night's visit to Monkshaven: each +time (and there was an interval of some months between the +inquiries) the answer had been simply, no. + +To no one else would Sylvia ever have named his name. But indeed she +had not the chance, had she wished it ever so much, of asking any +questions about him from any one likely to know. The Corneys had +left Moss Brow at Martinmas, and gone many miles away towards +Horncastle. Bessy Corney, it is true was married and left behind in +the neighbourhood; but with her Sylvia had never been intimate; and +what girlish friendship there might have been between them had +cooled very much at the time of Kinraid's supposed death three years +before. + +One day before Christmas in this year, 1798, Sylvia was called into +the shop by Coulson, who, with his assistant, was busy undoing the +bales of winter goods supplied to them from the West Riding, and +other places. He was looking at a fine Irish poplin dress-piece when +Sylvia answered to his call. + +'Here! do you know this again?' asked he, in the cheerful tone of +one sure of giving pleasure. + +'No! have I iver seen it afore?' + +'Not this, but one for all t' world like it.' + +She did not rouse up to much interest, but looked at it as if trying +to recollect where she could have seen its like. + +'My missus had one on at th' party at John Foster's last March, and +yo' admired it a deal. And Philip, he thought o' nothing but how he +could get yo' just such another, and he set a vast o' folk agait for +to meet wi' its marrow; and what he did just the very day afore he +went away so mysterious was to write through Dawson Brothers, o' +Wakefield, to Dublin, and order that one should be woven for yo'. +Jemima had to cut a bit off hers for to give him t' exact colour.' + +Sylvia did not say anything but that it was very pretty, in a low +voice, and then she quickly left the shop, much to Coulson's +displeasure. + +All the afternoon she was unusually quiet and depressed. + +Alice Rose, sitting helpless in her chair, watched her with keen +eyes. + +At length, after one of Sylvia's deep, unconscious sighs, the old +woman spoke: + +'It's religion as must comfort thee, child, as it's done many a one +afore thee.' + +'How?' said Sylvia, looking up, startled to find herself an object +of notice. + +'How?' (The answer was not quite so ready as the precept had been.) +'Read thy Bible, and thou wilt learn.' + +'But I cannot read,' said Sylvia, too desperate any longer to +conceal her ignorance. + +'Not read! and thee Philip's wife as was such a great scholar! Of a +surety the ways o' this life are crooked! There was our Hester, as +can read as well as any minister, and Philip passes over her to go +and choose a young lass as cannot read her Bible.' + +'Was Philip and Hester----' + +Sylvia paused, for though a new curiosity had dawned upon her, she +did not know how to word her question. + +'Many a time and oft have I seen Hester take comfort in her Bible +when Philip was following after thee. She knew where to go for +consolation.' + +'I'd fain read,' said Sylvia, humbly, 'if anybody would learn me; +for perhaps it might do me good; I'm noane so happy.' + +Her eyes, as she looked up at Alice's stern countenance, were full +of tears. + +The old woman saw it, and was touched, although she did not +immediately show her sympathy. But she took her own time, and made +no reply. + +The next day, however, she bade Sylvia come to her, and then and +there, as if her pupil had been a little child, she began to teach +Sylvia to read the first chapter of Genesis; for all other reading +but the Scriptures was as vanity to her, and she would not +condescend to the weakness of other books. Sylvia was now, as ever, +slow at book-learning; but she was meek and desirous to be taught, +and her willingness in this respect pleased Alice, and drew her +singularly towards one who, from being a pupil, might become a +convert. + +All this time Sylvia never lost the curiosity that had been excited +by the few words Alice had let drop about Hester and Philip, and by +degrees she approached the subject again, and had the idea then +started confirmed by Alice, who had no scruple in using the past +experience of her own, of her daughter's, or of any one's life, as +an instrument to prove the vanity of setting the heart on anything +earthly. + +This knowledge, unsuspected before, sank deep into Sylvia's +thoughts, and gave her a strange interest in Hester--poor Hester, +whose life she had so crossed and blighted, even by the very +blighting of her own. She gave Hester her own former passionate +feelings for Kinraid, and wondered how she herself should have felt +towards any one who had come between her and him, and wiled his love +away. When she remembered Hester's unfailing sweetness and kindness +towards herself from the very first, she could better bear the +comparative coldness of her present behaviour. + +She tried, indeed, hard to win back the favour she had lost; but the +very means she took were blunders, and only made it seem to her as +if she could never again do right in Hester's eyes. + +For instance, she begged her to accept and wear the pretty poplin +gown which had been Philip's especial choice; feeling within herself +as if she should never wish to put it on, and as if the best thing +she could do with it was to offer it to Hester. But Hester rejected +the proffered gift with as much hardness of manner as she was +capable of assuming; and Sylvia had to carry it upstairs and lay it +by for the little daughter, who, Hester said, might perhaps learn to +value things that her father had given especial thought to. + +Yet Sylvia went on trying to win Hester to like her once more; it +was one of her great labours, and learning to read from Hester's +mother was another. + +Alice, indeed, in her solemn way, was becoming quite fond of Sylvia; +if she could not read or write, she had a deftness and gentleness of +motion, a capacity for the household matters which fell into her +department, that had a great effect on the old woman, and for her +dear mother's sake Sylvia had a stock of patient love ready in her +heart for all the aged and infirm that fell in her way. She never +thought of seeking them out, as she knew that Hester did; but then +she looked up to Hester as some one very remarkable for her +goodness. If only she could have liked her! + +Hester tried to do all she could for Sylvia; Philip had told her to +take care of his wife and child; but she had the conviction that +Sylvia had so materially failed in her duties as to have made her +husband an exile from his home--a penniless wanderer, wifeless and +childless, in some strange country, whose very aspect was +friendless, while the cause of all lived on in the comfortable home +where he had placed her, wanting for nothing--an object of interest +and regard to many friends--with a lovely little child to give her +joy for the present, and hope for the future; while he, the poor +outcast, might even lie dead by the wayside. How could Hester love +Sylvia? + +Yet they were frequent companions that ensuing spring. Hester was +not well; and the doctors said that the constant occupation in the +shop was too much for her, and that she must, for a time at least, +take daily walks into the country. + +Sylvia used to beg to accompany her; she and the little girl often +went with Hester up the valley of the river to some of the nestling +farms that were hidden in the more sheltered nooks--for Hester was +bidden to drink milk warm from the cow; and to go into the familiar +haunts about a farm was one of the few things in which Sylvia seemed +to take much pleasure. She would let little Bella toddle about while +Hester sate and rested: and she herself would beg to milk the cow +destined to give the invalid her draught. + +One May evening the three had been out on some such expedition; the +country side still looked gray and bare, though the leaves were +showing on the willow and blackthorn and sloe, and by the tinkling +runnels, making hidden music along the copse side, the pale delicate +primrose buds were showing amid their fresh, green, crinkled leaves. +The larks had been singing all the afternoon, but were now dropping +down into their nests in the pasture fields; the air had just the +sharpness in it which goes along with a cloudless evening sky at +that time of the year. + +But Hester walked homewards slowly and languidly, speaking no word. +Sylvia noticed this at first without venturing to speak, for Hester +was one who disliked having her ailments noticed. But after a while +Hester stood still in a sort of weary dreamy abstraction; and Sylvia +said to her, + +'I'm afeared yo're sadly tired. Maybe we've been too far.' + +Hester almost started. + +'No!' said she, 'it's only my headache which is worse to-night. It +has been bad all day; but since I came out it has felt just as if +there were great guns booming, till I could almost pray 'em to be +quiet. I am so weary o' th' sound.' + +She stepped out quickly towards home after she had said this, as if +she wished for neither pity nor comment on what she had said. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE RECOGNITION + + +Far away, over sea and land, over sunny sea again, great guns were +booming on that 7th of May, 1799. + +The Mediterranean came up with a long roar on a beach glittering +white with snowy sand, and the fragments of innumerable sea-shells, +delicate and shining as porcelain. Looking at that shore from the +sea, a long ridge of upland ground, beginning from an inland depth, +stretched far away into the ocean on the right, till it ended in a +great mountainous bluff, crowned with the white buildings of a +convent sloping rapidly down into the blue water at its base. + +In the clear eastern air, the different characters of the foliage +that clothed the sides of that sea-washed mountain might be +discerned from a long distance by the naked eye; the silver gray of +the olive-trees near its summit; the heavy green and bossy forms of +the sycamores lower down; broken here and there by a solitary +terebinth or ilex tree, of a deeper green and a wider spread; till +the eye fell below on the maritime plain, edged with the white +seaboard and the sandy hillocks; with here and there feathery +palm-trees, either isolated or in groups--motionless and distinct +against the hot purple air. + +Look again; a little to the left on the sea-shore there are the +white walls of a fortified town, glittering in sunlight, or black in +shadow. + +The fortifications themselves run out into the sea, forming a port +and a haven against the wild Levantine storms; and a lighthouse +rises out of the waves to guide mariners into safety. + +Beyond this walled city, and far away to the left still, there is +the same wide plain shut in by the distant rising ground, till the +upland circuit comes closing in to the north, and the great white +rocks meet the deep tideless ocean with its intensity of blue +colour. + +Above, the sky is literally purple with heat; and the pitiless light +smites the gazer's weary eye as it comes back from the white shore. +Nor does the plain country in that land offer the refuge and rest of +our own soft green. The limestone rock underlies the vegetation, and +gives a glittering, ashen hue to all the bare patches, and even to +the cultivated parts which are burnt up early in the year. In +spring-time alone does the country look rich and fruitful; then the +corn-fields of the plain show their capability of bearing, 'some +fifty, some an hundred fold'; down by the brook Kishon, flowing not +far from the base of the mountainous promontory to the south, there +grow the broad green fig-trees, cool and fresh to look upon; the +orchards are full of glossy-leaved cherry-trees; the tall amaryllis +puts forth crimson and yellow glories in the fields, rivalling the +pomp of King Solomon; the daisies and the hyacinths spread their +myriad flowers; the anemones, scarlet as blood, run hither and +thither over the ground like dazzling flames of fire. + +A spicy odour lingers in the heated air; it comes from the multitude +of aromatic flowers that blossom in the early spring. Later on they +will have withered and faded, and the corn will have been gathered, +and the deep green of the eastern foliage will have assumed a kind +of gray-bleached tint. + +Even now in May, the hot sparkle of the everlasting sea, the +terribly clear outline of all objects, whether near or distant, the +fierce sun right overhead, the dazzling air around, were +inexpressibly wearying to the English eyes that kept their skilled +watch, day and night, on the strongly-fortified coast-town that lay +out a little to the northward of where the British ships were +anchored. + +They had kept up a flanking fire for many days in aid of those +besieged in St Jean d'Acre; and at intervals had listened, +impatient, to the sound of the heavy siege guns, or the sharper +rattle of the French musketry. + +In the morning, on the 7th of May, a man at the masthead of the +_Tigre_ sang out that he saw ships in the offing; and in reply to +the signal that was hastily run up, he saw the distant vessels hoist +friendly flags. That May morning was a busy time. The besieged Turks +took heart of grace; the French outside, under the command of their +great general, made hasty preparations for a more vigorous assault +than all many, both vigorous and bloody, that had gone before (for +the siege was now at its fifty-first day), in hopes of carrying the +town by storm before the reinforcement coming by sea could arrive; +and Sir Sidney Smith, aware of Buonaparte's desperate intention, +ordered all the men, both sailors and marines, that could be spared +from the necessity of keeping up a continual flanking fire from the +ships upon the French, to land, and assist the Turks and the British +forces already there in the defence of the old historic city. + +Lieutenant Kinraid, who had shared his captain's daring adventure +off the coast of France three years before, who had been a prisoner +with him and Westley Wright, in the Temple at Paris, and had escaped +with them, and, through Sir Sidney's earnest recommendation, been +promoted from being a warrant officer to the rank of lieutenant, +received on this day the honour from his admiral of being appointed +to an especial post of danger. His heart was like a war-horse, and +said, Ha, ha! as the boat bounded over the waves that were to land +him under the ancient machicolated walls where the Crusaders made +their last stand in the Holy Land. Not that Kinraid knew or cared +one jot about those gallant knights of old: all he knew was, that +the French, under Boney, were trying to take the town from the +Turks, and that his admiral said they must not, and so they should +not. + +He and his men landed on that sandy shore, and entered the town by +the water-port gate; he was singing to himself his own country +song,-- + + Weel may the keel row, the keel row, &C. + +and his men, with sailors' aptitude for music, caught up the air, +and joined in the burden with inarticulate sounds. + +So, with merry hearts, they threaded the narrow streets of Acre, +hemmed in on either side by the white walls of Turkish houses, with +small grated openings high up, above all chance of peeping +intrusion. + +Here and there they met an ample-robed and turbaned Turk going along +with as much haste as his stately self-possession would allow. But +the majority of the male inhabitants were gathered together to +defend the breach, where the French guns thundered out far above the +heads of the sailors. + +They went along none the less merrily for the sound to Djezzar +Pacha's garden, where the old Turk sate on his carpet, beneath the +shade of a great terebinth tree, listening to the interpreter, who +made known to him the meaning of the eager speeches of Sir Sidney +Smith and the colonel of the marines. + +As soon as the admiral saw the gallant sailors of H.M.S. _Tigre_, he +interrupted the council of war without much ceremony, and going to +Kinraid, he despatched them, as before arranged, to the North +Ravelin, showing them the way with rapid, clear directions. + +Out of respect to him, they had kept silent while in the strange, +desolate garden; but once more in the streets, the old Newcastle +song rose up again till the men were, perforce, silenced by the +haste with which they went to the post of danger. + +It was three o'clock in the afternoon. For many a day these very men +had been swearing at the terrific heat at this hour--even when at +sea, fanned by the soft breeze; but now, in the midst of hot smoke, +with former carnage tainting the air, and with the rush and whizz of +death perpetually whistling in their ears, they were uncomplaining +and light-hearted. Many an old joke, and some new ones, came brave +and hearty, on their cheerful voices, even though the speaker was +veiled from sight in great clouds of smoke, cloven only by the +bright flames of death. + +A sudden message came; as many of the crew of the _Tigre_ as were +under Lieutenant Kinraid's command were to go down to the Mole, to +assist the new reinforcements (seen by the sailor from the masthead +at day-dawn), under command of Hassan Bey, to land at the Mole, +where Sir Sidney then was. + +Off they went, almost as bright and thoughtless as before, though +two of their number lay silent for ever at the North +Ravelin--silenced in that one little half-hour. And one went along +with the rest, swearing lustily at his ill-luck in having his right +arm broken, but ready to do good business with his left. + +They helped the Turkish troops to land more with good-will than +tenderness; and then, led by Sir Sidney, they went under the shelter +of English guns to the fatal breach, so often assailed, so gallantly +defended, but never so fiercely contested as on this burning +afternoon. The ruins of the massive wall that here had been broken +down by the French, were used by them as stepping stones to get on a +level with the besieged, and so to escape the heavy stones which the +latter hurled down; nay, even the dead bodies of the morning's +comrades were made into ghastly stairs. + +When Djezzar Pacha heard that the British sailors were defending the +breach, headed by Sir Sidney Smith, he left his station in the +palace garden, gathered up his robes in haste, and hurried to the +breach; where, with his own hands, and with right hearty good-will, +he pulled the sailors down from the post of danger, saying that if +he lost his English friends he lost all! + +But little recked the crew of the _Tigre_ of the one old man--Pacha +or otherwise--who tried to hold them back from the fight; they were +up and at the French assailants clambering over the breach in an +instant; and so they went on, as if it were some game at play +instead of a deadly combat, until Kinraid and his men were called +off by Sir Sidney, as the reinforcement of Turkish troops under +Hassan Bey were now sufficient for the defence of that old breach in +the walls, which was no longer the principal object of the French +attack; for the besiegers had made a new and more formidable breach +by their incessant fire, knocking down whole streets of the city +walls. + +'Fight your best Kinraid!' said Sir Sidney; 'for there's Boney on +yonder hill looking at you.' + +And sure enough, on a rising ground, called Richard Coeur de Lion's +Mount, there was a half-circle of French generals, on horseback, all +deferentially attending to the motions, and apparently to the words, +of a little man in their centre; at whose bidding the aide-de-camp +galloped swift with messages to the more distant French camp. + +The two ravelins which Kinraid and his men had to occupy, for the +purpose of sending a flanking fire upon the enemy, were not ten +yards from that enemy's van. + +But at length there was a sudden rush of the French to that part of +the wall where they imagined they could enter unopposed. + +Surprised at this movement, Kinraid ventured out of the shelter of +the ravelin to ascertain the cause; he, safe and untouched during +that long afternoon of carnage, fell now, under a stray musket-shot, +and lay helpless and exposed upon the ground undiscerned by his men, +who were recalled to help in the hot reception which had been +planned for the French; who, descending the city walls into the +Pacha's garden, were attacked with sabre and dagger, and lay +headless corpses under the flowering rose-bushes, and by the +fountain side. + +Kinraid lay beyond the ravelins, many yards outside the city walls. + +He was utterly helpless, for the shot had broken his leg. Dead +bodies of Frenchmen lay strewn around him; no Englishman had +ventured out so far. + +All the wounded men that he could see were French; and many of +these, furious with pain, gnashed their teeth at him, and cursed him +aloud, till he thought that his best course was to assume the +semblance of death; for some among these men were still capable of +dragging themselves up to him, and by concentrating all their +failing energies into one blow, put him to a speedy end. + +The outlying pickets of the French army were within easy rifle shot; +and his uniform, although less conspicuous in colour than that of +the marines, by whose sides he had been fighting, would make him a +sure mark if he so much as moved his arm. Yet how he longed to turn, +if ever so slightly, so that the cruel slanting sun might not beat +full into his aching eyes. Fever, too, was coming upon him; the pain +in his leg was every moment growing more severe; the terrible thirst +of the wounded, added to the heat and fatigue of the day, made his +lips and tongue feel baked and dry, and his whole throat seemed +parched and wooden. Thoughts of other days, of cool Greenland seas, +where ice abounded, of grassy English homes, began to make the past +more real than the present. + +With a great effort he brought his wandering senses back; he knew +where he was now, and could weigh the chances of his life, which +were but small; the unwonted tears came to his eyes as he thought of +the newly-made wife in her English home, who might never know how he +died thinking of her. + +Suddenly he saw a party of English marines advance, under shelter of +the ravelin, to pick up the wounded, and bear them within the walls +for surgical help. They were so near he could see their faces, could +hear them speak; yet he durst not make any sign to them when he lay +within range of the French picket's fire. + +For one moment he could not resist raising his head, to give himself +a chance for life; before the unclean creatures that infest a camp +came round in the darkness of the night to strip and insult the dead +bodies, and to put to death such as had yet the breath of life +within them. But the setting sun came full into his face, and he saw +nothing of what he longed to see. + +He fell back in despair; he lay there to die. + +That strong clear sunbeam had wrought his salvation. + +He had been recognized as men are recognized when they stand in the +red glare of a house on fire; the same despair of help, of hopeless +farewell to life, stamped on their faces in blood-red light. + +One man left his fellows, and came running forwards, forwards in +among the enemy's wounded, within range of their guns; he bent down +over Kinraid; he seemed to understand without a word; he lifted him +up, carrying him like a child; and with the vehement energy that is +more from the force of will than the strength of body, he bore him +back to within the shelter of the ravelin--not without many shots +being aimed at them, one of which hit Kinraid in the fleshy part of +his arm. + +Kinraid was racked with agony from his dangling broken leg, and his +very life seemed leaving him; yet he remembered afterwards how the +marine recalled his fellows, and how, in the pause before they +returned, his face became like one formerly known to the sick senses +of Kinraid; yet it was too like a dream, too utterly improbable to +be real. + +Yet the few words this man said, as he stood breathless and alone by +the fainting Kinraid, fitted in well with the belief conjured up by +his personal appearance. He panted out,-- + +'I niver thought you'd ha' kept true to her!' + +And then the others came up; and while they were making a sling of +their belts, Kinraid fainted utterly away, and the next time that he +was fully conscious, he was lying in his berth in the _Tigre_, with +the ship surgeon setting his leg. After that he was too feverish for +several days to collect his senses. When he could first remember, +and form a judgment upon his recollections, he called the man +especially charged to attend upon him, and bade him go and make +inquiry in every possible manner for a marine named Philip Hepburn, +and, when he was found, to entreat him to come and see Kinraid. + +The sailor was away the greater part of the day, and returned +unsuccessful in his search; he had been from ship to ship, hither +and thither; he had questioned all the marines he had met with, no +one knew anything of any Philip Hepburn. + +Kinraid passed a miserably feverish night, and when the doctor +exclaimed the next morning at his retrogression, he told him, with +some irritation, of the ill-success of his servant; he accused the +man of stupidity, and wished fervently that he were able to go +himself. + +Partly to soothe him, the doctor promised that he would undertake +the search for Hepburn, and he engaged faithfully to follow all +Kinraid's eager directions; not to be satisfied with men's careless +words, but to look over muster-rolls and ships' books. + +He, too, brought the same answer, however unwillingly given. + +He had set out upon the search so confident of success, that he felt +doubly discomfited by failure. However, he had persuaded himself +that the lieutenant had been partially delirious from the effects of +his wound, and the power of the sun shining down just where he lay. +There had, indeed, been slight symptoms of Kinraid's having received +a sun-stroke; and the doctor dwelt largely on these in his endeavour +to persuade his patient that it was his imagination which had endued +a stranger with the lineaments of some former friend. + +Kinraid threw his arms out of bed with impatience at all this +plausible talk, which was even more irritating than the fact that +Hepburn was still undiscovered. + +'The man was no friend of mine; I was like to have killed him when +last I saw him. He was a shopkeeper in a country town in England. I +had seen little enough of him; but enough to make me able to swear +to him anywhere, even in a marine's uniform, and in this sweltering +country.' + +'Faces once seen, especially in excitement, are apt to return upon +the memory in cases of fever,' quoth the doctor, sententiously. + +The attendant sailor, reinstalled to some complacency by the failure +of another in the search in which he himself had been unsuccessful, +now put in his explanation. + +'Maybe it was a spirit. It's not th' first time as I've heared of a +spirit coming upon earth to save a man's life i' time o' need. My +father had an uncle, a west-country grazier. He was a-coming over +Dartmoor in Devonshire one moonlight night with a power o' money as +he'd got for his sheep at t' fair. It were stowed i' leather bags +under th' seat o' th' gig. It were a rough kind o' road, both as a +road and in character, for there'd been many robberies there of +late, and th' great rocks stood convenient for hiding-places. All at +once father's uncle feels as if some one were sitting beside him on +th' empty seat; and he turns his head and looks, and there he sees +his brother sitting--his brother as had been dead twelve year and +more. So he turns his head back again, eyes right, and never say a +word, but wonders what it all means. All of a sudden two fellows +come out upo' th' white road from some black shadow, and they +looked, and they let th' gig go past, father's uncle driving hard, +I'll warrant him. But for all that he heard one say to t' other, +"By----, there's _two_ on 'em!" Straight on he drove faster than +ever, till he saw th' far lights of some town or other. I forget its +name, though I've heared it many a time; and then he drew a long +breath, and turned his head to look at his brother, and ask him how +he'd managed to come out of his grave i' Barum churchyard, and th' +seat was as empty as it had been when he set out; and then he knew +that it were a spirit come to help him against th' men who thought +to rob him, and would likely enough ha' murdered him.' + +Kinraid had kept quiet through this story. But when the sailor began +to draw the moral, and to say, 'And I think I may make bold to say, +sir, as th' marine who carried you out o' th' Frenchy's gun-shot was +just a spirit come to help you,' he exclaimed impatiently, swearing +a great oath as he did so, 'It was no spirit, I tell you; and I was +in my full senses. It was a man named Philip Hepburn. He said words +to me, or over me, as none but himself would have said. Yet we hated +each other like poison; and I can't make out why he should be there +and putting himself in danger to save me. But so it was; and as you +can't find him, let me hear no more of your nonsense. It was him, +and not my fancy, doctor. It was flesh and blood, and not a spirit, +Jack. So get along with you, and leave me quiet.' + +All this time Stephen Freeman lay friendless, sick, and shattered, +on board the _Theseus_. + +He had been about his duty close to some shells that were placed on +her deck; a gay young midshipman was thoughtlessly striving to get +the fusee out of one of these by a mallet and spike-nail that lay +close at hand; and a fearful explosion ensued, in which the poor +marine, cleaning his bayonet near, was shockingly burnt and +disfigured, the very skin of all the lower part of his face being +utterly destroyed by gunpowder. They said it was a mercy that his +eyes were spared; but he could hardly feel anything to be a mercy, +as he lay tossing in agony, burnt by the explosion, wounded by +splinters, and feeling that he was disabled for life, if life itself +were preserved. Of all that suffered by that fearful accident (and +they were many) none was so forsaken, so hopeless, so desolate, as +the Philip Hepburn about whom such anxious inquiries were being made +at that very time. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +CONFIDENCES + + +It was a little later on in that same summer that Mrs. Brunton came +to visit her sister Bessy. + +Bessy was married to a tolerably well-to-do farmer who lived at an +almost equal distance between Monkshaven and Hartswell; but from old +habit and convenience the latter was regarded as the Dawsons' +market-town; so Bessy seldom or never saw her old friends in +Monkshaven. + +But Mrs. Brunton was far too flourishing a person not to speak out +her wishes, and have her own way. She had no notion, she said, of +coming such a long journey only to see Bessy and her husband, and +not to have a sight of her former acquaintances at Monkshaven. She +might have added, that her new bonnet and cloak would be as good as +lost if it was not displayed among those who, knowing her as Molly +Corney, and being less fortunate in matrimony than she was, would +look upon it with wondering admiration, if not with envy. + +So one day farmer Dawson's market-cart deposited Mrs. Brunton in all +her bravery at the shop in the market-place, over which Hepburn and +Coulson's names still flourished in joint partnership. + +After a few words of brisk recognition to Coulson and Hester, Mrs +Brunton passed on into the parlour and greeted Sylvia with +boisterous heartiness. + +It was now four years and more since the friends had met; and each +secretly wondered how they had ever come to be friends. Sylvia had a +country, raw, spiritless look to Mrs. Brunton's eye; Molly was loud +and talkative, and altogether distasteful to Sylvia, trained in +daily companionship with Hester to appreciate soft slow speech, and +grave thoughtful ways. + +However, they kept up the forms of their old friendship, though +their hearts had drifted far apart. They sat hand in hand while each +looked at the other with eyes inquisitive as to the changes which +time had made. Molly was the first to speak. + +'Well, to be sure! how thin and pale yo've grown, Sylvia! Matrimony +hasn't agreed wi' yo' as well as it's done wi me. Brunton is allays +saying (yo' know what a man he is for his joke) that if he'd ha' +known how many yards o' silk I should ha' ta'en for a gown, he'd ha' +thought twice afore he'd ha' married me. Why, I've gained a matter +o' thirty pound o' flesh sin' I were married!' + +'Yo' do look brave and hearty!' said Sylvia, putting her sense of +her companion's capacious size and high colour into the prettiest +words she could. + +'Eh! Sylvia! but I know what it is,' said Molly, shaking her head. +'It's just because o' that husband o' thine as has gone and left +thee; thou's pining after him, and he's not worth it. Brunton said, +when he heared on it--I mind he was smoking at t' time, and he took +his pipe out of his mouth, and shook out t' ashes as grave as any +judge--"The man," says he, "as can desert a wife like Sylvia Robson +as was, deserves hanging!" That's what he says! Eh! Sylvia, but +speakin' o' hanging I was so grieved for yo' when I heared of yo'r +poor feyther! Such an end for a decent man to come to! Many a one +come an' called on me o' purpose to hear all I could tell 'em about +him!' + +'Please don't speak on it!' said Sylvia, trembling all over. + +'Well, poor creature, I wunnot. It is hard on thee, I grant. But to +give t' devil his due, it were good i' Hepburn to marry thee, and so +soon after there was a' that talk about thy feyther. Many a man +would ha' drawn back, choose howiver far they'd gone. I'm noane so +sure about Charley Kinraid. Eh, Sylvia! only think on his being +alive after all. I doubt if our Bessy would ha' wed Frank Dawson if +she'd known as he wasn't drowned. But it's as well she did, for +Dawson's a man o' property, and has getten twelve cows in his +cow-house, beside three right down good horses; and Kinraid were +allays a fellow wi' two strings to his bow. I've allays said and do +maintain, that he went on pretty strong wi' yo', Sylvie; and I will +say I think he cared more for yo' than for our Bessy, though it were +only yesterday at e'en she were standing out that he liked her +better than yo'. Yo'll ha' heared on his grand marriage?' + +'No!' said Sylvia, with eager painful curiosity. + +'No! It was in all t' papers! I wonder as yo' didn't see it. Wait a +minute! I cut it out o' t' _Gentleman's Magazine_, as Brunton bought +o' purpose, and put it i' my pocket-book when I were a-coming here: +I know I've got it somewheere.' + +She took out her smart crimson pocket-book, and rummaged in the +pocket until she produced a little crumpled bit of printed paper, +from which she read aloud, + +'On January the third, at St Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, Charles +Kinraid, Esq., lieutenant Royal Navy, to Miss Clarinda Jackson, with +a fortune of 10,000_l_.' + +'Theere!' said she, triumphantly, 'it's something as Brunton says, +to be cousin to that.' + +'Would yo' let me see it?' said Sylvia, timidly. + +Mrs. Brunton graciously consented; and Sylvia brought her newly +acquired reading-knowledge, hitherto principally exercised on the +Old Testament, to bear on these words. + +There was nothing wonderful in them, nothing that she might not have +expected; and yet the surprise turned her giddy for a moment or two. +She never thought of seeing him again, never. But to think of his +caring for another woman as much as he had done for her, nay, +perhaps more! + +The idea was irresistibly forced upon her that Philip would not have +acted so; it would have taken long years before he could have been +induced to put another on the throne she had once occupied. For the +first time in her life she seemed to recognize the real nature of +Philip's love. + +But she said nothing but 'Thank yo',' when she gave the scrap of +paper back to Molly Brunton. And the latter continued giving her +information about Kinraid's marriage. + +'He were down in t' west, Plymouth or somewheere, when he met wi' +her. She's no feyther; he'd been in t' sugar-baking business; but +from what Kinraid wrote to old Turner, th' uncle as brought him up +at Cullercoats, she's had t' best of edications: can play on t' +instrument and dance t' shawl dance; and Kinraid had all her money +settled on her, though she said she'd rayther give it all to him, +which I must say, being his cousin, was very pretty on her. He's +left her now, having to go off in t' _Tigre_, as is his ship, to t' +Mediterranean seas; and she's written to offer to come and see old +Turner, and make friends with his relations, and Brunton is going to +gi'e me a crimson satin as soon as we know for certain when she's +coming, for we're sure to be asked out to Cullercoats.' + +'I wonder if she's very pretty?' asked Sylvia, faintly, in the first +pause in this torrent of talk. + +'Oh! she's a perfect beauty, as I understand. There was a traveller +as come to our shop as had been at York, and knew some of her +cousins theere that were in t' grocery line--her mother was a York +lady--and they said she was just a picture of a woman, and iver so +many gentlemen had been wantin' to marry her, but she just waited +for Charley Kinraid, yo' see!' + +'Well, I hope they'll be happy; I'm sure I do!' said Sylvia. + +'That's just luck. Some folks is happy i' marriage, and some isn't. +It's just luck, and there's no forecasting it. Men is such +unaccountable animals, there's no prophesyin' upon 'em. Who'd ha' +thought of yo'r husband, him as was so slow and sure--steady Philip, +as we lasses used to ca' him--makin' a moonlight flittin', and +leavin' yo' to be a widow bewitched?' + +'He didn't go at night,' said Sylvia, taking the words 'moonlight +flitting' in their literal sense. + +'No! Well, I only said "moonlight flittin'" just because it come +uppermost and I knowed no better. Tell me all about it, Sylvie, for +I can't mak' it out from what Bessy says. Had he and yo' had +words?--but in course yo' had.' + +At this moment Hester came into the room; and Sylvia joyfully +availed herself of the pretext for breaking off the conversation +that had reached this painful and awkward point. She detained Hester +in the room for fear lest Mrs. Brunton should repeat her inquiry as +to how it all happened that Philip had gone away; but the presence +of a third person seemed as though it would be but little restraint +upon the inquisitive Molly, who repeatedly bore down upon the same +questions till she nearly drove Sylvia distracted, between her +astonishment at the news of Kinraid's marriage; her wish to be alone +and quiet, so as to realize the full meaning of that piece of +intelligence; her desire to retain Hester in the conversation; her +efforts to prevent Molly's recurrence to the circumstances of +Philip's disappearance, and the longing--more vehement every +minute--for her visitor to go away and leave her in peace. She +became so disturbed with all these thoughts and feelings that she +hardly knew what she was saying, and assented or dissented to +speeches without there being either any reason or truth in her +words. + +Mrs. Brunton had arranged to remain with Sylvia while the horse +rested, and had no compunction about the length of her visit. She +expected to be asked to tea, as Sylvia found out at last, and this +she felt would be the worst of all, as Alice Rose was not one to +tolerate the coarse, careless talk of such a woman as Mrs. Brunton +without uplifting her voice in many a testimony against it. Sylvia +sate holding Hester's gown tight in order to prevent her leaving the +room, and trying to arrange her little plans so that too much +discordance should not arise to the surface. Just then the door +opened, and little Bella came in from the kitchen in all the pretty, +sturdy dignity of two years old, Alice following her with careful +steps, and protecting, outstretched arms, a slow smile softening the +sternness of her grave face; for the child was the unconscious +darling of the household, and all eyes softened into love as they +looked on her. She made straight for her mother with something +grasped in her little dimpled fist; but half-way across the room she +seemed to have become suddenly aware of the presence of a stranger, +and she stopped short, fixing her serious eyes full on Mrs. Brunton, +as if to take in her appearance, nay, as if to penetrate down into +her very real self, and then, stretching out her disengaged hand, +the baby spoke out the words that had been hovering about her +mother's lips for an hour past. + +'Do away!' said Bella, decisively. + +'What a perfect love!' said Mrs. Brunton, half in real admiration, +half in patronage. As she spoke, she got up and went towards the +child, as if to take her up. + +'Do away! do away!' cried Bella, in shrill affright at this +movement. + +'Dunnot,' said Sylvia; 'she's shy; she doesn't know strangers.' + +But Mrs. Brunton had grasped the struggling, kicking child by this +time, and her reward for this was a vehement little slap in the +face. + +'Yo' naughty little spoilt thing!' said she, setting Bella down in a +hurry. 'Yo' deserve a good whipping, yo' do, and if yo' were mine +yo' should have it.' + +Sylvia had no need to stand up for the baby who had run to her arms, +and was soothing herself with sobbing on her mother's breast; for +Alice took up the defence. + +'The child said, as plain as words could say, "go away," and if thou +wouldst follow thine own will instead of heeding her wish, thou mun +put up with the wilfulness of the old Adam, of which it seems to me +thee hast getten thy share at thirty as well as little Bella at +two.' + +'Thirty!' said Mrs. Brunton, now fairly affronted. 'Thirty! why, +Sylvia, yo' know I'm but two years older than yo'; speak to that +woman an' tell her as I'm only four-and-twenty. Thirty, indeed!' + +'Molly's but four-and-twenty,' said Sylvia, in a pacificatory tone. + +'Whether she be twenty, or thirty, or forty, is alike to me,' said +Alice. 'I meant no harm. I meant but for t' say as her angry words +to the child bespoke her to be one of the foolish. I know not who +she is, nor what her age may be.' + +'She's an old friend of mine,' said Sylvia. 'She's Mrs. Brunton now, +but when I knowed her she was Molly Corney.' + +'Ay! and yo' were Sylvia Robson, and as bonny and light-hearted a +lass as any in a' t' Riding, though now yo're a poor widow +bewitched, left wi' a child as I mustn't speak a word about, an' +living wi' folk as talk about t' old Adam as if he wasn't dead and +done wi' long ago! It's a change, Sylvia, as makes my heart ache for +yo', to think on them old days when yo' were so thought on yo' might +have had any man, as Brunton often says; it were a great mistake as +yo' iver took up wi' yon man as has run away. But seven year 'll +soon be past fro' t' time he went off, and yo'll only be +six-and-twenty then; and there'll be a chance of a better husband +for yo' after all, so keep up yo'r heart, Sylvia.' + +Molly Brunton had put as much venom as she knew how into this +speech, meaning it as a vengeful payment for the supposition of her +being thirty, even more than for the reproof for her angry words +about the child. She thought that Alice Rose must be either mother +or aunt to Philip, from the serious cast of countenance that was +remarkable in both; and she rather exulted in the allusion to a +happier second marriage for Sylvia, with which she had concluded her +speech. It roused Alice, however, as effectually as if she had been +really a blood relation to Philip; but for a different reason. She +was not slow to detect the intentional offensiveness to herself in +what had been said; she was indignant at Sylvia for suffering the +words spoken to pass unanswered; but in truth they were too much in +keeping with Molly Brunton's character to make as much impression on +Sylvia as they did on a stranger; and besides, she felt as if the +less reply Molly received, the less likely would it be that she +would go on in the same strain. So she coaxed and chattered to her +child and behaved like a little coward in trying to draw out of the +conversation, while at the same time listening attentively. + +'As for Sylvia Hepburn as was Sylvia Robson, she knows my mind,' +said Alice, in grim indignation. 'She's humbling herself now, I +trust and pray, but she was light-minded and full of vanity when +Philip married her, and it might ha' been a lift towards her +salvation in one way; but it pleased the Lord to work in a different +way, and she mun wear her sackcloth and ashes in patience. So I'll +say naught more about her. But for him as is absent, as thee hast +spoken on so lightly and reproachfully, I'd have thee to know he +were one of a different kind to any thee ever knew, I reckon. If he +were led away by a pretty face to slight one as was fitter for him, +and who had loved him as the apple of her eye, it's him as is +suffering for it, inasmuch as he's a wanderer from his home, and an +outcast from wife and child.' + +To the surprise of all, Molly's words of reply were cut short even +when they were on her lips, by Sylvia. Pale, fire-eyed, and excited, +with Philip's child on one arm, and the other stretched out, she +said,-- + +'Noane can tell--noane know. No one shall speak a judgment 'twixt +Philip and me. He acted cruel and wrong by me. But I've said my +words to him hissel', and I'm noane going to make any plaint to +others; only them as knows should judge. And it's not fitting, it's +not' (almost sobbing), 'to go on wi' talk like this afore me.' + +The two--for Hester, who was aware that her presence had only been +desired by Sylvia as a check to an unpleasant _tete-a-tete_ +conversation, had slipped back to her business as soon as her mother +came in--the two looked with surprise at Sylvia; her words, her +whole manner, belonged to a phase of her character which seldom came +uppermost, and which had not been perceived by either of them +before. + +Alice Rose, though astonished, rather approved of Sylvia's speech; +it showed that she had more serious thought and feeling on the +subject than the old woman had given her credit for; her general +silence respecting her husband's disappearance had led Alice to +think that she was too childish to have received any deep impression +from the event. Molly Brunton gave vent to her opinion on Sylvia's +speech in the following words:-- + +'Hoighty-toighty! That tells tales, lass. If yo' treated steady +Philip to many such looks an' speeches as yo'n given us now, it's +easy t' see why he took hisself off. Why, Sylvia, I niver saw it in +yo' when yo' was a girl; yo're grown into a regular little vixen, +theere wheere yo' stand!' + +Indeed she did look defiant, with the swift colour flushing her +cheeks to crimson on its return, and the fire in her eyes not yet +died away. But at Molly's jesting words she sank back into her usual +look and manner, only saying quietly,-- + +'It's for noane to say whether I'm vixen or not, as doesn't know th' +past things as is buried in my heart. But I cannot hold them as my +friends as go on talking on either my husband or me before my very +face. What he was, I know; and what I am, I reckon he knows. And now +I'll go hurry tea, for yo'll be needing it, Molly!' + +The last clause of this speech was meant to make peace; but Molly +was in twenty minds as to whether she should accept the olive-branch +or not. Her temper, however, was of that obtuse kind which is not +easily ruffled; her mind, stagnant in itself, enjoyed excitement +from without; and her appetite was invariably good, so she stayed, +in spite of the inevitable _tete-a-tete_ with Alice. The latter, +however, refused to be drawn into conversation again; replying to +Mrs. Brunton's speeches with a curt yes or no, when, indeed, she +replied at all. + +When all were gathered at tea, Sylvia was quite calm again; rather +paler than usual, and very attentive and subduced in her behaviour +to Alice; she would evidently fain have been silent, but as Molly +was her own especial guest, that could not be, so all her endeavours +went towards steering the conversation away from any awkward points. +But each of the four, let alone little Bella, was thankful when the +market-cart drew up at the shop door, that was to take Mrs. Brunton +back to her sister's house. + +When she was fairly off, Alice Rose opened her mouth in strong +condemnation; winding up with-- + +'And if aught in my words gave thee cause for offence, Sylvia, it +was because my heart rose within me at the kind of talk thee and she +had been having about Philip; and her evil and light-minded counsel +to thee about waiting seven years, and then wedding another.' + +Hard as these words may seem when repeated, there was something of a +nearer approach to an apology in Mrs. Rose's manner than Sylvia had +ever seen in it before. She was silent for a few moments, then she +said,-- + +'I ha' often thought of telling yo' and Hester, special-like, when +yo've been so kind to my little Bella, that Philip an' me could +niver come together again; no, not if he came home this very +night----' + +She would have gone on speaking, but Hester interrupted her with a +low cry of dismay. + +Alice said,-- + +'Hush thee, Hester. It's no business o' thine. Sylvia Hepburn, +thou'rt speaking like a silly child.' + +'No. I'm speaking like a woman; like a woman as finds out she's been +cheated by men as she trusted, and as has no help for it. I'm noane +going to say any more about it. It's me as has been wronged, and as +has to bear it: only I thought I'd tell yo' both this much, that yo' +might know somewhat why he went away, and how I said my last word +about it.' + +So indeed it seemed. To all questions and remonstrances from Alice, +Sylvia turned a deaf ear. She averted her face from Hester's sad, +wistful looks; only when they were parting for the night, at the top +of the little staircase, she turned, and putting her arms round +Hester's neck she laid her head on her neck, and whispered,-- + +'Poor Hester--poor, poor Hester! if yo' an' he had but been married +together, what a deal o' sorrow would ha' been spared to us all!' + +Hester pushed her away as she finished these words; looked +searchingly into her face, her eyes, and then followed Sylvia into +her room, where Bella lay sleeping, shut the door, and almost knelt +down at Sylvia's feet, clasping her, and hiding her face in the +folds of the other's gown. + +'Sylvia, Sylvia,' she murmured, 'some one has told you--I thought no +one knew--it's no sin--it's done away with now--indeed it is--it was +long ago--before yo' were married; but I cannot forget. It was a +shame, perhaps, to have thought on it iver, when he niver thought o' +me; but I niver believed as any one could ha' found it out. I'm just +fit to sink into t' ground, what wi' my sorrow and my shame.' + +Hester was stopped by her own rising sobs, immediately she was in +Sylvia's arms. Sylvia was sitting on the ground holding her, and +soothing her with caresses and broken words. + +'I'm allays saying t' wrong things,' said she. 'It seems as if I +were all upset to-day; and indeed I am;' she added, alluding to the +news of Kinraid's marriage she had yet to think upon. + +'But it wasn't yo', Hester: it were nothing yo' iver said, or did, +or looked, for that matter. It were yo'r mother as let it out.' + +'Oh, mother! mother!' wailed out Hester; 'I niver thought as any one +but God would ha' known that I had iver for a day thought on his +being more to me than a brother.' + +Sylvia made no reply, only went on stroking Hester's smooth brown +hair, off which her cap had fallen. Sylvia was thinking how strange +life was, and how love seemed to go all at cross purposes; and was +losing herself in bewilderment at the mystery of the world; she was +almost startled when Hester rose up, and taking Sylvia's hands in +both of hers, and looking solemnly at her, said,-- + +'Sylvia, yo' know what has been my trouble and my shame, and I'm +sure yo're sorry for me--for I will humble myself to yo', and own +that for many months before yo' were married, I felt my +disappointment like a heavy burden laid on me by day and by night; +but now I ask yo', if yo've any pity for me for what I went through, +or if yo've any love for me because of yo'r dead mother's love for +me, or because of any fellowship, or daily breadliness between us +two,--put the hard thoughts of Philip away from out yo'r heart; he +may ha' done yo' wrong, anyway yo' think that he has; I niver knew +him aught but kind and good; but if he comes back from wheriver in +th' wide world he's gone to (and there's not a night but I pray God +to keep him, and send him safe back), yo' put away the memory of +past injury, and forgive it all, and be, what yo' can be, Sylvia, if +you've a mind to, just the kind, good wife he ought to have.' + +'I cannot; yo' know nothing about it, Hester.' + +'Tell me, then,' pleaded Hester. + +'No!' said Sylvia, after a moment's hesitation; 'I'd do a deal for +yo', I would, but I daren't forgive Philip, even if I could; I took +a great oath again' him. Ay, yo' may look shocked at me, but it's +him as yo' ought for to be shocked at if yo' knew all. I said I'd +niver forgive him; I shall keep to my word.' + +'I think I'd better pray for his death, then,' said Hester, +hopelessly, and almost bitterly, loosing her hold of Sylvia's hands. + +'If it weren't for baby theere, I could think as it were my death as +'ud be best. Them as one thinks t' most on, forgets one soonest.' + +It was Kinraid to whom she was alluding; but Hester did not +understand her; and after standing for a moment in silence, she +kissed her, and left her for the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +AN UNEXPECTED MESSENGER + + +After this agitation, and these partial confidences, no more was +said on the subject of Philip for many weeks. They avoided even the +slightest allusion to him; and none of them knew how seldom or how +often he might be present in the minds of the others. + +One day the little Bella was unusually fractious with some slight +childish indisposition, and Sylvia was obliged to have recourse to a +never-failing piece of amusement; namely, to take the child into the +shop, when the number of new, bright-coloured articles was sure to +beguile the little girl out of her fretfulness. She was walking +along the high terrace of the counter, kept steady by her mother's +hand, when Mr. Dawson's market-cart once more stopped before the +door. But it was not Mrs. Brunton who alighted now; it was a very +smartly-dressed, very pretty young lady, who put one dainty foot +before the other with care, as if descending from such a primitive +vehicle were a new occurrence in her life. Then she looked up at the +names above the shop-door, and after ascertaining that this was +indeed the place she desired to find, she came in blushing. + +'Is Mrs. Hepburn at home?' she asked of Hester, whose position in the +shop brought her forwards to receive the customers, while Sylvia +drew Bella out of sight behind some great bales of red flannel. + +'Can I see her?' the sweet, south-country voice went on, still +addressing Hester. Sylvia heard the inquiry, and came forwards, with +a little rustic awkwardness, feeling both shy and curious. + +'Will yo' please walk this way, ma'am?' said she, leading her +visitor back into her own dominion of the parlour, and leaving Bella +to Hester's willing care. + +'You don't know me!' said the pretty young lady, joyously. 'But I +think you knew my husband. I am Mrs. Kinraid!' + +A sob of surprise rose to Sylvia's lips--she choked it down, +however, and tried to conceal any emotion she might feel, in placing +a chair for her visitor, and trying to make her feel welcome, +although, if the truth must be told, Sylvia was wondering all the +time why her visitor came, and how soon she would go. + +'You knew Captain Kinraid, did you not?' said the young lady, with +innocent inquiry; to which Sylvia's lips formed the answer, 'Yes,' +but no clear sound issued therefrom. + +'But I know your husband knew the captain; is he at home yet? Can I +speak to him? I do so want to see him.' + +Sylvia was utterly bewildered; Mrs. Kinraid, this pretty, joyous, +prosperous little bird of a woman, Philip, Charley's wife, what +could they have in common? what could they know of each other? All +she could say in answer to Mrs. Kinraid's eager questions, and still +more eager looks, was, that her husband was from home, had been long +from home: she did not know where he was, she did not know when he +would come back. + +Mrs. Kinraid's face fell a little, partly from her own real +disappointment, partly out of sympathy with the hopeless, +indifferent tone of Sylvia's replies. + +'Mrs. Dawson told me he had gone away rather suddenly a year ago, but +I thought he might be come home by now. I am expecting the captain +early next month. Oh! how I should have liked to see Mr. Hepburn, and +to thank him for saving the captain's life!' + +'What do yo' mean?' asked Sylvia, stirred out of all assumed +indifference. 'The captain! is that' (not 'Charley', she could not +use that familiar name to the pretty young wife before her) 'yo'r +husband?' + +'Yes, you knew him, didn't you? when he used to be staying with Mr +Corney, his uncle?' + +'Yes, I knew him; but I don't understand. Will yo' please to tell me +all about it, ma'am?' said Sylvia, faintly. + +'I thought your husband would have told you all about it; I hardly +know where to begin. You know my husband is a sailor?' + +Sylvia nodded assent, listening greedily, her heart beating thick +all the time. + +'And he's now a Commander in the Royal Navy, all earned by his own +bravery! Oh! I am so proud of him!' + +So could Sylvia have been if she had been his wife; as it was, she +thought how often she had felt sure that he would be a great man +some day. + +'And he has been at the siege of Acre.' + +Sylvia looked perplexed at these strange words, and Mrs. Kinraid +caught the look. + +'St Jean d'Acre, you know--though it's fine saying "you know", when +I didn't know a bit about it myself till the captain's ship was +ordered there, though I was the head girl at Miss Dobbin's in the +geography class--Acre is a seaport town, not far from Jaffa, which +is the modern name for Joppa, where St Paul went to long ago; you've +read of that, I'm sure, and Mount Carmel, where the prophet Elijah +was once, all in Palestine, you know, only the Turks have got it +now?' + +'But I don't understand yet,' said Sylvia, plaintively; 'I daresay +it's all very true about St Paul, but please, ma'am, will yo' tell +me about yo'r husband and mine--have they met again?' + +'Yes, at Acre, I tell you,' said Mrs. Kinraid, with pretty petulance. +'The Turks held the town, and the French wanted to take it; and we, +that is the British Fleet, wouldn't let them. So Sir Sidney Smith, a +commodore and a great friend of the captain's, landed in order to +fight the French; and the captain and many of the sailors landed +with him; and it was burning hot; and the poor captain was wounded, +and lay a-dying of pain and thirst within the enemy's--that is the +French--fire; so that they were ready to shoot any one of his own +side who came near him. They thought he was dead himself, you see, +as he was very near; and would have been too, if your husband had +not come out of shelter, and taken him up in his arms or on his back +(I couldn't make out which), and carried him safe within the walls.' + +'It couldn't have been Philip,' said Sylvia, dubiously. + +'But it was. The captain says so; and he's not a man to be mistaken. +I thought I'd got his letter with me; and I would have read you a +part of it, but I left it at Mrs. Dawson's in my desk; and I can't +send it to you,' blushing as she remembered certain passages in +which 'the captain' wrote very much like a lover, 'or else I would. +But you may be quite sure it was your husband that ventured into all +that danger to save his old friend's life, or the captain would not +have said so.' + +'But they weren't--they weren't--not to call great friends.' + +'I wish I'd got the letter here; I can't think how I could be so +stupid; I think I can almost remember the very words, though--I've +read them over so often. He says, "Just as I gave up all hope, I saw +one Philip Hepburn, a man whom I had known at Monkshaven, and whom I +had some reason to remember well"--(I'm sure he says so--"remember +well"), "he saw me too, and came at the risk of his life to where I +lay. I fully expected he would be shot down; and I shut my eyes not +to see the end of my last chance. The shot rained about him, and I +think he was hit; but he took me up and carried me under cover." I'm +sure he says that, I've read it over so often; and he goes on and +says how he hunted for Mr. Hepburn all through the ships, as soon as +ever he could; but he could hear nothing of him, either alive or +dead. Don't go so white, for pity's sake!' said she, suddenly +startled by Sylvia's blanching colour. 'You see, because he couldn't +find him alive is no reason for giving him up as dead; because his +name wasn't to be found on any of the ships' books; so the captain +thinks he must have been known by a different name to his real one. +Only he says he should like to have seen him to have thanked him; +and he says he would give a deal to know what has become of him; and +as I was staying two days at Mrs. Dawson's, I told them I must come +over to Monkshaven, if only for five minutes, just to hear if your +good husband was come home, and to shake his hands, that helped to +save my own dear captain.' + +'I don't think it could have been Philip,' reiterated Sylvia. + +'Why not?' asked her visitor; 'you say you don't know where he is; +why mightn't he have been there where the captain says he was?' + +'But he wasn't a sailor, nor yet a soldier.' + +'Oh! but he was. I think somewhere the captain calls him a marine; +that's neither one nor the other, but a little of both. He'll be +coming home some day soon; and then you'll see!' + +Alice Rose came in at this minute, and Mrs. Kinraid jumped to the +conclusion that she was Sylvia's mother, and in her overflowing +gratitude and friendliness to all the family of him who had 'saved +the captain' she went forward, and shook the old woman's hand in +that pleasant confiding way that wins all hearts. + +'Here's your daughter, ma'am!' said she to the half-astonished, +half-pleased Alice. 'I'm Mrs. Kinraid, the wife of the captain that +used to be in these parts, and I'm come to bring her news of her +husband, and she don't half believe me, though it's all to his +credit, I'm sure.' + +Alice looked so perplexed that Sylvia felt herself bound to explain. + +'She says he's either a soldier or a sailor, and a long way off at +some place named in t' Bible.' + +'Philip Hepburn led away to be a soldier!' said she, 'who had once +been a Quaker?' + +'Yes, and a very brave one too, and one that it would do my heart +good to look upon,' exclaimed Mrs. Kinraid. 'He's been saving my +husband's life in the Holy Land, where Jerusalem is, you know.' + +'Nay!' said Alice, a little scornfully. 'I can forgive Sylvia for +not being over keen to credit thy news. Her man of peace becoming a +man of war; and suffered to enter Jerusalem, which is a heavenly and +a typical city at this time; while me, as is one of the elect, is +obliged to go on dwelling in Monkshaven, just like any other body.' + +'Nay, but,' said Mrs. Kinraid, gently, seeing she was touching on +delicate ground, 'I did not say he had gone to Jerusalem, but my +husband saw him in those parts, and he was doing his duty like a +brave, good man; ay, and more than his duty; and, you may take my +word for it, he'll be at home some day soon, and all I beg is that +you'll let the captain and me know, for I'm sure if we can, we'll +both come and pay our respects to him. And I'm very glad I've seen +you,' said she, rising to go, and putting out her hand to shake that +of Sylvia; 'for, besides being Hepburn's wife, I'm pretty sure I've +heard the captain speak of you; and if ever you come to Bristol I +hope you'll come and see us on Clifton Downs.' + +She went away, leaving Sylvia almost stunned by the new ideas +presented to her. Philip a soldier! Philip in a battle, risking his +life. Most strange of all, Charley and Philip once more meeting +together, not as rivals or as foes, but as saviour and saved! Add to +all this the conviction, strengthened by every word that happy, +loving wife had uttered, that Kinraid's old, passionate love for +herself had faded away and vanished utterly: its very existence +apparently blotted out of his memory. She had torn up her love for +him by the roots, but she felt as if she could never forget that it +had been. + +Hester brought back Bella to her mother. She had not liked to +interrupt the conversation with the strange lady before; and now she +found her mother in an obvious state of excitement; Sylvia quieter +than usual. + +'That was Kinraid's wife, Hester! Him that was th' specksioneer as +made such a noise about t' place at the time of Darley's death. He's +now a captain--a navy captain, according to what she says. And she'd +fain have us believe that Philip is abiding in all manner of +Scripture places; places as has been long done away with, but the +similitude whereof is in the heavens, where the elect shall one day +see them. And she says Philip is there, and a soldier, and that he +saved her husband's life, and is coming home soon. I wonder what +John and Jeremiah 'll say to his soldiering then? It'll noane be to +their taste, I'm thinking.' + +This was all very unintelligible to Hester, and she would dearly +have liked to question Sylvia; but Sylvia sate a little apart, with +Bella on her knee, her cheek resting on her child's golden curls, +and her eyes fixed and almost trance-like, as if she were seeing +things not present. + +So Hester had to be content with asking her mother as many +elucidatory questions as she could; and after all did not gain a +very clear idea of what had really been said by Mrs. Kinraid, as her +mother was more full of the apparent injustice of Philip's being +allowed the privilege of treading on holy ground--if, indeed, that +holy ground existed on this side heaven, which she was inclined to +dispute--than to confine herself to the repetition of words, or +narration of facts. + +Suddenly Sylvia roused herself to a sense of Hester's deep interest +and balked inquiries, and she went over the ground rapidly. + +'Yo'r mother says right--she is his wife. And he's away fighting; +and got too near t' French as was shooting and firing all round him; +and just then, according to her story, Philip saw him, and went +straight into t' midst o' t' shots, and fetched him out o' danger. +That's what she says, and upholds.' + +'And why should it not be?' asked Hester, her cheek flushing. + +But Sylvia only shook her head, and said, + +'I cannot tell. It may be so. But they'd little cause to be friends, +and it seems all so strange--Philip a soldier, and them meeting +theere after all!' + +Hester laid the story of Philip's bravery to her heart--she fully +believed in it. Sylvia pondered it more deeply still; the causes for +her disbelief, or, at any rate, for her wonder, were unknown to +Hester! Many a time she sank to sleep with the picture of the event +narrated by Mrs. Kinraid as present to her mind as her imagination or +experience could make it: first one figure prominent, then another. +Many a morning she wakened up, her heart beating wildly, why, she +knew not, till she shuddered at the remembrance of the scenes that +had passed in her dreams: scenes that might be acted in reality that +very day; for Philip might come back, and then? + +And where was Philip all this time, these many weeks, these heavily +passing months? + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +THE BEDESMAN OF ST SEPULCHRE + + +Philip lay long ill on board the hospital ship. If his heart had +been light, he might have rallied sooner; but he was so depressed he +did not care to live. His shattered jaw-bone, his burnt and +blackened face, his many injuries of body, were torture to both his +physical frame, and his sick, weary heart. No more chance for him, +if indeed there ever had been any, of returning gay and gallant, and +thus regaining his wife's love. This had been his poor, foolish +vision in the first hour of his enlistment; and the vain dream had +recurred more than once in the feverish stage of excitement which +the new scenes into which he had been hurried as a recruit had +called forth. But that was all over now. He knew that it was the +most unlikely thing in the world to have come to pass; and yet those +were happy days when he could think of it as barely possible. Now +all he could look forward to was disfigurement, feebleness, and the +bare pittance that keeps pensioners from absolute want. + +Those around him were kind enough to him in their fashion, and +attended to his bodily requirements; but they had no notion of +listening to any revelations of unhappiness, if Philip had been the +man to make confidences of that kind. As it was, he lay very still +in his berth, seldom asking for anything, and always saying he was +better, when the ship-surgeon came round with his daily inquiries. +But he did not care to rally, and was rather sorry to find that his +case was considered so interesting in a surgical point of view, that +he was likely to receive a good deal more than the average amount of +attention. Perhaps it was owing to this that he recovered at all. +The doctors said it was the heat that made him languid, for that his +wounds and burns were all doing well at last; and by-and-by they +told him they had ordered him 'home'. His pulse sank under the +surgeon's finger at the mention of the word; but he did not say a +word. He was too indifferent to life and the world to have a will; +otherwise they might have kept their pet patient a little longer +where he was. + +Slowly passing from ship to ship as occasion served; resting here +and there in garrison hospitals, Philip at length reached Portsmouth +on the evening of a September day in 1799. The transport-ship in +which he was, was loaded with wounded and invalided soldiers and +sailors; all who could manage it in any way struggled on deck to +catch the first view of the white coasts of England. One man lifted +his arm, took off his cap, and feebly waved it aloft, crying, 'Old +England for ever!' in a faint shrill voice, and then burst into +tears and sobbed aloud. Others tried to pipe up 'Rule Britannia', +while more sate, weak and motionless, looking towards the shores +that once, not so long ago, they never thought to see again. Philip +was one of these; his place a little apart from the other men. He +was muffled up in a great military cloak that had been given him by +one of his officers; he felt the September breeze chill after his +sojourn in a warmer climate, and in his shattered state of health. + +As the ship came in sight of Portsmouth harbour, the signal flags +ran up the ropes; the beloved Union Jack floated triumphantly over +all. Return signals were made from the harbour; on board all became +bustle and preparation for landing; while on shore there was the +evident movement of expectation, and men in uniform were seen +pressing their way to the front, as if to them belonged the right of +reception. They were the men from the barrack hospital, that had +been signalled for, come down with ambulance litters and other marks +of forethought for the sick and wounded, who were returning to the +country for which they had fought and suffered. + +With a dash and a great rocking swing the vessel came up to her +appointed place, and was safely moored. Philip sat still, almost as +if he had no part in the cries of welcome, the bustling care, the +loud directions that cut the air around him, and pierced his nerves +through and through. But one in authority gave the order; and +Philip, disciplined to obedience, rose to find his knapsack and +leave the ship. Passive as he seemed to be, he had his likings for +particular comrades; there was one especially, a man as different +from Philip as well could be, to whom the latter had always attached +himself; a merry fellow from Somersetshire, who was almost always +cheerful and bright, though Philip had overheard the doctors say he +would never be the man he was before he had that shot through the +side. This marine would often sit making his fellows laugh, and +laughing himself at his own good-humoured jokes, till so terrible a +fit of coughing came on that those around him feared he would die in +the paroxysm. After one of these fits he had gasped out some words, +which led Philip to question him a little; and it turned out that in +the quiet little village of Potterne, far inland, nestled beneath +the high stretches of Salisbury Plain, he had a wife and a child, a +little girl, just the same age even to a week as Philip's own little +Bella. It was this that drew Philip towards the man; and this that +made Philip wait and go ashore along with the poor consumptive +marine. + +The litters had moved off towards the hospital, the sergeant in +charge had given his words of command to the remaining invalids, who +tried to obey them to the best of their power, falling into +something like military order for their march; but soon, very soon, +the weakest broke step, and lagged behind; and felt as if the rough +welcomes and rude expressions of sympathy from the crowd around were +almost too much for them. Philip and his companion were about +midway, when suddenly a young woman with a child in her arms forced +herself through the people, between the soldiers who kept pressing +on either side, and threw herself on the neck of Philip's friend. + +'Oh, Jem!' she sobbed, 'I've walked all the road from Potterne. I've +never stopped but for food and rest for Nelly, and now I've got you +once again, I've got you once again, bless God for it!' + +She did not seem to see the deadly change that had come over her +husband since she parted with him a ruddy young labourer; she had +got him once again, as she phrased it, and that was enough for her; +she kissed his face, his hands, his very coat, nor would she be +repulsed from walking beside him and holding his hand, while her +little girl ran along scared by the voices and the strange faces, +and clinging to her mammy's gown. + +Jem coughed, poor fellow! he coughed his churchyard cough; and +Philip bitterly envied him--envied his life, envied his approaching +death; for was he not wrapped round with that woman's tender love, +and is not such love stronger than death? Philip had felt as if his +own heart was grown numb, and as though it had changed to a cold +heavy stone. But at the contrast of this man's lot to his own, he +felt that he had yet the power of suffering left to him. + +The road they had to go was full of people, kept off in some measure +by the guard of soldiers. All sorts of kindly speeches, and many a +curious question, were addressed to the poor invalids as they walked +along. Philip's jaw, and the lower part of his face, were bandaged +up; his cap was slouched down; he held his cloak about him, and +shivered within its folds. + +They came to a standstill from some slight obstacle at the corner of +a street. Down the causeway of this street a naval officer with a +lady on his arm was walking briskly, with a step that told of health +and a light heart. He stayed his progress though, when he saw the +convoy of maimed and wounded men; he said something, of which Philip +only caught the words, 'same uniform,' 'for his sake,' to the young +lady, whose cheek blanched a little, but whose eyes kindled. Then +leaving her for an instant, he pressed forward; he was close to +Philip,--poor sad Philip absorbed in his own thoughts,--so absorbed +that he noticed nothing till he heard a voice at his ear, having the +Northumbrian burr, the Newcastle inflections which he knew of old, +and that were to him like the sick memory of a deadly illness; and +then he turned his muffled face to the speaker, though he knew well +enough who it was, and averted his eyes after one sight of the +handsome, happy man,--the man whose life he had saved once, and +would save again, at the risk of his own, but whom, for all that, he +prayed that he might never meet more on earth. + +'Here, my fine fellow, take this,' forcing a crown piece into +Philip's hand. 'I wish it were more; I'd give you a pound if I had +it with me.' + +Philip muttered something, and held out the coin to Captain Kinraid, +of course in vain; nor was there time to urge it back upon the +giver, for the obstacle to their progress was suddenly removed, the +crowd pressed upon the captain and his wife, the procession moved +on, and Philip along with it, holding the piece in his hand, and +longing to throw it far away. Indeed he was on the point of dropping +it, hoping to do so unperceived, when he bethought him of giving it +to Jem's wife, the footsore woman, limping happily along by her +husband's side. They thanked him, and spoke in his praise more than +he could well bear. It was no credit to him to give that away which +burned his fingers as long as he kept it. + +Philip knew that the injuries he had received in the explosion on +board the _Theseus_ would oblige him to leave the service. He also +believed that they would entitle him to a pension. But he had little +interest in his future life; he was without hope, and in a depressed +state of health. He remained for some little time stationary, and +then went through all the forms of dismissal on account of wounds +received in service, and was turned out loose upon the world, +uncertain where to go, indifferent as to what became of him. + +It was fine, warm October weather as he turned his back upon the +coast, and set off on his walk northwards. Green leaves were yet +upon the trees; the hedges were one flush of foliage and the wild +rough-flavoured fruits of different kinds; the fields were tawny +with the uncleared-off stubble, or emerald green with the growth of +the aftermath. The roadside cottage gardens were gay with hollyhocks +and Michaelmas daisies and marigolds, and the bright panes of the +windows glittered through a veil of China roses. + +The war was a popular one, and, as a natural consequence, soldiers +and sailors were heroes everywhere. Philip's long drooping form, his +arm hung in a sling, his face scarred and blackened, his jaw bound +up with a black silk handkerchief; these marks of active service +were reverenced by the rustic cottagers as though they had been +crowns and sceptres. Many a hard-handed labourer left his seat by +the chimney corner, and came to his door to have a look at one who +had been fighting the French, and pushed forward to have a grasp of +the stranger's hand as he gave back the empty cup into the good +wife's keeping, for the kind homely women were ever ready with milk +or homebrewed to slake the feverish traveller's thirst when he +stopped at their doors and asked for a drink of water. + +At the village public-house he had had a welcome of a more +interested character, for the landlord knew full well that his +circle of customers would be large that night, if it was only known +that he had within his doors a soldier or a sailor who had seen +service. The rustic politicians would gather round Philip, and smoke +and drink, and then question and discuss till they were drouthy +again; and in their sturdy obtuse minds they set down the extra +glass and the supernumerary pipe to the score of patriotism. + +Altogether human nature turned its sunny side out to Philip just +now; and not before he needed the warmth of brotherly kindness to +cheer his shivering soul. Day after day he drifted northwards, +making but the slow progress of a feeble man, and yet this short +daily walk tired him so much that he longed for rest--for the +morning to come when he needed not to feel that in the course of an +hour or two he must be up and away. + +He was toiling on with this longing at his heart when he saw that he +was drawing near a stately city, with a great old cathedral in the +centre keeping solemn guard. This place might be yet two or three +miles distant; he was on a rising ground looking down upon it. A +labouring man passing by, observed his pallid looks and his languid +attitude, and told him for his comfort, that if he turned down a +lane to the left a few steps farther on, he would find himself at +the Hospital of St Sepulchre, where bread and beer were given to all +comers, and where he might sit him down and rest awhile on the old +stone benches within the shadow of the gateway. Obeying these +directions, Philip came upon a building which dated from the time of +Henry the Fifth. Some knight who had fought in the French wars of +that time, and had survived his battles and come home to his old +halls, had been stirred up by his conscience, or by what was +equivalent in those days, his confessor, to build and endow a +hospital for twelve decayed soldiers, and a chapel wherein they were +to attend the daily masses he ordained to be said till the end of +all time (which eternity lasted rather more than a century, pretty +well for an eternity bespoken by a man), for his soul and the souls +of those whom he had slain. There was a large division of the +quadrangular building set apart for the priest who was to say these +masses; and to watch over the well-being of the bedesmen. In process +of years the origin and primary purpose of the hospital had been +forgotten by all excepting the local antiquaries; and the place +itself came to be regarded as a very pleasant quaint set of +almshouses; and the warden's office (he who should have said or sung +his daily masses was now called the warden, and read daily prayers +and preached a sermon on Sundays) an agreeable sinecure. + +Another legacy of old Sir Simon Bray was that of a small croft of +land, the rent or profits of which were to go towards giving to all +who asked for it a manchet of bread and a cup of good beer. This +beer was, so Sir Simon ordained, to be made after a certain receipt +which he left, in which ground ivy took the place of hops. But the +receipt, as well as the masses, was modernized according to the +progress of time. + +Philip stood under a great broad stone archway; the back-door into +the warden's house was on the right side; a kind of buttery-hatch +was placed by the porter's door on the opposite side. After some +consideration, Philip knocked at the closed shutter, and the signal +seemed to be well understood. He heard a movement within; the hatch +was drawn aside, and his bread and beer were handed to him by a +pleasant-looking old man, who proved himself not at all disinclined +for conversation. + +'You may sit down on yonder bench,' said he. 'Nay, man! sit i' the +sun, for it's a chilly place, this, and then you can look through +the grate and watch th' old fellows toddling about in th' quad.' + +Philip sat down where the warm October sun slanted upon him, and +looked through the iron railing at the peaceful sight. + +A great square of velvet lawn, intersected diagonally with broad +flag-paved walks, the same kind of walk going all round the +quadrangle; low two-storied brick houses, tinted gray and yellow by +age, and in many places almost covered with vines, Virginian +creepers, and monthly roses; before each house a little plot of +garden ground, bright with flowers, and evidently tended with the +utmost care; on the farther side the massive chapel; here and there +an old or infirm man sunning himself, or leisurely doing a bit of +gardening, or talking to one of his comrades--the place looked as if +care and want, and even sorrow, were locked out and excluded by the +ponderous gate through which Philip was gazing. + +'It's a nice enough place, bean't it?' said the porter, interpreting +Philip's looks pretty accurately. 'Leastways, for them as likes it. +I've got a bit weary on it myself; it's so far from th' world, as a +man may say; not a decent public within a mile and a half, where one +can hear a bit o' news of an evening.' + +'I think I could make myself very content here,' replied Philip. +'That's to say, if one were easy in one's mind.' + +'Ay, ay, my man. That's it everywhere. Why, I don't think that I +could enjoy myself--not even at th' White Hart, where they give you +as good a glass of ale for twopence as anywhere i' th' four +kingdoms--I couldn't, to say, flavour my ale even there, if my old +woman lay a-dying; which is a sign as it's the heart, and not the +ale, as makes the drink.' + +Just then the warden's back-door opened, and out came the warden +himself, dressed in full clerical costume. + +He was going into the neighbouring city, but he stopped to speak to +Philip, the wounded soldier; and all the more readily because his +old faded uniform told the warden's experienced eye that he had +belonged to the Marines. + +'I hope you enjoy the victual provided for you by the founder of St +Sepulchre,' said he, kindly. 'You look but poorly, my good fellow, +and as if a slice of good cold meat would help your bread down.' + +'Thank you, sir!' said Philip. 'I'm not hungry, only weary, and glad +of a draught of beer.' + +'You've been in the Marines, I see. Where have you been serving?' + +'I was at the siege of Acre, last May, sir.' + +'At Acre! Were you, indeed? Then perhaps you know my boy Harry? He +was in the----th.' + +'It was my company,' said Philip, warming up a little. Looking back +upon his soldier's life, it seemed to him to have many charms, +because it was so full of small daily interests. + +'Then, did you know my son, Lieutenant Pennington?' + +'It was he that gave me this cloak, sir, when they were sending me +back to England. I had been his servant for a short time before I +was wounded by the explosion on board the _Theseus_, and he said I +should feel the cold of the voyage. He's very kind; and I've heard +say he promises to be a first-rate officer.' + +'You shall have a slice of roast beef, whether you want it or not,' +said the warden, ringing the bell at his own back-door. 'I recognize +the cloak now--the young scamp! How soon he has made it shabby, +though,' he continued, taking up a corner where there was an immense +tear not too well botched up. 'And so you were on board the +_Theseus_ at the time of the explosion? Bring some cold meat here +for the good man--or stay! Come in with me, and then you can tell +Mrs. Pennington and the young ladies all you know about Harry,--and +the siege,--and the explosion.' + +So Philip was ushered into the warden's house and made to eat roast +beef almost against his will; and he was questioned and +cross-questioned by three eager ladies, all at the same time, as it +seemed to him. He had given all possible details on the subjects +about which they were curious; and was beginning to consider how he +could best make his retreat, when the younger Miss Pennington went +up to her father--who had all this time stood, with his hat on, +holding his coat-tails over his arms, with his back to the fire. He +bent his ear down a very little to hear some whispered suggestion of +his daughter's, nodded his head, and then went on questioning +Philip, with kindly inquisitiveness and patronage, as the rich do +question the poor. + +'And where are you going to now?' + +Philip did not answer directly. He wondered in his own mind where he +was going. At length he said, + +'Northwards, I believe. But perhaps I shall never reach there.' + +'Haven't you friends? Aren't you going to them?' + +There was again a pause; a cloud came over Philip's countenance. He +said, + +'No! I'm not going to my friends. I don't know that I've got any +left.' + +They interpreted his looks and this speech to mean that he had +either lost his friends by death, or offended them by enlisting. + +The warden went on, + +'I ask, because we've got a cottage vacant in the mead. Old Dobson, +who was with General Wolfe at the taking of Quebec, died a fortnight +ago. With such injuries as yours, I fear you'll never be able to +work again. But we require strict testimonials as to character,' he +added, with as penetrating a look as he could summon up at Philip. + +Philip looked unmoved, either by the offer of the cottage, or the +illusion to the possibility of his character not being satisfactory. +He was grateful enough in reality, but too heavy at heart to care +very much what became of him. + +The warden and his family, who were accustomed to consider a +settlement at St Sepulchre's as the sum of all good to a worn-out +soldier, were a little annoyed at Philip's cool way of receiving the +proposition. The warden went on to name the contingent advantages. + +'Besides the cottage, you would have a load of wood for firing on +All Saints', on Christmas, and on Candlemas days--a blue gown and +suit of clothes to match every Michaelmas, and a shilling a day to +keep yourself in all other things. Your dinner you would have with +the other men, in hall.' + +'The warden himself goes into hall every day, and sees that +everything is comfortable, and says grace,' added the warden's lady. + +'I know I seem stupid,' said Philip, almost humbly, 'not to be more +grateful, for it's far beyond what I iver expected or thought for +again, and it's a great temptation, for I'm just worn out with +fatigue. Several times I've thought I must lie down under a hedge, +and just die for very weariness. But once I had a wife and a child +up in the north,' he stopped. + +'And are they dead?' asked one of the young ladies in a soft +sympathizing tone. Her eyes met Philip's, full of dumb woe. He tried +to speak; he wanted to explain more fully, yet not to reveal the +truth. + +'Well!' said the warden, thinking he perceived the real state of +things, 'what I propose is this. You shall go into old Dobson's +house at once, as a kind of probationary bedesman. I'll write to +Harry, and get your character from him. Stephen Freeman I think you +said your name was? Before I can receive his reply you'll have been +able to tell how you'd like the kind of life; and at any rate you'll +have the rest you seem to require in the meantime. You see, I take +Harry's having given you that cloak as a kind of character,' added +he, smiling kindly. 'Of course you'll have to conform to rules just +like all the rest,--chapel at eight, dinner at twelve, lights out at +nine; but I'll tell you the remainder of our regulations as we walk +across quad to your new quarters.' + +And thus Philip, almost in spite of himself, became installed in a +bedesman's house at St Sepulchre. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +A FABLE AT FAULT + + +Philip took possession of the two rooms which had belonged to the +dead Sergeant Dobson. They were furnished sufficiently for every +comfort by the trustees of the hospital. Some little fragments of +ornament, some small articles picked up in distant countries, a few +tattered books, remained in the rooms as legacies from their former +occupant. + +At first the repose of the life and the place was inexpressibly +grateful to Philip. He had always shrunk from encountering +strangers, and displaying his blackened and scarred countenance to +them, even where such disfigurement was most regarded as a mark of +honour. In St Sepulchre's he met none but the same set day after +day, and when he had once told the tale of how it happened and +submitted to their gaze, it was over for ever, if he so minded. The +slight employment his garden gave him--there was a kitchen-garden +behind each house, as well as the flower-plot in front--and the +daily arrangement of his parlour and chamber were, at the beginning +of his time of occupation, as much bodily labour as he could manage. +There was something stately and utterly removed from all Philip's +previous existence in the forms observed at every day's dinner, when +the twelve bedesmen met in the large quaint hall, and the warden +came in his college-cap and gown to say the long Latin grace which +wound up with something very like a prayer for the soul of Sir Simon +Bray. It took some time to get a reply to ship letters in those +times when no one could exactly say where the fleet might be found. + +And before Dr Pennington had received the excellent character of +Stephen Freeman, which his son gladly sent in answer to his father's +inquiries, Philip had become restless and uneasy in the midst of all +this peace and comfort. + +Sitting alone over his fire in the long winter evenings, the scenes +of his past life rose before him; his childhood; his aunt Robson's +care of him; his first going to Foster's shop in Monkshaven; +Haytersbank Farm, and the spelling lessons in the bright warm +kitchen there; Kinraid's appearance; the miserable night of the +Corneys' party; the farewell he had witnessed on Monkshaven sands; +the press-gang, and all the long consequences of that act of +concealment; poor Daniel Robson's trial and execution; his own +marriage; his child's birth; and then he came to that last day at +Monkshaven: and he went over and over again the torturing details, +the looks of contempt and anger, the words of loathing indignation, +till he almost brought himself, out of his extreme sympathy with +Sylvia, to believe that he was indeed the wretch she had considered +him to be. + +He forgot his own excuses for having acted as he had done; though +these excuses had at one time seemed to him to wear the garb of +reasons. After long thought and bitter memory came some wonder. What +was Sylvia doing now? Where was she? What was his child like--his +child as well as hers? And then he remembered the poor footsore wife +and the little girl she carried in her arms, that was just the age +of Bella; he wished he had noticed that child more, that a clear +vision of it might rise up when he wanted to picture Bella. + +One night he had gone round this mill-wheel circle of ideas till he +was weary to the very marrow of his bones. To shake off the +monotonous impression he rose to look for a book amongst the old +tattered volumes, hoping that he might find something that would +sufficiently lay hold of him to change the current of his thoughts. +There was an old volume of _Peregrine Pickle_; a book of sermons; +half an army list of 1774, and the _Seven Champions of Christendom_. +Philip took up this last, which he had never seen before. In it he +read how Sir Guy, Earl of Warwick, went to fight the Paynim in his +own country, and was away for seven long years; and when he came +back his own wife Phillis, the countess in her castle, did not know +the poor travel-worn hermit, who came daily to seek his dole of +bread at her hands along with many beggars and much poor. But at +last, when he lay a-dying in his cave in the rock, he sent for her +by a secret sign known but to them twain. And she came with great +speed, for she knew it was her lord who had sent for her; and they +had many sweet and holy words together before he gave up the ghost, +his head lying on her bosom. + +The old story known to most people from their childhood was all new +and fresh to Philip. He did not quite believe in the truth of it, +because the fictitious nature of the histories of some of the other +Champions of Christendom was too patent. But he could not help +thinking that this one might be true; and that Guy and Phillis might +have been as real flesh and blood, long, long ago, as he and Sylvia +had even been. The old room, the quiet moonlit quadrangle into which +the cross-barred casement looked, the quaint aspect of everything +that he had seen for weeks and weeks; all this predisposed Philip to +dwell upon the story he had just been reading as a faithful legend +of two lovers whose bones were long since dust. He thought that if +he could thus see Sylvia, himself unknown, unseen--could live at her +gates, so to speak, and gaze upon her and his child--some day too, +when he lay a-dying, he might send for her, and in soft words of +mutual forgiveness breathe his life away in her arms. Or perhaps--and +so he lost himself, and from thinking, passed on to dreaming. +All night long Guy and Phillis, Sylvia and his child, passed in and +out of his visions; it was impossible to make the fragments of his +dreams cohere; but the impression made upon him by them was not the +less strong for this. He felt as if he were called to Monkshaven, +wanted at Monkshaven, and to Monkshaven he resolved to go; although +when his reason overtook his feeling, he knew perfectly how unwise +it was to leave a home of peace and tranquillity and surrounding +friendliness, to go to a place where nothing but want and +wretchedness awaited him unless he made himself known; and if he +did, a deeper want, a more woeful wretchedness, would in all +probability be his portion. + +In the small oblong of looking-glass hung against the wall, Philip +caught the reflection of his own face, and laughed scornfully at the +sight. The thin hair lay upon his temples in the flakes that betoken +long ill-health; his eyes were the same as ever, and they had always +been considered the best feature in his face; but they were sunk in +their orbits, and looked hollow and gloomy. As for the lower part of +his face, blackened, contracted, drawn away from his teeth, the +outline entirely changed by the breakage of his jaw-bone, he was +indeed a fool if he thought himself fit to go forth to win back that +love which Sylvia had forsworn. As a hermit and a beggar, he must +return to Monkshaven, and fall perforce into the same position which +Guy of Warwick had only assumed. But still he should see his +Phillis, and might feast his sad hopeless eyes from time to time +with the sight of his child. His small pension of sixpence a day +would keep him from absolute want of necessaries. + +So that very day he went to the warden and told him he thought of +giving up his share in the bequest of Sir Simon Bray. Such a +relinquishment had never occurred before in all the warden's +experience; and he was very much inclined to be offended. + +'I must say that for a man not to be satisfied as a bedesman of St +Sepulchre's argues a very wrong state of mind, and a very ungrateful +heart.' + +'I'm sure, sir, it's not from any ingratitude, for I can hardly feel +thankful to you and to Sir Simon, and to madam, and the young +ladies, and all my comrades in the hospital, and I niver expect to +be either so comfortable or so peaceful again, but----' + +'But? What can you have to say against the place, then? Not but what +there are always plenty of applicants for every vacancy; only I +thought I was doing a kindness to a man out of Harry's company. And +you'll not see Harry either; he's got his leave in March!' + +'I'm very sorry. I should like to have seen the lieutenant again. +But I cannot rest any longer so far away from--people I once knew.' + +'Ten to one they're dead, or removed, or something or other by this +time; and it'll serve you right if they are. Mind! no one can be +chosen twice to be a bedesman of St Sepulchre's.' + +The warden turned away; and Philip, uneasy at staying, disheartened +at leaving, went to make his few preparations for setting out once +more on his journey northwards. He had to give notice of his change +of residence to the local distributor of pensions; and one or two +farewells had to be taken, with more than usual sadness at the +necessity; for Philip, under his name of Stephen Freeman, had +attached some of the older bedesmen a good deal to him, from his +unselfishness, his willingness to read to them, and to render them +many little services, and, perhaps, as much as anything, by his +habitual silence, which made him a convenient recipient of all their +garrulousness. So before the time for his departure came, he had the +opportunity of one more interview with the warden, of a more +friendly character than that in which he gave up his bedesmanship. +And so far it was well; and Philip turned his back upon St +Sepulchre's with his sore heart partly healed by his four months' +residence there. + +He was stronger, too, in body, more capable of the day-after-day +walks that were required of him. He had saved some money from his +allowance as bedesman and from his pension, and might occasionally +have taken an outside place on a coach, had it not been that he +shrank from the first look of every stranger upon his disfigured +face. Yet the gentle, wistful eyes, and the white and faultless +teeth always did away with the first impression as soon as people +became a little acquainted with his appearance. + +It was February when Philip left St Sepulchre's. It was the first +week in April when he began to recognize the familiar objects +between York and Monkshaven. And now he began to hang back, and to +question the wisdom of what he had done--just as the warden had +prophesied that he would. The last night of his two hundred mile +walk he slept at the little inn at which he had been enlisted nearly +two years before. It was by no intention of his that he rested at +that identical place. Night was drawing on; and, in making, as he +thought, a short cut, he had missed his way, and was fain to seek +shelter where he might find it. But it brought him very straight +face to face with his life at that time, and ever since. His mad, +wild hopes--half the result of intoxication, as he now knew--all +dead and gone; the career then freshly opening shut up against him +now; his youthful strength and health changed into premature +infirmity, and the home and the love that should have opened wide +its doors to console him for all, why in two years Death might have +been busy, and taken away from him his last feeble chance of the +faint happiness of seeing his beloved without being seen or known of +her. All that night and all the next day, the fear of Sylvia's +possible death overclouded his heart. It was strange that he had +hardly ever thought of this before; so strange, that now, when the +terror came, it took possession of him, and he could almost have +sworn that she must be lying dead in Monkshaven churchyard. Or was +it little Bella, that blooming, lovely babe, whom he was never to +see again? There was the tolling of mournful bells in the distant +air to his disturbed fancy, and the cry of the happy birds, the +plaintive bleating of the new-dropped lambs, were all omens of evil +import to him. + +As well as he could, he found his way back to Monkshaven, over the +wild heights and moors he had crossed on that black day of misery; +why he should have chosen that path he could not tell--it was as if +he were led, and had no free will of his own. + +The soft clear evening was drawing on, and his heart beat thick, and +then stopped, only to start again with fresh violence. There he was, +at the top of the long, steep lane that was in some parts a literal +staircase leading down from the hill-top into the High Street, +through the very entry up which he had passed when he shrank away +from his former and his then present life. There he stood, looking +down once more at the numerous irregular roofs, the many stacks of +chimneys below him, seeking out that which had once been his own +dwelling--who dwelt there now? + +The yellower gleams grew narrower; the evening shadows broader, and +Philip crept down the lane a weary, woeful man. At every gap in the +close-packed buildings he heard the merry music of a band, the +cheerful sound of excited voices. Still he descended slowly, +scarcely wondering what it could be, for it was not associated in +his mind with the one pervading thought of Sylvia. + +When he came to the angle of junction between the lane and the High +Street, he seemed plunged all at once into the very centre of the +bustle, and he drew himself up into a corner of deep shadow, from +whence he could look out upon the street. + +A circus was making its grand entry into Monkshaven, with all the +pomp of colour and of noise that it could muster. Trumpeters in +parti-coloured clothes rode first, blaring out triumphant discord. +Next came a gold-and-scarlet chariot drawn by six piebald horses, +and the windings of this team through the tortuous narrow street +were pretty enough to look upon. In the chariot sate kings and +queens, heroes and heroines, or what were meant for such; all the +little boys and girls running alongside of the chariot envied them; +but they themselves were very much tired, and shivering with cold in +their heroic pomp of classic clothing. All this Philip might have +seen; did see, in fact; but heeded not one jot. Almost opposite to +him, not ten yards apart, standing on the raised step at the +well-known shop door, was Sylvia, holding a child, a merry dancing +child, up in her arms to see the show. She too, Sylvia, was laughing +for pleasure, and for sympathy with pleasure. She held the little +Bella aloft that the child might see the gaudy procession the better +and the longer, looking at it herself with red lips apart and white +teeth glancing through; then she turned to speak to some one behind +her--Coulson, as Philip saw the moment afterwards; his answer made +her laugh once again. Philip saw it all; her bonny careless looks, +her pretty matronly form, her evident ease of mind and prosperous +outward circumstances. The years that he had spent in gloomy sorrow, +amongst wild scenes, on land or by sea, his life in frequent peril +of a bloody end, had gone by with her like sunny days; all the more +sunny because he was not there. So bitterly thought the poor +disabled marine, as, weary and despairing, he stood in the cold +shadow and looked upon the home that should have been his haven, the +wife that should have welcomed him, the child that should have been +his comfort. He had banished himself from his home; his wife had +forsworn him; his child was blossoming into intelligence unwitting +of any father. Wife, and child, and home, were all doing well +without him; what madness had tempted him thither? an hour ago, like +a fanciful fool, he had thought she might be dead--dead with sad +penitence for her cruel words at her heart--with mournful wonder at +the unaccounted-for absence of her child's father preying on her +spirits, and in some measure causing the death he had apprehended. +But to look at her there where she stood, it did not seem as if she +had had an hour's painful thought in all her blooming life. + +Ay! go in to the warm hearth, mother and child, now the gay +cavalcade has gone out of sight, and the chill of night has +succeeded to the sun's setting. Husband and father, steal out into +the cold dark street, and seek some poor cheap lodging where you may +rest your weary bones, and cheat your more weary heart into +forgetfulness in sleep. The pretty story of the Countess Phillis, +who mourned for her husband's absence so long, is a fable of old +times; or rather say Earl Guy never wedded his wife, knowing that +one she loved better than him was alive all the time she had +believed him to be dead. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +THE UNKNOWN + + +A few days before that on which Philip arrived at Monkshaven, Kester +had come to pay Sylvia a visit. As the earliest friend she had, and +also as one who knew the real secrets of her life, Sylvia always +gave him the warm welcome, the cordial words, and the sweet looks in +which the old man delighted. He had a sort of delicacy of his own +which kept him from going to see her too often, even when he was +stationary at Monkshaven; but he looked forward to the times when he +allowed himself this pleasure as a child at school looks forward to +its holidays. The time of his service at Haytersbank had, on the +whole, been the happiest in all his long monotonous years of daily +labour. Sylvia's father had always treated him with the rough +kindness of fellowship; Sylvia's mother had never stinted him in his +meat or grudged him his share of the best that was going; and once, +when he was ill for a few days in the loft above the cow-house, she +had made him possets, and nursed him with the same tenderness which +he remembered his mother showing to him when he was a little child, +but which he had never experienced since then. He had known Sylvia +herself, as bud, and sweet promise of blossom; and just as she was +opening into the full-blown rose, and, if she had been happy and +prosperous, might have passed out of the narrow circle of Kester's +interests, one sorrow after another came down upon her pretty +innocent head, and Kester's period of service to Daniel Robson, her +father, was tragically cut short. All this made Sylvia the great +centre of the faithful herdsman's affection; and Bella, who reminded +him of what Sylvia was when first Kester knew her, only occupied the +second place in his heart, although to the child he was much more +demonstrative of his regard than to the mother. + +He had dressed himself in his Sunday best, and although it was only +Thursday, had forestalled his Saturday's shaving; he had provided +himself with a paper of humbugs for the child--'humbugs' being the +north-country term for certain lumps of toffy, well-flavoured with +peppermint--and now he sat in the accustomed chair, as near to the +door as might be, in Sylvia's presence, coaxing the little one, who +was not quite sure of his identity, to come to him, by opening the +paper parcel, and letting its sweet contents be seen. + +'She's like thee--and yet she favours her feyther,' said he; and the +moment he had uttered the incautious words he looked up to see how +Sylvia had taken the unpremeditated, unusual reference to her +husband. His stealthy glance did not meet her eye; but though he +thought she had coloured a little, she did not seem offended as he +had feared. It was true that Bella had her father's grave, +thoughtful, dark eyes, instead of her mother's gray ones, out of +which the childlike expression of wonder would never entirely pass +away. And as Bella slowly and half distrustfully made her way +towards the temptation offered her, she looked at Kester with just +her father's look. + +Sylvia said nothing in direct reply; Kester almost thought she could +not have heard him. But, by-and-by, she said,-- + +'Yo'll have heared how Kinraid--who's a captain now, and a grand +officer--has gone and got married.' + +'Nay!' said Kester, in genuine surprise. 'He niver has, for sure!' + +'Ay, but he has,' said Sylvia. 'And I'm sure I dunnot see why he +shouldn't.' + +'Well, well!' said Kester, not looking up at her, for he caught the +inflections in the tones of her voice. 'He were a fine stirrin' +chap, yon; an' he were allays for doin' summut; an' when he fund as +he couldn't ha' one thing as he'd set his mind on, a reckon he +thought he mun put up wi' another.' + +'It 'ud be no "putting up,"' said Sylvia. 'She were staying at Bessy +Dawson's, and she come here to see me--she's as pretty a young lady +as yo'd see on a summer's day; and a real lady, too, wi' a fortune. +She didn't speak two words wi'out bringing in her husband's +name,--"the captain", as she called him.' + +'An' she come to see thee?' said Kester, cocking his eye at Sylvia +with the old shrewd look. 'That were summut queer, weren't it?' + +Sylvia reddened a good deal. + +'He's too fause to have spoken to her on me, in t' old way,--as he +used for t' speak to me. I were nought to her but Philip's wife.' + +'An' what t' dickins had she to do wi' Philip?' asked Kester, in +intense surprise; and so absorbed in curiosity that he let the +humbugs all fall out of the paper upon the floor, and the little +Bella sat down, plump, in the midst of treasures as great as those +fabled to exist on Tom Tiddler's ground. + +Sylvia was again silent; but Kester, knowing her well, was sure that +she was struggling to speak, and bided his time without repeating +his question. + +'She said--and I think her tale were true, though I cannot get to t' +rights on it, think on it as I will--as Philip saved her husband's +life somewheere nearabouts to Jerusalem. She would have it that t' +captain--for I think I'll niver ca' him Kinraid again--was in a +great battle, and were near upon being shot by t' French, when +Philip--our Philip--come up and went right into t' fire o' t' guns, +and saved her husband's life. And she spoke as if both she and t' +captain were more beholden to Philip than words could tell. And she +come to see me, to try and get news on him. + +'It's a queer kind o' story,' said Kester, meditatively. 'A should +ha' thought as Philip were more likely to ha' gi'en him a shove into +t' thick on it, than t' help him out o' t' scrape.' + +'Nay!' said Sylvia, suddenly looking straight at Kester; 'yo're out +theere. Philip had a deal o' good in him. And I dunnot think as he'd +ha' gone and married another woman so soon, if he'd been i' +Kinraid's place.' + +'An' yo've niver heared on Philip sin' he left?' asked Kester, after +a while. + +'Niver; nought but what she told me. And she said that t' captain +made inquiry for him right and left, as soon after that happened as +might be, and could hear niver a word about him. No one had seen +him, or knowed his name.' + +'Yo' niver heared of his goin' for t' be a soldier?' persevered +Kester. + +'Niver. I've told yo' once. It were unlike Philip to think o' such a +thing.' + +'But thou mun ha' been thinkin' on him at times i' a' these years. +Bad as he'd behaved hissel', he were t' feyther o' thy little un. +What did ta think he had been agait on when he left here?' + +'I didn't know. I were noane so keen a-thinking on him at first. I +tried to put him out o' my thoughts a'together, for it made me like +mad to think how he'd stood between me and--that other. But I'd +begun to wonder and to wonder about him, and to think I should like +to hear as he were doing well. I reckon I thought he were i' London, +wheere he'd been that time afore, yo' know, and had allays spoke as +if he'd enjoyed hissel' tolerable; and then Molly Brunton told me on +t' other one's marriage; and, somehow, it gave me a shake in my +heart, and I began for to wish I hadn't said all them words i' my +passion; and then that fine young lady come wi' her story--and I've +thought a deal on it since,--and my mind has come out clear. +Philip's dead, and it were his spirit as come to t' other's help in +his time o' need. I've heard feyther say as spirits cannot rest i' +their graves for trying to undo t' wrongs they've done i' their +bodies.' + +'Them's my conclusions,' said Kester, solemnly. 'A was fain for to +hear what were yo'r judgments first; but them's the conclusions I +comed to as soon as I heard t' tale.' + +'Let alone that one thing,' said Sylvia, 'he were a kind, good man.' + +'It were a big deal on a "one thing", though,' said Kester. 'It just +spoilt yo'r life, my poor lass; an' might ha' gone near to spoilin' +Charley Kinraid's too.' + +'Men takes a deal more nor women to spoil their lives,' said Sylvia, +bitterly. + +'Not a' mak' o' men. I reckon, lass, Philip's life were pretty well +on for bein' spoilt at after he left here; and it were, mebbe, a +good thing he got rid on it so soon.' + +'I wish I'd just had a few kind words wi' him, I do,' said Sylvia, +almost on the point of crying. + +'Come, lass, it's as ill moanin' after what's past as it 'ud be for +me t' fill my eyes wi' weepin' after t' humbugs as this little wench +o' thine has grubbed up whilst we'n been talkin'. Why, there's not +one on 'em left!' + +'She's a sad spoilt little puss!' said Sylvia, holding out her arms +to the child, who ran into them, and began patting her mother's +cheeks, and pulling at the soft brown curls tucked away beneath the +matronly cap. 'Mammy spoils her, and Hester spoils her----' + +'Granny Rose doesn't spoil me,' said the child, with quick, +intelligent discrimination, interrupting her mother's list. + +'No; but Jeremiah Foster does above a bit. He'll come in fro' t' +Bank, Kester, and ask for her, a'most ivery day. And he'll bring her +things in his pocket; and she's so fause, she allays goes straight +to peep in, and then he shifts t' apple or t' toy into another. Eh! +but she's a little fause one,'--half devouring the child with her +kisses. 'And he comes and takes her a walk oftentimes, and he goes +as slow as if he were quite an old man, to keep pace wi' Bella's +steps. I often run upstairs and watch 'em out o' t' window; he +doesn't care to have me with 'em, he's so fain t' have t' child all +to hisself.' + +'She's a bonny un, for sure,' said Kester; 'but not so pretty as +thou was, Sylvie. A've niver tell'd thee what a come for tho', and +it's about time for me t' be goin'. A'm off to t' Cheviots to-morrow +morn t' fetch home some sheep as Jonas Blundell has purchased. It'll +be a job o' better nor two months a reckon.' + +'It'll be a nice time o' year,' said Sylvia, a little surprised at +Kester's evident discouragement at the prospect of the journey or +absence; he had often been away from Monkshaven for a longer time +without seeming to care so much about it. + +'Well, yo' see it's a bit hard upon me for t' leave my sister--she +as is t' widow-woman, wheere a put up when a'm at home. Things is +main an' dear; four-pound loaves is at sixteenpence; an' there's a +deal o' talk on a famine i' t' land; an' whaten a paid for my +victual an' t' bed i' t' lean-to helped t' oud woman a bit,--an' +she's sadly down i' t' mouth, for she cannot hear on a lodger for t' +tak' my place, for a' she's moved o'er to t' other side o' t' bridge +for t' be nearer t' new buildings, an' t' grand new walk they're +makin' round t' cliffs, thinkin' she'd be likelier t' pick up a +labourer as would be glad on a bed near his work. A'd ha' liked to +ha' set her agait wi' a 'sponsible lodger afore a'd ha' left, for +she's just so soft-hearted, any scamp may put upon her if he nobbut +gets houd on her blind side.' + +'Can I help her?' said Sylvia, in her eager way. 'I should be so +glad; and I've a deal of money by me---' + +'Nay, my lass,' said Kester, 'thou munnot go off so fast; it were +just what I were feared on i' tellin' thee. I've left her a bit o' +money, and I'll mak' shift to send her more; it's just a kind word, +t' keep up her heart when I'm gone, as I want. If thou'd step in and +see her fra' time to time, and cheer her up a bit wi' talkin' to her +on me, I'd tak' it very kind, and I'd go off wi' a lighter heart.' + +'Then I'm sure I'll do it for yo', Kester. I niver justly feel like +mysel' when yo're away, for I'm lonesome enough at times. She and I +will talk a' t' better about yo' for both on us grieving after yo'.' + +So Kester took his leave, his mind set at ease by Sylvia's promise +to go and see his sister pretty often during his absence in the +North. + +But Sylvia's habits were changed since she, as a girl at +Haytersbank, liked to spend half her time in the open air, running +out perpetually without anything on to scatter crumbs to the +poultry, or to take a piece of bread to the old cart-horse, to go up +to the garden for a handful of herbs, or to clamber to the highest +point around to blow the horn which summoned her father and Kester +home to dinner. Living in a town where it was necessary to put on +hat and cloak before going out into the street, and then to walk in +a steady and decorous fashion, she had only cared to escape down to +the freedom of the sea-shore until Philip went away; and after that +time she had learnt so to fear observation as a deserted wife, that +nothing but Bella's health would have been a sufficient motive to +take her out of doors. And, as she had told Kester, the necessity of +giving the little girl a daily walk was very much lightened by the +great love and affection which Jeremiah Foster now bore to the +child. Ever since the day when the baby had come to his knee, +allured by the temptation of his watch, he had apparently considered +her as in some sort belonging to him; and now he had almost come to +think that he had a right to claim her as his companion in his walk +back from the Bank to his early dinner, where a high chair was +always placed ready for the chance of her coming to share his meal. +On these occasions he generally brought her back to the shop-door +when he returned to his afternoon's work at the Bank. Sometimes, +however, he would leave word that she was to be sent for from his +house in the New Town, as his business at the Bank for that day was +ended. Then Sylvia was compelled to put on her things, and fetch +back her darling; and excepting for this errand she seldom went out +at all on week-days. + +About a fortnight after Kester's farewell call, this need for her +visit to Jeremiah Foster's arose; and it seemed to Sylvia that there +could not be a better opportunity of fulfilling her promise and +going to see the widow Dobson, whose cottage was on the other side +of the river, low down on the cliff-side, just at the bend and rush +of the full stream into the open sea. She set off pretty early in +order to go there first. She found the widow with her house-place +tidied up after the midday meal, and busy knitting at the open +door--not looking at her rapid-clicking needles, but gazing at the +rush and recession of the waves before her; yet not seeing them +either,--rather seeing days long past. + +She started into active civility as soon as she recognized Sylvia, +who was to her as a great lady, never having known Sylvia Robson in +her wild childish days. Widow Dobson was always a little scandalized +at her brother Christopher's familiarity with Mrs. Hepburn. + +She dusted a chair which needed no dusting, and placed it for +Sylvia, sitting down herself on a three-legged stool to mark her +sense of the difference in their conditions, for there was another +chair or two in the humble dwelling; and then the two fell into +talk--first about Kester, whom his sister would persist in calling +Christopher, as if his dignity as her elder brother was compromised +by any familiar abbreviation; and by-and-by she opened her heart a +little more. + +'A could wish as a'd learned write-of-hand,' said she; 'for a've +that for to tell Christopher as might set his mind at ease. But yo' +see, if a wrote him a letter he couldn't read it; so a just comfort +mysel' wi' thinkin' nobody need learn writin' unless they'n got +friends as can read. But a reckon he'd ha' been glad to hear as a've +getten a lodger.' Here she nodded her head in the direction of the +door opening out of the house-place into the 'lean-to', which Sylvia +had observed on drawing near the cottage, and the recollection of +the mention of which by Kester had enabled her to identify widow +Dobson's dwelling. 'He's a-bed yonder,' the latter continued, +dropping her voice. 'He's a queer-lookin' tyke, but a don't think as +he's a bad un.' + +'When did he come?' said Sylvia, remembering Kester's account of his +sister's character, and feeling as though it behoved her, as +Kester's confidante on this head, to give cautious and prudent +advice. + +'Eh! a matter of a s'ennight ago. A'm noane good at mindin' time; +he's paid me his rent twice, but then he were keen to pay aforehand. +He'd comed in one night, an' sate him down afore he could speak, he +were so done up; he'd been on tramp this many a day, a reckon. "Can +yo' give me a bed?" says he, panting like, after a bit. "A chap as a +met near here says as yo've a lodging for t' let." "Ay," says a, "a +ha' that; but yo' mun pay me a shilling a week for 't." Then my mind +misgive me, for a thought he hadn't a shilling i' t' world, an' yet +if he hadn't, a should just ha' gi'en him t' bed a' t' same: a'm not +one as can turn a dog out if he comes t' me wearied o' his life. So +he outs wi' a shillin', an' lays it down on t' table, 'bout a word. +"A'll not trouble yo' long," says he. "A'm one as is best out o' t' +world," he says. Then a thought as a'd been a bit hard upon him. An' +says I, "A'm a widow-woman, and one as has getten but few friends:" +for yo' see a were low about our Christopher's goin' away north; "so +a'm forced-like to speak hard to folk; but a've made mysel' some +stirabout for my supper; and if yo'd like t' share an' share about +wi' me, it's but puttin' a sup more watter to 't, and God's blessing +'ll be on 't, just as same as if 't were meal." So he ups wi' his +hand afore his e'en, and says not a word. At last he says, "Missus," +says he, "can God's blessing be shared by a sinner--one o' t' +devil's children?" says he. "For the Scriptur' says he's t' father +o' lies." So a were puzzled-like; an' at length a says, "Thou mun +ask t' parson that; a'm but a poor faint-hearted widow-woman; but +a've allays had God's blessing somehow, now a bethink me, an' a'll +share it wi' thee as far as my will goes." So he raxes his hand +across t' table, an' mutters summat, as he grips mine. A thought it +were Scriptur' as he said, but a'd needed a' my strength just then +for t' lift t' pot off t' fire--it were t' first vittle a'd tasted +sin' morn, for t' famine comes down like stones on t' head o' us +poor folk: an' a' a said were just "Coom along, chap, an' fa' to; +an' God's blessing be on him as eats most." An' sin' that day him +and me's been as thick as thieves, only he's niver telled me nought +of who he is, or wheere he comes fra'. But a think he's one o' them +poor colliers, as has getten brunt i' t' coal-pits; for, t' be sure, +his face is a' black wi' fire-marks; an' o' late days he's ta'en t' +his bed, an' just lies there sighing,--for one can hear him plain as +dayleet thro' t' bit partition wa'.' + +As a proof of this, a sigh--almost a groan--startled the two women +at this very moment. + +'Poor fellow!' said Sylvia, in a soft whisper. 'There's more sore +hearts i' t' world than one reckons for!' But after a while, she +bethought her again of Kester's account of his sister's 'softness'; +and she thought that it behoved her to give some good advice. So she +added, in a sterner, harder tone--'Still, yo' say yo' know nought +about him; and tramps is tramps a' t' world over; and yo're a widow, +and it behoves yo' to be careful. I think I'd just send him off as +soon as he's a bit rested. Yo' say he's plenty o' money?' + +'Nay! A never said that. A know nought about it. He pays me +aforehand; an' he pays me down for whativer a've getten for him; but +that's but little; he's noane up t' his vittle, though a've made him +some broth as good as a could make 'em.' + +'I wouldn't send him away till he was well again, if I were yo; but +I think yo'd be better rid on him,' said Sylvia. 'It would be +different if yo'r brother were in Monkshaven.' As she spoke she rose +to go. + +Widow Dobson held her hand in hers for a minute, then the humble +woman said,-- + +'Yo'll noane be vexed wi' me, missus, if a cannot find i' my heart +t' turn him out till he wants to go hissel'? For a wouldn't like to +vex yo', for Christopher's sake; but a know what it is for t' feel +for friendless folk, an' choose what may come on it, I cannot send +him away.' + +'No!' said Sylvia. 'Why should I be vexed? it's no business o' mine. +Only I should send him away if I was yo'. He might go lodge wheere +there was men-folk, who know t' ways o' tramps, and are up to them.' + +Into the sunshine went Sylvia. In the cold shadow the miserable +tramp lay sighing. She did not know that she had been so near to him +towards whom her heart was softening, day by day. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +FIRST WORDS + + +It was the spring of 1800. Old people yet can tell of the hard +famine of that year. The harvest of the autumn before had failed; +the war and the corn laws had brought the price of corn up to a +famine rate; and much of what came into the market was unsound, and +consequently unfit for food, yet hungry creatures bought it eagerly, +and tried to cheat disease by mixing the damp, sweet, clammy flour +with rice or potato meal. Rich families denied themselves pastry and +all unnecessary and luxurious uses of wheat in any shape; the duty +on hair-powder was increased; and all these palliatives were but as +drops in the ocean of the great want of the people. + +Philip, in spite of himself, recovered and grew stronger; and as he +grew stronger hunger took the place of loathing dislike to food. But +his money was all spent; and what was his poor pension of sixpence a +day in that terrible year of famine? Many a summer's night he walked +for hours and hours round the house which once was his, which might +be his now, with all its homely, blessed comforts, could he but go +and assert his right to it. But to go with authority, and in his +poor, maimed guise assert that right, he had need be other than +Philip Hepburn. So he stood in the old shelter of the steep, crooked +lane opening on to the hill out of the market-place, and watched the +soft fading of the summer's eve into night; the closing of the once +familiar shop; the exit of good, comfortable William Coulson, going +to his own home, his own wife, his comfortable, plentiful supper. +Then Philip--there were no police in those days, and scarcely an old +watchman in that primitive little town--would go round on the shady +sides of streets, and, quickly glancing about him, cross the bridge, +looking on the quiet, rippling stream, the gray shimmer foretelling +the coming dawn over the sea, the black masts and rigging of the +still vessels against the sky; he could see with his wistful, eager +eyes the shape of the windows--the window of the very room in which +his wife and child slept, unheeding of him, the hungry, +broken-hearted outcast. He would go back to his lodging, and softly +lift the latch of the door; still more softly, but never without an +unspoken, grateful prayer, pass by the poor sleeping woman who had +given him a shelter and her share of God's blessing--she who, like +him, knew not the feeling of satisfied hunger; and then he laid him +down on the narrow pallet in the lean-to, and again gave Sylvia +happy lessons in the kitchen at Haytersbank, and the dead were +alive; and Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, had never come to +trouble the hopeful, gentle peace. + +For widow Dobson had never taken Sylvia's advice. The tramp known to +her by the name of Freeman--that in which he received his +pension--lodged with her still, and paid his meagre shilling in +advance, weekly. A shilling was meagre in those hard days of +scarcity. A hungry man might easily eat the produce of a shilling in +a day. + +Widow Dobson pleaded this to Sylvia as an excuse for keeping her +lodger on; to a more calculating head it might have seemed a reason +for sending him away. + +'Yo' see, missus,' said she, apologetically, to Sylvia, one evening, +as the latter called upon the poor widow before going to fetch +little Bella (it was now too hot for the child to cross the bridge +in the full heat of the summer sun, and Jeremiah would take her up +to her supper instead)--'Yo' see, missus, there's not a many as 'ud +take him in for a shillin' when it goes so little way; or if they +did, they'd take it out on him some other way, an' he's not getten +much else, a reckon. He ca's me granny, but a'm vast mista'en if +he's ten year younger nor me; but he's getten a fine appetite of his +own, choose how young he may be; an' a can see as he could eat a +deal more nor he's getten money to buy, an' it's few as can mak' +victual go farther nor me. Eh, missus, but yo' may trust me a'll +send him off when times is better; but just now it would be sendin' +him to his death; for a ha' plenty and to spare, thanks be to God +an' yo'r bonny face.' + +So Sylvia had to be content with the knowledge that the money she +gladly gave to Kester's sister went partly to feed the lodger who +was neither labourer nor neighbour, but only just a tramp, who, she +feared, was preying on the good old woman. Still the cruel famine +cut sharp enough to penetrate all hearts; and Sylvia, an hour after +the conversation recorded above, was much touched, on her return +from Jeremiah Foster's with the little merry, chattering Bella, at +seeing the feeble steps of one, whom she knew by description must be +widow Dobson's lodger, turn up from the newly-cut road which was to +lead to the terrace walk around the North Cliff, a road which led to +no dwelling but widow Dobson's. Tramp, and vagrant, he might be in +the eyes of the law; but, whatever his character, Sylvia could see +him before her in the soft dusk, creeping along, over the bridge, +often stopping to rest and hold by some support, and then going on +again towards the town, to which she and happy little Bella were +wending. + +A thought came over her: she had always fancied that this unknown +man was some fierce vagabond, and had dreaded lest in the lonely bit +of road between widow Dobson's cottage and the peopled highway, he +should fall upon her and rob her if he learnt that she had money +with her; and several times she had gone away without leaving the +little gift she had intended, because she imagined that she had seen +the door of the small chamber in the 'lean-to' open softly while she +was there, as if the occupant (whom widow Dobson spoke of as never +leaving the house before dusk, excepting once a week) were listening +for the chink of the coin in her little leathern purse. Now that she +saw him walking before her with heavy languid steps, this fear gave +place to pity; she remembered her mother's gentle superstition which +had prevented her from ever sending the hungry empty away, for fear +lest she herself should come to need bread. + +'Lassie,' said she to little Bella, who held a cake which Jeremiah's +housekeeper had given her tight in her hand, 'yon poor man theere is +hungry; will Bella give him her cake, and mother will make her +another to-morrow twice as big?' + +For this consideration, and with the feeling of satisfaction which a +good supper not an hour ago gives even to the hungry stomach of a +child of three years old, Bella, after some thought, graciously +assented to the sacrifice. + +Sylvia stopped, the cake in her hand, and turned her back to the +town, and to the slow wayfarer in front. Under the cover of her +shawl she slipped a half-crown deep into the crumb of the cake, and +then restoring it to little Bella, she gave her her directions. + +'Mammy will carry Bella; and when Bella goes past the poor man, she +shall give him the cake over mammy's shoulder. Poor man is so +hungry; and Bella and mammy have plenty to eat, and to spare.' + +The child's heart was touched by the idea of hunger, and her little +arm was outstretched ready for the moment her mother's hurried steps +took her brushing past the startled, trembling Philip. + +'Poor man, eat this; Bella not hungry.' + +They were the first words he had ever heard his child utter. The +echoes of them rang in his ears as he stood endeavouring to hide his +disfigured face by looking over the parapet of the bridge down upon +the stream running away towards the ocean, into which his hot tears +slowly fell, unheeded by the weeper. Then he changed the intention +with which he had set out upon his nightly walk, and turned back to +his lodging. + +Of course the case was different with Sylvia; she would have +forgotten the whole affair very speedily, if it had not been for +little Bella's frequent recurrence to the story of the hungry man, +which had touched her small sympathies with the sense of an +intelligible misfortune. She liked to act the dropping of the bun +into the poor man's hand as she went past him, and would take up any +article near her in order to illustrate the gesture she had used. +One day she got hold of Hester's watch for this purpose, as being of +the same round shape as the cake; and though Hester, for whose +benefit the child was repeating the story in her broken language for +the third or fourth time, tried to catch the watch as it was +intended that she should (she being the representative of the +'hungry man' for the time being), it went to the ground with a smash +that frightened the little girl, and she began to cry at the +mischief she had done. + +'Don't cry, Bella,' said Hester. 'Niver play with watches again. I +didn't see thee at mine, or I'd ha' stopped thee in time. But I'll +take it to old Darley's on th' quay-side, and maybe he'll soon set +it to rights again. Only Bella must niver play with watches again.' + +'Niver no more!' promised the little sobbing child. And that evening +Hester took her watch down to old Darley's. + +This William Darley was the brother of the gardener at the rectory; +the uncle to the sailor who had been shot by the press-gang years +before, and to his bed-ridden sister. He was a clever mechanician, +and his skill as a repairer of watches and chronometers was great +among the sailors, with whom he did a very irregular sort of +traffic, conducted, often without much use of money, but rather on +the principle of barter, they bringing him foreign coins and odd +curiosities picked up on their travels in exchange for his services +to their nautical instruments or their watches. If he had ever had +capital to extend his business, he might have been a rich man; but +it is to be doubted whether he would have been as happy as he was +now in his queer little habitation of two rooms, the front one being +both shop and workshop, the other serving the double purpose of +bedroom and museum. + +The skill of this odd-tempered, shabby old man was sometimes sought +by the jeweller who kept the more ostentatious shop in the High +Street; but before Darley would undertake any 'tickle' piece of +delicate workmanship for the other, he sneered at his ignorance, and +taunted and abused him well. Yet he had soft places in his heart, +and Hester Rose had found her way to one by her patient, enduring +kindness to his bed-ridden niece. He never snarled at her as he did +at too many; and on the few occasions when she had asked him to do +anything for her, he had seemed as if she were conferring the favour +on him, not he on her, and only made the smallest possible charge. + +She found him now sitting where he could catch the most light for +his work, spectacles on nose, and microscope in hand. + +He took her watch, and examined it carefully without a word in reply +to her. Then he began to open it and take it to pieces, in order to +ascertain the nature of the mischief. + +Suddenly he heard her catch her breath with a checked sound of +surprise. He looked at her from above his spectacles; she was +holding a watch in her hand which she had just taken up off the +counter. + +'What's amiss wi' thee now?' said Darley. 'Hast ta niver seen a +watch o' that mak' afore? or is it them letters on t' back, as is so +wonderful?' + +Yes, it was those letters--that interlaced, old-fashioned cipher. +That Z. H. that she knew of old stood for Zachary Hepburn, Philip's +father. She knew how Philip valued this watch. She remembered having +seen it in his hands the very day before his disappearance, when he +was looking at the time in his annoyance at Sylvia's detention in +her walk with baby. Hester had no doubt that he had taken this watch +as a matter of course away with him. She felt sure that he would not +part with this relic of his dead father on any slight necessity. +Where, then, was Philip?--by what chance of life or death had this, +his valued property, found its way once more to Monkshaven? + +'Where did yo' get this?' she asked, in as quiet a manner as she +could assume, sick with eagerness as she was. + +To no one else would Darley have answered such a question. He made a +mystery of most of his dealings; not that he had anything to +conceal, but simply because he delighted in concealment. He took it +out of her hands, looked at the number marked inside, and the +maker's name--'Natteau Gent, York'--and then replied,-- + +'A man brought it me yesterday, at nightfall, for t' sell it. It's a +matter o' forty years old. Natteau Gent has been dead and in his +grave pretty nigh as long as that. But he did his work well when he +were alive; and so I gave him as brought it for t' sell about as +much as it were worth, i' good coin. A tried him first i' t' +bartering line, but he wouldn't bite; like enough he wanted +food,--many a one does now-a-days.' + +'Who was he?' gasped Hester. + +'Bless t' woman! how should I know?' + +'What was he like?--how old?--tell me.' + +'My lass, a've summut else to do wi' my eyes than go peering into +men's faces i' t' dusk light.' + +'But yo' must have had light for t' judge about the watch.' + +'Eh! how sharp we are! A'd a candle close to my nose. But a didn't +tak' it up for to gaze int' his face. That wouldn't be manners, to +my thinking.' + +Hester was silent. Then Darley's heart relented. + +'If yo're so set upo' knowing who t' fellow was, a could, mebbe, put +yo' on his tracks.' + +'How?' said Hester, eagerly. 'I do want to know. I want to know very +much, and for a good reason.' + +'Well, then, a'll tell yo'. He's a queer tyke, that one is. A'll be +bound he were sore pressed for t' brass; yet he out's wi' a good +half-crown, all wrapped up i' paper, and he axes me t' make a hole +in it. Says I, "It's marring good king's coin, at after a've made a +hole in't, it'll never pass current again." So he mumbles, and +mumbles, but for a' that it must needs be done; and he's left it +here, and is t' call for 't to-morrow at e'en.' + +'Oh, William Darley!' said Hester, clasping her hands tight +together. 'Find out who he is, where he is--anything--everything +about him--and I will so bless yo'.' + +Darley looked at her sharply, but with some signs of sympathy on his +grave face. 'My woman,' he said 'a could ha' wished as you'd niver +seen t' watch. It's poor, thankless work thinking too much on one o' +God's creatures. But a'll do thy bidding,' he continued, in a +lighter and different tone. 'A'm a 'cute old badger when need be. +Come for thy watch in a couple o' days, and a'll tell yo' all as +a've learnt.' + +So Hester went away, her heart beating with the promise of knowing +something about Philip,--how much, how little, in these first +moments, she dared not say even to herself. Some sailor newly landed +from distant seas might have become possessed of Philip's watch in +far-off latitudes; in which case, Philip would be dead. That might +be. She tried to think that this was the most probable way of +accounting for the watch. She could be certain as to the positive +identity of the watch--being in William Darley's possession. Again, +it might be that Philip himself was near at hand--was here in this +very place--starving, as too many were, for insufficiency of means +to buy the high-priced food. And then her heart burnt within her as +she thought of the succulent, comfortable meals which Sylvia +provided every day--nay, three times a day--for the household in the +market-place, at the head of which Philip ought to have been; but +his place knew him not. For Sylvia had inherited her mother's talent +for housekeeping, and on her, in Alice's decrepitude and Hester's +other occupations in the shop, devolved the cares of due provision +for the somewhat heterogeneous family. + +And Sylvia! Hester groaned in heart over the remembrance of Sylvia's +words, 'I can niver forgive him the wrong he did to me,' that night +when Hester had come, and clung to her, making the sad, shameful +confession of her unreturned love. + +What could ever bring these two together again? Could Hester +herself--ignorant of the strange mystery of Sylvia's heart, as those +who are guided solely by obedience to principle must ever be of the +clue to the actions of those who are led by the passionate ebb and +flow of impulse? Could Hester herself? Oh! how should she speak, how +should she act, if Philip were near--if Philip were sad and in +miserable estate? Her own misery at this contemplation of the case +was too great to bear; and she sought her usual refuge in the +thought of some text, some promise of Scripture, which should +strengthen her faith. + +'With God all things are possible,' said she, repeating the words as +though to lull her anxiety to rest. + +Yes; with God all things are possible. But ofttimes He does his work +with awful instruments. There is a peacemaker whose name is Death. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +SAVED AND LOST + + +Hester went out on the evening of the day after that on which the +unknown owner of the half-crown had appointed to call for it again +at William Darley's. She had schooled herself to believe that time +and patience would serve her best. Her plan was to obtain all the +knowledge about Philip that she could in the first instance; and +then, if circumstances allowed it, as in all probability they would, +to let drop by drop of healing, peacemaking words and thoughts fall +on Sylvia's obdurate, unforgiving heart. So Hester put on her +things, and went out down towards the old quay-side on that evening +after the shop was closed. + +Poor little Sylvia! She was unforgiving, but not obdurate to the full +extent of what Hester believed. Many a time since Philip went away +had she unconsciously missed his protecting love; when folks spoke +shortly to her, when Alice scolded her as one of the non-elect, when +Hester's gentle gravity had something of severity in it; when her +own heart failed her as to whether her mother would have judged that +she had done well, could that mother have known all, as possibly she +did by this time. Philip had never spoken otherwise than tenderly to +her during the eighteen months of their married life, except on the +two occasions before recorded: once when she referred to her dream +of Kinraid's possible return, and once again on the evening of the +day before her discovery of his concealment of the secret of +Kinraid's involuntary disappearance. + +After she had learnt that Kinraid was married, her heart had still +more strongly turned to Philip; she thought that he had judged +rightly in what he had given as the excuse for his double dealing; +she was even more indignant at Kinraid's fickleness than she had any +reason to be; and she began to learn the value of such enduring love +as Philip's had been--lasting ever since the days when she first +began to fancy what a man's love for a woman should be, when she had +first shrunk from the tone of tenderness he put into his especial +term for her, a girl of twelve--'Little lassie,' as he was wont to +call her. + +But across all this relenting came the shadow of her vow--like the +chill of a great cloud passing over a sunny plain. How should she +decide? what would be her duty, if he came again, and once more +called her 'wife'? She shrank from such a possibility with all the +weakness and superstition of her nature; and this it was which made +her strengthen herself with the re-utterance of unforgiving words; +and shun all recurrence to the subject on the rare occasion when +Hester had tried to bring it back, with a hope of softening the +heart which to her appeared altogether hardened on this one point. + +Now, on this bright summer evening, while Hester had gone down to +the quay-side, Sylvia stood with her out-of-door things on in the +parlour, rather impatiently watching the sky, full of hurrying +clouds, and flushing with the warm tints of the approaching sunset. +She could not leave Alice: the old woman had grown so infirm that +she was never left by her daughter and Sylvia at the same time; yet +Sylvia had to fetch her little girl from the New Town, where she had +been to her supper at Jeremiah Foster's. Hester had said that she +should not be away more than a quarter of an hour; and Hester was +generally so punctual that any failure of hers, in this respect, +appeared almost in the light of an injury on those who had learnt to +rely upon her. Sylvia wanted to go and see widow Dobson, and learn +when Kester might be expected home. His two months were long past; +and Sylvia had heard through the Fosters of some suitable and +profitable employment for him, of which she thought he would be glad +to know as soon as possible. It was now some time since she had been +able to get so far as across the bridge; and, for aught she knew, +Kester might already be come back from his expedition to the +Cheviots. Kester was come back. Scarce five minutes had elapsed +after these thoughts had passed through her mind before his hasty +hand lifted the latch of the kitchen-door, his hurried steps brought +him face to face with her. The smile of greeting was arrested on her +lips by one look at him: his eyes staring wide, the expression on +his face wild, and yet pitiful. + +'That's reet,' said he, seeing that her things were already on. +'Thou're wanted sore. Come along.' + +'Oh! dear God! my child!' cried Sylvia, clutching at the chair near +her; but recovering her eddying senses with the strong fact before +her that whatever the terror was, she was needed to combat it. + +'Ay; thy child!' said Kester, taking her almost roughly by the arm, +and drawing her away with him out through the open doors on to the +quay-side. + +'Tell me!' said Sylvia, faintly, 'is she dead?' + +'She's safe now,' said Kester. 'It's not her--it's him as saved her +as needs yo', if iver husband needed a wife.' + +'He?--who? O Philip! Philip! is it yo' at last?' + +Unheeding what spectators might see her movements, she threw up her +arms and staggered against the parapet of the bridge they were then +crossing. + +'He!--Philip!--saved Bella? Bella, our little Bella, as got her +dinner by my side, and went out wi' Jeremiah, as well as could be. I +cannot take it in; tell me, Kester.' She kept trembling so much in +voice and in body, that he saw she could not stir without danger of +falling until she was calmed; as it was, her eyes became filmy from +time to time, and she drew her breath in great heavy pants, leaning +all the while against the wall of the bridge. + +'It were no illness,' Kester began. 'T' little un had gone for a +walk wi' Jeremiah Foster, an' he were drawn for to go round t' edge +o' t' cliff, wheere they's makin' t' new walk reet o'er t' sea. But +it's but a bit on a pathway now; an' t' one was too oud, an' t' +other too young for t' see t' water comin' along wi' great leaps; +it's allays for comin' high up again' t' cliff, an' this spring-tide +it's comin' in i' terrible big waves. Some one said as they passed +t' man a-sittin' on a bit on a rock up above--a dunnot know, a only +know as a heared a great fearful screech i' t' air. A were just +a-restin' me at after a'd comed in, not half an hour i' t' place. +A've walked better nor a dozen mile to-day; an' a ran out, an' a +looked, an' just on t' walk, at t' turn, was t' swish of a wave +runnin' back as quick as t' mischief int' t' sea, an' oud Jeremiah +standin' like one crazy, lookin' o'er int' t' watter; an' like a +stroke o' leeghtnin' comes a man, an' int' t' very midst o' t' great +waves like a shot; an' then a knowed summut were in t' watter as +were nearer death than life; an' a seemed to misdoubt me that it +were our Bella; an' a shouts an' a cries for help, an' a goes mysel' +to t' very edge o' t' cliff, an' a bids oud Jeremiah, as was like +one beside hissel', houd tight on me, for he were good for nought +else; an' a bides my time, an' when a sees two arms houdin' out a +little drippin' streamin' child, a clutches her by her waist-band, +an' hauls her to land. She's noane t' worse for her bath, a'll be +bound.' + +'I mun go--let me,' said Sylvia, struggling with his detaining hand, +which he had laid upon her in the fear that she would slip down to +the ground in a faint, so ashen-gray was her face. 'Let me,--Bella, +I mun go see her.' + +He let go, and she stood still, suddenly feeling herself too weak to +stir. + +'Now, if you'll try a bit to be quiet, a'll lead yo' along; but yo' +mun be a steady and brave lass.' + +'I'll be aught if yo' only let me see Bella,' said Sylvia, humbly. + +'An' yo' niver ax at after him as saved her,' said Kester, +reproachfully. + +'I know it's Philip,' she whispered, 'and yo' said he wanted me; so +I know he's safe; and, Kester, I think I'm 'feared on him, and I'd +like to gather courage afore seeing him, and a look at Bella would +give me courage. It were a terrible time when I saw him last, and I +did say--' + +'Niver think on what thou did say; think on what thou will say to +him now, for he lies a-dyin'! He were dashed again t' cliff an' +bruised sore in his innards afore t' men as come wi' a boat could +pick him up.' + +She did not speak; she did not even tremble now; she set her teeth +together, and, holding tight by Kester, she urged him on; but when +they came to the end of the bridge, she seemed uncertain which way +to turn. + +'This way,' said Kester. 'He's been lodgin' wi' Sally this nine +week, an' niver a one about t' place as knowed him; he's been i' t' +wars an' getten his face brunt.' + +'And he was short o' food,' moaned Sylvia, 'and we had plenty, and I +tried to make yo'r sister turn him out, and send him away. Oh! will +God iver forgive me?' + +Muttering to herself, breaking her mutterings with sharp cries of +pain, Sylvia, with Kester's help, reached widow Dobson's house. It +was no longer a quiet, lonely dwelling. Several sailors stood about +the door, awaiting, in silent anxiety, for the verdict of the +doctor, who was even now examining Philip's injuries. Two or three +women stood talking eagerly, in low voices, in the doorway. + +But when Sylvia drew near the men fell back; and the women moved +aside as though to allow her to pass, all looking upon her with a +certain amount of sympathy, but perhaps with rather more of +antagonistic wonder as to how she was taking it--she who had been +living in ease and comfort while her husband's shelter was little +better than a hovel, her husband's daily life a struggle with +starvation; for so much of the lodger at widow Dobson's was +popularly known; and any distrust of him as a stranger and a tramp +was quite forgotten now. + +Sylvia felt the hardness of their looks, the hardness of their +silence; but it was as nothing to her. If such things could have +touched her at this moment, she would not have stood still right in +the midst of their averted hearts, and murmured something to Kester. +He could not hear the words uttered by that hoarse choked voice, +until he had stooped down and brought his ear to the level of her +mouth. + +'We'd better wait for t' doctors to come out,' she said again. She +stood by the door, shivering all over, almost facing the people in +the road, but with her face turned a little to the right, so that +they thought she was looking at the pathway on the cliff-side, a +hundred yards or so distant, below which the hungry waves still +lashed themselves into high ascending spray; while nearer to the +cottage, where their force was broken by the bar at the entrance to +the river, they came softly lapping up the shelving shore. + +Sylvia saw nothing of all this, though it was straight before her +eyes. She only saw a blurred mist; she heard no sound of waters, +though it filled the ears of those around. Instead she heard low +whispers pronouncing Philip's earthly doom. + +For the doctors were both agreed; his internal injury was of a +mortal kind, although, as the spine was severely injured above the +seat of the fatal bruise, he had no pain in the lower half of his +body. + +They had spoken in so low a tone that John Foster, standing only a +foot or so away, had not been able to hear their words. But Sylvia +heard each syllable there where she stood outside, shivering all +over in the sultry summer evening. She turned round to Kester. + +'I mun go to him, Kester; thou'll see that noane come in to us, when +t' doctors come out.' + +She spoke in a soft, calm voice; and he, not knowing what she had +heard, made some easy conditional promise. Then those opposite to +the cottage door fell back, for they could see the grave doctors +coming out, and John Foster, graver, sadder still, following them. +Without a word to them,--without a word even of inquiry--which many +outside thought and spoke of as strange--white-faced, dry-eyed +Sylvia slipped into the house out of their sight. + +And the waves kept lapping on the shelving shore. + +The room inside was dark, all except the little halo or circle of +light made by a dip candle. Widow Dobson had her back to the +bed--her bed--on to which Philip had been borne in the hurry of +terror as to whether he was alive or whether he was dead. She was +crying--crying quietly, but the tears down-falling fast, as, with +her back to the lowly bed, she was gathering up the dripping clothes +cut off from the poor maimed body by the doctors' orders. She only +shook her head as she saw Sylvia, spirit-like, steal in--white, +noiseless, and upborne from earth. + +But noiseless as her step might be, he heard, he recognized, and +with a sigh he turned his poor disfigured face to the wall, hiding +it in the shadow. + +He knew that she was by him; that she had knelt down by his bed; +that she was kissing his hand, over which the languor of approaching +death was stealing. But no one spoke. + +At length he said, his face still averted, speaking with an effort. + +'Little lassie, forgive me now! I cannot live to see the morn!' + +There was no answer, only a long miserable sigh, and he felt her +soft cheek laid upon his hand, and the quiver that ran through her +whole body. + +'I did thee a cruel wrong,' he said, at length. 'I see it now. But +I'm a dying man. I think that God will forgive me--and I've sinned +against Him; try, lassie--try, my Sylvie--will not thou forgive me?' + +He listened intently for a moment. He heard through the open window +the waves lapping on the shelving shore. But there came no word from +her; only that same long shivering, miserable sigh broke from her +lips at length. + +'Child,' said he, once more. 'I ha' made thee my idol; and if I +could live my life o'er again I would love my God more, and thee +less; and then I shouldn't ha' sinned this sin against thee. But +speak one word of love to me--one little word, that I may know I +have thy pardon.' + +'Oh, Philip! Philip!' she moaned, thus adjured. + +Then she lifted her head, and said, + +'Them were wicked, wicked words, as I said; and a wicked vow as I +vowed; and Lord God Almighty has ta'en me at my word. I'm sorely +punished, Philip, I am indeed.' + +He pressed her hand, he stroked her cheek. But he asked for yet +another word. + +'I did thee a wrong. In my lying heart I forgot to do to thee as I +would have had thee to do to me. And I judged Kinraid in my heart.' + +'Thou thought as he was faithless and fickle,' she answered quickly; +'and so he were. He were married to another woman not so many weeks +at after thou went away. Oh, Philip, Philip! and now I have thee +back, and--' + +'Dying' was the word she would have said, but first the dread of +telling him what she believed he did not know, and next her +passionate sobs, choked her. + +'I know,' said he, once more stroking her cheek, and soothing her +with gentle, caressing hand. 'Little lassie!' he said, after a while +when she was quiet from very exhaustion, 'I niver thought to be so +happy again. God is very merciful.' + +She lifted up her head, and asked wildly, 'Will He iver forgive me, +think yo'? I drove yo' out fra' yo'r home, and sent yo' away to t' +wars, wheere yo' might ha' getten yo'r death; and when yo' come +back, poor and lone, and weary, I told her for t' turn yo' out, for +a' I knew yo' must be starving in these famine times. I think I +shall go about among them as gnash their teeth for iver, while yo' +are wheere all tears are wiped away.' + +'No!' said Philip, turning round his face, forgetful of himself in +his desire to comfort her. 'God pities us as a father pities his +poor wandering children; the nearer I come to death the clearer I +see Him. But you and me have done wrong to each other; yet we can +see now how we were led to it; we can pity and forgive one another. +I'm getting low and faint, lassie; but thou must remember this: God +knows more, and is more forgiving than either you to me, or me to +you. I think and do believe as we shall meet together before His +face; but then I shall ha' learnt to love thee second to Him; not +first, as I have done here upon the earth.' + +Then he was silent--very still. Sylvia knew--widow Dobson had +brought it in--that there was some kind of medicine, sent by the +hopeless doctors, lying upon the table hard by, and she softly rose +and poured it out and dropped it into the half-open mouth. Then she +knelt down again, holding the hand feebly stretched out to her, and +watching the faint light in the wistful loving eyes. And in the +stillness she heard the ceaseless waves lapping against the shelving +shore. + +Something like an hour before this time, which was the deepest +midnight of the summer's night, Hester Rose had come hurrying up the +road to where Kester and his sister sate outside the open door, +keeping their watch under the star-lit sky, all others having gone +away, one by one, even John and Jeremiah Foster having returned to +their own house, where the little Bella lay, sleeping a sound and +healthy slumber after her perilous adventure. + +Hester had heard but little from William Darley as to the owner of +the watch and the half-crown; but he was chagrined at the failure of +all his skilful interrogations to elicit the truth, and promised her +further information in a few days, with all the more vehemence +because he was unaccustomed to be baffled. And Hester had again +whispered to herself 'Patience! Patience!' and had slowly returned +back to her home to find that Sylvia had left it, why she did not at +once discover. But, growing uneasy as the advancing hours neither +brought Sylvia nor little Bella to their home, she had set out for +Jeremiah Foster's as soon as she had seen her mother comfortably +asleep in her bed; and then she had learnt the whole story, bit by +bit, as each person who spoke broke in upon the previous narration +with some new particular. But from no one did she clearly learn +whether Sylvia was with her husband, or not; and so she came +speeding along the road, breathless, to where Kester sate in +wakeful, mournful silence, his sister's sleeping head lying on his +shoulder, the cottage door open, both for air and that there might +be help within call if needed; and the dim slanting oblong of the +interior light lying across the road. + +Hester came panting up, too agitated and breathless to ask how much +was truth of the fatal, hopeless tale which she had heard. Kester +looked at her without a word. Through this solemn momentary silence +the lapping of the ceaseless waves was heard, as they came up close +on the shelving shore. + +'He? Philip?' said she. Kester shook his head sadly. + +'And his wife--Sylvia?' said Hester. + +'In there with him, alone,' whispered Kester. + +Hester turned away, and wrung her hands together. + +'Oh, Lord God Almighty!' said she, 'was I not even worthy to bring +them together at last?' And she went away slowly and heavily back to +the side of her sleeping mother. But 'Thy will be done' was on her +quivering lips before she lay down to her rest. + +The soft gray dawn lightens the darkness of a midsummer night soon +after two o'clock. Philip watched it come, knowing that it was his +last sight of day,--as we reckon days on earth. + +He had been often near death as a soldier; once or twice, as when he +rushed into fire to save Kinraid, his chances of life had been as +one to a hundred; but yet he had had a chance. But now there was the +new feeling--the last new feeling which we shall any of us +experience in this world--that death was not only close at hand, +but inevitable. + +He felt its numbness stealing up him--stealing up him. But the head +was clear, the brain more than commonly active in producing vivid +impressions. + +It seemed but yesterday since he was a little boy at his mother's +knee, wishing with all the earnestness of his childish heart to be +like Abraham, who was called the friend of God, or David, who was +said to be the man after God's own heart, or St John, who was called +'the Beloved.' As very present seemed the day on which he made +resolutions of trying to be like them; it was in the spring, and +some one had brought in cowslips; and the scent of those flowers was +in his nostrils now, as he lay a-dying--his life ended, his battles +fought, his time for 'being good' over and gone--the opportunity, +once given in all eternity, past. + +All the temptations that had beset him rose clearly before him; the +scenes themselves stood up in their solid materialism--he could have +touched the places; the people, the thoughts, the arguments that +Satan had urged in behalf of sin, were reproduced with the vividness +of a present time. And he knew that the thoughts were illusions, the +arguments false and hollow; for in that hour came the perfect vision +of the perfect truth: he saw the 'way to escape' which had come +along with the temptation; now, the strong resolve of an ardent +boyhood, with all a life before it to show the world 'what a +Christian might be'; and then the swift, terrible now, when his +naked, guilty soul shrank into the shadow of God's mercy-seat, out +of the blaze of His anger against all those who act a lie. + +His mind was wandering, and he plucked it back. Was this death in +very deed? He tried to grasp at the present, the earthly present, +fading quick away. He lay there on the bed--on Sally Dobson's bed in +the house-place, not on his accustomed pallet in the lean-to. He +knew that much. And the door was open into the still, dusk night; +and through the open casement he could hear the lapping of the waves +on the shelving shore, could see the soft gray dawn over the sea--he +knew it was over the sea--he saw what lay unseen behind the poor +walls of the cottage. And it was Sylvia who held his hand tight in +her warm, living grasp; it was his wife whose arm was thrown around +him, whose sobbing sighs shook his numbed frame from time to time. + +'God bless and comfort my darling,' he said to himself. 'She knows +me now. All will be right in heaven--in the light of God's mercy.' + +And then he tried to remember all that he had ever read about, God, +and all that the blessed Christ--that bringeth glad tidings of great +joy unto all people, had said of the Father, from whom He came. +Those sayings dropped like balm down upon his troubled heart and +brain. He remembered his mother, and how she had loved him; and he +was going to a love wiser, tenderer, deeper than hers. + +As he thought this, he moved his hands as if to pray; but Sylvia +clenched her hold, and he lay still, praying all the same for her, +for his child, and for himself. Then he saw the sky redden with the +first flush of dawn; he heard Kester's long-drawn sigh of weariness +outside the open door. + +He had seen widow Dobson pass through long before to keep the +remainder of her watch on the bed in the lean-to, which had been his +for many and many a sleepless and tearful night. Those nights were +over--he should never see that poor chamber again, though it was +scarce two feet distant. He began to lose all sense of the +comparative duration of time: it seemed as long since kind Sally +Dobson had bent over him with soft, lingering look, before going +into the humble sleeping-room--as long as it was since his boyhood, +when he stood by his mother dreaming of the life that should be his, +with the scent of the cowslips tempting him to be off to the +woodlands where they grew. Then there came a rush and an eddying +through his brain--his soul trying her wings for the long flight. +Again he was in the present: he heard the waves lapping against the +shelving shore once again. + +And now his thoughts came back to Sylvia. Once more he spoke aloud, +in a strange and terrible voice, which was not his. Every sound came +with efforts that were new to him. + +'My wife! Sylvie! Once more--forgive me all.' + +She sprang up, she kissed his poor burnt lips; she held him in her +arms, she moaned, and said, + +'Oh, wicked me! forgive me--me--Philip!' + +Then he spoke, and said, 'Lord, forgive us our trespasses as we +forgive each other!' And after that the power of speech was +conquered by the coming death. He lay very still, his consciousness +fast fading away, yet coming back in throbs, so that he knew it was +Sylvia who touched his lips with cordial, and that it was Sylvia who +murmured words of love in his ear. He seemed to sleep at last, and +so he did--a kind of sleep, but the light of the red morning sun +fell on his eyes, and with one strong effort he rose up, and turned +so as once more to see his wife's pale face of misery. + +'In heaven,' he cried, and a bright smile came on his face, as he +fell back on his pillow. + +Not long after Hester came, the little Bella scarce awake in her +arms, with the purpose of bringing his child to see him ere yet he +passed away. Hester had watched and prayed through the livelong +night. And now she found him dead, and Sylvia, tearless and almost +unconscious, lying by him, her hand holding his, her other thrown +around him. + +Kester, poor old man, was sobbing bitterly; but she not at all. + +Then Hester bore her child to her, and Sylvia opened wide her +miserable eyes, and only stared, as if all sense was gone from her. +But Bella suddenly rousing up at the sight of the poor, scarred, +peaceful face, cried out,-- + +'Poor man who was so hungry. Is he not hungry now?' + +'No,' said Hester, softly. 'The former things are passed away--and +he is gone where there is no more sorrow, and no more pain.' + +But then she broke down into weeping and crying. Sylvia sat up and +looked at her. + +'Why do yo' cry, Hester?' she said. 'Yo' niver said that yo' +wouldn't forgive him as long as yo' lived. Yo' niver broke the heart +of him that loved yo', and let him almost starve at yo'r very door. +Oh, Philip! my Philip, tender and true.' + +Then Hester came round and closed the sad half-open eyes; kissing +the calm brow with a long farewell kiss. As she did so, her eye fell +on a black ribbon round his neck. She partly lifted it out; to it +was hung a half-crown piece. + +'This is the piece he left at William Darley's to be bored,' said +she, 'not many days ago.' + +Bella had crept to her mother's arms as a known haven in this +strange place; and the touch of his child loosened the fountains of +her tears. She stretched out her hand for the black ribbon, put it +round her own neck; after a while she said, + +'If I live very long, and try hard to be very good all that time, do +yo' think, Hester, as God will let me to him where he is?' + + * * * * * + +Monkshaven is altered now into a rising bathing place. Yet, standing +near the site of widow Dobson's house on a summer's night, at the +ebb of a spring-tide, you may hear the waves come lapping up the +shelving shore with the same ceaseless, ever-recurrent sound as that +which Philip listened to in the pauses between life and death. + +And so it will be until 'there shall be no more sea'. + +But the memory of man fades away. A few old people can still tell +you the tradition of the man who died in a cottage somewhere about +this spot,--died of starvation while his wife lived in hard-hearted +plenty not two good stone-throws away. This is the form into which +popular feeling, and ignorance of the real facts, have moulded the +story. Not long since a lady went to the 'Public Baths', a handsome +stone building erected on the very site of widow Dobson's cottage, +and finding all the rooms engaged she sat down and had some talk +with the bathing woman; and, as it chanced, the conversation fell on +Philip Hepburn and the legend of his fate. + +'I knew an old man when I was a girl,' said the bathing woman, 'as +could niver abide to hear t' wife blamed. He would say nothing +again' th' husband; he used to say as it were not fit for men to be +judging; that she had had her sore trial, as well as Hepburn +hisself.' + +The lady asked, 'What became of the wife?' + +'She was a pale, sad woman, allays dressed in black. I can just +remember her when I was a little child, but she died before her +daughter was well grown up; and Miss Rose took t' lassie, as had +always been like her own.' + +'Miss Rose?' + +'Hester Rose! have yo' niver heared of Hester Rose, she as founded +t' alms-houses for poor disabled sailors and soldiers on t' +Horncastle road? There's a piece o' stone in front to say that "This +building is erected in memory of P. H."--and some folk will have it +P. H. stands for t' name o' th' man as was starved to death.' + +'And the daughter?' + +'One o' th' Fosters, them as founded t' Old Bank, left her a vast o' +money; and she were married to distant cousin of theirs, and went +off to settle in America many and many a year ago.' + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sylvia's Lovers -- Complete, by +Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIA'S LOVERS -- COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 4537.txt or 4537.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/3/4537/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Sylvia's Lovers + +Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell + +Release Date: October, 2003 [EBook #4537] +[This file was first posted on February 4, 2002] +[Most recently updated: December 25, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SYLVIA'S LOVERS *** + + + + + + + + +This etext was produced by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com). + + + + +[Editor's Note:-- +The chapter numbering for volume 2 & 3 was changed from the original in +order to have unique chapter numbers for the complete version, so volume 2 +starts with chapter XV and volume 3 starts with chapter XXX.] + + + + + +SYLVIA'S LOVERS + +BY + +Elizabeth Gaskell + +Oh for thy voice to soothe and bless! +What hope of answer, or redress? +Behind the veil! Behind the veil!--Tennyson + +LONDON: + +M.DCCC.LXIII. + + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +MONKSHAVEN + + + + + +On the north-eastern shores of England there is a town called +Monkshaven, containing at the present day about fifteen thousand +inhabitants. There were, however, but half the number at the end of +the last century, and it was at that period that the events narrated +in the following pages occurred. + +Monkshaven was a name not unknown in the history of England, and +traditions of its having been the landing-place of a throneless +queen were current in the town. At that time there had been a +fortified castle on the heights above it, the site of which was now +occupied by a deserted manor-house; and at an even earlier date than +the arrival of the queen and coeval with the most ancient remains of +the castle, a great monastery had stood on those cliffs, overlooking +the vast ocean that blended with the distant sky. Monkshaven itself +was built by the side of the Dee, just where the river falls into +the German Ocean. The principal street of the town ran parallel to +the stream, and smaller lanes branched out of this, and straggled up +the sides of the steep hill, between which and the river the houses +were pent in. There was a bridge across the Dee, and consequently a +Bridge Street running at right angles to the High Street; and on the +south side of the stream there were a few houses of more pretension, +around which lay gardens and fields. It was on this side of the town +that the local aristocracy lived. And who were the great people of +this small town? Not the younger branches of the county families +that held hereditary state in their manor-houses on the wild bleak +moors, that shut in Monkshaven almost as effectually on the land +side as ever the waters did on the sea-board. No; these old families +kept aloof from the unsavoury yet adventurous trade which brought +wealth to generation after generation of certain families in +Monkshaven. + +The magnates of Monkshaven were those who had the largest number of +ships engaged in the whaling-trade. Something like the following was +the course of life with a Monkshaven lad of this class:--He was +apprenticed as a sailor to one of the great ship-owners--to his own +father, possibly--along with twenty other boys, or, it might be, +even more. During the summer months he and his fellow apprentices +made voyages to the Greenland seas, returning with their cargoes in +the early autumn; and employing the winter months in watching the +preparation of the oil from the blubber in the melting-sheds, and +learning navigation from some quaint but experienced teacher, half +schoolmaster, half sailor, who seasoned his instructions by stirring +narrations of the wild adventures of his youth. The house of the +ship-owner to whom he was apprenticed was his home and that of his +companions during the idle season between October and March. The +domestic position of these boys varied according to the premium +paid; some took rank with the sons of the family, others were +considered as little better than servants. Yet once on board an +equality prevailed, in which, if any claimed superiority, it was the +bravest and brightest. After a certain number of voyages the +Monkshaven lad would rise by degrees to be captain, and as such +would have a share in the venture; all these profits, as well as all +his savings, would go towards building a whaling vessel of his own, +if he was not so fortunate as to be the child of a ship-owner. At +the time of which I write, there was but little division of labour +in the Monkshaven whale fishery. The same man might be the owner of +six or seven ships, any one of which he himself was fitted by +education and experience to command; the master of a score of +apprentices, each of whom paid a pretty sufficient premium; and the +proprietor of the melting-sheds into which his cargoes of blubber +and whalebone were conveyed to be fitted for sale. It was no wonder +that large fortunes were acquired by these ship-owners, nor that +their houses on the south side of the river Dee were stately +mansions, full of handsome and substantial furniture. It was also +not surprising that the whole town had an amphibious appearance, to +a degree unusual even in a seaport. Every one depended on the whale +fishery, and almost every male inhabitant had been, or hoped to be, +a sailor. Down by the river the smell was almost intolerable to any +but Monkshaven people during certain seasons of the year; but on +these unsavoury 'staithes' the old men and children lounged for +hours, almost as if they revelled in the odours of train-oil. + +This is, perhaps, enough of a description of the town itself. I have +said that the country for miles all around was moorland; high above +the level of the sea towered the purple crags, whose summits were +crowned with greensward that stole down the sides of the scaur a +little way in grassy veins. Here and there a brook forced its way +from the heights down to the sea, making its channel into a valley +more or less broad in long process of time. And in the moorland +hollows, as in these valleys, trees and underwood grew and +flourished; so that, while on the bare swells of the high land you +shivered at the waste desolation of the scenery, when you dropped +into these wooded 'bottoms' you were charmed with the nestling +shelter which they gave. But above and around these rare and fertile +vales there were moors for many a mile, here and there bleak enough, +with the red freestone cropping out above the scanty herbage; then, +perhaps, there was a brown tract of peat and bog, uncertain footing +for the pedestrian who tried to make a short cut to his destination; +then on the higher sandy soil there was the purple ling, or +commonest species of heather growing in beautiful wild luxuriance. +Tufts of fine elastic grass were occasionally to be found, on which +the little black-faced sheep browsed; but either the scanty food, or +their goat-like agility, kept them in a lean condition that did not +promise much for the butcher, nor yet was their wool of a quality +fine enough to make them profitable in that way to their owners. In +such districts there is little population at the present day; there +was much less in the last century, before agriculture was +sufficiently scientific to have a chance of contending with such +natural disqualifications as the moors presented, and when there +were no facilities of railroads to bring sportsmen from a distance +to enjoy the shooting season, and make an annual demand for +accommodation. + +There were old stone halls in the valleys; there were bare +farmhouses to be seen on the moors at long distances apart, with +small stacks of coarse poor hay, and almost larger stacks of turf +for winter fuel in their farmyards. The cattle in the pasture fields +belonging to these farms looked half starved; but somehow there was +an odd, intelligent expression in their faces, as well as in those +of the black-visaged sheep, which is seldom seen in the placidly +stupid countenances of well-fed animals. All the fences were turf +banks, with loose stones piled into walls on the top of these. + +There was comparative fertility and luxuriance down below in the +rare green dales. The narrow meadows stretching along the brookside +seemed as though the cows could really satisfy their hunger in the +deep rich grass; whereas on the higher lands the scanty herbage was +hardly worth the fatigue of moving about in search of it. Even in +these 'bottoms' the piping sea-winds, following the current of the +stream, stunted and cut low any trees; but still there was rich +thick underwood, tangled and tied together with brambles, and +brier-rose, [sic] and honeysuckle; and if the farmer in these +comparatively happy valleys had had wife or daughter who cared for +gardening, many a flower would have grown on the western or southern +side of the rough stone house. But at that time gardening was not a +popular art in any part of England; in the north it is not yet. +Noblemen and gentlemen may have beautiful gardens; but farmers and +day-labourers care little for them north of the Trent, which is all +I can answer for. A few 'berry' bushes, a black currant tree or two +(the leaves to be used in heightening the flavour of tea, the fruit +as medicinal for colds and sore throats), a potato ground (and this +was not so common at the close of the last century as it is now), a +cabbage bed, a bush of sage, and balm, and thyme, and marjoram, with +possibly a rose tree, and 'old man' growing in the midst; a little +plot of small strong coarse onions, and perhaps some marigolds, the +petals of which flavoured the salt-beef broth; such plants made up a +well-furnished garden to a farmhouse at the time and place to which +my story belongs. But for twenty miles inland there was no +forgetting the sea, nor the sea-trade; refuse shell-fish, seaweed, +the offal of the melting-houses, were the staple manure of the +district; great ghastly whale-jaws, bleached bare and white, were +the arches over the gate-posts to many a field or moorland stretch. +Out of every family of several sons, however agricultural their +position might be, one had gone to sea, and the mother looked +wistfully seaward at the changes of the keen piping moorland winds. +The holiday rambles were to the coast; no one cared to go inland to +see aught, unless indeed it might be to the great annual horse-fairs +held where the dreary land broke into habitation and cultivation. + +Somehow in this country sea thoughts followed the thinker far +inland; whereas in most other parts of the island, at five miles +from the ocean, he has all but forgotten the existence of such an +element as salt water. The great Greenland trade of the coasting +towns was the main and primary cause of this, no doubt. But there +was also a dread and an irritation in every one's mind, at the time +of which I write, in connection with the neighbouring sea. + +Since the termination of the American war, there had been nothing to +call for any unusual energy in manning the navy; and the grants +required by Government for this purpose diminished with every year +of peace. In 1792 this grant touched its minimum for many years. In +1793 the proceedings of the French had set Europe on fire, and the +English were raging with anti-Gallican excitement, fomented into +action by every expedient of the Crown and its Ministers. We had our +ships; but where were our men? The Admiralty had, however, a ready +remedy at hand, with ample precedent for its use, and with common +(if not statute) law to sanction its application. They issued 'press +warrants,' calling upon the civil power throughout the country to +support their officers in the discharge of their duty. The sea-coast +was divided into districts, under the charge of a captain in the +navy, who again delegated sub-districts to lieutenants; and in this +manner all homeward-bound vessels were watched and waited for, all +ports were under supervision; and in a day, if need were, a large +number of men could be added to the forces of his Majesty's navy. +But if the Admiralty became urgent in their demands, they were also +willing to be unscrupulous. Landsmen, if able-bodied, might soon be +trained into good sailors; and once in the hold of the tender, which +always awaited the success of the operations of the press-gang, it +was difficult for such prisoners to bring evidence of the nature of +their former occupations, especially when none had leisure to listen +to such evidence, or were willing to believe it if they did listen, +or would act upon it for the release of the captive if they had by +possibility both listened and believed. Men were kidnapped, +literally disappeared, and nothing was ever heard of them again. The +street of a busy town was not safe from such press-gang captures, as +Lord Thurlow could have told, after a certain walk he took about +this time on Tower Hill, when he, the attorney-general of England, +was impressed, when the Admiralty had its own peculiar ways of +getting rid of tiresome besiegers and petitioners. Nor yet were +lonely inland dwellers more secure; many a rustic went to a statute +fair or 'mop,' and never came home to tell of his hiring; many a +stout young farmer vanished from his place by the hearth of his +father, and was no more heard of by mother or lover; so great was +the press for men to serve in the navy during the early years of the +war with France, and after every great naval victory of that war. + +The servants of the Admiralty lay in wait for all merchantmen and +traders; there were many instances of vessels returning home after +long absence, and laden with rich cargo, being boarded within a +day's distance of land, and so many men pressed and carried off, +that the ship, with her cargo, became unmanageable from the loss of +her crew, drifted out again into the wild wide ocean, and was +sometimes found in the helpless guidance of one or two infirm or +ignorant sailors; sometimes such vessels were never heard of more. +The men thus pressed were taken from the near grasp of parents or +wives, and were often deprived of the hard earnings of years, which +remained in the hands of the masters of the merchantman in which +they had served, subject to all the chances of honesty or +dishonesty, life or death. Now all this tyranny (for I can use no +other word) is marvellous to us; we cannot imagine how it is that a +nation submitted to it for so long, even under any warlike +enthusiasm, any panic of invasion, any amount of loyal subservience +to the governing powers. When we read of the military being called +in to assist the civil power in backing up the press-gang, of +parties of soldiers patrolling the streets, and sentries with +screwed bayonets placed at every door while the press-gang entered +and searched each hole and corner of the dwelling; when we hear of +churches being surrounded during divine service by troops, while the +press-gang stood ready at the door to seize men as they came out +from attending public worship, and take these instances as merely +types of what was constantly going on in different forms, we do not +wonder at Lord Mayors, and other civic authorities in large towns, +complaining that a stop was put to business by the danger which the +tradesmen and their servants incurred in leaving their houses and +going into the streets, infested by press-gangs. + +Whether it was that living in closer neighbourhood to the +metropolis--the centre of politics and news--inspired the +inhabitants of the southern counties with a strong feeling of that +kind of patriotism which consists in hating all other nations; or +whether it was that the chances of capture were so much greater at +all the southern ports that the merchant sailors became inured to +the danger; or whether it was that serving in the navy, to those +familiar with such towns as Portsmouth and Plymouth, had an +attraction to most men from the dash and brilliancy of the +adventurous employment--it is certain that the southerners took the +oppression of press-warrants more submissively than the wild +north-eastern people. For with them the chances of profit beyond +their wages in the whaling or Greenland trade extended to the lowest +description of sailor. He might rise by daring and saving to be a +ship-owner himself. Numbers around him had done so; and this very +fact made the distinction between class and class less apparent; and +the common ventures and dangers, the universal interest felt in one +pursuit, bound the inhabitants of that line of coast together with a +strong tie, the severance of which by any violent extraneous +measure, gave rise to passionate anger and thirst for vengeance. A +Yorkshireman once said to me, 'My county folk are all alike. Their +first thought is how to resist. Why! I myself, if I hear a man say +it is a fine day, catch myself trying to find out that it is no such +thing. It is so in thought; it is so in word; it is so in deed.' + +So you may imagine the press-gang had no easy time of it on the +Yorkshire coast. In other places they inspired fear, but here rage +and hatred. The Lord Mayor of York was warned on 20th January, 1777, +by an anonymous letter, that 'if those men were not sent from the +city on or before the following Tuesday, his lordship's own +dwelling, and the Mansion-house also, should be burned to the +ground.' + +Perhaps something of the ill-feeling that prevailed on the subject +was owing to the fact which I have noticed in other places similarly +situated. Where the landed possessions of gentlemen of ancient +family but limited income surround a centre of any kind of +profitable trade or manufacture, there is a sort of latent ill-will +on the part of the squires to the tradesman, be he manufacturer, +merchant, or ship-owner, in whose hands is held a power of +money-making, which no hereditary pride, or gentlemanly love of +doing nothing, prevents him from using. This ill-will, to be sure, +is mostly of a negative kind; its most common form of manifestation +is in absence of speech or action, a sort of torpid and genteel +ignoring all unpleasant neighbours; but really the whale-fisheries +of Monkshaven had become so impertinently and obtrusively prosperous +of late years at the time of which I write, the Monkshaven +ship-owners were growing so wealthy and consequential, that the +squires, who lived at home at ease in the old stone manor-houses +scattered up and down the surrounding moorland, felt that the check +upon the Monkshaven trade likely to be inflicted by the press-gang, +was wisely ordained by the higher powers (how high they placed these +powers I will not venture to say), to prevent overhaste in getting +rich, which was a scriptural fault, and they also thought that they +were only doing their duty in backing up the Admiralty warrants by +all the civil power at their disposal, whenever they were called +upon, and whenever they could do so without taking too much trouble +in affairs which did not after all much concern themselves. + +There was just another motive in the minds of some provident parents +of many daughters. The captains and lieutenants employed on this +service were mostly agreeable bachelors, brought up to a genteel +profession, at the least they were very pleasant visitors, when they +had a day to spare; who knew what might come of it? + +Indeed, these brave officers were not unpopular in Monkshaven +itself, except at the time when they were brought into actual +collision with the people. They had the frank manners of their +profession; they were known to have served in those engagements, the +very narrative of which at this day will warm the heart of a Quaker, +and they themselves did not come prominently forward in the dirty +work which, nevertheless, was permitted and quietly sanctioned by +them. So while few Monkshaven people passed the low public-house +over which the navy blue-flag streamed, as a sign that it was the +rendezvous of the press-gang, without spitting towards it in sign of +abhorrence, yet, perhaps, the very same persons would give some +rough token of respect to Lieutenant Atkinson if they met him in +High Street. Touching their hats was an unknown gesture in those +parts, but they would move their heads in a droll, familiar kind of +way, neither a wag nor a nod, but meant all the same to imply +friendly regard. The ship-owners, too, invited him to an occasional +dinner or supper, all the time looking forward to the chances of his +turning out an active enemy, and not by any means inclined to give +him 'the run of the house,' however many unmarried daughters might +grace their table. Still as he could tell a rattling story, drink +hard, and was seldom too busy to come at a short notice, he got on +better than any one could have expected with the Monkshaven folk. +And the principal share of the odium of his business fell on his +subordinates, who were one and all regarded in the light of mean +kidnappers and spies--'varmint,' as the common people esteemed +them: and as such they were ready at the first provocation to hunt +and to worry them, and little cared the press-gang for this. +Whatever else they were, they were brave and daring. They had law to +back them, therefore their business was lawful. They were serving +their king and country. They were using all their faculties, and +that is always pleasant. There was plenty of scope for the glory and +triumph of outwitting; plenty of adventure in their life. It was a +lawful and loyal employment, requiring sense, readiness, courage, +and besides it called out that strange love of the chase inherent in +every man. Fourteen or fifteen miles at sea lay the _Aurora_, good +man-of-war; and to her were conveyed the living cargoes of several +tenders, which were stationed at likely places along the sea-coast. +One, the _Lively Lady_, might be seen from the cliffs above +Monkshaven, not so far away, but hidden by the angle of the high +lands from the constant sight of the townspeople; and there was +always the Randyvow-house (as the public-house with the navy +blue-flag was called thereabouts) for the crew of the _Lively Lady_ +to lounge about, and there to offer drink to unwary passers-by. At +present this was all that the press-gang had done at Monkshaven. + + + + + + +CHAPTER II + +HOME FROM GREENLAND + + + + + +One hot day, early in October of the year 1796, two girls set off +from their country homes to Monkshaven to sell their butter and +eggs, for they were both farmers' daughters, though rather in +different circumstances; for Molly Corney was one of a large family +of children, and had to rough it accordingly; Sylvia Robson was an +only child, and was much made of in more people's estimation than +Mary's by her elderly parents. They had each purchases to make after +their sales were effected, as sales of butter and eggs were effected +in those days by the market-women sitting on the steps of the great +old mutilated cross till a certain hour in the afternoon, after +which, if all their goods were not disposed of, they took them +unwillingly to the shops and sold them at a lower price. But good +housewives did not despise coming themselves to the Butter Cross, +and, smelling and depreciating the articles they wanted, kept up a +perpetual struggle of words, trying, often in vain, to beat down +prices. A housekeeper of the last century would have thought that +she did not know her business, if she had not gone through this +preliminary process; and the farmers' wives and daughters treated it +all as a matter of course, replying with a good deal of independent +humour to the customer, who, once having discovered where good +butter and fresh eggs were to be sold, came time after time to +depreciate the articles she always ended in taking. There was +leisure for all this kind of work in those days. + +Molly had tied a knot on her pink-spotted handkerchief for each of +the various purchases she had to make; dull but important articles +needed for the week's consumption at home; if she forgot any one of +them she knew she was sure of a good 'rating' from her mother. The +number of them made her pocket-handkerchief look like one of the +nine-tails of a 'cat;' but not a single thing was for herself, nor, +indeed, for any one individual of her numerous family. There was +neither much thought nor much money to spend for any but collective +wants in the Corney family. + +It was different with Sylvia. She was going to choose her first +cloak, not to have an old one of her mother's, that had gone down +through two sisters, dyed for the fourth time (and Molly would have +been glad had even this chance been hers), but to buy a bran-new +duffle cloak all for herself, with not even an elder authority to +curb her as to price, only Molly to give her admiring counsel, and +as much sympathy as was consistent with a little patient envy of +Sylvia's happier circumstances. Every now and then they wandered off +from the one grand subject of thought, but Sylvia, with unconscious +art, soon brought the conversation round to the fresh consideration +of the respective merits of gray and scarlet. These girls were +walking bare-foot and carrying their shoes and stockings in their +hands during the first part of their way; but as they were drawing +near Monkshaven they stopped, and turned aside along a foot-path +that led from the main-road down to the banks of the Dee. There were +great stones in the river about here, round which the waters +gathered and eddied and formed deep pools. Molly sate down on the +grassy bank to wash her feet; but Sylvia, more active (or perhaps +lighter-hearted with the notion of the cloak in the distance), +placed her basket on a gravelly bit of shore, and, giving a long +spring, seated herself on a stone almost in the middle of the +stream. Then she began dipping her little rosy toes in the cool +rushing water and whisking them out with childish glee. + +'Be quiet, wi' the', Sylvia? Thou'st splashing me all ower, and my +feyther'll noane be so keen o' giving me a new cloak as thine is, +seemingly.' + +Sylvia was quiet, not to say penitent, in a moment. She drew up her +feet instantly; and, as if to take herself out of temptation, she +turned away from Molly to that side of her stony seat on which the +current ran shallow, and broken by pebbles. But once disturbed in +her play, her thoughts reverted to the great subject of the cloak. +She was now as still as a minute before she had been full of frolic +and gambolling life. She had tucked herself up on the stone, as if +it had been a cushion, and she a little sultana. + +Molly was deliberately washing her feet and drawing on her +stockings, when she heard a sudden sigh, and her companion turned +round so as to face her, and said, + +'I wish mother hadn't spoken up for t' gray.' + +'Why, Sylvia, thou wert saying as we topped t'brow, as she did +nought but bid thee think twice afore settling on scarlet.' + +'Ay! but mother's words are scarce, and weigh heavy. Feyther's liker +me, and we talk a deal o' rubble; but mother's words are liker to +hewn stone. She puts a deal o' meaning in 'em. And then,' said +Sylvia, as if she was put out by the suggestion, 'she bid me ask +cousin Philip for his opinion. I hate a man as has getten an opinion +on such-like things.' + +'Well! we shall niver get to Monkshaven this day, either for to sell +our eggs and stuff, or to buy thy cloak, if we're sittin' here much +longer. T' sun's for slanting low, so come along, lass, and let's be +going.' + +'But if I put on my stockings and shoon here, and jump back into yon +wet gravel, I 'se not be fit to be seen,' said Sylvia, in a pathetic +tone of bewilderment, that was funnily childlike. She stood up, her +bare feet curved round the curving surface of the stone, her slight +figure balancing as if in act to spring. + +'Thou knows thou'll have just to jump back barefoot, and wash thy +feet afresh, without making all that ado; thou shouldst ha' done it +at first, like me, and all other sensible folk. But thou'st getten +no gumption.' + +Molly's mouth was stopped by Sylvia's hand. She was already on the +river bank by her friend's side. + +'Now dunnot lecture me; I'm none for a sermon hung on every peg o' +words. I'm going to have a new cloak, lass, and I cannot heed thee +if thou dost lecture. Thou shall have all the gumption, and I'll +have my cloak.' + +It may be doubted whether Molly thought this an equal division. + +Each girl wore tightly-fitting stockings, knit by her own hands, of +the blue worsted common in that country; they had on neat +high-heeled black leather shoes, coming well over the instep, and +fastened as well as ornamented with bright steel buckles. They did +not walk so lightly and freely now as they did before they were +shod, but their steps were still springy with the buoyancy of early +youth; for neither of them was twenty, indeed I believe Sylvia was +not more than seventeen at this time. + +They clambered up the steep grassy path, with brambles catching at +their kilted petticoats, through the copse-wood, till they regained +the high road; and then they 'settled themselves,' as they called +it; that is to say, they took off their black felt hats, and tied up +their clustering hair afresh; they shook off every speck of wayside +dust; straightened the little shawls (or large neck-kerchiefs, call +them which you will) that were spread over their shoulders, pinned +below the throat, and confined at the waist by their apron-strings; +and then putting on their hats again, and picking up their baskets, +they prepared to walk decorously into the town of Monkshaven. + +The next turn of the road showed them the red peaked roofs of the +closely packed houses lying almost directly below the hill on which +they were. The full autumn sun brought out the ruddy colour of the +tiled gables, and deepened the shadows in the narrow streets. The +narrow harbour at the mouth of the river was crowded with small +vessels of all descriptions, making an intricate forest of masts. +Beyond lay the sea, like a flat pavement of sapphire, scarcely a +ripple varying its sunny surface, that stretched out leagues away +till it blended with the softened azure of the sky. On this blue +trackless water floated scores of white-sailed fishing boats, +apparently motionless, unless you measured their progress by some +land-mark; but still, and silent, and distant as they seemed, the +consciousness that there were men on board, each going forth into +the great deep, added unspeakably to the interest felt in watching +them. Close to the bar of the river Dee a larger vessel lay to. +Sylvia, who had only recently come into the neighbourhood, looked at +this with the same quiet interest as she did at all the others; but +Molly, as soon as her eye caught the build of it, cried out aloud-- + +'She's a whaler! she's a whaler home from t' Greenland seas! T' +first this season! God bless her!' and she turned round and shook +both Sylvia's hands in the fulness of her excitement. Sylvia's +colour rose, and her eyes sparkled out of sympathy. + +'Is ta sure?' she asked, breathless in her turn; for though she did +not know by the aspect of the different ships on what trade they +were bound, yet she was well aware of the paramount interest +attached to whaling vessels. + +'Three o'clock! and it's not high water till five!' said Molly. 'If +we're sharp we can sell our eggs, and be down to the staithes before +she comes into port. Be sharp, lass!' + +And down the steep long hill they went at a pace that was almost a +run. A run they dared not make it; and as it was, the rate at which +they walked would have caused destruction among eggs less carefully +packed. When the descent was ended, there was yet the long narrow +street before them, bending and swerving from the straight line, as +it followed the course of the river. The girls felt as if they +should never come to the market-place, which was situated at the +crossing of Bridge Street and High Street. There the old stone cross +was raised by the monks long ago; now worn and mutilated, no one +esteemed it as a holy symbol, but only as the Butter Cross, where +market-women clustered on Wednesday, and whence the town crier made +all his proclamations of household sales, things lost or found, +beginning with 'Oh! yes, oh! yes, oh! yes!' and ending with 'God +bless the king and the lord of this manor,' and a very brisk 'Amen,' +before he went on his way and took off the livery-coat, the colours +of which marked him as a servant of the Burnabys, the family who +held manorial rights over Monkshaven. + +Of course the much frequented space surrounding the Butter Cross was +the favourite centre for shops; and on this day, a fine market day, +just when good housewives begin to look over their winter store of +blankets and flannels, and discover their needs betimes, these shops +ought to have had plenty of customers. But they were empty and of +even quieter aspect than their every-day wont. The three-legged +creepie-stools that were hired out at a penny an hour to such +market-women as came too late to find room on the steps were +unoccupied; knocked over here and there, as if people had passed by +in haste. + +Molly took in all at a glance, and interpreted the signs, though she +had no time to explain their meaning, and her consequent course of +action, to Sylvia, but darted into a corner shop. + +'T' whalers is coming home! There's one lying outside t' bar!' + +This was put in the form of an assertion; but the tone was that of +eager cross-questioning. + +'Ay!' said a lame man, mending fishing-nets behind a rough deal +counter. 'She's come back airly, and she's brought good news o' t' +others, as I've heered say. Time was I should ha' been on th' +staithes throwing up my cap wit' t' best on 'em; but now it pleases +t' Lord to keep me at home, and set me to mind other folks' gear. +See thee, wench, there's a vast o' folk ha' left their skeps o' +things wi' me while they're away down to t' quay side. Leave me your +eggs and be off wi' ye for t' see t' fun, for mebbe ye'll live to be +palsied yet, and then ye'll be fretting ower spilt milk, and that ye +didn't tak' all chances when ye was young. Ay, well! they're out o' +hearin' o' my moralities; I'd better find a lamiter like mysen to +preach to, for it's not iverybody has t' luck t' clargy has of +saying their say out whether folks likes it or not.' + +He put the baskets carefully away with much of such talk as this +addressed to himself while he did so. Then he sighed once or twice; +and then he took the better course and began to sing over his tarry +work. + +Molly and Sylvia were far along the staithes by the time he got to +this point of cheerfulness. They ran on, regardless of stitches and +pains in the side; on along the river bank to where the concourse of +people was gathered. There was no great length of way between the +Butter Cross and the harbour; in five minutes the breathless girls +were close together in the best place they could get for seeing, on +the outside of the crowd; and in as short a time longer they were +pressed inwards, by fresh arrivals, into the very midst of the +throng. All eyes were directed to the ship, beating her anchor just +outside the bar, not a quarter of a mile away. The custom-house +officer was just gone aboard of her to receive the captain's report +of his cargo, and make due examination. The men who had taken him +out in his boat were rowing back to the shore, and brought small +fragments of news when they landed a little distance from the crowd, +which moved as one man to hear what was to be told. Sylvia took a +hard grasp of the hand of the older and more experienced Molly, and +listened open-mouthed to the answers she was extracting from a gruff +old sailor she happened to find near her. + +'What ship is she?' + +'T' _Resolution_ of Monkshaven!' said he, indignantly, as if any +goose might have known that. + +'An' a good _Resolution_, and a blessed ship she's been to me,' +piped out an old woman, close at Mary's elbow. 'She's brought me +home my ae' lad--for he shouted to yon boatman to bid him tell me he +was well. 'Tell Peggy Christison,' says he (my name is Margaret +Christison)--'tell Peggy Christison as her son Hezekiah is come back +safe and sound.' The Lord's name be praised! An' me a widow as never +thought to see my lad again!' + +It seemed as if everybody relied on every one else's sympathy in +that hour of great joy. + +'I ax pardon, but if you'd gie me just a bit of elbow-room for a +minute like, I'd hold my babby up, so that he might see daddy's +ship, and happen, my master might see him. He's four months old last +Tuesday se'nnight, and his feyther's never clapt eyne on him yet, +and he wi' a tooth through, an another just breaking, bless him!' + +One or two of the better end of the Monkshaven inhabitants stood a +little before Molly and Sylvia; and as they moved in compliance with +the young mother's request, they overheard some of the information +these ship-owners had received from the boatman. + +'Haynes says they'll send the manifest of the cargo ashore in twenty +minutes, as soon as Fishburn has looked over the casks. Only eight +whales, according to what he says.' + +'No one can tell,' said the other, 'till the manifest comes to +hand.' + +'I'm afraid he's right. But he brings a good report of the _Good +Fortune_. She's off St Abb's Head, with something like fifteen +whales to her share.' + +'We shall see how much is true, when she comes in.' + +'That'll be by the afternoon tide to-morrow.' + +'That's my cousin's ship,' said Molly to Sylvia. 'He's specksioneer +on board the _Good Fortune_.' + +An old man touched her as she spoke-- + +'I humbly make my manners, missus, but I'm stone blind; my lad's +aboard yon vessel outside t' bar; and my old woman is bed-fast. Will +she be long, think ye, in making t' harbour? Because, if so be as +she were, I'd just make my way back, and speak a word or two to my +missus, who'll be boiling o'er into some mak o' mischief now she +knows he's so near. May I be so bold as to ax if t' Crooked Negro is +covered yet?' + +Molly stood on tip-toe to try and see the black stone thus named; +but Sylvia, stooping and peeping through the glimpses afforded +between the arms of the moving people, saw it first, and told the +blind old man it was still above water. + +'A watched pot,' said he, 'ne'er boils, I reckon. It's ta'en a vast +o' watter t' cover that stone to-day. Anyhow, I'll have time to go +home and rate my missus for worritin' hersen, as I'll be bound she's +done, for all as I bade her not, but to keep easy and content.' + +'We'd better be off too,' said Molly, as an opening was made through +the press to let out the groping old man. 'Eggs and butter is yet to +sell, and tha' cloak to be bought.' + +'Well, I suppose we had!' said Sylvia, rather regretfully; for, +though all the way into Monkshaven her head had been full of the +purchase of this cloak, yet she was of that impressible nature that +takes the tone of feeling from those surrounding; and though she +knew no one on board the Resolution, she was just as anxious for the +moment to see her come into harbour as any one in the crowd who had +a dear relation on board. So she turned reluctantly to follow the +more prudent Molly along the quay back to the Butter Cross. + +It was a pretty scene, though it was too familiar to the eyes of all +who then saw it for them to notice its beauty. The sun was low +enough in the west to turn the mist that filled the distant valley +of the river into golden haze. Above, on either bank of the Dee, +there lay the moorland heights swelling one behind the other; the +nearer, russet brown with the tints of the fading bracken; the more +distant, gray and dim against the rich autumnal sky. The red and +fluted tiles of the gabled houses rose in crowded irregularity on +one side of the river, while the newer suburb was built in more +orderly and less picturesque fashion on the opposite cliff. The +river itself was swelling and chafing with the incoming tide till +its vexed waters rushed over the very feet of the watching crowd on +the staithes, as the great sea waves encroached more and more every +minute. The quay-side was unsavourily ornamented with glittering +fish-scales, for the hauls of fish were cleansed in the open air, +and no sanitary arrangements existed for sweeping away any of the +relics of this operation. + +The fresh salt breeze was bringing up the lashing, leaping tide from +the blue sea beyond the bar. Behind the returning girls there rocked +the white-sailed ship, as if she were all alive with eagerness for +her anchors to be heaved. + +How impatient her crew of beating hearts were for that moment, how +those on land sickened at the suspense, may be imagined, when you +remember that for six long summer months those sailors had been as +if dead from all news of those they loved; shut up in terrible, +dreary Arctic seas from the hungry sight of sweethearts and friends, +wives and mothers. No one knew what might have happened. The crowd +on shore grew silent and solemn before the dread of the possible +news of death that might toll in upon their hearts with this +uprushing tide. The whalers went out into the Greenland seas full of +strong, hopeful men; but the whalers never returned as they sailed +forth. On land there are deaths among two or three hundred men to be +mourned over in every half-year's space of time. Whose bones had +been left to blacken on the gray and terrible icebergs? Who lay +still until the sea should give up its dead? Who were those who +should come back to Monkshaven never, no, never more? + +Many a heart swelled with passionate, unspoken fear, as the first +whaler lay off the bar on her return voyage. + +Molly and Sylvia had left the crowd in this hushed suspense. But +fifty yards along the staithe they passed five or six girls with +flushed faces and careless attire, who had mounted a pile of timber, +placed there to season for ship-building, from which, as from the +steps of a ladder or staircase, they could command the harbour. They +were wild and free in their gestures, and held each other by the +hand, and swayed from side to side, stamping their feet in time, as +they sang-- + +Weel may the keel row, the keel row, the keel row, +Weel may the keel row that my laddie's in! + +'What for are ye going off, now?' they called out to our two girls. +'She'll be in in ten minutes!' and without waiting for the answer +which never came, they resumed their song. + +Old sailors stood about in little groups, too proud to show their +interest in the adventures they could no longer share, but quite +unable to keep up any semblance of talk on indifferent subjects. + +The town seemed very quiet and deserted as Molly and Sylvia entered +the dark, irregular Bridge Street, and the market-place was as empty +of people as before. But the skeps and baskets and three-legged +stools were all cleared away. + +'Market's over for to-day,' said Molly Corney, in disappointed +surprise. 'We mun make the best on't, and sell to t' huxters, and a +hard bargain they'll be for driving. I doubt mother'll be vexed.' + +She and Sylvia went to the corner shop to reclaim their baskets. The +man had his joke at them for their delay. + +'Ay, ay! lasses as has sweethearts a-coming home don't care much +what price they get for butter and eggs! I dare say, now, there's +some un in yon ship that 'ud give as much as a shilling a pound for +this butter if he only knowed who churned it!' This was to Sylvia, +as he handed her back her property. + +The fancy-free Sylvia reddened, pouted, tossed back her head, and +hardly deigned a farewell word of thanks or civility to the lame +man; she was at an age to be affronted by any jokes on such a +subject. Molly took the joke without disclaimer and without offence. +She rather liked the unfounded idea of her having a sweetheart, and +was rather surprised to think how devoid of foundation the notion +was. If she could have a new cloak as Sylvia was going to have, +then, indeed, there might be a chance! Until some such good luck, it +was as well to laugh and blush as if the surmise of her having a +lover was not very far from the truth, and so she replied in +something of the same strain as the lame net-maker to his joke about +the butter. + +'He'll need it all, and more too, to grease his tongue, if iver he +reckons to win me for his wife!' + +When they were out of the shop, Sylvia said, in a coaxing tone,-- + +'Molly, who is it? Whose tongue 'll need greasing? Just tell me, and +I'll never tell!' + +She was so much in earnest that Molly was perplexed. She did not +quite like saying that she had alluded to no one in particular, only +to a possible sweetheart, so she began to think what young man had +made the most civil speeches to her in her life; the list was not a +long one to go over, for her father was not so well off as to make +her sought after for her money, and her face was rather of the +homeliest. But she suddenly remembered her cousin, the specksioneer, +who had given her two large shells, and taken a kiss from her +half-willing lips before he went to sea the last time. So she smiled +a little, and then said,-- + +'Well! I dunno. It's ill talking o' these things afore one has made +up one's mind. And perhaps if Charley Kinraid behaves hissen, I +might be brought to listen.' + +'Charley Kinraid! who's he?' + +'Yon specksioneer cousin o' mine, as I was talking on.' + +'And do yo' think he cares for yo'?' asked Sylvia, in a low, tender +tone, as if touching on a great mystery. + +Molly only said, 'Be quiet wi' yo',' and Sylvia could not make out +whether she cut the conversation so short because she was offended, +or because they had come to the shop where they had to sell their +butter and eggs. + +'Now, Sylvia, if thou'll leave me thy basket, I'll make as good a +bargain as iver I can on 'em; and thou can be off to choose this +grand new cloak as is to be, afore it gets any darker. Where is ta +going to?' + +'Mother said I'd better go to Foster's,' answered Sylvia, with a +shade of annoyance in her face. 'Feyther said just anywhere.' + +'Foster's is t' best place; thou canst try anywhere afterwards. I'll +be at Foster's in five minutes, for I reckon we mun hasten a bit +now. It'll be near five o'clock.' + +Sylvia hung her head and looked very demure as she walked off by +herself to Foster's shop in the market-place. + + + + + + +CHAPTER III + +BUYING A NEW CLOAK + + + + + +Foster's shop was the shop of Monkshaven. It was kept by two Quaker +brothers, who were now old men; and their father had kept it before +them; probably his father before that. People remembered it as an +old-fashioned dwelling-house, with a sort of supplementary shop with +unglazed windows projecting from the lower story. These openings had +long been filled with panes of glass that at the present day would +be accounted very small, but which seventy years ago were much +admired for their size. I can best make you understand the +appearance of the place by bidding you think of the long openings in +a butcher's shop, and then to fill them up in your imagination with +panes about eight inches by six, in a heavy wooden frame. There was +one of these windows on each side the door-place, which was kept +partially closed through the day by a low gate about a yard high. +Half the shop was appropriated to grocery; the other half to +drapery, and a little mercery. The good old brothers gave all their +known customers a kindly welcome; shaking hands with many of them, +and asking all after their families and domestic circumstances +before proceeding to business. They would not for the world have had +any sign of festivity at Christmas, and scrupulously kept their shop +open at that holy festival, ready themselves to serve sooner than +tax the consciences of any of their assistants, only nobody ever +came. But on New Year's Day they had a great cake, and wine, ready +in the parlour behind the shop, of which all who came in to buy +anything were asked to partake. Yet, though scrupulous in most +things, it did not go against the consciences of these good brothers +to purchase smuggled articles. There was a back way from the +river-side, up a covered entry, to the yard-door of the Fosters, and +a peculiar kind of knock at this door always brought out either John +or Jeremiah, or if not them, their shopman, Philip Hepburn; and the +same cake and wine that the excise officer's wife might just have +been tasting, was brought out in the back parlour to treat the +smuggler. There was a little locking of doors, and drawing of the +green silk curtain that was supposed to shut out the shop, but +really all this was done very much for form's sake. Everybody in +Monkshaven smuggled who could, and every one wore smuggled goods who +could, and great reliance was placed on the excise officer's +neighbourly feelings. + +The story went that John and Jeremiah Foster were so rich that they +could buy up all the new town across the bridge. They had certainly +begun to have a kind of primitive bank in connection with their +shop, receiving and taking care of such money as people did not wish +to retain in their houses for fear of burglars. No one asked them +for interest on the money thus deposited, nor did they give any; +but, on the other hand, if any of their customers, on whose +character they could depend, wanted a little advance, the Fosters, +after due inquiries made, and in some cases due security given, were +not unwilling to lend a moderate sum without charging a penny for +the use of their money. All the articles they sold were as good as +they knew how to choose, and for them they expected and obtained +ready money. It was said that they only kept on the shop for their +amusement. Others averred that there was some plan of a marriage +running in the brothers' heads--a marriage between William Coulson, +Mr. Jeremiah's wife's nephew (Mr. Jeremiah was a widower), and Hester +Rose, whose mother was some kind of distant relation, and who served +in the shop along with William Coulson and Philip Hepburn. Again, +this was denied by those who averred that Coulson was no blood +relation, and that if the Fosters had intended to do anything +considerable for Hester, they would never have allowed her and her +mother to live in such a sparing way, ekeing out their small income +by having Coulson and Hepburn for lodgers. No; John and Jeremiah +would leave all their money to some hospital or to some charitable +institution. But, of course, there was a reply to this; when are +there not many sides to an argument about a possibility concerning +which no facts are known? Part of the reply turned on this: the old +gentlemen had, probably, some deep plan in their heads in permitting +their cousin to take Coulson and Hepburn as lodgers, the one a kind +of nephew, the other, though so young, the head man in the shop; if +either of them took a fancy to Hester, how agreeably matters could +be arranged! + +All this time Hester is patiently waiting to serve Sylvia, who is +standing before her a little shy, a little perplexed and distracted, +by the sight of so many pretty things. + +Hester was a tall young woman, sparely yet largely formed, of a +grave aspect, which made her look older than she really was. Her +thick brown hair was smoothly taken off her broad forehead, and put +in a very orderly fashion, under her linen cap; her face was a +little square, and her complexion sallow, though the texture of her +skin was fine. Her gray eyes were very pleasant, because they looked +at you so honestly and kindly; her mouth was slightly compressed, as +most have it who are in the habit of restraining their feelings; but +when she spoke you did not perceive this, and her rare smile slowly +breaking forth showed her white even teeth, and when accompanied, as +it generally was, by a sudden uplifting of her soft eyes, it made +her countenance very winning. She was dressed in stuff of sober +colours, both in accordance with her own taste, and in unasked +compliance with the religious customs of the Fosters; but Hester +herself was not a Friend. + +Sylvia, standing opposite, not looking at Hester, but gazing at the +ribbons in the shop window, as if hardly conscious that any one +awaited the expression of her wishes, was a great contrast; ready to +smile or to pout, or to show her feelings in any way, with a +character as undeveloped as a child's, affectionate, wilful, +naughty, tiresome, charming, anything, in fact, at present that the +chances of an hour called out. Hester thought her customer the +prettiest creature ever seen, in the moment she had for admiration +before Sylvia turned round and, recalled to herself, began,-- + +'Oh, I beg your pardon, miss; I was thinking what may the price of +yon crimson ribbon be?' + +Hester said nothing, but went to examine the shop-mark. + +'Oh! I did not mean that I wanted any, I only want some stuff for a +cloak. Thank you, miss, but I am very sorry--some duffle, please.' + +Hester silently replaced the ribbon and went in search of the +duffle. While she was gone Sylvia was addressed by the very person +she most wished to avoid, and whose absence she had rejoiced over on +first entering the shop, her cousin Philip Hepburn. + +He was a serious-looking young man, tall, but with a slight stoop in +his shoulders, brought on by his occupation. He had thick hair +standing off from his forehead in a peculiar but not unpleasing +manner; a long face, with a slightly aquiline nose, dark eyes, and a +long upper lip, which gave a disagreeable aspect to a face that +might otherwise have been good-looking. + +'Good day, Sylvie,' he said; 'what are you wanting? How are all at +home? Let me help you!' + +Sylvia pursed up her red lips, and did not look at him as she +replied, + +'I'm very well, and so is mother; feyther's got a touch of +rheumatiz, and there's a young woman getting what I want.' + +She turned a little away from him when she had ended this sentence, +as if it had comprised all she could possibly have to say to him. +But he exclaimed, + +'You won't know how to choose,' and, seating himself on the counter, +he swung himself over after the fashion of shop-men. + +Sylvia took no notice of him, but pretended to be counting over her +money. + +'What do you want, Sylvie?' asked he, at last annoyed at her +silence. + +'I don't like to be called "Sylvie;" my name is Sylvia; and I'm +wanting duffle for a cloak, if you must know.' + +Hester now returned, with a shop-boy helping her to drag along the +great rolls of scarlet and gray cloth. + +'Not that,' said Philip, kicking the red duffle with his foot, and +speaking to the lad. 'It's the gray you want, is it not, Sylvie?' He +used the name he had had the cousin's right to call her by since her +childhood, without remembering her words on the subject not five +minutes before; but she did, and was vexed. + +'Please, miss, it is the scarlet duffle I want; don't let him take +it away.' + +Hester looked up at both their countenances, a little wondering what +was their position with regard to each other; for this, then, was +the beautiful little cousin about whom Philip had talked to her +mother, as sadly spoilt, and shamefully ignorant; a lovely little +dunce, and so forth. Hester had pictured Sylvia Robson, somehow, as +very different from what she was: younger, more stupid, not half so +bright and charming (for, though she was now both pouting and cross, +it was evident that this was not her accustomed mood). Sylvia +devoted her attention to the red cloth, pushing aside the gray. + +Philip Hepburn was vexed at his advice being slighted; and yet he +urged it afresh. + +'This is a respectable, quiet-looking article that will go well with +any colour; you niver will be so foolish as to take what will mark +with every drop of rain.' + +'I'm sorry you sell such good-for-nothing things,' replied Sylvia, +conscious of her advantage, and relaxing a little (as little as she +possibly could) of her gravity. + +Hester came in now. + +'He means to say that this cloth will lose its first brightness in +wet or damp; but it will always be a good article, and the colour +will stand a deal of wear. Mr. Foster would not have had it in his +shop else.' + +Philip did not like that even a reasonable peace-making interpreter +should come between him and Sylvia, so he held his tongue in +indignant silence. + +Hester went on: + +'To be sure, this gray is the closer make, and would wear the +longest.' + +'I don't care,' said Sylvia, still rejecting the dull gray. 'I like +this best. Eight yards, if you please, miss.' + +'A cloak takes nine yards, at least,' said Philip, decisively. + +'Mother told me eight,' said Sylvia, secretly conscious that her +mother would have preferred the more sober colour; and feeling that +as she had had her own way in that respect, she was bound to keep to +the directions she had received as to the quantity. But, indeed, she +would not have yielded to Philip in anything that she could help. + +There was a sound of children's feet running up the street from the +river-side, shouting with excitement. At the noise, Sylvia forgot +her cloak and her little spirit of vexation, and ran to the +half-door of the shop. Philip followed because she went. Hester +looked on with passive, kindly interest, as soon as she had +completed her duty of measuring. One of those girls whom Sylvia had +seen as she and Molly left the crowd on the quay, came quickly up +the street. Her face, which was handsome enough as to feature, was +whitened with excess of passionate emotion, her dress untidy and +flying, her movements heavy and free. She belonged to the lowest +class of seaport inhabitants. As she came near, Sylvia saw that the +tears were streaming down her cheeks, quite unconsciously to +herself. She recognized Sylvia's face, full of interest as it was, +and stopped her clumsy run to speak to the pretty, sympathetic +creature. + +'She's o'er t' bar! She's o'er t' bar! I'm boun' to tell mother!' + +She caught at Sylvia's hand, and shook it, and went on breathless +and gasping. + +'Sylvia, how came you to know that girl?' asked Philip, sternly. +'She's not one for you to be shaking hands with. She's known all +down t' quay-side as "Newcastle Bess."' + +'I can't help it,' said Sylvia, half inclined to cry at his manner +even more than his words. 'When folk are glad I can't help being +glad too, and I just put out my hand, and she put out hers. To think +o' yon ship come in at last! And if yo'd been down seeing all t' +folk looking and looking their eyes out, as if they feared they +should die afore she came in and brought home the lads they loved, +yo'd ha' shaken hands wi' that lass too, and no great harm done. I +never set eyne upon her till half an hour ago on th' staithes, and +maybe I'll niver see her again.' + +Hester was still behind the counter, but had moved so as to be near +the window; so she heard what they were saying, and now put in her +word: + +'She can't be altogether bad, for she thought o' telling her mother +first thing, according to what she said.' + +Sylvia gave Hester a quick, grateful look. But Hester had resumed +her gaze out of the window, and did not see the glance. + +And now Molly Corney joined them, hastily bursting into the shop. + +'Hech!' said she. 'Hearken! how they're crying and shouting down on +t' quay. T' gang's among 'em like t' day of judgment. Hark!' + +No one spoke, no one breathed, I had almost said no heart beat for +listening. Not long; in an instant there rose the sharp simultaneous +cry of many people in rage and despair. Inarticulate at that +distance, it was yet an intelligible curse, and the roll, and the +roar, and the irregular tramp came nearer and nearer. + +'They're taking 'em to t' Randyvowse,' said Molly. 'Eh! I wish I'd +King George here just to tell him my mind.' + +The girl clenched her hands, and set her teeth. + +'It's terrible hard!' said Hester; 'there's mothers, and wives, +looking out for 'em, as if they were stars dropt out o' t' lift.' + +'But can we do nothing for 'em?' cried Sylvia. 'Let us go into t' +thick of it and do a bit of help; I can't stand quiet and see 't!' +Half crying, she pushed forwards to the door; but Philip held her +back. + +'Sylvie! you must not. Don't be silly; it's the law, and no one can +do aught against it, least of all women and lasses. + +By this time the vanguard of the crowd came pressing up Bridge +Street, past the windows of Foster's shop. It consisted of wild, +half-amphibious boys, slowly moving backwards, as they were +compelled by the pressure of the coming multitude to go on, and yet +anxious to defy and annoy the gang by insults, and curses half +choked with their indignant passion, doubling their fists in the +very faces of the gang who came on with measured movement, armed to +the teeth, their faces showing white with repressed and determined +energy against the bronzed countenances of the half-dozen sailors, +who were all they had thought it wise to pick out of the whaler's +crew, this being the first time an Admiralty warrant had been used +in Monkshaven for many years; not since the close of the American +war, in fact. One of the men was addressing to his townspeople, in a +high pitched voice, an exhortation which few could hear, for, +pressing around this nucleus of cruel wrong, were women crying +aloud, throwing up their arms in imprecation, showering down abuse +as hearty and rapid as if they had been a Greek chorus. Their wild, +famished eyes were strained on faces they might not kiss, their +cheeks were flushed to purple with anger or else livid with impotent +craving for revenge. Some of them looked scarce human; and yet an +hour ago these lips, now tightly drawn back so as to show the teeth +with the unconscious action of an enraged wild animal, had been soft +and gracious with the smile of hope; eyes, that were fiery and +bloodshot now, had been loving and bright; hearts, never to recover +from the sense of injustice and cruelty, had been trustful and glad +only one short hour ago. + +There were men there, too, sullen and silent, brooding on remedial +revenge; but not many, the greater proportion of this class being +away in the absent whalers. + +The stormy multitude swelled into the market-place and formed a +solid crowd there, while the press-gang steadily forced their way on +into High Street, and on to the rendezvous. A low, deep growl went +up from the dense mass, as some had to wait for space to follow the +others--now and then going up, as a lion's growl goes up, into a +shriek of rage. + +A woman forced her way up from the bridge. She lived some little way +in the country, and had been late in hearing of the return of the +whaler after her six months' absence; and on rushing down to the +quay-side, she had been told by a score of busy, sympathizing +voices, that her husband was kidnapped for the service of the +Government. + +She had need pause in the market-place, the outlet of which was +crammed up. Then she gave tongue for the first time in such a +fearful shriek, you could hardly catch the words she said. + +'Jamie! Jamie! will they not let you to me?' + +Those were the last words Sylvia heard before her own hysterical +burst of tears called every one's attention to her. + +She had been very busy about household work in the morning, and much +agitated by all she had seen and heard since coming into Monkshaven; +and so it ended in this. + +Molly and Hester took her through the shop into the parlour +beyond--John Foster's parlour, for Jeremiah, the elder brother, +lived in a house of his own on the other side of the water. It was a +low, comfortable room, with great beams running across the ceiling, +and papered with the same paper as the walls--a piece of elegant +luxury which took Molly's fancy mightily! This parlour looked out on +the dark courtyard in which there grew two or three poplars, +straining upwards to the light; and through an open door between the +backs of two houses could be seen a glimpse of the dancing, heaving +river, with such ships or fishing cobles as happened to be moored in +the waters above the bridge. + +They placed Sylvia on the broad, old-fashioned sofa, and gave her +water to drink, and tried to still her sobbing and choking. They +loosed her hat, and copiously splashed her face and clustering +chestnut hair, till at length she came to herself; restored, but +dripping wet. She sate up and looked at them, smoothing back her +tangled curls off her brow, as if to clear both her eyes and her +intellect. + +'Where am I?--oh, I know! Thank you. It was very silly, but somehow +it seemed so sad!' + +And here she was nearly going off again, but Hester said-- + +'Ay, it were sad, my poor lass--if I may call you so, for I don't +rightly know your name--but it's best not think on it for we can do +no mak' o' good, and it'll mebbe set you off again. Yo're Philip +Hepburn's cousin, I reckon, and yo' bide at Haytersbank Farm?' + +'Yes; she's Sylvia Robson,' put in Molly, not seeing that Hester's +purpose was to make Sylvia speak, and so to divert her attention +from the subject which had set her off into hysterics. 'And we came +in for market,' continued Molly, 'and for t' buy t' new cloak as her +feyther's going to give her; and, for sure, I thought we was i' +luck's way when we saw t' first whaler, and niver dreaming as t' +press-gang 'ud be so marred.' + +She, too, began to cry, but her little whimper was stopped by the +sound of the opening door behind her. It was Philip, asking Hester +by a silent gesture if he might come in. + +Sylvia turned her face round from the light, and shut her eyes. Her +cousin came close up to her on tip-toe, and looked anxiously at what +he could see of her averted face; then he passed his hand so +slightly over her hair that he could scarcely be said to touch it, +and murmured-- + +'Poor lassie! it's a pity she came to-day, for it's a long walk in +this heat!' + +But Sylvia started to her feet, almost pushing him along. Her +quickened senses heard an approaching step through the courtyard +before any of the others were aware of the sound. In a minute +afterwards, the glass-door at one corner of the parlour was opened +from the outside, and Mr. John stood looking in with some surprise at +the group collected in his usually empty parlour. + +'It's my cousin,' said Philip, reddening a little; 'she came wi' her +friend in to market, and to make purchases; and she's got a turn wi' +seeing the press-gang go past carrying some of the crew of the +whaler to the Randyvowse. + +'Ay, ay,' said Mr. John, quickly passing on into the shop on tip-toe, +as if he were afraid he were intruding in his own premises, and +beckoning Philip to follow him there. 'Out of strife cometh strife. +I guessed something of the sort was up from what I heard on t' +bridge as I came across fra' brother Jeremiah's.' Here he softly +shut the door between the parlour and the shop. 'It beareth hard on +th' expectant women and childer; nor is it to be wondered at that +they, being unconverted, rage together (poor creatures!) like the +very heathen. Philip,' he said, coming nearer to his 'head young +man,' 'keep Nicholas and Henry at work in the ware-room upstairs +until this riot be over, for it would grieve me if they were misled +into violence.' + +Philip hesitated. + +'Speak out, man! Always ease an uneasy heart, and never let it get +hidebound.' + +'I had thought to convoy my cousin and the other young woman home, +for the town is like to be rough, and it's getting dark.' + +'And thou shalt, my lad,' said the good old man; 'and I myself will +try and restrain the natural inclinations of Nicholas and Henry.' + +But when he went to find the shop-boys with a gentle homily on his +lips, those to whom it should have been addressed were absent. In +consequence of the riotous state of things, all the other shops in +the market-place had put their shutters up; and Nicholas and Henry, +in the absence of their superiors, had followed the example of their +neighbours, and, as business was over, they had hardly waited to put +the goods away, but had hurried off to help their townsmen in any +struggle that might ensue. + +There was no remedy for it, but Mr. John looked rather discomfited. +The state of the counters, and of the disarranged goods, was such +also as would have irritated any man as orderly but less +sweet-tempered. All he said on the subject was: 'The old Adam! the +old Adam!' but he shook his head long after he had finished +speaking. + +'Where is William Coulson?' he next asked. 'Oh! I remember. He was +not to come back from York till the night closed in.' + +Philip and his master arranged the shop in the exact order the old +man loved. Then he recollected the wish of his subordinate, and +turned round and said-- + +'Now go with thy cousin and her friend. Hester is here, and old +Hannah. I myself will take Hester home, if need be. But for the +present I think she had best tarry here, as it isn't many steps to +her mother's house, and we may need her help if any of those poor +creatures fall into suffering wi' their violence.' + +With this, Mr. John knocked at the door of the parlour, and waited +for permission to enter. With old-fashioned courtesy he told the two +strangers how glad he was that his room had been of service to them; +that he would never have made so bold as to pass through it, if he +had been aware how it was occupied. And then going to a corner +cupboard, high up in the wall, he pulled a key out of his pocket and +unlocked his little store of wine, and cake, and spirits; and +insisted that they should eat and drink while waiting for Philip, +who was taking some last measures for the security of the shop +during the night. + +Sylvia declined everything, with less courtesy than she ought to +have shown to the offers of the hospitable old man. Molly took wine +and cake, leaving a good half of both, according to the code of +manners in that part of the country; and also because Sylvia was +continually urging her to make haste. For the latter disliked the +idea of her cousin's esteeming it necessary to accompany them home, +and wanted to escape from him by setting off before he returned. But +any such plans were frustrated by Philip's coming back into the +parlour, full of grave content, which brimmed over from his eyes, +with the parcel of Sylvia's obnoxious red duffle under his arm; +anticipating so keenly the pleasure awaiting him in the walk, that +he was almost surprised by the gravity of his companions as they +prepared for it. Sylvia was a little penitent for her rejection of +Mr. John's hospitality, now she found out how unavailing for its +purpose such rejection had been, and tried to make up by a modest +sweetness of farewell, which quite won his heart, and made him +praise her up to Hester in a way to which she, observant of all, +could not bring herself fully to respond. What business had the +pretty little creature to reject kindly-meant hospitality in the +pettish way she did, thought Hester. And, oh! what business had she +to be so ungrateful and to try and thwart Philip in his thoughtful +wish of escorting them through the streets of the rough, riotous +town? What did it all mean? + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +PHILIP HEPBURN + + + + + +The coast on that part of the island to which this story refers is +bordered by rocks and cliffs. The inland country immediately +adjacent to the coast is level, flat, and bleak; it is only where +the long stretch of dyke-enclosed fields terminates abruptly in a +sheer descent, and the stranger sees the ocean creeping up the sands +far below him, that he is aware on how great an elevation he has +been. Here and there, as I have said, a cleft in the level land +(thus running out into the sea in steep promontories) occurs--what +they would call a 'chine' in the Isle of Wight; but instead of the +soft south wind stealing up the woody ravine, as it does there, the +eastern breeze comes piping shrill and clear along these northern +chasms, keeping the trees that venture to grow on the sides down to +the mere height of scrubby brushwood. The descent to the shore +through these 'bottoms' is in most cases very abrupt, too much so +for a cartway, or even a bridle-path; but people can pass up and +down without difficulty, by the help of a few rude steps hewn here +and there out of the rock. + +Sixty or seventy years ago (not to speak of much later times) the +farmers who owned or hired the land which lay directly on the summit +of these cliffs were smugglers to the extent of their power, only +partially checked by the coast-guard distributed, at pretty nearly +equal interspaces of eight miles, all along the north-eastern +seaboard. Still sea-wrack was a good manure, and there was no law +against carrying it up in great osier baskets for the purpose of +tillage, and many a secret thing was lodged in hidden crevices in +the rocks till the farmer sent trusty people down to the shore for a +good supply of sand and seaweed for his land. + +One of the farms on the cliff had lately been taken by Sylvia's +father. He was a man who had roamed about a good deal--been sailor, +smuggler, horse-dealer, and farmer in turns; a sort of fellow +possessed by a spirit of adventure and love of change, which did him +and his own family more harm than anybody else. He was just the kind +of man that all his neighbours found fault with, and all his +neighbours liked. Late in life (for such an imprudent man as he, was +one of a class who generally wed, trusting to chance and luck for +the provision for a family), farmer Robson married a woman whose +only want of practical wisdom consisted in taking him for a husband. +She was Philip Hepburn's aunt, and had had the charge of him until +she married from her widowed brother's house. He it was who had let +her know when Haytersbank Farm had been to let; esteeming it a +likely piece of land for his uncle to settle down upon, after a +somewhat unprosperous career of horse-dealing. The farmhouse lay in +the shelter of a very slight green hollow scarcely scooped out of +the pasture field by which it was surrounded; the short crisp turf +came creeping up to the very door and windows, without any attempt +at a yard or garden, or any nearer enclosure of the buildings than +the stone dyke that formed the boundary of the field itself. The +buildings were long and low, in order to avoid the rough violence of +the winds that swept over that wild, bleak spot, both in winter and +summer. It was well for the inhabitants of that house that coal was +extremely cheap; otherwise a southerner might have imagined that +they could never have survived the cutting of the bitter gales that +piped all round, and seemed to seek out every crevice for admission +into the house. + +But the interior was warm enough when once you had mounted the long +bleak lane, full of round rough stones, enough to lame any horse +unaccustomed to such roads, and had crossed the field by the little +dry, hard footpath, which tacked about so as to keep from directly +facing the prevailing wind. Mrs. Robson was a Cumberland woman, and +as such, was a cleaner housewife than the farmers' wives of that +north-eastern coast, and was often shocked at their ways, showing it +more by her looks than by her words, for she was not a great talker. +This fastidiousness in such matters made her own house extremely +comfortable, but did not tend to render her popular among her +neighbours. Indeed, Bell Robson piqued herself on her housekeeping +generally, and once in-doors in the gray, bare stone house, there +were plenty of comforts to be had besides cleanliness and warmth. +The great rack of clap-bread hung overhead, and Bell Robson's +preference of this kind of oat-cake over the leavened and partly +sour kind used in Yorkshire was another source of her unpopularity. +Flitches of bacon and 'hands' (_i.e._, shoulders of cured pork, the +legs or hams being sold, as fetching a better price) abounded; and +for any visitor who could stay, neither cream nor finest wheaten +flour was wanting for 'turf cakes' and 'singing hinnies,' with which +it is the delight of the northern housewives to regale the honoured +guest, as he sips their high-priced tea, sweetened with dainty +sugar. + +This night farmer Robson was fidgeting in and out of his house-door, +climbing the little eminence in the field, and coming down +disappointed in a state of fretful impatience. His quiet, taciturn +wife was a little put out by Sylvia's non-appearance too; but she +showed her anxiety by being shorter than usual in her replies to his +perpetual wonders as to where the lass could have been tarrying, and +by knitting away with extra diligence. + +'I've a vast o' mind to go down to Monkshaven mysen, and see after +t' child. It's well on for seven.' + +'No, Dannel,' said his wife; 'thou'd best not. Thy leg has been +paining thee this week past, and thou'rt not up to such a walk. I'll +rouse Kester, and send him off, if thou think'st there's need on +it.' + +'A'll noan ha' Kester roused. Who's to go afield betimes after t' +sheep in t' morn, if he's ca'ed up to-neet? He'd miss t' lass, and +find a public-house, a reckon,' said Daniel, querulously. + +'I'm not afeard o' Kester,' replied Bell. 'He's a good one for +knowing folk i' th' dark. But if thou'd rather, I'll put on my hood +and cloak and just go to th' end o' th' lane, if thou'lt have an eye +to th' milk, and see as it does na' boil o'er, for she canna stomach +it if it's bishopped e'er so little.' + +Before Mrs. Robson, however, had put away her knitting, voices were +heard at a good distance down the lane, but coming nearer every +moment, and once more Daniel climbed the little brow to look and to +listen. + +'It's a' reet!' said he, hobbling quickly down. 'Niver fidget +theesel' wi' gettin' ready to go search for her. I'll tak' thee a +bet it's Philip Hepburn's voice, convoying her home, just as I said +he would, an hour sin'.' + +Bell did not answer, as she might have done, that this probability +of Philip's bringing Sylvia home had been her own suggestion, set +aside by her husband as utterly unlikely. Another minute and the +countenances of both parents imperceptibly and unconsciously relaxed +into pleasure as Sylvia came in. + +She looked very rosy from the walk, and the October air, which began +to be frosty in the evenings; there was a little cloud over her face +at first, but it was quickly dispersed as she met the loving eyes of +home. Philip, who followed her, had an excited, but not altogether +pleased look about him. He received a hearty greeting from Daniel, +and a quiet one from his aunt. + +'Tak' off thy pan o' milk, missus, and set on t' kettle. Milk may do +for wenches, but Philip and me is for a drop o' good Hollands and +watter this cold night. I'm a'most chilled to t' marrow wi' looking +out for thee, lass, for t' mother was in a peck o' troubles about +thy none coining home i' t' dayleet, and I'd to keep hearkening out +on t' browhead.' + +This was entirely untrue, and Bell knew it to be so; but her husband +did not. He had persuaded himself now, as he had done often before, +that what he had in reality done for his own pleasure or +satisfaction, he had done in order to gratify some one else. + +'The town was rough with a riot between the press-gang and the +whaling folk; and I thought I'd best see Sylvia home.' + +'Ay, ay, lad; always welcome, if it's only as an excuse for t' +liquor. But t' whalers, say'st ta? Why, is t' whalers in? There was +none i' sight yesterday, when I were down on t' shore. It's early +days for 'em as yet. And t' cursed old press-gang's agate again, +doing its devil's work!' + +His face changed as he ended his speech, and showed a steady passion +of old hatred. + +'Ay, missus, yo' may look. I wunnot pick and choose my words, +noather for yo' nor for nobody, when I speak o' that daumed gang. +I'm none ashamed o' my words. They're true, and I'm ready to prove +'em. Where's my forefinger? Ay! and as good a top-joint of a thumb +as iver a man had? I wish I'd kept 'em i' sperits, as they done +things at t' 'potticary's, just to show t' lass what flesh and bone +I made away wi' to get free. I ups wi' a hatchet when I saw as I +were fast a-board a man-o'-war standing out for sea--it were in t' +time o' the war wi' Amerikay, an' I could na stomach the thought o' +being murdered i' my own language--so I ups wi' a hatchet, and I +says to Bill Watson, says I, "Now, my lad, if thou'll do me a +kindness, I'll pay thee back, niver fear, and they'll be glad enough +to get shut on us, and send us to old England again. Just come down +with a will." Now, missus, why can't ye sit still and listen to me, +'stead o' pottering after pans and what not?' said he, speaking +crossly to his wife, who had heard the story scores of times, and, +it must be confessed, was making some noise in preparing bread and +milk for Sylvia's supper. + +Bell did not say a word in reply, but Sylvia tapped his shoulder +with a pretty little authoritative air. + +'It's for me, feyther. I'm just keen-set for my supper. Once let me +get quickly set down to it, and Philip there to his glass o' grog, +and you'll never have such listeners in your life, and mother's mind +will be at ease too.' + +'Eh! thou's a wilfu' wench,' said the proud father, giving her a +great slap on her back. 'Well! set thee down to thy victual, and be +quiet wi' thee, for I want to finish my tale to Philip. But, +perhaps, I've telled it yo' afore?' said he, turning round to +question Hepburn. + +Hepburn could not say that he had not heard it, for he piqued +himself on his truthfulness. But instead of frankly and directly +owning this, he tried to frame a formal little speech, which would +soothe Daniel's mortified vanity; and, of course, it had the +directly opposite effect. Daniel resented being treated like a +child, and yet turned his back on Philip with all the wilfulness of +one. Sylvia did not care for her cousin, but hated the discomfort of +having her father displeased; so she took up her tale of adventure, +and told her father and mother of her afternoon's proceedings. +Daniel pretended not to listen at first, and made ostentatious +noises with his spoon and glass; but by-and-by he got quite warm and +excited about the doings of the press-gang, and scolded both Philip +and Sylvia for not having learnt more particulars as to what was the +termination of the riot. + +'I've been whaling mysel',' said he; 'and I've heerd tell as whalers +wear knives, and I'd ha' gi'en t' gang a taste o' my whittle, if I'd +been cotched up just as I'd set my foot a-shore.' + +'I don't know,' said Philip; 'we're at war wi' the French, and we +shouldn't like to be beaten; and yet if our numbers are not equal to +theirs, we stand a strong chance of it.' + +'Not a bit on't--so be d--d!' said Daniel Robson, bringing down his +fist with such violence on the round deal table, that the glasses +and earthenware shook again. 'Yo'd not strike a child or a woman, +for sure! yet it 'ud be like it, if we did na' give the Frenchies +some 'vantages--if we took 'em wi' equal numbers. It's not fair +play, and that's one place where t' shoe pinches. It's not fair play +two ways. It's not fair play to cotch up men as has no call for +fightin' at another man's biddin', though they've no objection to +fight a bit on their own account and who are just landed, all keen +after bread i'stead o' biscuit, and flesh-meat i'stead o' junk, and +beds i'stead o' hammocks. (I make naught o' t' sentiment side, for I +were niver gi'en up to such carnal-mindedness and poesies.) It's +noane fair to cotch 'em up and put 'em in a stifling hole, all lined +with metal for fear they should whittle their way out, and send 'em +off to sea for years an' years to come. And again it's no fair play +to t' French. Four o' them is rightly matched wi' one o' us; and if +we go an' fight 'em four to four it's like as if yo' fell to beatin' +Sylvie there, or little Billy Croxton, as isn't breeched. And that's +my mind. Missus, where's t' pipe?' + +Philip did not smoke, so took his turn at talking, a chance he +seldom had with Daniel, unless the latter had his pipe between his +lips. So after Daniel had filled it, and used Sylvia's little finger +as a stopper to ram down the tobacco--a habit of his to which she +was so accustomed that she laid her hand on the table by him, as +naturally as she would have fetched him his spittoon when he began +to smoke--Philip arranged his arguments, and began-- + +'I'm for fair play wi' the French as much as any man, as long as we +can be sure o' beating them; but, I say, make sure o' that, and then +give them ivery advantage. Now I reckon Government is not sure as +yet, for i' the papers it said as half th' ships i' th' Channel +hadn't got their proper complement o' men; and all as I say is, let +Government judge a bit for us; and if they say they're hampered for +want o' men, why we must make it up somehow. John and Jeremiah +Foster pay in taxes, and Militiaman pays in person; and if sailors +cannot pay in taxes, and will not pay in person, why they must be +made to pay; and that's what th' press-gang is for, I reckon. For my +part, when I read o' the way those French chaps are going on, I'm +thankful to be governed by King George and a British Constitution.' + +Daniel took his pipe out of his mouth at this. + +'And when did I say a word again King George and the Constitution? I +only ax 'em to govern me as I judge best, and that's what I call +representation. When I gived my vote to Measter Cholmley to go up to +t' Parliament House, I as good as said, 'Now yo' go up theer, sir, +and tell 'em what I, Dannel Robson, think right, and what I, Dannel +Robson, wish to have done.' Else I'd be darned if I'd ha' gi'en my +vote to him or any other man. And div yo' think I want Seth Robson ( +as is my own brother's son, and mate to a collier) to be cotched up +by a press-gang, and ten to one his wages all unpaid? Div yo' think +I'd send up Measter Cholmley to speak up for that piece o' work? Not +I.' He took up his pipe again, shook out the ashes, puffed it into a +spark, and shut his eyes, preparatory to listening. + +'But, asking pardon, laws is made for the good of the nation, not +for your good or mine.' + +Daniel could not stand this. He laid down his pipe, opened his eyes, +stared straight at Philip before speaking, in order to enforce his +words, and then said slowly-- + +'Nation here! nation theere! I'm a man and yo're another, but +nation's nowheere. If Measter Cholmley talked to me i' that fashion, +he'd look long for another vote frae me. I can make out King George, +and Measter Pitt, and yo' and me, but nation! nation, go hang!' + +Philip, who sometimes pursued an argument longer than was politic +for himself, especially when he felt sure of being on the conquering +side, did not see that Daniel Robson was passing out of the +indifference of conscious wisdom into that state of anger which +ensues when a question becomes personal in some unspoken way. Robson +had contested this subject once or twice before, and had the +remembrance of former disputes to add to his present vehemence. So +it was well for the harmony of the evening that Bell and Sylvia +returned from the kitchen to sit in the house-place. They had been +to wash up the pans and basins used for supper; Sylvia had privately +shown off her cloak, and got over her mother's shake of the head at +its colour with a coaxing kiss, at the end of which her mother had +adjusted her cap with a 'There! there! ha' done wi' thee,' but had +no more heart to show her disapprobation; and now they came back to +their usual occupations until it should please their visitor to go; +then they would rake the fire and be off to bed; for neither +Sylvia's spinning nor Bell's knitting was worth candle-light, and +morning hours are precious in a dairy. + +People speak of the way in which harp-playing sets off a graceful +figure; spinning is almost as becoming an employment. A woman stands +at the great wool-wheel, one arm extended, the other holding the +thread, her head thrown back to take in all the scope of her +occupation; or if it is the lesser spinning-wheel for flax--and it +was this that Sylvia moved forwards to-night--the pretty sound of +the buzzing, whirring motion, the attitude of the spinner, foot and +hand alike engaged in the business--the bunch of gay coloured +ribbon that ties the bundle of flax on the rock--all make it into a +picturesque piece of domestic business that may rival harp-playing +any day for the amount of softness and grace which it calls out. + +Sylvia's cheeks were rather flushed by the warmth of the room after +the frosty air. The blue ribbon with which she had thought it +necessary to tie back her hair before putting on her hat to go to +market had got rather loose, and allowed her disarranged curls to +stray in a manner which would have annoyed her extremely, if she had +been upstairs to look at herself in the glass; but although they +were not set in the exact fashion which Sylvia esteemed as correct, +they looked very pretty and luxuriant. Her little foot, placed on +the 'traddle', was still encased in its smartly buckled shoe--not +slightly to her discomfort, as she was unaccustomed to be shod in +walking far; only as Philip had accompanied them home, neither she +nor Molly had liked to go barefoot. Her round mottled arm and ruddy +taper hand drew out the flax with nimble, agile motion, keeping time +to the movement of the wheel. All this Philip could see; the greater +part of her face was lost to him as she half averted it, with a shy +dislike to the way in which she knew from past experience that +cousin Philip always stared at her. And avert it as she would she +heard with silent petulance the harsh screech of Philip's chair as +he heavily dragged it on the stone floor, sitting on it all the +while, and felt that he was moving round so as to look at her as +much as was in his power, without absolutely turning his back on +either her father or mother. She got herself ready for the first +opportunity of contradiction or opposition. + +'Well, wench! and has ta bought this grand new cloak?' + +'Yes, feyther. It's a scarlet one.' + +'Ay, ay! and what does mother say?' + +'Oh, mother's content,' said Sylvia, a little doubting in her heart, +but determined to defy Philip at all hazards. + +'Mother 'll put up with it if it does na spot would be nearer fact, +I'm thinking,' said Bell, quietly. + +'I wanted Sylvia to take the gray,' said Philip. + +'And I chose the red; it's so much gayer, and folk can see me the +farther off. Feyther likes to see me at first turn o' t' lane, don't +yo', feyther? and I'll niver turn out when it's boun' for to rain, +so it shall niver get a spot near it, mammy.' + +'I reckoned it were to wear i' bad weather,' said Bell. 'Leastways +that were the pretext for coaxing feyther out o' it.' + +She said it in a kindly tone, though the words became a prudent +rather than a fond mother. But Sylvia understood her better than +Daniel did as it appeared. + +'Hou'd thy tongue, mother. She niver spoke a pretext at all.' + +He did not rightly know what a 'pretext' was: Bell was a touch +better educated than her husband, but he did not acknowledge this, +and made a particular point of differing from her whenever she used +a word beyond his comprehension. + +'She's a good lass at times; and if she liked to wear a +yellow-orange cloak she should have it. Here's Philip here, as +stands up for laws and press-gangs, I'll set him to find us a law +again pleasing our lass; and she our only one. Thou dostn't think on +that, mother! + +Bell did think of that often; oftener than her husband, perhaps, for +she remembered every day, and many times a day, the little one that +had been born and had died while its father was away on some long +voyage. But it was not her way to make replies. + +Sylvia, who had more insight into her mother's heart than Daniel, +broke in with a new subject. + +'Oh! as for Philip, he's been preaching up laws all t' way home. I +said naught, but let Molly hold her own; or else I could ha' told a +tale about silks an' lace an' things.' + +Philip's face flushed. Not because of the smuggling; every one did +that, only it was considered polite to ignore it; but he was annoyed +to perceive how quickly his little cousin had discovered that his +practice did not agree with his preaching, and vexed, too, to see +how delighted she was to bring out the fact. He had some little +idea, too, that his uncle might make use of his practice as an +argument against the preaching he had lately been indulging in, in +opposition to Daniel; but Daniel was too far gone in his +Hollands-and-water to do more than enunciate his own opinions, which +he did with hesitating and laboured distinctness in the following +sentence: + +'What I think and say is this. Laws is made for to keep some folks +fra' harming others. Press-gangs and coast-guards harm me i' my +business, and keep me fra' getting what I want. Theerefore, what I +think and say is this: Measter Cholmley should put down press-gangs +and coast-guards. If that theere isn't reason I ax yo' to tell me +what is? an' if Measter Cholmley don't do what I ax him, he may go +whistle for my vote, he may.' + +At this period in his conversation, Bell Robson interfered; not in +the least from any feeling of disgust or annoyance, or dread of what +he might say or do if he went on drinking, but simply as a matter of +health. Sylvia, too, was in no way annoyed; not only with her +father, but with every man whom she knew, excepting her cousin +Philip, was it a matter of course to drink till their ideas became +confused. So she simply put her wheel aside, as preparatory to going +to bed, when her mother said, in a more decided tone than that which +she had used on any other occasion but this, and similar ones- + +'Come, measter, you've had as much as is good for you.' + +'Let a' be! Let a' be,' said he, clutching at the bottle of spirits, +but perhaps rather more good-humoured with what he had drunk than he +was before; he jerked a little more into his glass before his wife +carried it off, and locked it up in the cupboard, putting the key in +her pocket, and then he said, winking at Philip-- + +'Eh! my man. Niver gie a woman t' whip hand o'er yo'! Yo' seen what +it brings a man to; but for a' that I'll vote for Cholmley, an' +d----t' press-gang!' + +He had to shout out the last after Philip, for Hepburn, really +anxious to please his aunt, and disliking drinking habits himself by +constitution, was already at the door, and setting out on his return +home, thinking, it must be confessed, far more of the character of +Sylvia's shake of the hand than of the parting words of either his +uncle or aunt. + + + + + + +CHAPTER V + +STORY OF THE PRESS-GANG + + + + + +For a few days after the evening mentioned in the last chapter the +weather was dull. Not in quick, sudden showers did the rain come +down, but in constant drizzle, blotting out all colour from the +surrounding landscape, and filling the air with fine gray mist, +until people breathed more water than air. At such times the +consciousness of the nearness of the vast unseen sea acted as a +dreary depression to the spirits; but besides acting on the nerves +of the excitable, such weather affected the sensitive or ailing in +material ways. Daniel Robson's fit of rheumatism incapacitated him +from stirring abroad; and to a man of his active habits, and +somewhat inactive mind, this was a great hardship. He was not +ill-tempered naturally, but this state of confinement made him more +ill-tempered than he had ever been before in his life. He sat in the +chimney-corner, abusing the weather and doubting the wisdom or +desirableness of all his wife saw fit to do in the usual daily +household matters. The 'chimney-corner' was really a corner at +Haytersbank. There were two projecting walls on each side of the +fire-place, running about six feet into the room, and a stout wooden +settle was placed against one of these, while opposite was the +circular-backed 'master's chair,' the seat of which was composed of +a square piece of wood judiciously hollowed out, and placed with one +corner to the front. Here, in full view of all the operations going +on over the fire, sat Daniel Robson for four live-long days, +advising and directing his wife in all such minor matters as the +boiling of potatoes, the making of porridge, all the work on which +she specially piqued herself, and on which she would have taken +advice--no! not from the most skilled housewife in all the three +Ridings. But, somehow, she managed to keep her tongue quiet from +telling him, as she would have done any woman, and any other man, to +mind his own business, or she would pin a dish-clout to his tail. +She even checked Sylvia when the latter proposed, as much for fun as +for anything else, that his ignorant directions should be followed, +and the consequences brought before his eyes and his nose. + +'Na, na!' said Bell, 'th' feyther's feyther, and we mun respect him. +But it's dree work havin' a man i' th' house, nursing th' fire, an' +such weather too, and not a soul coming near us, not even to fall +out wi' him; for thee and me must na' do that, for th' Bible's sake, +dear; and a good stand-up wordy quarrel would do him a power of +good; stir his blood like. I wish Philip would turn up.' + +Bell sighed, for in these four days she had experienced somewhat of +Madame de Maintenon's difficulty (and with fewer resources to meet +it) of trying to amuse a man who was not amusable. For Bell, good +and sensible as she was, was not a woman of resources. Sylvia's +plan, undutiful as it was in her mother's eyes, would have done +Daniel more good, even though it might have made him angry, than his +wife's quiet, careful monotony of action, which, however it might +conduce to her husband's comfort when he was absent, did not amuse +him when present. + +Sylvia scouted the notion of cousin Philip coming into their +household in the character of an amusing or entertaining person, +till she nearly made her mother angry at her ridicule of the good +steady young fellow, to whom Bell looked up as the pattern of all +that early manhood should be. But the moment Sylvia saw she had been +giving her mother pain, she left off her wilful little jokes, and +kissed her, and told her she would manage all famously, and ran out +of the back-kitchen, in which mother and daughter had been scrubbing +the churn and all the wooden implements of butter-making. Bell +looked at the pretty figure of her little daughter, as, running past +with her apron thrown over her head, she darkened the window beneath +which her mother was doing her work. She paused just for a moment, +and then said, almost unawares to herself, 'Bless thee, lass,' +before resuming her scouring of what already looked almost +snow-white. + +Sylvia scampered across the rough farmyard in the wetting, drizzling +rain to the place where she expected to find Kester; but he was not +there, so she had to retrace her steps to the cow-house, and, making +her way up a rough kind of ladder-staircase fixed straight against +the wall, she surprised Kester as he sat in the wool-loft, looking +over the fleeces reserved for the home-spinning, by popping her +bright face, swathed round with her blue woollen apron, up through +the trap-door, and thus, her head the only visible part, she +addressed the farm-servant, who was almost like one of the family. + +'Kester, feyther's just tiring hissel' wi' weariness an' vexation, +sitting by t' fireside wi' his hands afore him, an' nought to do. +An' mother and me can't think on aught as 'll rouse him up to a bit +of a laugh, or aught more cheerful than a scolding. Now, Kester, +thou mun just be off, and find Harry Donkin th' tailor, and bring +him here; it's gettin' on for Martinmas, an' he'll be coming his +rounds, and he may as well come here first as last, and feyther's +clothes want a deal o' mending up, and Harry's always full of his +news, and anyhow he'll do for feyther to scold, an' be a new person +too, and that's somewhat for all on us. Now go, like a good old +Kester as yo' are.' + +Kester looked at her with loving, faithful admiration. He had set +himself his day's work in his master's absence, and was very +desirous of finishing it, but, somehow, he never dreamed of +resisting Sylvia, so he only stated the case. + +'T' 'ool's a vast o' muck in 't, an' a thowt as a'd fettle it, an' +do it up; but a reckon a mun do yo'r biddin'.' + +'There's a good old Kester,' said she, smiling, and nodding her +muffled head at him; then she dipped down out of his sight, then +rose up again (he had never taken his slow, mooney eyes from the +spot where she had disappeared) to say--'Now, Kester, be wary and +deep--thou mun tell Harry Donkin not to let on as we've sent for +him, but just to come in as if he were on his round, and took us +first; and he mun ask feyther if there is any work for him to do; +and I'll answer for 't, he'll have a welcome and a half. Now, be +deep and fause, mind thee!' + +'A'se deep an' fause enow wi' simple folk; but what can a do i' +Donkin be as fause as me--as happen he may be?' + +'Ga way wi' thee! I' Donkin be Solomon, thou mun be t' Queen o' +Sheba; and I'se bound for to say she outwitted him at last!' + +Kester laughed so long at the idea of his being the Queen of Sheba, +that Sylvia was back by her mother's side before the cachinnation +ended. + +That night, just as Sylvia was preparing to go to bed in her little +closet of a room, she heard some shot rattling at her window. She +opened the little casement, and saw Kester standing below. He +recommenced where he left off, with a laugh-- + +'He, he, he! A's been t' queen! A'se ta'en Donkin on t' reet side, +an' he'll coom in to-morrow, just permiskus, an' ax for work, like +as if 't were a favour; t' oud felley were a bit cross-grained at +startin', for he were workin' at farmer Crosskey's up at t' other +side o' t' town, wheer they puts a strike an' a half of maut intil +t' beer, when most folk put nobbut a strike, an t' made him ill to +convince: but he'll coom, niver fear!' + +The honest fellow never said a word of the shilling he had paid out +of his own pocket to forward Sylvia's wishes, and to persuade the +tailor to leave the good beer. All his anxiety now was to know if he +had been missed, and if it was likely that a scolding awaited him in +the morning. + +'T' oud measter didn't set up his back, 'cause a didn't coom in t' +supper?' + +'He questioned a bit as to what thou were about, but mother didn't +know, an' I held my peace. Mother carried thy supper in t' loft for +thee.' + +'A'll gang after 't, then, for a'm like a pair o' bellowses wi' t' +wind out; just two flat sides wi' nowt betwixt.' + +The next morning, Sylvia's face was a little redder than usual when +Harry Donkin's bow-legs were seen circling down the path to the +house door. + +'Here's Donkin, for sure!' exclaimed Bell, when she caught sight of +him a minute after her daughter. 'Well, I just call that lucky! for +he'll be company for thee while Sylvia and me has to turn th' +cheeses.' + +This was too original a remark for a wife to make in Daniel's +opinion, on this especial morning, when his rheumatism was twinging +him more than usual, so he replied with severity-- + +'That's all t' women know about it. Wi' them it's "coompany, +coompany, coompany," an' they think a man's no better than +theirsels. A'd have yo' to know a've a vast o' thoughts in myself', +as I'm noane willing to lay out for t' benefit o' every man. A've +niver gotten time for meditation sin' a were married; leastways, +sin' a left t' sea. Aboard ship, wi' niver a woman wi'n leagues o' +hail, and upo' t' masthead, in special, a could.' + +'Then I'd better tell Donkin as we've no work for him,' said Sylvia, +instinctively managing her father by agreeing with him, instead of +reasoning with or contradicting him. + +'Now, theere you go!' wrenching himself round, for fear Sylvia +should carry her meekly made threat into execution. 'Ugh! ugh!' as +his limb hurt him. 'Come in, Harry, come in, and talk a bit o' sense +to me, for a've been shut up wi' women these four days, and a'm +a'most a nateral by this time. A'se bound for 't, they'll find yo' +some wark, if 't's nought but for to save their own fingers.' + +So Harry took off his coat, and seated himself professional-wise on +the hastily-cleared dresser, so that he might have all the light +afforded by the long, low casement window. Then he blew in his +thimble, sucked his finger, so that they might adhere tightly +together, and looked about for a subject for opening conversation, +while Sylvia and her mother might be heard opening and shutting +drawers and box-lids before they could find the articles that needed +repair, or that were required to mend each other. + +'Women's well enough i' their way,' said Daniel, in a philosophizing +tone, 'but a man may have too much on 'em. Now there's me, leg-fast +these four days, and a'll make free to say to yo', a'd rather a deal +ha' been loading dung i' t' wettest weather; an' a reckon it's th' +being wi' nought but women as tires me so: they talk so foolish it +gets int' t' bones like. Now thou know'st thou'rt not called much of +a man oather, but bless yo', t' ninth part's summut to be thankful +for, after nought but women. An' yet, yo' seen, they were for +sending yo' away i' their foolishness! Well! missus, and who's to +pay for t' fettling of all them clothes?' as Bell came down with her +arms full. She was going to answer her husband meekly and literally +according to her wont, but Sylvia, already detecting the increased +cheerfulness of his tone, called out from behind her mother-- + +'I am, feyther. I'm going for to sell my new cloak as I bought +Thursday, for the mending on your old coats and waistcoats.' + +'Hearken till her,' said Daniel, chuckling. 'She's a true wench. +Three days sin' noane so full as she o' t' new cloak that now she's +fain t' sell.' + +'Ay, Harry. If feyther won't pay yo' for making all these old +clothes as good as new, I'll sell my new red cloak sooner than yo' +shall go unpaid.' + +'A reckon it's a bargain,' said Harry, casting sharp, professional +eyes on the heap before him, and singling out the best article as to +texture for examination and comment. + +'They're all again these metal buttons,' said he. 'Silk weavers has +been petitioning Ministers t' make a law to favour silk buttons; and +I did hear tell as there were informers goin' about spyin' after +metal buttons, and as how they could haul yo' before a justice for +wearing on 'em.' + +'A were wed in 'em, and a'll wear 'em to my dyin' day, or a'll wear +noane at a'. They're for making such a pack o' laws, they'll be for +meddling wi' my fashion o' sleeping next, and taxing me for ivery +snore a give. They've been after t' winders, and after t' vittle, +and after t' very saut to 't; it's dearer by hauf an' more nor it +were when a were a boy: they're a meddlesome set o' folks, +law-makers is, an' a'll niver believe King George has ought t' do +wi' 't. But mark my words; I were wed wi' brass buttons, and brass +buttons a'll wear to my death, an' if they moither me about it, a'll +wear brass buttons i' my coffin!' + +By this time Harry had arranged a certain course of action with Mrs +Robson, conducting the consultation and agreement by signs. His +thread was flying fast already, and the mother and daughter felt +more free to pursue their own business than they had done for +several days; for it was a good sign that Daniel had taken his pipe +out of the square hollow in the fireside wall, where he usually kept +it, and was preparing to diversify his remarks with satisfying +interludes of puffing. + +'Why, look ye; this very baccy had a run for 't. It came ashore +sewed up neatly enough i' a woman's stays, as was wife to a +fishing-smack down at t' bay yonder. She were a lean thing as iver +you saw, when she went for t' see her husband aboard t' vessel; but +she coom back lustier by a deal, an' wi' many a thing on her, here +and theere, beside baccy. An' that were i' t' face o' coast-guard +and yon tender, an' a'. But she made as though she were tipsy, an' +so they did nought but curse her, an' get out on her way.' + +'Speaking of t' tender, there's been a piece o' wark i' Monkshaven +this week wi' t' press-gang,' said Harry. + +'Ay! ay! our lass was telling about 't; but, Lord bless ye! there's +no gettin' t' rights on a story out on a woman--though a will say +this for our Sylvie, she's as bright a lass as iver a man looked +at.' + +Now the truth was, that Daniel had not liked to demean himself, at +the time when Sylvia came back so full of what she had seen at +Monkshaven, by evincing any curiosity on the subject. He had then +thought that the next day he would find some business that should +take him down to the town, when he could learn all that was to be +learnt, without flattering his womankind by asking questions, as if +anything they might say could interest him. He had a strong notion +of being a kind of domestic Jupiter. + +'It's made a deal o' wark i' Monkshaven. Folk had gotten to think +nought o' t' tender, she lay so still, an' t' leftenant paid such a +good price for all he wanted for t' ship. But o' Thursday t' +_Resolution_, first whaler back this season, came in port, and t' +press-gang showed their teeth, and carried off four as good +able-bodied seamen as iver I made trousers for; and t' place were +all up like a nest o' wasps, when yo've set your foot in t' midst. +They were so mad, they were ready for t' fight t' very pavin' +stones.' + +'A wish a'd been theere! A just wish a had! A've a score for t' +reckon up wi' t' press-gang!' + +And the old man lifted up his right hand--his hand on which the +forefinger and thumb were maimed and useless--partly in +denunciation, and partly as a witness of what he had endured to +escape from the service, abhorred because it was forced. His face +became a totally different countenance with the expression of +settled and unrelenting indignation, which his words called out. + +'G'on, man, g'on,' said Daniel, impatient with Donkin for the little +delay occasioned by the necessity of arranging his work more fully. + +'Ay! ay! all in good time; for a've a long tale to tell yet; an' a +mun have some 'un to iron me out my seams, and look me out my bits, +for there's none here fit for my purpose.' + +'Dang thy bits! Here, Sylvie! Sylvie! come and be tailor's man, and +let t' chap get settled sharp, for a'm fain t' hear his story.' + +Sylvia took her directions, and placed her irons in the fire, and +ran upstairs for the bundle which had been put aside by her careful +mother for occasions like the present. It consisted of small pieces +of various coloured cloth, cut out of old coats and waistcoats, and +similar garments, when the whole had become too much worn for use, +yet when part had been good enough to be treasured by a thrifty +housewife. Daniel grew angry before Donkin had selected his patterns +and settled the work to his own mind. + +'Well,' said he at last; 'a mought be a young man a-goin' a wooin', +by t' pains thou'st taken for t' match my oud clothes. I don't care +if they're patched wi' scarlet, a tell thee; so as thou'lt work away +at thy tale wi' thy tongue, same time as thou works at thy needle +wi' thy fingers.' + +'Then, as a were saying, all Monkshaven were like a nest o' wasps, +flyin' hither and thither, and makin' sich a buzzin' and a talkin' +as niver were; and each wi' his sting out, ready for t' vent his +venom o' rage and revenge. And women cryin' and sobbin' i' t' +streets--when, Lord help us! o' Saturday came a worse time than +iver! for all Friday there had been a kind o' expectation an' dismay +about t' _Good Fortune_, as t' mariners had said was off St Abb's +Head o' Thursday, when t' _Resolution_ came in; and there was wives +and maids wi' husbands an' sweethearts aboard t' _Good Fortune_ +ready to throw their eyes out on their heads wi' gazin', gazin' +nor'ards over t'sea, as were all one haze o' blankness wi' t' rain; +and when t' afternoon tide comed in, an' niver a line on her to be +seen, folk were oncertain as t' whether she were holding off for +fear o' t' tender--as were out o' sight, too--or what were her mak' +o' goin' on. An' t' poor wet draggled women folk came up t' town, +some slowly cryin', as if their hearts was sick, an' others just +bent their heads to t' wind, and went straight to their homes, +nother looking nor speaking to ony one; but barred their doors, and +stiffened theirsels up for a night o' waiting. Saturday morn--yo'll +mind Saturday morn, it were stormy and gusty, downreet dirty +weather--theere stood t' folk again by daylight, a watching an' a +straining, and by that tide t' _Good Fortune_ came o'er t' bar. But +t' excisemen had sent back her news by t' boat as took 'em there. +They'd a deal of oil, and a vast o' blubber. But for all that her +flag was drooping i' t' rain, half mast high, for mourning and +sorrow, an' they'd a dead man aboard--a dead man as was living and +strong last sunrise. An' there was another as lay between life an' +death, and there was seven more as should ha' been theere as wasn't, +but was carried off by t' gang. T' frigate as we 'n a' heard tell +on, as lying off Hartlepool, got tidings fra' t' tender as captured +t' seamen o' Thursday: and t' _Aurora_, as they ca'ed her, made off +for t' nor'ard; and nine leagues off St Abb's Head, t' _Resolution_ +thinks she were, she see'd t' frigate, and knowed by her build she +were a man-o'-war, and guessed she were bound on king's kidnapping. +I seen t' wounded man mysen wi' my own eyes; and he'll live! he'll +live! Niver a man died yet, wi' such a strong purpose o' vengeance +in him. He could barely speak, for he were badly shot, but his +colour coome and went, as t' master's mate an' t' captain telled me +and some others how t' _Aurora_ fired at 'em, and how t' innocent +whaler hoisted her colours, but afore they were fairly run up, +another shot coome close in t' shrouds, and then t' Greenland ship +being t' windward, bore down on t' frigate; but as they knew she +were an oud fox, and bent on mischief, Kinraid (that's he who lies +a-dying, only he'll noane die, a'se bound), the specksioneer, bade +t' men go down between decks, and fasten t' hatches well, an' he'd +stand guard, he an' captain, and t' oud master's mate, being left +upo' deck for t' give a welcome just skin-deep to t' boat's crew +fra' t' _Aurora_, as they could see coming t'wards them o'er t' +watter, wi' their reg'lar man-o'-war's rowing----' + +'Damn 'em!' said Daniel, in soliloquy, and under his breath. + +Sylvia stood, poising her iron, and listening eagerly, afraid to +give Donkin the hot iron for fear of interrupting the narrative, +unwilling to put it into the fire again, because that action would +perchance remind him of his work, which now the tailor had +forgotten, so eager was he in telling his story. + +'Well! they coome on over t' watters wi' great bounds, and up t' +sides they coome like locusts, all armed men; an' t' captain says he +saw Kinraid hide away his whaling knife under some tarpaulin', and +he knew he meant mischief, an' he would no more ha' stopped him wi' +a word nor he would ha' stopped him fra' killing a whale. And when +t' _Aurora_'s men were aboard, one on 'em runs to t' helm; and at +that t' captain says, he felt as if his wife were kissed afore his +face; but says he, "I bethought me on t' men as were shut up below +hatches, an' I remembered t' folk at Monkshaven as were looking out +for us even then; an' I said to mysel', I would speak fair as long +as I could, more by token o' the whaling-knife, as I could see +glinting bright under t' black tarpaulin." So he spoke quite fair +and civil, though he see'd they was nearing t' _Aurora_, and t' +_Aurora_ was nearing them. Then t' navy captain hailed him thro' t' +trumpet, wi' a great rough blast, and, says he, "Order your men to +come on deck." And t' captain of t' whaler says his men cried up +from under t' hatches as they'd niver be gi'en up wi'out bloodshed, +and he sees Kinraid take out his pistol, and look well to t' +priming; so he says to t' navy captain, "We're protected +Greenland-men, and you have no right t' meddle wi' us." But t' navy +captain only bellows t' more, "Order your men t' come on deck. If +they won't obey you, and you have lost the command of your vessel, I +reckon you're in a state of mutiny, and you may come aboard t' +_Aurora_ and such men as are willing t' follow you, and I'll fire +int' the rest." Yo' see, that were t' depth o' the man: he were for +pretending and pretexting as t' captain could na manage his own +ship, and as he'd help him. But our Greenland captain were noane so +poor-spirited, and says he, "She's full of oil, and I ware you of +consequences if you fire into her. Anyhow, pirate, or no pirate" +(for t' word pirate stuck in his gizzard), "I'm a honest Monkshaven +man, an' I come fra' a land where there's great icebergs and many a +deadly danger, but niver a press-gang, thank God! and that's what +you are, I reckon." Them's the words he told me, but whether he +spoke 'em out so bold at t' time, I'se not so sure; they were in his +mind for t' speak, only maybe prudence got t' better on him, for he +said he prayed i' his heart to bring his cargo safe to t' owners, +come what might. Well, t' _Aurora_'s men aboard t' _Good Fortune_ +cried out "might they fire down t' hatches, and bring t' men out +that a way?" and then t' specksioneer, he speaks, an' he says he +stands ower t' hatches, and he has two good pistols, and summut +besides, and he don't care for his life, bein' a bachelor, but all +below are married men, yo' see, and he'll put an end to t' first two +chaps as come near t' hatches. An' they say he picked two off as +made for t' come near, and then, just as he were stooping for t' +whaling knife, an' it's as big as a sickle----' + +'Teach folk as don't know a whaling knife,' cried Daniel. 'I were a +Greenland-man mysel'.' + +'They shot him through t' side, and dizzied him, and kicked him +aside for dead; and fired down t' hatches, and killed one man, and +disabled two, and then t' rest cried for quarter, for life is sweet, +e'en aboard a king's ship; and t' _Aurora_ carried 'em off, wounded +men, an' able men, an' all: leaving Kinraid for dead, as wasn't +dead, and Darley for dead, as was dead, an' t' captain and master's +mate as were too old for work; and t' captain, as loves Kinraid like +a brother, poured rum down his throat, and bandaged him up, and has +sent for t' first doctor in Monkshaven for to get t' slugs out; for +they say there's niver such a harpooner in a' t' Greenland seas; an' +I can speak fra' my own seeing he's a fine young fellow where he +lies theere, all stark and wan for weakness and loss o' blood. But +Darley's dead as a door-nail; and there's to be such a burying of +him as niver was seen afore i' Monkshaven, come Sunday. And now gi' +us t' iron, wench, and let's lose no more time a-talking.' + +'It's noane loss o' time,' said Daniel, moving himself heavily in +his chair, to feel how helpless he was once more. 'If a were as +young as once a were--nay, lad, if a had na these sore rheumatics, +now--a reckon as t' press-gang 'ud find out as t' shouldn't do such +things for nothing. Bless thee, man! it's waur nor i' my youth i' +th' Ameriky war, and then 't were bad enough.' + +'And Kinraid?' said Sylvia, drawing a long breath, after the effort +of realizing it all; her cheeks had flushed up, and her eyes had +glittered during the progress of the tale. + +'Oh! he'll do. He'll not die. Life's stuff is in him yet.' + +'He'll be Molly Corney's cousin, I reckon,' said Sylvia, bethinking +her with a blush of Molly Corney's implication that he was more than +a cousin to her, and immediately longing to go off and see Molly, +and hear all the little details which women do not think it beneath +them to give to women. From that time Sylvia's little heart was bent +on this purpose. But it was not one to be openly avowed even to +herself. She only wanted sadly to see Molly, and she almost believed +herself that it was to consult her about the fashion of her cloak; +which Donkin was to cut out, and which she was to make under his +directions; at any rate, this was the reason she gave to her mother +when the day's work was done, and a fine gleam came out upon the +pale and watery sky towards evening. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE SAILOR'S FUNERAL + + + + + +Moss Brow, the Corney's house, was but a disorderly, comfortless +place. You had to cross a dirty farmyard, all puddles and dungheaps, +on stepping-stones, to get to the door of the house-place. That +great room itself was sure to have clothes hanging to dry at the +fire, whatever day of the week it was; some one of the large +irregular family having had what is called in the district a +'dab-wash' of a few articles, forgotten on the regular day. And +sometimes these articles lay in their dirty state in the untidy +kitchen, out of which a room, half parlour, half bedroom, opened on +one side, and a dairy, the only clean place in the house, at the +opposite. In face of you, as you entered the door, was the entrance +to the working-kitchen, or scullery. Still, in spite of disorder +like this, there was a well-to-do aspect about the place; the +Corneys were rich in their way, in flocks and herds as well as in +children; and to them neither dirt nor the perpetual bustle arising +from ill-ordered work detracted from comfort. They were all of an +easy, good-tempered nature; Mrs. Corney and her daughters gave every +one a welcome at whatever time of the day they came, and would just +as soon sit down for a gossip at ten o'clock in the morning, as at +five in the evening, though at the former time the house-place was +full of work of various kinds which ought to be got out of hand and +done with: while the latter hour was towards the end of the day, +when farmers' wives and daughters were usually--'cleaned' was the +word then, 'dressed' is that in vogue now. Of course in such a +household as this Sylvia was sure to be gladly received. She was +young, and pretty, and bright, and brought a fresh breeze of +pleasant air about her as her appropriate atmosphere. And besides, +Bell Robson held her head so high that visits from her daughter were +rather esteemed as a favour, for it was not everywhere that Sylvia +was allowed to go. + +'Sit yo' down, sit yo' down!' cried Dame Corney, dusting a chair +with her apron; 'a reckon Molly 'll be in i' no time. She's nobbut +gone int' t' orchard, to see if she can find wind-falls enough for +t' make a pie or two for t' lads. They like nowt so weel for supper +as apple-pies sweetened wi' treacle, crust stout and leathery, as +stands chewing, and we hannot getten in our apples yet.' + +'If Molly is in t' orchard, I'll go find her,' said Sylvia. + +'Well! yo' lasses will have your conks' (private talks), 'a know; +secrets 'bout sweethearts and such like,' said Mrs. Corney, with a +knowing look, which made Sylvia hate her for the moment. 'A've not +forgotten as a were young mysen. Tak' care; there's a pool o' mucky +watter just outside t' back-door.' + +But Sylvia was half-way across the back-yard--worse, if possible, +than the front as to the condition in which it was kept--and had +passed through the little gate into the orchard. It was full of old +gnarled apple-trees, their trunks covered with gray lichen, in which +the cunning chaffinch built her nest in spring-time. The cankered +branches remained on the trees, and added to the knotted +interweaving overhead, if they did not to the productiveness; the +grass grew in long tufts, and was wet and tangled under foot. There +was a tolerable crop of rosy apples still hanging on the gray old +trees, and here and there they showed ruddy in the green bosses of +untrimmed grass. Why the fruit was not gathered, as it was evidently +ripe, would have puzzled any one not acquainted with the Corney +family to say; but to them it was always a maxim in practice, if not +in precept, 'Do nothing to-day that you can put off till to-morrow,' +and accordingly the apples dropped from the trees at any little gust +of wind, and lay rotting on the ground until the 'lads' wanted a +supply of pies for supper. + +Molly saw Sylvia, and came quickly across the orchard to meet her, +catching her feet in knots of grass as she hurried along. + +'Well, lass!' said she, 'who'd ha' thought o' seeing yo' such a day +as it has been?' + +'But it's cleared up now beautiful,' said Sylvia, looking up at the +soft evening sky, to be seen through the apple boughs. It was of a +tender, delicate gray, with the faint warmth of a promising sunset +tinging it with a pink atmosphere. 'Rain is over and gone, and I +wanted to know how my cloak is to be made; for Donkin 's working at +our house, and I wanted to know all about--the news, yo' know.' + +'What news?' asked Molly, for she had heard of the affair between +the _Good Fortune_ and the _Aurora_ some days before; and, to tell +the truth, it had rather passed out of her head just at this moment. + +'Hannot yo' heard all about t' press-gang and t' whaler, and t' +great fight, and Kinraid, as is your cousin, acting so brave and +grand, and lying on his death-bed now?' + +'Oh!' said Molly, enlightened as to Sylvia's 'news,' and half +surprised at the vehemence with which the little creature spoke; +'yes; a heerd that days ago. But Charley's noane on his death-bed, +he's a deal better; an' mother says as he's to be moved up here next +week for nursin' and better air nor he gets i' t' town yonder.' + +'Oh! I am so glad,' said Sylvia, with all her heart. 'I thought he'd +maybe die, and I should niver see him.' + +'A'll promise yo' shall see him; that's t' say if a' goes on well, +for he's getten an ugly hurt. Mother says as there's four blue marks +on his side as'll last him his life, an' t' doctor fears bleeding i' +his inside; and then he'll drop down dead when no one looks for 't.' + +'But you said he was better,' said Sylvia, blanching a little at +this account. + +'Ay, he's better, but life's uncertain, special after gun-shot +wounds.' + +'He acted very fine,' said Sylvia, meditating. + +'A allays knowed he would. Many's the time a've heerd him say +"honour bright," and now he's shown how bright his is.' + +Molly did not speak sentimentally, but with a kind of proprietorship +in Kinraid's honour, which confirmed Sylvia in her previous idea of +a mutual attachment between her and her cousin. Considering this +notion, she was a little surprised at Molly's next speech. + +'An' about yer cloak, are you for a hood or a cape? a reckon that's +the question.' + +'Oh, I don't care! tell me more about Kinraid. Do yo' really think +he'll get better?' + +'Dear! how t' lass takes on about him. A'll tell him what a deal of +interest a young woman taks i' him!' + +From that time Sylvia never asked another question about him. In a +somewhat dry and altered tone, she said, after a little pause-- + +'I think on a hood. What do you say to it?' + +'Well; hoods is a bit old-fashioned, to my mind. If 't were mine, +I'd have a cape cut i' three points, one to tie on each shoulder, +and one to dip down handsome behind. But let yo' an' me go to +Monkshaven church o' Sunday, and see Measter Fishburn's daughters, +as has their things made i' York, and notice a bit how they're made. +We needn't do it i' church, but just scan 'em o'er i' t' churchyard, +and there'll be no harm done. Besides, there's to be this grand +burryin' o' t' man t' press-gang shot, and 't will be like killing +two birds at once.' + +'I should like to go,' said Sylvia. 'I feel so sorry like for the +poor sailors shot down and kidnapped just as they was coming home, +as we see'd 'em o' Thursday last. I'll ask mother if she'll let me +go.' + +'Ay, do. I know my mother 'll let me, if she doesn't go hersen; for +it 'll be a sight to see and to speak on for many a long year, after +what I've heerd. And Miss Fishburns is sure to be theere, so I'd +just get Donkin to cut out cloak itsel', and keep back yer mind fra' +fixing o' either cape or hood till Sunday's turn'd.' + +'Will yo' set me part o' t' way home?' said Sylvia, seeing the dying +daylight become more and more crimson through the blackening trees. + +'No; I can't. A should like it well enough, but somehow, there's a +deal o' work to be done yet, for t' hours slip through one's fingers +so as there's no knowing. Mind yo', then, o' Sunday. A'll be at t' +stile one o'clock punctual; and we'll go slowly into t' town, and +look about us as we go, and see folk's dresses; and go to t' church, +and say wer prayers, and come out and have a look at t' funeral.' + +And with this programme of proceedings settled for the following +Sunday, the girls whom neighbourhood and parity of age had forced +into some measure of friendship parted for the time. + +Sylvia hastened home, feeling as if she had been absent long; her +mother stood on the little knoll at the side of the house watching +for her, with her hand shading her eyes from the low rays of the +setting sun: but as soon as she saw her daughter in the distance, +she returned to her work, whatever that might be. She was not a +woman of many words, or of much demonstration; few observers would +have guessed how much she loved her child; but Sylvia, without any +reasoning or observation, instinctively knew that her mother's heart +was bound up in her. + +Her father and Donkin were going on much as when she had left them; +talking and disputing, the one compelled to be idle, the other +stitching away as fast as he talked. They seemed as if they had +never missed Sylvia; no more did her mother for that matter, for she +was busy and absorbed in her afternoon dairy-work to all appearance. +But Sylvia had noted the watching not three minutes before, and many +a time in her after life, when no one cared much for her out-goings +and in-comings, the straight, upright figure of her mother, fronting +the setting sun, but searching through its blinding rays for a sight +of her child, rose up like a sudden-seen picture, the remembrance of +which smote Sylvia to the heart with a sense of a lost blessing, not +duly valued while possessed. + +'Well, feyther, and how's a' wi' you?' asked Sylvia, going to the +side of his chair, and laying her hand on his shoulder. + +'Eh! harkee till this lass o' mine. She thinks as because she's gone +galraverging, I maun ha' missed her and be ailing. Why, lass, Donkin +and me has had t' most sensible talk a've had this many a day. A've +gi'en him a vast o' knowledge, and he's done me a power o' good. +Please God, to-morrow a'll tak' a start at walking, if t' weather +holds up.' + +'Ay!' said Donkin, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice; 'feyther +and me has settled many puzzles; it's been a loss to Government as +they hannot been here for profiting by our wisdom. We've done away +wi' taxes and press-gangs, and many a plague, and beaten t' +French--i' our own minds, that's to say.' + +'It's a wonder t' me as those Lunnon folks can't see things clear,' +said Daniel, all in good faith. + +Sylvia did not quite understand the state of things as regarded +politics and taxes--and politics and taxes were all one in her mind, +it must be confessed--but she saw that her innocent little scheme of +giving her father the change of society afforded by Donkin's coming +had answered; and in the gladness of her heart she went out and ran +round the corner of the house to find Kester, and obtain from him +that sympathy in her success which she dared not ask from her +mother. + +'Kester, Kester, lad!' said she, in a loud whisper; but Kester was +suppering the horses, and in the clamp of their feet on the round +stable pavement, he did not hear her at first. She went a little +farther into the stable. 'Kester! he's a vast better, he'll go out +to-morrow; it's all Donkin's doing. I'm beholden to thee for +fetching him, and I'll try and spare thee waistcoat fronts out o' t' +stuff for my new red cloak. Thou'll like that, Kester, won't ta?' + +Kester took the notion in slowly, and weighed it. + +'Na, lass,' said he, deliberately, after a pause. 'A could na' bear +to see thee wi' thy cloak scrimpit. A like t' see a wench look bonny +and smart, an' a tak' a kind o' pride in thee, an should be a'most +as much hurt i' my mind to see thee i' a pinched cloak as if old +Moll's tail here were docked too short. Na, lass, a'se niver got a +mirroring glass for t' see mysen in, so what's waistcoats to me? +Keep thy stuff to thysen, theere's a good wench; but a'se main and +glad about t' measter. Place isn't like itsen when he's shut up and +cranky.' + +He took up a wisp of straw and began rubbing down the old mare, and +hissing over his work as if he wished to consider the conversation +as ended. And Sylvia, who had strung herself up in a momentary +fervour of gratitude to make the generous offer, was not sorry to +have it refused, and went back planning what kindness she could show +to Kester without its involving so much sacrifice to herself. For +giving waistcoat fronts to him would deprive her of the pleasant +power of selecting a fashionable pattern in Monkshaven churchyard +next Sunday. + +That wished-for day seemed long a-coming, as wished-for days most +frequently do. Her father got better by slow degrees, and her mother +was pleased by the tailor's good pieces of work; showing the +neatly-placed patches with as much pride as many matrons take in new +clothes now-a-days. And the weather cleared up into a dim kind of +autumnal fineness, into anything but an Indian summer as far as +regarded gorgeousness of colouring, for on that coast the mists and +sea fogs early spoil the brilliancy of the foliage. Yet, perhaps, +the more did the silvery grays and browns of the inland scenery +conduce to the tranquillity of the time,--the time of peace and rest +before the fierce and stormy winter comes on. It seems a time for +gathering up human forces to encounter the coming severity, as well +as of storing up the produce of harvest for the needs of winter. Old +people turn out and sun themselves in that calm St. Martin's summer, +without fear of 'the heat o' th' sun, or the coming winter's rages,' +and we may read in their pensive, dreamy eyes that they are weaning +themselves away from the earth, which probably many may never see +dressed in her summer glory again. + +Many such old people set out betimes, on the Sunday afternoon to +which Sylvia had been so looking forward, to scale the long flights +of stone steps--worn by the feet of many generations--which led up +to the parish church, placed on a height above the town, on a great +green area at the summit of the cliff, which was the angle where the +river and the sea met, and so overlooking both the busy crowded +little town, the port, the shipping, and the bar on the one hand, +and the wide illimitable tranquil sea on the other--types of +life and eternity. It was a good situation for that church. +Homeward-bound sailors caught sight of the tower of St Nicholas, the +first land object of all. They who went forth upon the great deep +might carry solemn thoughts with them of the words they had heard +there; not conscious thoughts, perhaps--rather a distinct if dim +conviction that buying and selling, eating and marrying, even life +and death, were not all the realities in existence. Nor were the +words that came up to their remembrance words of sermons preached +there, however impressive. The sailors mostly slept through the +sermons; unless, indeed, there were incidents such as were involved +in what were called 'funeral discourses' to be narrated. They did +not recognize their daily faults or temptations under the grand +aliases befitting their appearance from a preacher's mouth. But they +knew the old, oft-repeated words praying for deliverance from the +familiar dangers of lightning and tempest; from battle, murder, and +sudden death; and nearly every man was aware that he left behind him +some one who would watch for the prayer for the preservation of +those who travel by land or by water, and think of him, as +God-protected the more for the earnestness of the response then +given. + +There, too, lay the dead of many generations; for St. Nicholas had +been the parish church ever since Monkshaven was a town, and the +large churchyard was rich in the dead. Masters, mariners, +ship-owners, seamen: it seemed strange how few other trades were +represented in that great plain so full of upright gravestones. Here +and there was a memorial stone, placed by some survivor of a large +family, most of whom perished at sea:--'Supposed to have perished +in the Greenland seas,' 'Shipwrecked in the Baltic,' 'Drowned off +the coast of Iceland.' There was a strange sensation, as if the cold +sea-winds must bring with them the dim phantoms of those lost +sailors, who had died far from their homes, and from the hallowed +ground where their fathers lay. + +Each flight of steps up to this churchyard ended in a small flat +space, on which a wooden seat was placed. On this particular Sunday, +all these seats were filled by aged people, breathless with the +unusual exertion of climbing. You could see the church stair, as it +was called, from nearly every part of the town, and the figures of +the numerous climbers, diminished by distance, looked like a busy +ant-hill, long before the bell began to ring for afternoon service. +All who could manage it had put on a bit of black in token of +mourning; it might be very little; an old ribbon, a rusty piece of +crape; but some sign of mourning was shown by every one down to the +little child in its mother's arms, that innocently clutched the +piece of rosemary to be thrown into the grave 'for remembrance.' +Darley, the seaman shot by the press-gang, nine leagues off St. +Abb's Head, was to be buried to-day, at the accustomed time for the +funerals of the poorer classes, directly after evening service, and +there were only the sick and their nurse-tenders who did not come +forth to show their feeling for the man whom they looked upon as +murdered. The crowd of vessels in harbour bore their flags half-mast +high; and the crews were making their way through the High Street. +The gentlefolk of Monkshaven, full of indignation at this +interference with their ships, full of sympathy with the family who +had lost their son and brother almost within sight of his home, came +in unusual numbers--no lack of patterns for Sylvia; but her +thoughts were far otherwise and more suitably occupied. The unwonted +sternness and solemnity visible on the countenances of all whom she +met awed and affected her. She did not speak in reply to Molly's +remarks on the dress or appearance of those who struck her. She felt +as if these speeches jarred on her, and annoyed her almost to +irritation; yet Molly had come all the way to Monkshaven Church in +her service, and deserved forbearance accordingly. The two mounted +the steps alongside of many people; few words were exchanged, even +at the breathing places, so often the little centres of gossip. +Looking over the sea there was not a sail to be seen; it seemed +bared of life, as if to be in serious harmony with what was going on +inland. + +The church was of old Norman architecture; low and massive outside: +inside, of vast space, only a quarter of which was filled on +ordinary Sundays. The walls were disfigured by numerous tablets of +black and white marble intermixed, and the usual ornamentation of +that style of memorial as erected in the last century, of weeping +willows, urns, and drooping figures, with here and there a ship in +full sail, or an anchor, where the seafaring idea prevalent through +the place had launched out into a little originality. There was no +wood-work, the church had been stripped of that, most probably when +the neighbouring monastery had been destroyed. There were large +square pews, lined with green baize, with the names of the families +of the most flourishing ship-owners painted white on the doors; +there were pews, not so large, and not lined at all, for the farmers +and shopkeepers of the parish; and numerous heavy oaken benches +which, by the united efforts of several men, might be brought within +earshot of the pulpit. These were being removed into the most +convenient situations when Molly and Sylvia entered the church, and +after two or three whispered sentences they took their seats on one +of these. + +The vicar of Monkshaven was a kindly, peaceable old man, hating +strife and troubled waters above everything. He was a vehement Tory +in theory, as became his cloth in those days. He had two bugbears to +fear--the French and the Dissenters. It was difficult to say of +which he had the worst opinion and the most intense dread. Perhaps +he hated the Dissenters most, because they came nearer in contact +with him than the French; besides, the French had the excuse of +being Papists, while the Dissenters might have belonged to the +Church of England if they had not been utterly depraved. Yet in +practice Dr Wilson did not object to dine with Mr. Fishburn, who was +a personal friend and follower of Wesley, but then, as the doctor +would say, 'Wesley was an Oxford man, and that makes him a +gentleman; and he was an ordained minister of the Church of England, +so that grace can never depart from him.' But I do not know what +excuse he would have alleged for sending broth and vegetables to old +Ralph Thompson, a rabid Independent, who had been given to abusing +the Church and the vicar, from a Dissenting pulpit, as long as ever +he could mount the stairs. However, that inconsistency between Dr +Wilson's theories and practice was not generally known in +Monkshaven, so we have nothing to do with it. + +Dr Wilson had had a very difficult part to play, and a still more +difficult sermon to write, during this last week. The Darley who had +been killed was the son of the vicar's gardener, and Dr Wilson's +sympathies as a man had been all on the bereaved father's side. But +then he had received, as the oldest magistrate in the neighbourhood, +a letter from the captain of the _Aurora_, explanatory and +exculpatory. Darley had been resisting the orders of an officer in +his Majesty's service. What would become of due subordination and +loyalty, and the interests of the service, and the chances of +beating those confounded French, if such conduct as Darley's was to +be encouraged? (Poor Darley! he was past all evil effects of human +encouragement now!) + +So the vicar mumbled hastily over a sermon on the text, 'In the +midst of life we are in death'; which might have done as well for a +baby cut off in a convulsion-fit as for the strong man shot down +with all his eager blood hot within him, by men as hot-blooded as +himself. But once when the old doctor's eye caught the up-turned, +straining gaze of the father Darley, seeking with all his soul to +find a grain of holy comfort in the chaff of words, his conscience +smote him. Had he nothing to say that should calm anger and revenge +with spiritual power? no breath of the comforter to soothe repining +into resignation? But again the discord between the laws of man and +the laws of Christ stood before him; and he gave up the attempt to +do more than he was doing, as beyond his power. Though the hearers +went away as full of anger as they had entered the church, and some +with a dull feeling of disappointment as to what they had got there, +yet no one felt anything but kindly towards the old vicar. His +simple, happy life led amongst them for forty years, and open to all +men in its daily course; his sweet-tempered, cordial ways; his +practical kindness, made him beloved by all; and neither he nor they +thought much or cared much for admiration of his talents. Respect +for his office was all the respect he thought of; and that was +conceded to him from old traditional and hereditary association. In +looking back to the last century, it appears curious to see how +little our ancestors had the power of putting two things together, +and perceiving either the discord or harmony thus produced. Is it +because we are farther off from those times, and have, consequently, +a greater range of vision? Will our descendants have a wonder about +us, such as we have about the inconsistency of our forefathers, or a +surprise at our blindness that we do not perceive that, holding such +and such opinions, our course of action must be so and so, or that +the logical consequence of particular opinions must be convictions +which at present we hold in abhorrence? It seems puzzling to look +back on men such as our vicar, who almost held the doctrine that the +King could do no wrong, yet were ever ready to talk of the glorious +Revolution, and to abuse the Stuarts for having entertained the same +doctrine, and tried to put it in practice. But such discrepancies +ran through good men's lives in those days. It is well for us that +we live at the present time, when everybody is logical and +consistent. This little discussion must be taken in place of Dr +Wilson's sermon, of which no one could remember more than the text +half an hour after it was delivered. Even the doctor himself had the +recollection of the words he had uttered swept out of his mind, as, +having doffed his gown and donned his surplice, he came out of the +dusk of his vestry and went to the church-door, looking into the +broad light which came upon the plain of the church-yard on the +cliffs; for the sun had not yet set, and the pale moon was slowly +rising through the silvery mist that obscured the distant moors. +There was a thick, dense crowd, all still and silent, looking away +from the church and the vicar, who awaited the bringing of the dead. +They were watching the slow black line winding up the long steps, +resting their heavy burden here and there, standing in silent groups +at each landing-place; now lost to sight as a piece of broken, +overhanging ground intervened, now emerging suddenly nearer; and +overhead the great church bell, with its mediaeval inscription, +familiar to the vicar, if to no one else who heard it, I to the +grave do summon all, kept on its heavy booming monotone, with which +no other sound from land or sea, near or distant, intermingled, +except the cackle of the geese on some far-away farm on the moors, +as they were coming home to roost; and that one noise from so great +a distance seemed only to deepen the stillness. Then there was a +little movement in the crowd; a little pushing from side to side, to +make a path for the corpse and its bearers--an aggregate of the +fragments of room. + +With bent heads and spent strength, those who carried the coffin +moved on; behind came the poor old gardener, a brown-black funeral +cloak thrown over his homely dress, and supporting his wife with +steps scarcely less feeble than her own. He had come to church that +afternoon, with a promise to her that he would return to lead her to +the funeral of her firstborn; for he felt, in his sore perplexed +heart, full of indignation and dumb anger, as if he must go and hear +something which should exorcize the unwonted longing for revenge +that disturbed his grief, and made him conscious of that great blank +of consolation which faithfulness produces. And for the time he was +faithless. How came God to permit such cruel injustice of man? +Permitting it, He could not be good. Then what was life, and what +was death, but woe and despair? The beautiful solemn words of the +ritual had done him good, and restored much of his faith. Though he +could not understand why such sorrow had befallen him any more than +before, he had come back to something of his childlike trust; he +kept saying to himself in a whisper, as he mounted the weary steps, +'It is the Lord's doing'; and the repetition soothed him +unspeakably. Behind this old couple followed their children, grown +men and women, come from distant place or farmhouse service; the +servants at the vicarage, and many a neighbour, anxious to show +their sympathy, and most of the sailors from the crews of the +vessels in port, joined in procession, and followed the dead body +into the church. + +There was too great a crowd immediately within the door for Sylvia +and Molly to go in again, and they accordingly betook themselves to +the place where the deep grave was waiting, wide and hungry, to +receive its dead. There, leaning against the headstones all around, +were many standing--looking over the broad and placid sea, and +turned to the soft salt air which blew on their hot eyes and rigid +faces; for no one spoke of all that number. They were thinking of +the violent death of him over whom the solemn words were now being +said in the gray old church, scarcely out of their hearing, had not +the sound been broken by the measured lapping of the tide far +beneath. + +Suddenly every one looked round towards the path from the churchyard +steps. Two sailors were supporting a ghastly figure that, with +feeble motions, was drawing near the open grave. + +'It's t' specksioneer as tried to save him! It's him as was left for +dead!' the people murmured round. + +'It's Charley Kinraid, as I'm a sinner!' said Molly, starting +forward to greet her cousin. + +But as he came on, she saw that all his strength was needed for the +mere action of walking. The sailors, in their strong sympathy, had +yielded to his earnest entreaty, and carried him up the steps, in +order that he might see the last of his messmate. They placed him +near the grave, resting against a stone; and he was hardly there +before the vicar came forth, and the great crowd poured out of the +church, following the body to the grave. + +Sylvia was so much wrapt up in the solemnity of the occasion, that +she had no thought to spare at the first moment for the pale and +haggard figure opposite; much less was she aware of her cousin +Philip, who now singling her out for the first time from among the +crowd, pressed to her side, with an intention of companionship and +protection. + +As the service went on, ill-checked sobs rose from behind the two +girls, who were among the foremost in the crowd, and by-and-by the +cry and the wail became general. Sylvia's tears rained down her +face, and her distress became so evident that it attracted the +attention of many in that inner circle. Among others who noticed it, +the specksioneer's hollow eyes were caught by the sight of the +innocent blooming childlike face opposite to him, and he wondered if +she were a relation; yet, seeing that she bore no badge of mourning, +he rather concluded that she must have been a sweetheart of the dead +man. + +And now all was over: the rattle of the gravel on the coffin; the +last long, lingering look of friends and lovers; the rosemary sprigs +had been cast down by all who were fortunate enough to have brought +them--and oh! how much Sylvia wished she had remembered this last +act of respect--and slowly the outer rim of the crowd began to +slacken and disappear. + +Now Philip spoke to Sylvia. + +'I never dreamt of seeing you here. I thought my aunt always went to +Kirk Moorside.' + +'I came with Molly Corney,' said Sylvia. 'Mother is staying at home +with feyther.' + +'How's his rheumatics?' asked Philip. + +But at the same moment Molly took hold of Sylvia's hand, and said-- + +'A want t' get round and speak to Charley. Mother 'll be main and +glad to hear as he's getten out; though, for sure, he looks as +though he'd ha' been better in 's bed. Come, Sylvia.' + +And Philip, fain to keep with Sylvia, had to follow the two girls +close up to the specksioneer, who was preparing for his slow +laborious walk back to his lodgings. He stopped on seeing his +cousin. + +'Well, Molly,' said he, faintly, putting out his hand, but his eye +passing her face to look at Sylvia in the background, her +tear-stained face full of shy admiration of the nearest approach to +a hero she had ever seen. + +'Well, Charley, a niver was so taken aback as when a saw yo' theere, +like a ghost, a-standin' agin a gravestone. How white and wan yo' do +look!' + +'Ay!' said he, wearily, 'wan and weak enough.' + +'But I hope you're getting better, sir,' said Sylvia, in a low +voice, longing to speak to him, and yet wondering at her own +temerity. + +'Thank you, my lass. I'm o'er th' worst.' + +He sighed heavily. + +Philip now spoke. + +'We're doing him no kindness a-keeping him standing here i' t' +night-fall, and him so tired.' And he made as though he would turn +away. Kinraid's two sailor friends backed up Philip's words with +such urgency, that, somehow, Sylvia thought they had been to blame +in speaking to him, and blushed excessively with the idea. + +'Yo'll come and be nursed at Moss Brow, Charley,' said Molly; and +Sylvia dropped her little maidenly curtsey, and said, 'Good-by;' +and went away, wondering how Molly could talk so freely to such a +hero; but then, to be sure, he was a cousin, and probably a +sweetheart, and that would make a great deal of difference, of +course. + +Meanwhile her own cousin kept close by her side. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +TETE-A-TETE.--THE WILL + + + + + +'And now tell me all about th' folk at home?' said Philip, evidently +preparing to walk back with the girls. He generally came to +Haytersbank every Sunday afternoon, so Sylvia knew what she had to +expect the moment she became aware of his neighbourhood in the +churchyard. + +'My feyther's been sadly troubled with his rheumatics this week +past; but he's a vast better now, thank you kindly.' Then, +addressing herself to Molly, she asked, 'Has your cousin a doctor to +look after him?' + +'Ay, for sure!' said Molly, quickly; for though she knew nothing +about the matter, she was determined to suppose that her cousin had +everything becoming an invalid as well as a hero. 'He's well-to-do, +and can afford everything as he needs,' continued she. 'His +feyther's left him money, and he were a farmer out up in +Northumberland, and he's reckoned such a specksioneer as never, +never was, and gets what wage he asks for and a share on every whale +he harpoons beside.' + +'I reckon he'll have to make himself scarce on this coast for +awhile, at any rate,' said Philip. + +'An' what for should he?' asked Molly, who never liked Philip at the +best of times, and now, if he was going to disparage her cousin in +any way, was ready to take up arms and do battle. + +'Why, they do say as he fired the shot as has killed some o' the +men-o'-war's men, and, of course, if he has, he'll have to stand his +trial if he's caught.' + +'What lies people do say!' exclaimed Molly. 'He niver killed nought +but whales, a'll be bound; or, if he did, it were all right and +proper as he should, when they were for stealing him an' all t' +others, and did kill poor Darley as we come fra' seeming buried. A +suppose, now yo're such a Quaker that, if some one was to break +through fra' t' other side o' this dyke and offer for to murder +Sylvia and me, yo'd look on wi' yo'r hands hanging by yo'r side.' + +'But t' press-gang had law on their side, and were doing nought but +what they'd warrant for.' + +'Th' tender's gone away, as if she were ashamed o' what she'd done,' +said Sylvia, 'and t' flag's down fra' o'er the Randyvowse. There 'll +be no more press-ganging here awhile.' + +'No; feyther says,' continued Molly, 'as they've made t' place too +hot t' hold 'em, coming so strong afore people had getten used to +their ways o' catchin' up poor lads just come fra' t' Greenland +seas. T' folks ha' their blood so up they'd think no harm o' +fighting 'em i' t' streets--ay, and o' killing 'em, too, if they +were for using fire-arms, as t' _Aurora_'s men did.' + +'Women is so fond o' bloodshed,' said Philip; 'for t' hear you talk, +who'd ha' thought you'd just come fra' crying ower the grave of a +man who was killed by violence? I should ha' thought you'd seen +enough of what sorrow comes o' fighting. Why, them lads o' t' +_Aurora_ as they say Kinraid shot down had fathers and mothers, +maybe, a looking out for them to come home.' + +'I don't think he could ha' killed them,' said Sylvia; 'he looked so +gentle.' + +But Molly did not like this half-and-half view of the case. + +'A dare say he did kill 'em dead; he's not one to do things by +halves. And a think he served 'em reet, that's what a do.' + +'Is na' this Hester, as serves in Foster's shop?' asked Sylvia, in a +low voice, as a young woman came through a stile in the stone wall +by the roadside, and suddenly appeared before them. + +'Yes,' said Philip. 'Why, Hester, where have you been?' he asked, as +they drew near. + +Hester reddened a little, and then replied, in her slow, quiet way-- + +'I've been sitting with Betsy Darley--her that is bed-ridden. It +were lonesome for her when the others were away at the burying.' + +And she made as though she would have passed; but Sylvia, all her +sympathies alive for the relations of the murdered man, wanted to +ask more questions, and put her hand on Hester's arm to detain her a +moment. Hester suddenly drew back a little, reddened still more, and +then replied fully and quietly to all Sylvia asked. + +In the agricultural counties, and among the class to which these +four persons belonged, there is little analysis of motive or +comparison of characters and actions, even at this present day of +enlightenment. Sixty or seventy years ago there was still less. I do +not mean that amongst thoughtful and serious people there was not +much reading of such books as _Mason_ on _Self-Knowledge_ and _Law's +Serious Call_, or that there were not the experiences of the +Wesleyans, that were related at class-meeting for the edification of +the hearers. But, taken as a general ride, it may be said that few +knew what manner of men they were, compared to the numbers now who +are fully conscious of their virtues, qualities, failings, and +weaknesses, and who go about comparing others with themselves--not +in a spirit of Pharisaism and arrogance, but with a vivid +self-consciousness that more than anything else deprives characters +of freshness and originality. + +To return to the party we left standing on the high-raised footway +that ran alongside of the bridle-road to Haytersbank. Sylvia had +leisure in her heart to think 'how good Hester is for sitting with +the poor bed-ridden sister of Darley!' without having a pang of +self-depreciation in the comparison of her own conduct with that she +was capable of so fully appreciating. She had gone to church for the +ends of vanity, and remained to the funeral for curiosity and the +pleasure of the excitement. In this way a modern young lady would +have condemned herself, and therefore lost the simple, purifying +pleasure of admiration of another. + +Hester passed onwards, going down the hill towards the town. The +other three walked slowly on. All were silent for a few moments, +then Sylvia said-- + +'How good she is!' + +And Philip replied with ready warmth,-- + +'Yes, she is; no one knows how good but us, who live in the same +house wi' her.' + +'Her mother is an old Quakeress, bean't she?' Molly inquired. + +'Alice Rose is a Friend, if that is what you mean,' said Philip. + +'Well, well! some folk's so particular. Is William Coulson a Quaker, +by which a mean a Friend?' + +'Yes; they're all on 'em right-down good folk.' + +'Deary me! What a wonder yo' can speak to such sinners as Sylvia and +me, after keepin' company with so much goodness,' said Molly, who +had not yet forgiven Philip for doubting Kinraid's power of killing +men. 'Is na' it, Sylvia?' + +But Sylvia was too highly strung for banter. If she had not been one +of those who went to mock, but remained to pray, she had gone to +church with the thought of the cloak-that-was-to-be uppermost in her +mind, and she had come down the long church stair with life and +death suddenly become real to her mind, the enduring sea and hills +forming a contrasting background to the vanishing away of man. She +was full of a solemn wonder as to the abiding-place of the souls of +the dead, and a childlike dread lest the number of the elect should +be accomplished before she was included therein. How people could +ever be merry again after they had been at a funeral, she could not +imagine; so she answered gravely, and slightly beside the question: + +'I wonder if I was a Friend if I should be good?' + +'Gi' me your red cloak, that's all, when yo' turn Quaker; they'll +none let thee wear scarlet, so it 'll be of no use t' thee.' + +'I think thou'rt good enough as thou art,' said Philip, tenderly--at +least as tenderly as he durst, for he knew by experience that it did +not do to alarm her girlish coyness. Either one speech or the other +made Sylvia silent; neither was accordant to her mood of mind; so +perhaps both contributed to her quietness. + +'Folk say William Coulson looks sweet on Hester Rose,' said Molly, +always up in Monkshaven gossip. It was in the form of an assertion, +but was said in the tone of a question, and as such Philip replied +to it. + +'Yes, I think he likes her a good deal; but he's so quiet, I never +feel sure. John and Jeremiah would like the match, I've a notion.' + +And now they came to the stile which had filled Philip's eye for +some minutes past, though neither of the others had perceived they +were so near it; the stile which led to Moss Brow from the road into +the fields that sloped down to Haystersbank. Here they would leave +Molly, and now would begin the delicious _tete-a-tete_ walk, which +Philip always tried to make as lingering as possible. To-day he was +anxious to show his sympathy with Sylvia, as far as he could read +what was passing in her mind; but how was he to guess the multitude +of tangled thoughts in that unseen receptacle? A resolution to be +good, if she could, and always to be thinking on death, so that what +seemed to her now as simply impossible, might come true--that she +might 'dread the grave as little as her bed'; a wish that Philip +were not coming home with her; a wonder if the specksioneer really +had killed a man, an idea which made her shudder; yet from the awful +fascination about it, her imagination was compelled to dwell on the +tall, gaunt figure, and try to recall the wan countenance; a hatred +and desire of revenge on the press-gang, so vehement that it sadly +militated against her intention of trying to be good; all these +notions, and wonders, and fancies, were whirling about in Sylvia's +brain, and at one of their promptings she spoke,-- + +'How many miles away is t' Greenland seas?--I mean, how long do they +take to reach?' + +'I don't know; ten days or a fortnight, or more, maybe. I'll ask.' + +'Oh! feyther 'll tell me all about it. He's been there many a time.' + +'I say, Sylvie! My aunt said I were to give you lessons this winter +i' writing and ciphering. I can begin to come up now, two evenings, +maybe, a week. T' shop closes early after November comes in.' + +Sylvia did not like learning, and did not want him for her teacher; +so she answered in a dry little tone,-- + +'It'll use a deal o' candle-light; mother 'll not like that. I can't +see to spell wi'out a candle close at my elbow.' + +'Niver mind about candles. I can bring up a candle wi' me, for I +should be burning one at Alice Rose's.' + +So that excuse would not do. Sylvia beat her brains for another. + +'Writing cramps my hand so, I can't do any sewing for a day after; +and feyther wants his shirts very bad.' + +'But, Sylvia, I'll teach you geography, and ever such a vast o' fine +things about t' countries, on t' map.' + +'Is t' Arctic seas down on t' map?' she asked, in a tone of greater +interest. + +'Yes! Arctics, and tropics, and equator, and equinoctial line; we'll +take 'em turn and turn about; we'll do writing and ciphering one +night, and geography t' other.' + +Philip spoke with pleasure at the prospect, but Sylvia relaxed into +indifference. + +'I'm no scholard; it's like throwing away labour to teach me, I'm +such a dunce at my book. Now there's Betsy Corney, third girl, her +as is younger than Molly, she'd be a credit to you. There niver was +such a lass for pottering ower books.' + +If Philip had had his wits about him, he would have pretended to +listen to this proposition of a change of pupils, and then possibly +Sylvia might have repented making it. But he was too much mortified +to be diplomatic. + +'My aunt asked me to teach _you_ a bit, not any neighbour's lass.' + +'Well! if I mun be taught, I mun; but I'd rayther be whipped and ha' +done with it,' was Sylvia's ungracious reply. + +A moment afterwards, she repented of her little spirit of +unkindness, and thought that she should not like to die that night +without making friends. Sudden death was very present in her +thoughts since the funeral. So she instinctively chose the best +method of making friends again, and slipped her hand into his, as he +walked a little sullenly at her side. She was half afraid, however, +when she found it firmly held, and that she could not draw it away +again without making what she called in her own mind a 'fuss.' So, +hand in hand, they slowly and silently came up to the door of +Haytersbank Farm; not unseen by Bell Robson, who sate in the +window-seat, with her Bible open upon her knee. She had read her +chapter aloud to herself, and now she could see no longer, even if +she had wished to read more; but she gazed out into the darkening +air, and a dim look of contentment came like moonshine over her face +when she saw the cousins approach. + +'That's my prayer day and night,' said she to herself. + +But there was no unusual aspect of gladness on her face, as she +lighted the candle to give them a more cheerful welcome. + +'Wheere's feyther?' said Sylvia, looking round the room for Daniel. + +'He's been to Kirk Moorside Church, for t' see a bit o' th' world, +as he ca's it. And sin' then he's gone out to th' cattle; for +Kester's ta'en his turn of playing hissel', now that father's +better.' + +'I've been talking to Sylvia,' said Philip, his head still full of +his pleasant plan, his hand still tingling from the touch of hers, +'about turning schoolmaster, and coming up here two nights a week for +t' teach her a bit o' writing and ciphering.' + +'And geography,' put in Sylvia; 'for,' thought she, 'if I'm to learn +them things I don't care a pin about, anyhow I'll learn what I do +care to know, if it 'll tell me about t' Greenland seas, and how far +they're off.' + +That same evening, a trio alike in many outward circumstances sate +in a small neat room in a house opening out of a confined court on +the hilly side of the High Street of Monkshaven--a mother, her only +child, and the young man who silently loved that daughter, and was +favoured by Alice Rose, though not by Hester. + +When the latter returned from her afternoon's absence, she stood for +a minute or two on the little flight of steep steps, whitened to a +snowy whiteness; the aspect of the whole house partook of the same +character of irreproachable cleanliness. It was wedged up into a +space which necessitated all sorts of odd projections and +irregularities in order to obtain sufficient light for the interior; +and if ever the being situated in a dusky, confined corner might +have been made an excuse for dirt, Alice Rose's house had that +apology. Yet the small diamond panes of glass in the casement window +were kept so bright and clear that a great sweet-scented-leaved +geranium grew and flourished, though it did not flower profusely. +The leaves seemed to fill the air with fragrance as soon as Hester +summoned up energy enough to open the door. Perhaps that was because +the young Quaker, William Coulson, was crushing one between his +finger and thumb, while waiting to set down Alice's next words. For +the old woman, who looked as if many years of life remained in her +yet, was solemnly dictating her last will and testament. + +It had been on her mind for many months; for she had something to +leave beyond the mere furniture of the house. Something--a few +pounds--in the hands of John and Jeremiah Foster, her cousins: and +it was they who had suggested the duty on which she was engaged. She +had asked William Coulson to write down her wishes, and he had +consented, though with some fear and trepidation; for he had an idea +that he was infringing on a lawyer's prerogative, and that, for +aught he knew, he might be prosecuted for making a will without a +licence, just as a man might be punished for selling wine and +spirits without going through the preliminary legal forms that give +permission for such a sale. But to his suggestion that Alice should +employ a lawyer, she had replied-- + +'That would cost me five pounds sterling; and thee canst do it as +well, if thee'll but attend to my words.' + +So he had bought, at her desire, a black-edged sheet of fine-wove +paper, and a couple of good pens, on the previous Saturday; and +while waiting for her to begin her dictation, and full serious +thought himself, he had almost unconsciously made the grand flourish +at the top of the paper which he had learnt at school, and which was +there called a spread-eagle. + +'What art thee doing there?' asked Alice, suddenly alive to his +proceedings. + +Without a word he showed her his handiwork. + +'It's a vanity,' said she, 'and 't may make t' will not stand. Folk +may think I were na in my right mind, if they see such fly-legs and +cob-webs a-top. Write, "This is my doing, William Coulson, and none +of Alice Rose's, she being in her sound mind."' + +'I don't think it's needed,' said William. Nevertheless he wrote +down the words. + +'Hast thee put that I'm in my sound mind and seven senses? Then make +the sign of the Trinity, and write, "In the name of the Father, the +Son, and the Holy Ghost."' + +'Is that the right way o' beginning a will?' said Coulson, a little +startled. + +'My father, and my father's father, and my husband had it a-top of +theirs, and I'm noane going for to cease fra' following after them, +for they were godly men, though my husband were o' t' episcopal +persuasion.' + +'It's done,' said William. + +'Hast thee dated it?' asked Alice. + +'Nay.' + +'Then date it third day, ninth month. Now, art ready?' + +Coulson nodded. + +'I, Alice Rose, do leave my furniture (that is, my bed and chest o' +drawers, for thy bed and things is thine, and not mine), and settle, +and saucepans, and dresser, and table, and kettle, and all the rest +of my furniture, to my lawful and only daughter, Hester Rose. I +think that's safe for her to have all, is 't not, William?' + +'I think so, too,' said he, writing on all the time. + +'And thee shalt have t' roller and paste-board, because thee's so +fond o' puddings and cakes. It 'll serve thy wife after I'm gone, +and I trust she'll boil her paste long enough, for that's been t' +secret o' mine, and thee'll noane be so easy t' please.' + +'I din't reckon on marriage,' said William. + +'Thee'll marry,' said Alice. 'Thee likes to have thy victuals hot +and comfortable; and there's noane many but a wife as'll look after +that for t' please thee.' + +'I know who could please me,' sighed forth William, 'but I can't +please her.' + +Alice looked sharply at him from over her spectacles, which she had +put on the better to think about the disposal of her property. + +'Thee art thinking on our Hester,' said she, plainly out. + +He started a little, but looked up at her and met her eyes. + +'Hester cares noane for me,' said he, dejectedly. + +'Bide a while, my lad,' said Alice, kindly. 'Young women don't +always know their own minds. Thee and her would make a marriage +after my own heart; and the Lord has been very good to me hitherto, +and I think He'll bring it t' pass. But don't thee let on as thee +cares for her so much. I sometimes think she wearies o' thy looks +and thy ways. Show up thy manly heart, and make as though thee had +much else to think on, and no leisure for to dawdle after her, and +she'll think a deal more on thee. And now mend thy pen for a fresh +start. I give and bequeath--did thee put "give and bequeath," at th' +beginning?' + +'Nay,' said William, looking back. 'Thee didst not tell me "give and +bequeath!"' + +'Then it won't be legal, and my bit o' furniture 'll be taken to +London, and put into chancery, and Hester will have noane on it.' + +'I can write it over,' said William. + +'Well, write it clear then, and put a line under it to show those +are my special words. Hast thee done it? Then now start afresh. I +give and bequeath my book o' sermons, as is bound in good calfskin, +and lies on the third shelf o' corner cupboard at the right hand o' +t' fire-place, to Philip Hepburn; for I reckon he's as fond o' +reading sermons as thee art o' light, well-boiled paste, and I'd be +glad for each on ye to have somewhat ye like for to remember me by. +Is that down? There; now for my cousins John and Jeremiah. They are +rich i' world's gear, but they'll prize what I leave 'em if I could +only onbethink me what they would like. Hearken! Is na' that our +Hester's step? Put it away, quick! I'm noane for grieving her wi' +telling her what I've been about. We'll take a turn at t' will next +First Day; it will serve us for several Sabbaths to come, and maybe +I can think on something as will suit cousin John and cousin +Jeremiah afore then.' + +Hester, as was mentioned, paused a minute or two before lifting the +latch of the door. When she entered there was no unusual sign of +writing about; only Will Coulson looking very red, and crushing and +smelling at the geranium leaf. + +Hester came in briskly, with the little stock of enforced +cheerfulness she had stopped at the door to acquire. But it faded +away along with the faint flush of colour in her cheeks; and the +mother's quick eye immediately noted the wan heavy look of care. + +'I have kept t' pot in t' oven; it'll have a'most got a' t' goodness +out of t' tea by now, for it'll be an hour since I made it. Poor +lass, thou look'st as if thou needed a good cup o' tea. It were dree +work sitting wi' Betsy Darley, were it? And how does she look on her +affliction?' + +'She takes it sore to heart,' said Hester, taking off her hat, and +folding and smoothing away her cloak, before putting them in the +great oak chest (or 'ark,' as it was called), in which they were +laid from Sunday to Sunday. + +As she opened the lid a sweet scent of dried lavender and +rose-leaves came out. William stepped hastily forwards to hold up +the heavy lid for her. She lifted up her head, looked at him full +with her serene eyes, and thanked him for his little service. Then +she took a creepie-stool and sate down on the side of the +fire-place, having her back to the window. + +The hearth was of the same spotless whiteness as the steps; all that +was black about the grate was polished to the utmost extent; all +that was of brass, like the handle of the oven, was burnished +bright. Her mother placed the little black earthenware teapot, in +which the tea had been stewing, on the table, where cups and saucers +were already set for four, and a large plate of bread and butter +cut. Then they sate round the table, bowed their heads, and kept +silence for a minute or two. + +When this grace was ended, and they were about to begin, Alice said, +as if without premeditation, but in reality with a keen shrinking of +heart out of sympathy with her child-- + +'Philip would have been in to his tea by now, I reckon, if he'd been +coming.' + +William looked up suddenly at Hester; her mother carefully turned +her head another way. But she answered quite quietly-- + +'He'll be gone to his aunt's at Haytersbank. I met him at t' top o' +t' Brow, with his cousin and Molly Corney.' + +'He's a deal there,' said William. + +'Yes,' said Hester. 'It's likely; him and his aunt come from +Carlisle-way, and must needs cling together in these strange parts.' + +'I saw him at the burying of yon Darley,' said William. + +'It were a vast o' people went past th' entry end,' said Alice. 'It +were a'most like election time; I were just come back fra' meeting +when they were all going up th' church steps. I met yon sailor as, +they say, used violence and did murder; he looked like a ghost, +though whether it were his bodily wounds, or the sense of his sins +stirring within him, it's not for me to say. And by t' time I was +back here and settled to my Bible, t' folk were returning, and it +were tramp, tramp, past th' entry end for better nor a quarter of an +hour.' + +'They say Kinraid has getten slugs and gun-shot in his side,' said +Hester. + +'He's niver one Charley Kinraid, for sure, as I knowed at +Newcastle,' said William Coulson, roused to sudden and energetic +curiosity. + +'I don't know,' replied Hester; 'they call him just Kinraid; and +Betsy Darley says he's t' most daring specksioneer of all that go +off this coast to t' Greenland seas. But he's been in Newcastle, for +I mind me she said her poor brother met with him there.' + +'How didst thee come to know him?' inquired Alice. + +'I cannot abide him if it is Charley,' said William. 'He kept +company with my poor sister as is dead for better nor two year, and +then he left off coming to see her and went wi' another girl, and it +just broke her heart.' + +'He don't look now as if he iver could play at that game again,' +said Alice; 'he has had a warning fra' the Lord. Whether it be a +call no one can tell. But to my eyne he looks as if he had been +called, and was going.' + +'Then he'll meet my sister,' said William, solemnly; 'and I hope the +Lord will make it clear to him, then, how he killed her, as sure as +he shot down yon sailors; an' if there's a gnashing o' teeth for +murder i' that other place, I reckon he'll have his share on't. He's +a bad man yon.' + +'Betsy said he were such a friend to her brother as niver was; and +he's sent her word and promised to go and see her, first place he +goes out to. + +But William only shook his head, and repeated his last words,-- + +'He's a bad man, he is.' + +When Philip came home that Sunday night, he found only Alice up to +receive him. The usual bedtime in the household was nine o'clock, +and it was but ten minutes past the hour; but Alice looked +displeased and stern. + +'Thee art late, lad,' said she, shortly. + +'I'm sorry; it's a long way from my uncle's, and I think clocks are +different,' said he, taking out his watch to compare it with the +round moon's face that told the time to Alice. + +'I know nought about thy uncle's, but thee art late. Take thy +candle, and begone.' + +If Alice made any reply to Philip's 'good-night,' he did not hear +it. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ATTRACTION AND REPULSION + + + + + +A fortnight had passed over and winter was advancing with rapid +strides. In bleak northern farmsteads there was much to be done +before November weather should make the roads too heavy for half-fed +horses to pull carts through. There was the turf, pared up on the +distant moors, and left out to dry, to be carried home and stacked; +the brown fern was to be stored up for winter bedding for the +cattle; for straw was scarce and dear in those parts; even for +thatching, heather (or rather ling) was used. Then there was meat to +salt while it could be had; for, in default of turnips and +mangold-wurzel, there was a great slaughtering of barren cows as +soon as the summer herbage failed; and good housewives stored up +their Christmas piece of beef in pickle before Martinmas was over. +Corn was to be ground while yet it could be carried to the distant +mill; the great racks for oat-cake, that swung at the top of the +kitchen, had to be filled. And last of all came the pig-killing, +when the second frost set in. For up in the north there is an idea +that the ice stored in the first frost will melt, and the meat cured +then taint; the first frost is good for nothing but to be thrown +away, as they express it. + +There came a breathing-time after this last event. The house had had +its last autumn cleaning, and was neat and bright from top to bottom, +from one end to another. The turf was led; the coal carted up from +Monkshaven; the wood stored; the corn ground; the pig killed, and +the hams and head and hands lying in salt. The butcher had been glad +to take the best parts of a pig of Dame Robson's careful feeding; +but there was unusual plenty in the Haytersbank pantry; and as Bell +surveyed it one morning, she said to her husband-- + +'I wonder if yon poor sick chap at Moss Brow would fancy some o' my +sausages. They're something to crack on, for they are made fra' an +old Cumberland receipt, as is not known i' Yorkshire yet.' + +'Thou's allays so set upo' Cumberland ways!' said her husband, not +displeased with the suggestion, however. 'Still, when folk's sick +they han their fancies, and maybe Kinraid 'll be glad o' thy +sausages. I ha' known sick folk tak' t' eating snails.' + +This was not complimentary, perhaps. But Daniel went on to say that +he did not mind if he stepped over with the sausages himself, when +it was too late to do anything else. Sylvia longed to offer to +accompany her father; but, somehow, she did not like to propose it. +Towards dusk she came to her mother to ask for the key of the great +bureau that stood in the house-place as a state piece of furniture, +although its use was to contain the family's best wearing apparel, +and stores of linen, such as might be supposed to be more needed +upstairs. + +'What for do yo' want my keys?' asked Bell. + +'Only just to get out one of t' damask napkins.' + +'The best napkins, as my mother span?' + +'Yes!' said Sylvia, her colour heightening. 'I thought as how it +would set off t' sausages.' + +'A good clean homespun cloth will serve them better,' said Bell, +wondering in her own mind what was come over the girl, to be +thinking of setting off sausages that were to be eaten, not to be +looked at like a picture-book. She might have wondered still more, +if she had seen Sylvia steal round to the little flower border she +had persuaded Kester to make under the wall at the sunny side of the +house, and gather the two or three Michaelmas daisies, and the one +bud of the China rose, that, growing against the kitchen chimney, +had escaped the frost; and then, when her mother was not looking, +softly open the cloth inside of the little basket that contained the +sausages and a fresh egg or two, and lay her autumn blossoms in one +of the folds of the towel. + +After Daniel, now pretty clear of his rheumatism, had had his +afternoon meal (tea was a Sunday treat), he prepared to set out on +his walk to Moss Brow; but as he was taking his stick he caught the +look on Sylvia's face; and unconsciously interpreted its dumb +wistfulness. + +'Missus,' said he, 't' wench has nought more t' do, has she? She may +as well put on her cloak and step down wi' me, and see Molly a bit; +she'll be company like.' + +Bell considered. + +'There's t' yarn for thy stockings as is yet to spin; but she can +go, for I'll do a bit at 't mysel', and there's nought else agate.' + +'Put on thy things in a jiffy, then, and let's be off,' said Daniel. + +And Sylvia did not need another word. Down she came in a twinkling, +dressed in her new red cloak and hood, her face peeping out of the +folds of the latter, bright and blushing. + +'Thou should'st na' ha' put on thy new cloak for a night walk to +Moss Brow,' said Bell, shaking her head. + +'Shall I go take it off, and put on my shawl?' asked Sylvia, a +little dolefully. + +'Na, na, come along! a'm noane goin' for t' wait o' women's chops +and changes. Come along; come, Lassie!' (this last to his dog). + +So Sylvia set off with a dancing heart and a dancing step, that had +to be restrained to the sober gait her father chose. The sky above +was bright and clear with the light of a thousand stars, the grass +was crisping under their feet with the coming hoar frost; and as +they mounted to the higher ground they could see the dark sea +stretching away far below them. The night was very still, though now +and then crisp sounds in the distant air sounded very near in the +silence. Sylvia carried the basket, and looked like little Red +Riding Hood. Her father had nothing to say, and did not care to make +himself agreeable; but Sylvia enjoyed her own thoughts, and any +conversation would have been a disturbance to her. The long +monotonous roll of the distant waves, as the tide bore them in, the +multitudinous rush at last, and then the retreating rattle and +trickle, as the baffled waters fell back over the shingle that +skirted the sands, and divided them from the cliffs; her father's +measured tread, and slow, even movement; Lassie's pattering--all +lulled Sylvia into a reverie, of which she could not have given +herself any definite account. But at length they arrived at Moss +Brow, and with a sudden sigh she quitted the subjects of her dreamy +meditations, and followed her father into the great house-place. It +had a more comfortable aspect by night than by day. The fire was +always kept up to a wasteful size, and the dancing blaze and the +partial light of candles left much in shadow that was best ignored +in such a disorderly family. But there was always a warm welcome to +friends, however roughly given; and after the words of this were +spoken, the next rose up equally naturally in the mind of Mrs +Corney. + +'And what will ye tak'? Eh! but t' measter 'll be fine and vexed at +your comin' when he's away. He's off to Horncastle t' sell some +colts, and he'll not be back till to-morrow's neet. But here's +Charley Kinraid as we've getten to nurse up a bit, and' t' lads 'll +be back fra' Monkshaven in a crack o' no time.' + +All this was addressed to Daniel, to whom she knew that none but +masculine company would be acceptable. Amongst uneducated +people--whose range of subjects and interest do not extend beyond +their daily life--it is natural that when the first blush and hurry +of youth is over, there should be no great pleasure in the +conversation of the other sex. Men have plenty to say to men, which +in their estimation (gained from tradition and experience) women +cannot understand; and farmers of a much later date than the one of +which I am writing, would have contemptuously considered it as a +loss of time to talk to women; indeed, they were often more +communicative to the sheep-dog that accompanied them through all +the day's work, and frequently became a sort of dumb confidant. +Farmer Robson's Lassie now lay down at her master's feet, placed +her nose between her paws, and watched with attentive eyes the +preparations going on for refreshments--preparations which, to the +disappointment of her canine heart, consisted entirely of tumblers +and sugar. + +'Where's t' wench?' said Robson, after he had shaken hands with +Kinraid, and spoken a few words to him and to Mrs. Corney. 'She's +getten' a basket wi' sausages in 'em, as my missus has made, and +she's a rare hand at sausages; there's noane like her in a' t' three +Ridings, I'll be bound!' + +For Daniel could praise his wife's powers in her absence, though he +did not often express himself in an appreciative manner when she was +by to hear. But Sylvia's quick sense caught up the manner in which +Mrs. Corney would apply the way in which her mother's housewifery had +been exalted, and stepping forwards out of the shadow, she said,-- + +'Mother thought, maybe, you hadn't killed a pig yet, and sausages is +always a bit savoury for any one who is na' well, and----' + +She might have gone on but that she caught Kinraid's eyes looking at +her with kindly admiration. She stopped speaking, and Mrs. Corney +took up the word-- + +'As for sausages, I ha' niver had a chance this year, else I stand +again any one for t' making of 'em. Yorkshire hams 's a vast thought +on, and I'll niver let another county woman say as she can make +better sausages nor me. But, as I'm saying, I'd niver a chance; for +our pig, as I were sa fond on, and fed mysel', and as would ha' been +fourteen stone by now if he were an ounce, and as knew me as well as +any Christian, and a pig, as I may say, that I just idolized, went +and took a fit a week after Michaelmas Day, and died, as if it had +been to spite me; and t' next is na' ready for killing, nor wunnot +be this six week. So I'm much beholden to your missus, and so's +Charley, I'm sure; though he's ta'en a turn to betterin' sin' he +came out here to be nursed.' + +'I'm a deal better,' said Kinraid; 'a'most ready for t' press-gang +to give chase to again.' + +'But folk say they're gone off this coast for one while,' added +Daniel. + +'They're gone down towards Hull, as I've been told,' said Kinraid. +'But they're a deep set, they'll be here before we know where we +are, some of these days.' + +'See thee here!' said Daniel, exhibiting his maimed hand; 'a reckon +a served 'em out time o' t' Ameriky war.' And he began the story +Sylvia knew so well; for her father never made a new acquaintance +but what he told him of his self-mutilation to escape the +press-gang. It had been done, as he would himself have owned, to +spite himself as well as them; for it had obliged him to leave a +sea-life, to which, in comparison, all life spent on shore was worse +than nothing for dulness. For Robson had never reached that rank +aboard ship which made his being unable to run up the rigging, or to +throw a harpoon, or to fire off a gun, of no great consequence; so +he had to be thankful that an opportune legacy enabled him to turn +farmer, a great degradation in his opinion. But his blood warmed, as +he told the specksioneer, towards a sailor, and he pressed Kinraid +to beguile the time when he was compelled to be ashore, by coming +over to see him at Haytersbank, whenever he felt inclined. + +Sylvia, appearing to listen to Molly's confidences, was hearkening +in reality to all this conversation between her father and the +specksioneer; and at this invitation she became especially +attentive. + +Kinraid replied,-- + +'I'm much obliged to ye, I'm sure; maybe I can come and spend an +ev'ning wi' you; but as soon as I'm got round a bit, I must go see +my own people as live at Cullercoats near Newcastle-upo'-Tyne.' + +'Well, well!' said Daniel, rising to take leave, with unusual +prudence as to the amount of his drink. 'Thou'lt see, thou'lt see! I +shall be main glad to see thee; if thou'lt come. But I've na' lads +to keep thee company, only one sprig of a wench. Sylvia, come here, +an let's show thee to this young fellow!' + +Sylvia came forwards, ruddy as any rose, and in a moment Kinraid +recognized her as the pretty little girl he had seen crying so +bitterly over Darley's grave. He rose up out of true sailor's +gallantry, as she shyly approached and stood by her father's side, +scarcely daring to lift her great soft eyes, to have one fair gaze +at his face. He had to support himself by one hand rested on the +dresser, but she saw he was looking far better--younger, less +haggard--than he had seemed to her before. His face was short and +expressive; his complexion had been weatherbeaten and bronzed, +though now he looked so pale; his eyes and hair were dark,--the +former quick, deep-set, and penetrating; the latter curly, and +almost in ringlets. His teeth gleamed white as he smiled at her, a +pleasant friendly smile of recognition; but she only blushed the +deeper, and hung her head. + +'I'll come, sir, and be thankful. I daresay a turn'll do me good, if +the weather holds up, an' th' frost keeps on.' + +'That's right, my lad,' said Robson, shaking him by the hand, and +then Kinraid's hand was held out to Sylvia, and she could not avoid +the same friendly action. + +Molly Corney followed her to the door, and when they were fairly +outside, she held Sylvia back for an instant to say,-- + +'Is na' he a fine likely man? I'm so glad as yo've seen him, for +he's to be off next week to Newcastle and that neighbourhood.' + +'But he said he'd come to us some night?' asked Sylvia, half in a +fright. + +'Ay, I'll see as he does; never fear. For I should like yo' for to +know him a bit. He's a rare talker. I'll mind him o' coming to yo'.' + +Somehow, Sylvia felt as if this repeated promise of reminding +Kinraid of his promise to come and see her father took away part of +the pleasure she had anticipated from his visit. Yet what could be +more natural than that Molly Corney should wish her friend to be +acquainted with the man whom Sylvia believed to be all but Molly's +engaged lover? + +Pondering these thoughts, the walk home was as silent as that going +to Moss Brow had been. The only change seemed to be that now they +faced the brilliant northern lights flashing up the sky, and that +either this appearance or some of the whaling narrations of Kinraid +had stirred up Daniel Robson's recollections of a sea ditty, which +he kept singing to himself in a low, unmusical voice, the burden of +which was, 'for I loves the tossin' say!' Bell met them at the door. + +'Well, and here ye are at home again! and Philip has been, Sylvie, +to give thee thy ciphering lesson; and he stayed awhile, thinking +thou'd be coming back.' + +'I'm very sorry,' said Sylvia, more out of deference to her mother's +tone of annoyance, than because she herself cared either for her +lesson or her cousin's disappointment. + +'He'll come again to-morrow night, he says. But thou must take care, +and mind the nights he says he'll come, for it's a long way to come +for nought.' + +Sylvia might have repeated her 'I'm very sorry' at this announcement +of Philip's intentions; but she restrained herself, inwardly and +fervently hoping that Molly would not urge the fulfilment of the +specksioneer's promise for to-morrow night, for Philip's being there +would spoil all; and besides, if she sate at the dresser at her +lesson, and Kinraid at the table with her father, he might hear all, +and find out what a dunce she was. + +She need not have been afraid. With the next night Hepburn came; and +Kinraid did not. After a few words to her mother, Philip produced +the candles he had promised, and some books and a quill or two. + +'What for hast thou brought candles?' asked Bell, in a +half-affronted tone. + +Hepburn smiled. + +'Sylvia thought it would take a deal of candlelight, and was for +making it into a reason not to learn. I should ha' used t' candles +if I'd stayed at home, so I just brought them wi' me.' + +'Then thou may'st just take them back again,' said Bell, shortly, +blowing out that which he had lighted, and placing one of her own on +the dresser instead. + +Sylvia caught her mother's look of displeasure, and it made her +docile for the evening, although she owed her cousin a grudge for +her enforced good behaviour. + +'Now, Sylvia, here's a copy-book wi' t' Tower o' London on it, and +we'll fill it wi' as pretty writing as any in t' North Riding.' + +Sylvia sate quite still, unenlivened by this prospect. + +'Here's a pen as 'll nearly write of itsel',' continued Philip, +still trying to coax her out her sullenness of manner. + +Then he arranged her in the right position. + +'Don't lay your head down on your left arm, you'll ne'er see to +write straight.' + +The attitude was changed, but not a word was spoken. Philip began to +grow angry at such determined dumbness. + +'Are you tired?' asked he, with a strange mixture of crossness and +tenderness. + +'Yes, very,' was her reply. + +'But thou ought'st not to be tired,' said Bell, who had not yet got +over the offence to her hospitality; who, moreover, liked her +nephew, and had, to boot, a great respect for the learning she had +never acquired. + +'Mother!' said Sylvia, bursting out, 'what's the use on my writing +"Abednego," "Abednego," "Abednego," all down a page? If I could see +t' use on 't, I'd ha' axed father to send me t' school; but I'm none +wanting to have learning.' + +'It's a fine thing, tho', is learning. My mother and my grandmother +had it: but th' family came down i' the world, and Philip's mother +and me, we had none of it; but I ha' set my heart on thy having it, +child.' + +'My fingers is stiff,' pleaded Sylvia, holding up her little hand +and shaking it. + +'Let us take a turn at spelling, then,' said Philip. + +'What's t' use on't?' asked captious Sylvia. + +'Why, it helps one i' reading an' writing.' + +'And what does reading and writing do for one?' + +Her mother gave her another of the severe looks that, quiet woman as +she was, she could occasionally bestow upon the refractory, and +Sylvia took her book and glanced down the column Philip pointed out +to her; but, as she justly considered, one man might point out the +task, but twenty could not make her learn it, if she did not choose; +and she sat herself down on the edge of the dresser, and idly gazed +into the fire. But her mother came round to look for something in +the drawers of the dresser, and as she passed her daughter she said +in a low voice-- + +'Sylvie, be a good lass. I set a deal o' store by learning, and +father 'ud never send thee to school, as has stuck by me sore.' + +If Philip, sitting with his back to them, heard these words he was +discreet enough not to show that he heard. And he had his reward; +for in a very short time, Sylvia stood before him with her book in +her hand, prepared to say her spelling. At which he also stood up by +instinct, and listened to her slow succeeding letters; helping her +out, when she looked up at him with a sweet childlike perplexity in +her face: for a dunce as to book-learning poor Sylvia was and was +likely to remain; and, in spite of his assumed office of +schoolmaster, Philip Hepburn could almost have echoed the words of +the lover of Jess MacFarlane-- + +I sent my love a letter, +But, alas! she canna read, +And I lo'e her a' the better. + +Still he knew his aunt's strong wish on the subject, and it was very +delightful to stand in the relation of teacher to so dear and +pretty, if so wilful, a pupil. + +Perhaps it was not very flattering to notice Sylvia's great joy when +her lessons were over, sadly shortened as they were by Philip's +desire not to be too hard upon her. Sylvia danced round to her +mother, bent her head back, and kissed her face, and then said +defyingly to Philip,-- + +'If iver I write thee a letter it shall just be full of nothing but +"Abednego! Abednego! Abednego!"' + +But at this moment her father came in from a distant expedition on +the moors with Kester to look after the sheep he had pasturing there +before the winter set fairly in. He was tired, and so was Lassie, +and so, too, was Kester, who, lifting his heavy legs one after the +other, and smoothing down his hair, followed his master into the +house-place, and seating himself on a bench at the farther end of +the dresser, patiently awaited the supper of porridge and milk which +he shared with his master. Sylvia, meanwhile, coaxed Lassie--poor +footsore dog--to her side, and gave her some food, which the +creature was almost too tired to eat. Philip made as though he would +be going, but Daniel motioned to him to be quiet. + +'Sit thee down, lad. As soon as I've had my victual, I want t' hear +a bit o' news.' + +Sylvia took her sewing and sat at the little round table by her +mother, sharing the light of the scanty dip-candle. No one spoke. +Every one was absorbed in what they were doing. What Philip was +doing was, gazing at Sylvia--learning her face off by heart. + +When every scrap of porridge was cleared out of the mighty bowl, +Kester yawned, and wishing good-night, withdrew to his loft over the +cow-house. Then Philip pulled out the weekly York paper, and began +to read the latest accounts of the war then raging. This was giving +Daniel one of his greatest pleasures; for though he could read +pretty well, yet the double effort of reading and understanding what +he read was almost too much for him. He could read, or he could +understand what was read aloud to him; reading was no pleasure, but +listening was. + +Besides, he had a true John Bullish interest in the war, without +very well knowing what the English were fighting for. But in those +days, so long as they fought the French for any cause, or for no +cause at all, every true patriot was satisfied. Sylvia and her +mother did not care for any such far-extended interest; a little bit +of York news, the stealing of a few apples out of a Scarborough +garden that they knew, was of far more interest to them than all the +battles of Nelson and the North. + +Philip read in a high-pitched and unnatural tone of voice, which +deprived the words of their reality; for even familiar expressions +can become unfamiliar and convey no ideas, if the utterance is +forced or affected. Philip was somewhat of a pedant; yet there was a +simplicity in his pedantry not always to be met with in those who +are self-taught, and which might have interested any one who cared +to know with what labour and difficulty he had acquired the +knowledge which now he prized so highly; reading out Latin +quotations as easily as if they were English, and taking a pleasure +in rolling polysyllables, until all at once looking askance at +Sylvia, he saw that her head had fallen back, her pretty rosy lips +open, her eyes fast shut; in short, she was asleep. + +'Ay,' said Farmer Robson, 'and t' reading has a'most sent me off. +Mother 'd look angry now if I was to tell yo' yo' had a right to a +kiss; but when I was a young man I'd ha' kissed a pretty girl as I +saw asleep, afore yo'd said Jack Robson.' + +Philip trembled at these words, and looked at his aunt. She gave him +no encouragement, standing up, and making as though she had never +heard her husband's speech, by extending her hand, and wishing him +'good-night.' At the noise of the chairs moving over the flag floor, +Sylvia started up, confused and annoyed at her father's laughter. + +'Ay, lass; it's iver a good time t' fall asleep when a young fellow +is by. Here's Philip here as thou'rt bound t' give a pair o' gloves +to.' + +Sylvia went like fire; she turned to her mother to read her face. + +'It's only father's joke, lass,' said she. 'Philip knows manners too +well.' + +'He'd better,' said Sylvia, flaming round at him. 'If he'd a touched +me, I'd niver ha' spoken to him no more.' And she looked even as it +was as if she was far from forgiving him. + +'Hoots, lass! wenches are brought up sa mim, now-a-days; i' my time +they'd ha' thought na' such great harm of a kiss.' + +'Good-night, Philip,' said Bell Robson, thinking the conversation +unseemly. + +'Good-night, aunt, good-night, Sylvie!' But Sylvia turned her back +on him, and he could hardly say 'good-night' to Daniel, who had +caused such an unpleasant end to an evening that had at one time +been going on so well. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE SPECKSIONEER + + + + + +A few days after, Farmer Robson left Haytersbank betimes on a +longish day's journey, to purchase a horse. Sylvia and her mother +were busied with a hundred household things, and the early winter's +evening closed in upon them almost before they were aware. The +consequences of darkness in the country even now are to gather the +members of a family together into one room, and to make them settle +to some sedentary employment; and it was much more the case at the +period of my story, when candles were far dearer than they are at +present, and when one was often made to suffice for a large family. + +The mother and daughter hardly spoke at all when they sat down at +last. The cheerful click of the knitting-needles made a pleasant +home-sound; and in the occasional snatches of slumber that overcame +her mother, Sylvia could hear the long-rushing boom of the waves, +down below the rocks, for the Haytersbank gulley allowed the sullen +roar to come up so far inland. It might have been about eight +o'clock--though from the monotonous course of the evening it seemed +much later--when Sylvia heard her father's heavy step cranching down +the pebbly path. More unusual, she heard his voice talking to some +companion. + +Curious to see who it could be, with a lively instinctive advance +towards any event which might break the monotony she had begun to +find somewhat dull, she sprang up to open the door. Half a glance +into the gray darkness outside made her suddenly timid, and she drew +back behind the door as she opened it wide to admit her father and +Kinraid. + +Daniel Robson came in bright and boisterous. He was pleased with his +purchase, and had had some drink to celebrate his bargain. He had +ridden the new mare into Monkshaven, and left her at the smithy +there until morning, to have her feet looked at, and to be new shod. +On his way from the town he had met Kinraid wandering about in +search of Haytersbank Farm itself, so he had just brought him along +with him; and here they were, ready for bread and cheese, and aught +else the mistress would set before them. + +To Sylvia the sudden change into brightness and bustle occasioned by +the entrance of her father and the specksioneer was like that which +you may effect any winter's night, when you come into a room where a +great lump of coal lies hot and slumbering on the fire; just break +it up with a judicious blow from the poker, and the room, late so +dark, and dusk, and lone, is full of life, and light, and warmth. + +She moved about with pretty household briskness, attending to all +her father's wants. Kinraid's eye watched her as she went backwards +and forwards, to and fro, into the pantry, the back-kitchen, out of +light into shade, out of the shadow into the broad firelight where +he could see and note her appearance. She wore the high-crowned +linen cap of that day, surmounting her lovely masses of golden brown +hair, rather than concealing them, and tied firm to her head by a +broad blue ribbon. A long curl hung down on each side of her neck-- +her throat rather, for her neck was concealed by a little spotted +handkerchief carefully pinned across at the waist of her brown stuff +gown. + +How well it was, thought the young girl, that she had doffed her +bed-gown and linsey-woolsey petticoat, her working-dress, and made +herself smart in her stuff gown, when she sate down to work with her +mother. + +By the time she could sit down again, her father and Kinraid had +their glasses filled, and were talking of the relative merits of +various kinds of spirits; that led on to tales of smuggling, and the +different contrivances by which they or their friends had eluded the +preventive service; the nightly relays of men to carry the goods +inland; the kegs of brandy found by certain farmers whose horses had +gone so far in the night, that they could do no work the next day; +the clever way in which certain women managed to bring in prohibited +goods; in fact, that when a woman did give her mind to smuggling, +she was more full of resources, and tricks, and impudence, and +energy than any man. There was no question of the morality of the +affair; one of the greatest signs of the real progress we have made +since those times seems to be that our daily concerns of buying and +selling, eating and drinking, whatsoever we do, are more tested by +the real practical standard of our religion than they were in the +days of our grandfathers. Neither Sylvia nor her mother was in +advance of their age. Both listened with admiration to the ingenious +devices, and acted as well as spoken lies, that were talked about as +fine and spirited things. Yet if Sylvia had attempted one tithe of +this deceit in her every-day life, it would have half broken her +mother's heart. But when the duty on salt was strictly and cruelly +enforced, making it penal to pick up rough dirty lumps containing +small quantities that might be thrown out with the ashes of the +brine-houses on the high-roads; when the price of this necessary was +so increased by the tax upon it as to make it an expensive, +sometimes an unattainable, luxury to the working man, Government did +more to demoralise the popular sense of rectitude and uprightness +than heaps of sermons could undo. And the same, though in smaller +measure, was the consequence of many other taxes. It may seem +curious to trace up the popular standard of truth to taxation; but I +do not think the idea would be so very far-fetched. + +From smuggling adventures it was easy to pass on to stories of what +had happened to Robson, in his youth a sailor in the Greenland seas, +and to Kinraid, now one of the best harpooners in any whaler that +sailed off the coast. + +'There's three things to be afeared on,' said Robson, +authoritatively: 'there's t' ice, that's bad; there's dirty weather, +that's worse; and there's whales theirselves, as is t' worst of all; +leastways, they was i' my days; t' darned brutes may ha' larnt +better manners sin'. When I were young, they could niver be got to +let theirsels be harpooned wi'out flounderin' and makin' play wi' +their tales and their fins, till t' say were all in a foam, and t' +boats' crews was all o'er wi' spray, which i' them latitudes is a +kind o' shower-bath not needed.' + +'Th' whales hasn't mended their manners, as you call it,' said +Kinraid; 'but th' ice is not to be spoken lightly on. I were once in +th' ship _John_ of Hull, and we were in good green water, and were +keen after whales; and ne'er thought harm of a great gray iceberg as +were on our lee-bow, a mile or so off; it looked as if it had been +there from the days of Adam, and were likely to see th' last man +out, and it ne'er a bit bigger nor smaller in all them thousands and +thousands o' years. Well, the fast-boats were out after a fish, and +I were specksioneer in one; and we were so keen after capturing our +whale, that none on us ever saw that we were drifting away from them +right into deep shadow o' th' iceberg. But we were set upon our +whale, and I harpooned it; and as soon as it were dead we lashed its +fins together, and fastened its tail to our boat; and then we took +breath and looked about us, and away from us a little space were th' +other boats, wi' two other fish making play, and as likely as not to +break loose, for I may say as I were th' best harpooner on board the +_John_, wi'out saying great things o' mysel'. So I says, "My lads, +one o' you stay i' th' boat by this fish,"--the fins o' which, as I +said, I'd reeved a rope through mysel', and which was as dead as +Noah's grandfather--"and th' rest on us shall go off and help th' +other boats wi' their fish." For, you see, we had another boat close +by in order to sweep th' fish. (I suppose they swept fish i' your +time, master?)' + +'Ay, ay!' said Robson; 'one boat lies still holding t' end o' t' +line; t' other makes a circuit round t' fish.' + +'Well! luckily for us we had our second boat, for we all got into +it, ne'er a man on us was left i' th' fast-boat. And says I, "But +who's to stay by t' dead fish?" And no man answered, for they were +all as keen as me for to go and help our mates; and we thought as we +could come back to our dead fish, as had a boat for a buoy, once we +had helped our mates. So off we rowed, every man Jack on us, out o' +the black shadow o' th' iceberg, as looked as steady as th' +pole-star. Well! we had na' been a dozen fathoms away fra' th' boat +as we had left, when crash! down wi' a roaring noise, and then a +gulp of the deep waters, and then a shower o' blinding spray; and +when we had wiped our eyes clear, and getten our hearts down agen +fra' our mouths, there were never a boat nor a glittering belly o' +e'er a great whale to be seen; but th' iceberg were there, still and +grim, as if a hundred ton or more had fallen off all in a mass, and +crushed down boat, and fish, and all, into th' deep water, as goes +half through the earth in them latitudes. Th' coal-miners round +about Newcastle way may come upon our good boat if they mine deep +enough, else ne'er another man will see her. And I left as good a +clasp-knife in her as ever I clapt eyes on.' + +'But what a mercy no man stayed in her,' said Bell. + +'Why, mistress, I reckon we a' must die some way; and I'd as soon go +down into the deep waters as be choked up wi' moulds.' + +'But it must be so cold,' said Sylvia, shuddering and giving a +little poke to the fire to warm her fancy. + +'Cold!' said her father, 'what do ye stay-at-homes know about cold, +a should like to know? If yo'd been where a were once, north +latitude 81, in such a frost as ye ha' niver known, no, not i' deep +winter, and it were June i' them seas, and a whale i' sight, and a +were off in a boat after her: an' t' ill-mannered brute, as soon as +she were harpooned, ups wi' her big awkward tail, and struck t' boat +i' her stern, and chucks me out into t' watter. That were cold, a +can tell the'! First, I smarted all ower me, as if my skin were +suddenly stript off me: and next, ivery bone i' my body had getten +t' toothache, and there were a great roar i' my ears, an' a great +dizziness i' my eyes; an' t' boat's crew kept throwin' out their +oars, an' a kept clutchin' at 'em, but a could na' make out where +they was, my eyes dazzled so wi' t' cold, an' I thought I were bound +for "kingdom come," an' a tried to remember t' Creed, as a might die +a Christian. But all a could think on was, "What is your name, M or +N?" an' just as a were giving up both words and life, they heaved me +aboard. But, bless ye, they had but one oar; for they'd thrown a' t' +others after me; so yo' may reckon, it were some time afore we could +reach t' ship; an' a've heerd tell, a were a precious sight to look +on, for my clothes was just hard frozen to me, an' my hair a'most as +big a lump o' ice as yon iceberg he was a-telling us on; they rubbed +me as missus theere were rubbing t' hams yesterday, and gav' me +brandy; an' a've niver getten t' frost out o' my bones for a' their +rubbin', and a deal o' brandy as I 'ave ta'en sin'. Talk o' cold! +it's little yo' women known o' cold!' + +'But there's heat, too, i' some places,' said Kinraid. I was once a +voyage i' an American. They goes for th' most part south, to where +you come round to t' cold again; and they'll stay there for three +year at a time, if need be, going into winter harbour i' some o' th' +Pacific Islands. Well, we were i' th' southern seas, a-seeking for +good whaling-ground; and, close on our larboard beam, there were a +great wall o' ice, as much as sixty feet high. And says our +captain--as were a dare-devil, if ever a man were--"There'll be an +opening in yon dark gray wall, and into that opening I'll sail, if I +coast along it till th' day o' judgment." But, for all our sailing, +we never seemed to come nearer to th' opening. The waters were +rocking beneath us, and the sky were steady above us; and th' ice +rose out o' the waters, and seemed to reach up into the sky. We +sailed on, and we sailed on, for more days nor I could count. Our +captain were a strange, wild man, but once he looked a little pale +when he came upo' deck after his turn-in, and saw the green-gray ice +going straight up on our beam. Many on us thought as the ship were +bewitched for th' captain's words; and we got to speak low, and to +say our prayers o' nights, and a kind o' dull silence came into th' +very air; our voices did na' rightly seem our own. And we sailed on, +and we sailed on. All at once, th' man as were on watch gave a cry: +he saw a break in the ice, as we'd begun to think were everlasting; +and we all gathered towards the bows, and the captain called to th' +man at the helm to keep her course, and cocked his head, and began +to walk the quarter-deck jaunty again. And we came to a great cleft +in th' long weary rock of ice; and the sides o' th' cleft were not +jagged, but went straight sharp down into th' foaming waters. But we +took but one look at what lay inside, for our captain, with a loud +cry to God, bade the helmsman steer nor'ards away fra' th' mouth o' +Hell. We all saw wi' our own eyes, inside that fearsome wall o' +ice--seventy miles long, as we could swear to--inside that gray, +cold ice, came leaping flames, all red and yellow wi' heat o' some +unearthly kind out o' th' very waters o' the sea; making our eyes +dazzle wi' their scarlet blaze, that shot up as high, nay, higher +than th' ice around, yet never so much as a shred on 't was melted. +They did say that some beside our captain saw the black devils dart +hither and thither, quicker than the very flames themselves; anyhow, +he saw them. And as he knew it were his own daring as had led him to +have that peep at terrors forbidden to any on us afore our time, he +just dwined away, and we hadn't taken but one whale afore our +captain died, and first mate took th' command. It were a prosperous +voyage; but, for all that, I'll never sail those seas again, nor +ever take wage aboard an American again.' + +'Eh, dear! but it's awful t' think o' sitting wi' a man that has +seen th' doorway into hell,' said Bell, aghast. + +Sylvia had dropped her work, and sat gazing at Kinraid with +fascinated wonder. + +Daniel was just a little annoyed at the admiration which his own +wife and daughter were bestowing on the specksioneer's wonderful +stories, and he said-- + +'Ay, ay. If a'd been a talker, ye'd ha' thought a deal more on me +nor ye've iver done yet. A've seen such things, and done such +things.' + +'Tell us, father!' said Sylvia, greedy and breathless. + +'Some on 'em is past telling,' he replied, 'an some is not to be had +for t' asking, seeing as how they might bring a man into trouble. +But, as a said, if a had a fancy to reveal all as is on my mind a +could make t' hair on your heads lift up your caps--well, we'll say +an inch, at least. Thy mother, lass, has heerd one or two on 'em. +Thou minds the story o' my ride on a whale's back, Bell? That'll +maybe be within this young fellow's comprehension o' t' danger; +thou's heerd me tell it, hastn't ta?' + +'Yes,' said Bell; 'but it's a long time ago; when we was courting.' + +'An' that's afore this young lass were born, as is a'most up to +woman's estate. But sin' those days a ha' been o'er busy to tell +stories to my wife, an' as a'll warrant she's forgotten it; an' as +Sylvia here niver heerd it, if yo'll fill your glass, Kinraid, yo' +shall ha' t' benefit o't. + +'A were a specksioneer mysel, though, after that, a rayther directed +my talents int' t' smuggling branch o' my profession; but a were +once a whaling aboord t' _Ainwell_ of Whitby. An' we was anchored +off t' coast o' Greenland one season, an' we'd getten a cargo o' +seven whale; but our captain he were a keen-eyed chap, an' niver +above doin' any man's work; an' once seein' a whale he throws +himself int' a boat an' goes off to it, makin' signals to me, an' +another specksioneer as were off for diversion i' another boat, for +to come after him sharp. Well, afore we comes alongside, captain had +harpooned t' fish; an' says he, "Now, Robson, all ready! give into +her again when she comes to t' top;" an' I stands up, right leg +foremost, harpoon all ready, as soon as iver I cotched a sight o' t' +whale, but niver a fin could a see. 'Twere no wonder, for she were +right below t' boat in which a were; and when she wanted to rise, +what does t' great ugly brute do but come wi' her head, as is like +cast iron, up bang again t' bottom o' t' boat. I were thrown up in +t' air like a shuttlecock, me an' my line an' my harpoon--up we +goes, an' many a good piece o' timber wi' us, an' many a good fellow +too; but a had t' look after mysel', an a were up high i' t' air, +afore I could say Jack Robinson, an' a thowt a were safe for another +dive int' saut water; but i'stead a comes down plump on t' back o' +t' whale. Ay! yo' may stare, master, but theere a were, an' main an' +slippery it were, only a sticks my harpoon intil her an' steadies +mysel', an' looks abroad o'er t' vast o' waves, and gets sea-sick in +a manner, an' puts up a prayer as she mayn't dive, and it were as +good a prayer for wishin' it might come true as iver t' clargyman +an' t' clerk too puts up i' Monkshaven church. Well, a reckon it +were heerd, for all a were i' them north latitudes, for she keeps +steady, an' a does my best for t' keep steady; an' 'deed a was too +steady, for a was fast wi' t' harpoon line, all knotted and tangled +about me. T' captain, he sings out for me to cut it; but it's easy +singin' out, and it's noane so easy fumblin' for your knife i' t' +pocket o' your drawers, when yo've t' hold hard wi' t' other hand on +t' back of a whale, swimmin' fourteen knots an hour. At last a +thinks to mysel' a can't get free o' t' line, and t' line is fast to +t' harpoon, and t' harpoon is fast to t' whale; and t' whale may go +down fathoms deep wheniver t' maggot stirs i' her head; an' t' +watter's cold, an noane good for drownin' in; a can't get free o' t' +line, and a connot get my knife out o' my breeches pocket though t' +captain should ca' it mutiny to disobey orders, and t' line's fast +to t' harpoon--let's see if t' harpoon's fast to t' whale. So a +tugged, and a lugged, and t' whale didn't mistake it for ticklin', +but she cocks up her tail, and throws out showers o' water as were +ice or iver it touched me; but a pulls on at t' shank, an' a were +only afeard as she wouldn't keep at t' top wi' it sticking in her; +but at last t' harpoon broke, an' just i' time, for a reckon she was +near as tired o' me as a were on her, and down she went; an' a had +hard work to make for t' boats as was near enough to catch me; for +what wi' t' whale's being but slippery an' t' watter being cold, an' +me hampered wi' t' line an' t' piece o' harpoon, it's a chance, +missus, as thou had stopped an oud maid.' + +'Eh dear a' me!' said Bell, 'how well I mind yo'r telling me that +tale! It were twenty-four year ago come October. I thought I never +could think enough on a man as had rode on a whale's back!' + +'Yo' may learn t' way of winnin' t' women,' said Daniel, winking at +the specksioneer. + +And Kinraid immediately looked at Sylvia. It was no premeditated +action; it came as naturally as wakening in the morning when his +sleep was ended; but Sylvia coloured as red as any rose at his +sudden glance,--coloured so deeply that he looked away until he +thought she had recovered her composure, and then he sat gazing at +her again. But not for long, for Bell suddenly starting up, did all +but turn him out of the house. It was late, she said, and her master +was tired, and they had a hard day before them next day; and it was +keeping Ellen Corney up; and they had had enough to drink,--more +than was good for them, she was sure, for they had both been taking +her in with their stories, which she had been foolish enough to +believe. No one saw the real motive of all this almost inhospitable +haste to dismiss her guest, how the sudden fear had taken possession +of her that he and Sylvia were 'fancying each other'. Kinraid had +said early in the evening that he had come to thank her for her +kindness in sending the sausages, as he was off to his own home near +Newcastle in a day or two. But now he said, in reply to Daniel +Robson, that he would step in another night before long and hear +some more of the old man's yarns. + +Daniel had just had enough drink to make him very good-tempered, or +else his wife would not have dared to have acted as she did; and +this maudlin amiability took the shape of hospitable urgency that +Kinraid should come as often as he liked to Haytersbank; come and +make it his home when he was in these parts; stay there altogether, +and so on, till Bell fairly shut the outer door to, and locked it +before the specksioneer had well got out of the shadow of their +roof. + +All night long Sylvia dreamed of burning volcanoes springing out of +icy southern seas. But, as in the specksioneer's tale the flames +were peopled with demons, there was no human interest for her in the +wondrous scene in which she was no actor, only a spectator. With +daylight came wakening and little homely every-day wonders. Did +Kinraid mean that he was going away really and entirely, or did he +not? Was he Molly Corney's sweetheart, or was he not? When she had +argued herself into certainty on one side, she suddenly wheeled +about, and was just of the opposite opinion. At length she settled +that it could not be settled until she saw Molly again; so, by a +strong gulping effort, she resolutely determined to think no more +about him, only about the marvels he had told. She might think a +little about them when she sat at night, spinning in silence by the +household fire, or when she went out in the gloaming to call the +cattle home to be milked, and sauntered back behind the patient, +slow-gaited creatures; and at times on future summer days, when, as +in the past, she took her knitting out for the sake of the freshness +of the faint sea-breeze, and dropping down from ledge to ledge of +the rocks that faced the blue ocean, established herself in a +perilous nook that had been her haunt ever since her parents had +come to Haytersbank Farm. From thence she had often seen the distant +ships pass to and fro, with a certain sort of lazy pleasure in +watching their swift tranquillity of motion, but no thought as to +where they were bound to, or what strange places they would +penetrate to before they turned again, homeward bound. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A REFRACTORY PUPIL + + + + + +Sylvia was still full of the specksioneer and his stories, when +Hepburn came up to give her the next lesson. But the prospect of a +little sensible commendation for writing a whole page full of +flourishing 'Abednegos,' had lost all the slight charm it had ever +possessed. She was much more inclined to try and elicit some +sympathy in her interest in the perils and adventures of the +northern seas, than to bend and control her mind to the right +formation of letters. Unwisely enough, she endeavoured to repeat one +of the narratives that she had heard from Kinraid; and when she +found that Hepburn (if, indeed, he did not look upon the whole as a +silly invention) considered it only as an interruption to the real +business in hand, to which he would try to listen as patiently as he +could, in the hope of Sylvia's applying herself diligently to her +copy-book when she had cleared her mind, she contracted her pretty +lips, as if to check them from making any further appeals for +sympathy, and set about her writing-lesson in a very rebellious +frame of mind, only restrained by her mother's presence from spoken +mutiny. + +'After all,' said she, throwing down her pen, and opening and +shutting her weary, cramped hand, 'I see no good in tiring myself +wi' learning for t' write letters when I'se never got one in a' my +life. What for should I write answers, when there's niver a one +writes to me? and if I had one, I couldn't read it; it's bad enough +wi' a book o' print as I've niver seen afore, for there's sure to be +new-fangled words in 't. I'm sure I wish the man were farred who +plagues his brains wi' striking out new words. Why can't folks just +ha' a set on 'em for good and a'?' + +'Why! you'll be after using two or three hundred yoursel' every day +as you live, Sylvie; and yet I must use a great many as you never +think on about t' shop; and t' folks in t' fields want their set, +let alone the high English that parsons and lawyers speak.' + +'Well, it's weary work is reading and writing. Cannot you learn me +something else, if we mun do lessons?' + +'There's sums--and geography,' said Hepburn, slowly and gravely. + +'Geography!' said Sylvia, brightening, and perhaps not pronouncing +the word quite correctly, 'I'd like yo' to learn me geography. +There's a deal o' places I want to hear all about.' + +'Well, I'll bring up a book and a map next time. But I can tell you +something now. There's four quarters in the globe.' + +'What's that?' asked Sylvia. + +'The globe is the earth; the place we live on.' + +'Go on. Which quarter is Greenland?' + +'Greenland is no quarter. It is only a part of one.' + +'Maybe it's a half quarter.' + +'No, not so much as that.' + +'Half again?' + +'No!' he replied, smiling a little. + +She thought he was making it into a very small place in order to +tease her; so she pouted a little, and then said,-- + +'Greenland is all t' geography I want to know. Except, perhaps, +York. I'd like to learn about York, because of t' races, and London, +because King George lives there.' + +'But if you learn geography at all, you must learn 'bout all places: +which of them is hot, and which is cold, and how many inhabitants is +in each, and what's the rivers, and which is the principal towns.' + +'I'm sure, Sylvie, if Philip will learn thee all that, thou'lt be +such a sight o' knowledge as ne'er a one o' th' Prestons has been +sin' my great-grandfather lost his property. I should be main proud +o' thee; 'twould seem as if we was Prestons o' Slaideburn once +more.' + +'I'd do a deal to pleasure yo', mammy; but weary befa' riches and +land, if folks that has 'em is to write "Abednegos" by t' score, and +to get hard words int' their brains, till they work like barm, and +end wi' cracking 'em.' + +This seemed to be Sylvia's last protest against learning for the +night, for after this she turned docile, and really took pains to +understand all that Philip could teach her, by means of the not +unskilful, though rude, map which he drew for her with a piece of +charred wood on his aunt's dresser. He had asked his aunt's leave +before beginning what Sylvia called his 'dirty work;' but by-and-by +even she became a little interested in starting from a great black +spot called Monkshaven, and in the shaping of land and sea around +that one centre. Sylvia held her round chin in the palms of her +hands, supporting her elbows on the dresser; looking down at the +progress of the rough drawing in general, but now and then glancing +up at him with sudden inquiry. All along he was not so much absorbed +in his teaching as to be unconscious of her sweet proximity. She was +in her best mood towards him; neither mutinous nor saucy; and he was +striving with all his might to retain her interest, speaking better +than ever he had done before (such brightness did love call +forth!)--understanding what she would care to hear and to know; +when, in the middle of an attempt at explaining the cause of the +long polar days, of which she had heard from her childhood, he felt +that her attention was no longer his; that a discord had come in +between their minds; that she had passed out of his power. This +certainty of intuition lasted but for an instant; he had no time to +wonder or to speculate as to what had affected her so adversely to +his wishes before the door opened and Kinraid came in. Then Hepburn +knew that she must have heard his coming footsteps, and recognized +them. + +He angrily stiffened himself up into coldness of demeanour. Almost +to his surprise, Sylvia's greeting to the new comer was as cold as +his own. She stood rather behind him; so perhaps she did not see the +hand which Kinraid stretched out towards her, for she did not place +her own little palm in it, as she had done to Philip an hour ago. +And she hardly spoke, but began to pore over the rough black map, as +if seized with strong geographical curiosity, or determined to +impress Philip's lesson deep on her memory. + +Still Philip was dismayed by seeing the warm welcome which Kinraid +received from the master of the house, who came in from the back +premises almost at the same time as the specksioneer entered at the +front. Hepburn was uneasy, too, at finding Kinraid take his seat by +the fireside, like one accustomed to the ways of the house. Pipes +were soon produced. Philip disliked smoking. Possibly Kinraid did so +too, but he took a pipe at any rate, and lighted it, though he +hardly used it at all, but kept talking to farmer Robson on sea +affairs. He had the conversation pretty much to himself. Philip sat +gloomily by; Sylvia and his aunt were silent, and old Robson smoked +his long clay pipe, from time to time taking it out of his mouth to +spit into the bright copper spittoon, and to shake the white ashes +out of the bowl. Before he replaced it, he would give a short laugh +of relishing interest in Kinraid's conversation; and now and then he +put in a remark. Sylvia perched herself sideways on the end of the +dresser, and made pretence to sew; but Philip could see how often +she paused in her work to listen. + +By-and-by, his aunt spoke to him, and they kept up a little side +conversation, more because Bell Robson felt that her nephew, her own +flesh and blood, was put out, than for any special interest they +either of them felt in what they were saying. Perhaps, also, they +neither of them disliked showing that they had no great faith in the +stories Kinraid was telling. Mrs. Robson, at any rate, knew so little +as to be afraid of believing too much. + +Philip was sitting on that side of the fire which was nearest to the +window and to Sylvia, and opposite to the specksioneer. At length he +turned to his cousin and said in a low voice-- + +'I suppose we can't go on with our spell at geography till that +fellow's gone?' + +The colour came into Sylvia's cheek at the words 'that fellow'; but +she only replied with a careless air-- + +'Well, I'm one as thinks enough is as good as a feast; and I've had +enough of geography this one night, thank you kindly all the same.' + +Philip took refuge in offended silence. He was maliciously pleased +when his aunt made so much noise with her preparation for supper as +quite to prevent the sound of the sailor's words from reaching +Sylvia's ears. She saw that he was glad to perceive that her efforts +to reach the remainder of the story were baulked! this nettled her, +and, determined not to let him have his malicious triumph, and still +more to put a stop to any attempt at private conversation, she began +to sing to herself as she sat at her work; till, suddenly seized +with a desire to help her mother, she dexterously slipped down from +her seat, passed Hepburn, and was on her knees toasting cakes right +in front of the fire, and just close to her father and Kinraid. And +now the noise that Hepburn had so rejoiced in proved his foe. He +could not hear the little merry speeches that darted backwards and +forwards as the specksioneer tried to take the toasting-fork out of +Sylvia's hand. + +'How comes that sailor chap here?' asked Hepburn of his aunt. 'He's +none fit to be where Sylvia is.' + +'Nay, I dunnot know,' said she; 'the Corneys made us acquaint first, +and my master is quite fain of his company.' + +'And do you like him, too, aunt?' asked Hepburn, almost wistfully; +he had followed Mrs. Robson into the dairy on pretence of helping +her. + +'I'm none fond on him; I think he tells us traveller's tales, by way +o' seeing how much we can swallow. But the master and Sylvia think +that there never was such a one.' + +'I could show them a score as good as he down on the quayside.' + +'Well, laddie, keep a calm sough. Some folk like some folk and +others don't. Wherever I am there'll allays be a welcome for thee.' + +For the good woman thought that he had been hurt by the evident +absorption of her husband and daughter with their new friend, and +wished to make all easy and straight. But do what she would, he did +not recover his temper all evening: he was uncomfortable, put out, +not enjoying himself, and yet he would not go. He was determined to +assert his greater intimacy in that house by outstaying Kinraid. At +length the latter got up to go; but before he went, he must needs +bend over Sylvia and say something to her in so low a tone that +Philip could not hear it; and she, seized with a sudden fit of +diligence, never looked up from her sewing; only nodded her head by +way of reply. At last he took his departure, after many a little +delay, and many a quick return, which to the suspicious Philip +seemed only pretences for taking stolen glances at Sylvia. As soon +as he was decidedly gone, she folded up her work, and declared that +she was so much tired that she must go to bed there and then. Her +mother, too, had been dozing for the last half-hour, and was only +too glad to see signs that she might betake herself to her natural +place of slumber. + +'Take another glass, Philip,' said farmer Robson. + +But Hepburn refused the offer rather abruptly. He drew near to +Sylvia instead. He wanted to make her speak to him, and he saw that +she wished to avoid it. He took up the readiest pretext. It was an +unwise one as it proved, for it deprived him of his chances of +occasionally obtaining her undivided attention. + +'I don't think you care much for learning geography, Sylvie?' + +'Not much to-night,' said she, making a pretence to yawn, yet +looking timidly up at his countenance of displeasure. + +'Nor at any time,' said he, with growing anger; 'nor for any kind of +learning. I did bring some books last time I came, meaning to teach +you many a thing--but now I'll just trouble you for my books; I put +them on yon shelf by the Bible.' + +He had a mind that she should bring them to him; that, at any rate, +he should have the pleasure of receiving them out of her hands. + +Sylvia did not reply, but went and took down the books with a +languid, indifferent air. + +'And so you won't learn any more geography,' said Hepburn. + +Something in his tone struck her, and she looked up in his face. +There were marks of stern offence upon his countenance, and yet in +it there was also an air of wistful regret and sadness that touched +her. + +'Yo're niver angry with me, Philip? Sooner than vex yo', I'll try +and learn. Only, I'm just stupid; and it mun be such a trouble to +you.' + +Hepburn would fain have snatched at this half proposal that the +lessons should be continued, but he was too stubborn and proud to +say anything. He turned away from the sweet, pleading face without a +word, to wrap up his books in a piece of paper. He knew that she was +standing quite still by his side, though he made as if he did not +perceive her. When he had done he abruptly wished them all +'good-night,' and took his leave. + +There were tears in Sylvia's eyes, although the feeling in her heart +was rather one of relief. She had made a fair offer, and it had been +treated with silent contempt. A few days afterwards, her father came +in from Monkshaven market, and dropped out, among other pieces of +news, that he had met Kinraid, who was bound for his own home at +Cullercoats. He had desired his respects to Mrs. Robson and her +daughter; and had bid Robson say that he would have come up to +Haytersbank to wish them good-by, but that as he was pressed for +time, he hoped they would excuse him. But Robson did not think it +worth while to give this long message of mere politeness. Indeed, as +it did not relate to business, and was only sent to women, Robson +forgot all about it, pretty nearly as soon as it was uttered. So +Sylvia went about fretting herself for one or two days, at her +hero's apparent carelessness of those who had at any rate treated +him more like a friend than an acquaintance of only a few weeks' +standing; and then, her anger quenching her incipient regard, she +went about her daily business pretty much as though he had never +been. He had gone away out of her sight into the thick mist of +unseen life from which he had emerged--gone away without a word, and +she might never see him again. But still there was a chance of her +seeing him when he came to marry Molly Corney. Perhaps she should be +bridesmaid, and then what a pleasant merry time the wedding-day +would be! The Corneys were all such kind people, and in their family +there never seemed to be the checks and restraints by which her own +mother hedged her round. Then there came an overwhelming +self-reproaching burst of love for that 'own mother'; a humiliation +before her slightest wish, as penance for the moment's unspoken +treason; and thus Sylvia was led to request her cousin Philip to +resume his lessons in so meek a manner, that he slowly and +graciously acceded to a request which he was yearning to fulfil all +the time. + +During the ensuing winter, all went on in monotonous regularity at +Haytersbank Farm for many weeks. Hepburn came and went, and thought +Sylvia wonderfully improved in docility and sobriety; and perhaps +also he noticed the improvement in her appearance. For she was at +that age when a girl changes rapidly, and generally for the better. +Sylvia shot up into a tall young woman; her eyes deepened in colour, +her face increased in expression, and a sort of consciousness of +unusual good looks gave her a slight tinge of coquettish shyness +with the few strangers whom she ever saw. Philip hailed her interest +in geography as another sign of improvement. He had brought back his +book of maps to the farm; and there he sat on many an evening +teaching his cousin, who had strange fancies respecting the places +about which she wished to learn, and was coolly indifferent to the +very existence of other towns, and countries, and seas far more +famous in story. She was occasionally wilful, and at times very +contemptuous as to the superior knowledge of her instructor; but, in +spite of it all, Philip went regularly on the appointed evenings to +Haytersbank--through keen black east wind, or driving snow, or +slushing thaw; for he liked dearly to sit a little behind her, with +his arm on the back of her chair, she stooping over the outspread +map, with her eyes,--could he have seen them,--a good deal fixed on +one spot in the map, not Northumberland, where Kinraid was spending +the winter, but those wild northern seas about which he had told +them such wonders. + +One day towards spring, she saw Molly Corney coming towards the +farm. The companions had not met for many weeks, for Molly had been +from home visiting her relations in the north. Sylvia opened the +door, and stood smiling and shivering on the threshold, glad to see +her friend again. Molly called out, when a few paces off,-- + +'Why, Sylvia, is that thee! Why, how thou'rt growed, to be sure! +What a bonny lass thou is!' + +'Dunnot talk nonsense to my lass,' said Bell Robson, hospitably +leaving her ironing and coming to the door; but though the mother +tried to look as if she thought it nonsense, she could hardly keep +down the smile that shone out of her eyes, as she put her hand on +Sylvia's shoulder, with a fond sense of proprietorship in what was +being praised. + +'Oh! but she is,' persisted Molly. 'She's grown quite a beauty sin' +I saw her. And if I don't tell her so, the men will.' + +'Be quiet wi' thee,' said Sylvia, more than half offended, and +turning away in a huff at the open barefaced admiration. + +'Ay; but they will,' persevered Molly. 'Yo'll not keep her long, +Mistress Robson. And as mother says, yo'd feel it a deal more to +have yer daughters left on hand.' + +'Thy mother has many, I have but this one,' said Mrs. Robson, with +severe sadness; for now Molly was getting to talk as she disliked. +But Molly's purpose was to bring the conversation round to her own +affairs, of which she was very full. + +'Yes! I tell mother that wi' so many as she has, she ought to be +thankful to t' one as gets off quickest.' + +'Who? which is it?' asked Sylvia, a little eagerly, seeing that +there was news of a wedding behind the talk. + +'Why! who should it be but me?' said Molly, laughing a good deal, +and reddening a little. 'I've not gone fra' home for nought; I'se +picked up a measter on my travels, leastways one as is to be.' + +'Charley Kinraid,' said Sylvia smiling, as she found that now she +might reveal Molly's secret, which hitherto she had kept sacred. + +'Charley Kinraid be hung!' said Molly, with a toss of her head. +'Whatten good's a husband who's at sea half t' year? Ha ha, my +measter is a canny Newcassel shopkeeper, on t' Side. A reckon a've +done pretty well for mysel', and a'll wish yo' as good luck, Sylvia. +For yo' see,' (turning to Bell Robson, who, perhaps, she thought +would more appreciate the substantial advantages of her engagement +than Sylvia,) 'though Measter Brunton is near upon forty if he's a +day, yet he turns over a matter of two hundred pound every year; an +he's a good-looking man of his years too, an' a kind, good-tempered +feller int' t' bargain. He's been married once, to be sure; but his +childer are dead a' 'cept one; an' I don't mislike childer either; +an' a'll feed 'em well, an' get 'em to bed early, out o' t' road.' + +Mrs. Robson gave her her grave good wishes; but Sylvia was silent. +She was disappointed; it was a coming down from the romance with the +specksioneer for its hero. Molly laughed awkwardly, understanding +Sylvia's thoughts better than the latter imagined. + +'Sylvia's noane so well pleased. Why, lass! it's a' t' better for +thee. There's Charley to t' fore now, which if a'd married him, he'd +not ha' been; and he's said more nor once what a pretty lass yo'd +grow into by-and-by.' + +Molly's prosperity was giving her an independence and fearlessness +of talk such as had seldom appeared hitherto; and certainly never +before Mrs. Robson. Sylvia was annoyed at Molly's whole tone and +manner, which were loud, laughing, and boisterous; but to her mother +they were positively repugnant. She said shortly and gravely,-- + +'Sylvia's none so set upo' matrimony; she's content to bide wi' me +and her father. Let a be such talking, it's not i' my way.' + +Molly was a little subdued; but still her elation at the prospect of +being so well married kept cropping out of all the other subjects +which were introduced; and when she went away, Mrs. Robson broke out +in an unwonted strain of depreciation. + +'That's the way wi' some lasses. They're like a cock on a dunghill, +when they've teased a silly chap into wedding 'em. It's +cock-a-doodle-do, I've cotched a husband, cock-a-doodle-doo, wi' +'em. I've no patience wi' such like; I beg, Sylvie, thou'lt not get +too thick wi' Molly. She's not pretty behaved, making such an ado +about men-kind, as if they were two-headed calves to be run after.' + +'But Molly's a good-hearted lass, mother. Only I never dreamt but +what she was troth-plighted wi' Charley Kinraid,' said Sylvia, +meditatively. + +'That wench 'll be troth-plight to th' first man as 'll wed her and +keep her i' plenty; that's a' she thinks about,' replied Bell, +scornfully. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +VISIONS OF THE FUTURE + + + + + +Before May was out, Molly Corney was married and had left the +neighbourhood for Newcastle. Although Charley Kinraid was not the +bridegroom, Sylvia's promise to be bridesmaid was claimed. But the +friendship brought on by the circumstances of neighbourhood and +parity of age had become very much weakened in the time that elapsed +between Molly's engagement and wedding. In the first place, she +herself was so absorbed in her preparations, so elated by her good +fortune in getting married, and married, too, before her elder +sister, that all her faults blossomed out full and strong. Sylvia +felt her to be selfish; Mrs. Robson thought her not maidenly. A year +before she would have been far more missed and regretted by Sylvia; +now it was almost a relief to the latter to be freed from the +perpetual calls upon her sympathy, from the constant demands upon +her congratulations, made by one who had no thought or feeling to +bestow on others; at least, not in these weeks of 'cock-a-doodle-dooing,' +as Mrs. Robson persisted in calling it. It was seldom that Bell +was taken with a humorous idea; but this once having hatched a +solitary joke, she was always clucking it into notice--to go on +with her own poultry simile. + +Every time during that summer that Philip saw his cousin, he thought +her prettier than she had ever been before; some new touch of +colour, some fresh sweet charm, seemed to have been added, just +as every summer day calls out new beauty in the flowers. And this +was not the addition of Philip's fancy. Hester Rose, who met +Sylvia on rare occasions, came back each time with a candid, sad +acknowledgement in her heart that it was no wonder that Sylvia was +so much admired and loved. + +One day Hester had seen her sitting near her mother in the +market-place; there was a basket by her, and over the clean cloth +that covered the yellow pounds of butter, she had laid the +hedge-roses and honeysuckles she had gathered on the way into +Monkshaven; her straw hat was on her knee, and she was busy placing +some of the flowers in the ribbon that went round it. Then she held +it on her hand, and turned it round about, putting her head on one +side, the better to view the effect; and all this time, Hester, +peeping at her through the folds of the stuffs displayed in Foster's +windows, saw her with admiring, wistful eyes; wondering, too, if +Philip, at the other counter, were aware of his cousin's being +there, so near to him. Then Sylvia put on her hat, and, looking up +at Foster's windows, caught Hester's face of interest, and smiled +and blushed at the consciousness of having been watched over her +little vanities, and Hester smiled back, but rather sadly. Then a +customer came in, and she had to attend to her business, which, on +this as on all market days, was great. In the midst she was aware of +Philip rushing bare-headed out of the shop, eager and delighted at +something he saw outside. There was a little looking-glass hung +against the wall on Hester's side, placed in that retired corner, in +order that the good women who came to purchase head-gear of any kind +might see the effect thereof before they concluded their bargain. +In a pause of custom, Hester, half-ashamed, stole into this corner, +and looked at herself in the glass. What did she see? a colourless +face, dark soft hair with no light gleams in it, eyes that were +melancholy instead of smiling, a mouth compressed with a sense of +dissatisfaction. This was what she had to compare with the bright +bonny face in the sunlight outside. She gave a gulp to check the +sigh that was rising, and came back, even more patient than she had +been before this disheartening peep, to serve all the whims and +fancies of purchasers. + +Sylvia herself had been rather put out by Philip's way of coming to +her. 'It made her look so silly,' she thought; and 'what for must he +make a sight of himself, coming among the market folk in +that-a-way'; and when he took to admiring her hat, she pulled out +the flowers in a pet, and threw them down, and trampled them under +foot. + +'What for art thou doing that, Sylvie?' said her mother. 'The +flowers is well enough, though may-be thy hat might ha' been +stained.' + +'I don't like Philip to speak to me so,' said Sylvia, pouting. + +'How?' asked her mother. + +But Sylvia could not repeat his words. She hung her head, and looked +red and pre-occupied, anything but pleased. Philip had addressed his +first expression of personal admiration at an unfortunate time. + +It just shows what different views different men and women take of +their fellow-creatures, when I say that Hester looked upon Philip as +the best and most agreeable man she had ever known. He was not one +to speak of himself without being questioned on the subject, so his +Haytersbank relations, only come into the neighborhood in the last +year or two, knew nothing of the trials he had surmounted, or the +difficult duties he had performed. His aunt, indeed, had strong +faith in him, both from partial knowledge of his character, and +because he was of her own tribe and kin; but she had never learnt +the small details of his past life. Sylvia respected him as her +mother's friend, and treated him tolerably well as long as he +preserved his usual self-restraint of demeanour, but hardly ever +thought of him when he was absent. + +Now Hester, who had watched him daily for all the years since he had +first come as an errand-boy into Foster's shop--watching with quiet, +modest, yet observant eyes--had seen how devoted he was to his +master's interests, had known of his careful and punctual +ministration to his absent mother's comforts, as long as she was +living to benefit by his silent, frugal self-denial. + +His methodical appropriation of the few hours he could call his +own was not without its charms to the equally methodical Hester; +the way in which he reproduced any lately acquired piece of +knowledge--knowledge so wearisome to Sylvia--was delightfully +instructive to Hester--although, as she was habitually silent, it +would have required an observer more interested in discovering her +feelings than Philip was to have perceived the little flush on the +pale cheek, and the brightness in the half-veiled eyes whenever he +was talking. She had not thought of love on either side. Love was a +vanity, a worldliness not to be spoken about, or even thought about. +Once or twice before the Robsons came into the neighbourhood, an +idea had crossed her mind that possibly the quiet, habitual way in +which she and Philip lived together, might drift them into matrimony +at some distant period; and she could not bear the humble advances +which Coulson, Philip's fellow-lodger, sometimes made. They seemed +to disgust her with him. + +But after the Robsons settled at Haytersbank, Philip's evenings were +so often spent there that any unconscious hopes Hester might, +unawares, have entertained, died away. At first she had felt a pang +akin to jealousy when she heard of Sylvia, the little cousin, who +was passing out of childhood into womanhood. Once--early in those +days--she had ventured to ask Philip what Sylvia was like. Philip +had not warmed up at the question, and had given rather a dry +catalogue of her features, hair, and height, but Hester, almost to +her own surprise, persevered, and jerked out the final question. + +'Is she pretty?' + +Philip's sallow cheek grew deeper by two or three shades; but he +answered with a tone of indifference,-- + +'I believe some folks think her so.' + +'But do you?' persevered Hester, in spite of her being aware that he +somehow disliked the question. + +'There's no need for talking o' such things,' he answered, with +abrupt displeasure. + +Hester silenced her curiosity from that time. But her heart was not +quite at ease, and she kept on wondering whether Philip thought his +little cousin pretty until she saw her and him together, on that +occasion of which we have spoken, when Sylvia came to the shop to +buy her new cloak; and after that Hester never wondered whether +Philip thought his cousin pretty or no, for she knew quite well. +Bell Robson had her own anxieties on the subject of her daughter's +increasing attractions. She apprehended the dangers consequent upon +certain facts, by a mental process more akin to intuition than +reason. She was uncomfortable, even while her motherly vanity was +flattered, at the admiration Sylvia received from the other sex. +This admiration was made evident to her mother in many ways. When +Sylvia was with her at market, it might have been thought that the +doctors had prescribed a diet of butter and eggs to all the men +under forty in Monkshaven. At first it seemed to Mrs. Robson but a +natural tribute to the superior merit of her farm produce; but by +degrees she perceived that if Sylvia remained at home, she stood no +better chance than her neighbours of an early sale. There were more +customers than formerly for the fleeces stored in the wool-loft; +comely young butchers came after the calf almost before it had been +decided to sell it; in short, excuses were seldom wanting to those +who wished to see the beauty of Haytersbank Farm. All this made Bell +uncomfortable, though she could hardly have told what she dreaded. +Sylvia herself seemed unspoilt by it as far as her home relations +were concerned. A little thoughtless she had always been, and +thoughtless she was still; but, as her mother had often said, 'Yo' +canna put old heads on young shoulders;' and if blamed for her +carelessness by her parents, Sylvia was always as penitent as she +could be for the time being. To be sure, it was only to her father +and mother that she remained the same as she had been when an +awkward lassie of thirteen. Out of the house there were the most +contradictory opinions of her, especially if the voices of women +were to be listened to. She was 'an ill-favoured, overgrown thing'; +'just as bonny as the first rose i' June, and as sweet i' her nature +as t' honeysuckle a-climbing round it;' she was 'a vixen, with a +tongue sharp enough to make yer very heart bleed;' she was 'just a +bit o' sunshine wheriver she went;' she was sulky, lively, witty, +silent, affectionate, or cold-hearted, according to the person who +spoke about her. In fact, her peculiarity seemed to be this--that +every one who knew her talked about her either in praise or blame; +in church, or in market, she unconsciously attracted attention; they +could not forget her presence, as they could that of other girls +perhaps more personally attractive. Now all this was a cause of +anxiety to her mother, who began to feel as if she would rather have +had her child passed by in silence than so much noticed. Bell's +opinion was, that it was creditable to a woman to go through life in +the shadow of obscurity,--never named except in connexion with good +housewifery, husband, or children. Too much talking about a girl, +even in the way of praise, disturbed Mrs. Robson's opinion of her; +and when her neighbours told her how her own daughter was admired, +she would reply coldly, 'She's just well enough,' and change the +subject of conversation. But it was quite different with her +husband. To his looser, less-restrained mind, it was agreeable to +hear of, and still more to see, the attention which his daughter's +beauty received. He felt it as reflecting consequence on himself. He +had never troubled his mind with speculations as to whether he +himself was popular, still less whether he was respected. He was +pretty welcome wherever he went, as a jovial good-natured man, who +had done adventurous and illegal things in his youth, which in some +measure entitled him to speak out his opinions on life in general in +the authoritative manner he generally used; but, of the two, he +preferred consorting with younger men, to taking a sober stand of +respectability with the elders of the place; and he perceived, +without reasoning upon it, that the gay daring spirits were more +desirous of his company when Sylvia was by his side than at any +other time. One or two of these would saunter up to Haytersbank on a +Sunday afternoon, and lounge round his fields with the old farmer. +Bell kept herself from the nap which had been her weekly solace for +years, in order to look after Sylvia, and on such occasions she +always turned as cold a shoulder to the visitors as her sense of +hospitality and of duty to her husband would permit. But if they did +not enter the house, old Robson would always have Sylvia with him +when he went the round of his land. Bell could see them from the +upper window: the young men standing in the attitudes of listeners, +while Daniel laid down the law on some point, enforcing his words by +pantomimic actions with his thick stick; and Sylvia, half turning +away as if from some too admiring gaze, was possibly picking flowers +out of the hedge-bank. These Sunday afternoon strolls were the +plague of Bell's life that whole summer. Then it took as much of +artifice as was in the simple woman's nature to keep Daniel from +insisting on having Sylvia's company every time he went down to +Monkshaven. And here, again, came a perplexity, the acknowledgement +of which in distinct thought would have been an act of disloyalty, +according to Bell's conscience. If Sylvia went with her father, he +never drank to excess; and that was a good gain to health at any +rate (drinking was hardly a sin against morals in those days, and in +that place); so, occasionally, she was allowed to accompany him to +Monkshaven as a check upon his folly; for he was too fond and proud +of his daughter to disgrace her by any open excess. But one Sunday +afternoon early in November, Philip came up before the time at which +he usually paid his visits. He looked grave and pale; and his aunt +began,-- + +'Why, lad! what's been ado? Thou'rt looking as peaked and pined as a +Methody preacher after a love-feast, when he's talked hisself to +Death's door. Thee dost na' get good milk enow, that's what it +is,--such stuff as Monkshaven folks put up wi'!' + +'No, aunt; I'm quite well. Only I'm a bit put out--vexed like at +what I've heerd about Sylvie.' + +His aunt's face changed immediately. + +'And whatten folk say of her, next thing?' + +'Oh,' said Philip, struck by the difference of look and manner in +his aunt, and subdued by seeing how instantly she took alarm. 'It +were only my uncle;--he should na' take a girl like her to a public. +She were wi' him at t' "Admiral's Head" upo' All Souls' Day--that +were all. There were many a one there beside,--it were statute fair; +but such a one as our Sylvie ought not to be cheapened wi' t' rest.' + +'And he took her there, did he?' said Bell, in severe meditation. 'I +had never no opinion o' th' wenches as 'll set theirselves to be +hired for servants i' th' fair; they're a bad lot, as cannot find +places for theirselves--'bout going and stannin' to be stared at by +folk, and grinnin' wi' th' plough-lads when no one's looking; it's a +bad look-out for t' missus as takes one o' these wenches for a +servant; and dost ta mean to say as my Sylvie went and demeaned +hersel' to dance and marlock wi' a' th' fair-folk at th' "Admiral's +Head?"' + +'No, no, she did na' dance; she barely set foot i' th' room; but it +were her own pride as saved her; uncle would niver ha' kept her from +it, for he had fallen in wi' Hayley o' Seaburn and one or two +others, and they were having a glass i' t' bar, and Mrs. Lawson, t' +landlady, knew how there was them who would come and dance among +parish 'prentices if need were, just to get a word or a look wi' +Sylvie! So she tempts her in, saying that the room were all +smartened and fine wi' flags; and there was them in the room as told +me that they never were so startled as when they saw our Sylvie's +face peeping in among all t' flustered maids and men, rough and red +wi' weather and drink; and Jem Macbean, he said she were just like a +bit o' apple-blossom among peonies; and some man, he didn't know +who, went up and spoke to her; an' either at that, or at some o' t' +words she heard--for they'd got a good way on afore that time--she +went quite white and mad, as if fire were coming out of her eyes, +and then she turned red and left the room, for all t' landlady tried +to laugh it off and keep her in.' + +'I'll be down to Monkshaven before I'm a day older, and tell +Margaret Lawson some on my mind as she'll not forget in a hurry.' + +Bell moved as though she would put on her cloak and hood there and +then. + +'Nay, it's not in reason as a woman i' that line o' life shouldn't +try to make her house agreeable,' said Philip. + +'Not wi' my wench,' said Bell, in a determined voice. + +Philip's information had made a deeper impression on his aunt than +he intended. He himself had been annoyed more at the idea that +Sylvia would be spoken of as having been at a rough piece of rustic +gaiety--a yearly festival for the lower classes of Yorkshire +servants, out-door as well as in-door--than at the affair itself, +for he had learnt from his informant how instantaneous her +appearance had been. He stood watching his aunt's troubled face, and +almost wishing that he had not spoken. At last she heaved a deep +sigh, and stirring the fire, as if by this little household +occupation to compose her mind, she said-- + +'It's a pity as wenches aren't lads, or married folk. I could ha' +wished--but it were the Lord's will--It would ha' been summut to +look to, if she'd had a brother. My master is so full on his own +thoughts, yo' see, he's no mind left for thinking on her, what wi' +th' oats, and th' wool, and th' young colt, and his venture i' th' +_Lucky Mary_.' + +She really believed her husband to have the serious and important +occupation for his mind that she had been taught to consider +befitting the superior intellect of the masculine gender; she would +have taxed herself severely, if, even in thought, she had blamed +him, and Philip respected her feelings too much to say that Sylvia's +father ought to look after her more closely if he made such a pretty +creature so constantly his companion; yet some such speech was only +just pent within Philip's closed lips. Again his aunt spoke-- + +'I used to think as she and yo' might fancy one another, but thou'rt +too old-fashioned like for her; ye would na' suit; and it's as well, +for now I can say to thee, that I would take it very kindly if thou +would'st look after her a bit.' + +Philip's countenance fell into gloom. He had to gulp down certain +feelings before he could make answer with discretion. + +'How can I look after her, and me tied to the shop more and more +every day?' + +'I could send her on a bit of an errand to Foster's, and then, for +sure, yo' might keep an eye upon her when she's in th' town; and +just walk a bit way with her when she's in th' street, and keep t' +other fellows off her--Ned Simpson, t' butcher, in 'special, for +folks do say he means no good by any girl he goes wi'--and I'll ask +father to leave her a bit more wi' me. They're coming down th' brow, +and Ned Simpson wi' them. Now, Philip, I look to thee to do a +brother's part by my wench, and warn off all as isn't fit.' + +The door opened, and the coarse strong voice of Simpson made itself +heard. He was a stout man, comely enough as to form and feature, but +with a depth of colour in his face that betokened the coming on of +the habits of the sot. His Sunday hat was in his hand, and he +smoothed the long nap of it, as he said, with a mixture of shyness +and familiarity-- + +'Sarvant, missus. Yo'r measter is fain that I should come in an' +have a drop; no offence, I hope?' + +Sylvia passed quickly through the house-place, and went upstairs +without speaking to her cousin Philip or to any one. He sat on, +disliking the visitor, and almost disliking his hospitable uncle for +having brought Simpson into the house, sympathizing with his aunt in +the spirit which prompted her curt answers, and in the intervals of +all these feelings wondering what ground she had for speaking as if +she had now given up all thought of Sylvia and him ever being +married, and in what way he was too 'old-fashioned.' + +Robson would gladly have persuaded Philip to join him and Simpson in +their drink, but Philip was in no sociable mood, and sate a little +aloof, watching the staircase down which sooner or later Sylvia must +come; for, as perhaps has been already said, the stairs went up +straight out of the kitchen. And at length his yearning watch was +rewarded; first, the little pointed toe came daintily in sight, then +the trim ankle in the tight blue stocking, the wool of which was +spun and the web of which was knitted by her mother's careful hands; +then the full brown stuff petticoat, the arm holding the petticoat +back in decent folds, so as not to encumber the descending feet; the +slender neck and shoulders hidden under the folded square of fresh +white muslin; the crowning beauty of the soft innocent face radiant +in colour, and with the light brown curls clustering around. She +made her way quickly to Philip's side; how his heart beat at her +approach! and even more when she entered into a low-voiced +_tete-a-tete_. + +'Isn't he gone yet?' said she. 'I cannot abide him; I could ha' +pinched father when he asked him for t' come in.' + +'Maybe, he'll not stay long,' said Philip, hardly understanding the +meaning of what he said, so sweet was it to have her making her +whispered confidences to him. + +But Simpson was not going to let her alone in the dark corner +between the door and the window. He began paying her some coarse +country compliments--too strong in their direct flattery for even +her father's taste, more especially as he saw by his wife's set lips +and frowning brow how much she disapproved of their visitor's style +of conversation. + +'Come, measter, leave t' lass alone; she's set up enough a'ready, +her mother makes such a deal on her. Yo' an' me's men for sensible +talk at our time o' life. An', as I was saying, t' horse was a +weaver if iver one was, as any one could ha' told as had come within +a mile on him.' + +And in this way the old farmer and the bluff butcher chatted on +about horses, while Philip and Sylvia sate together, he turning over +all manner of hopes and projects for the future, in spite of his +aunt's opinion that he was too 'old-fashioned' for her dainty, +blooming daughter. Perhaps, too, Mrs. Robson saw some reason for +changing her mind on this head as she watched Sylvia this night, for +she accompanied Philip to the door, when the time came for him to +start homewards, and bade him 'good-night' with unusual fervour, +adding-- + +'Thou'st been a deal o' comfort to me, lad--a'most as one as if thou +wert a child o' my own, as at times I could welly think thou art to +be. Anyways, I trust to thee to look after the lile lass, as has no +brother to guide her among men--and men's very kittle for a woman to +deal wi; but if thou'lt have an eye on whom she consorts wi', my +mind 'll be easier.' + +Philip's heart beat fast, but his voice was as calm as usual when he +replied-- + +'I'd just keep her a bit aloof from Monkshaven folks; a lass is +always the more thought on for being chary of herself; and as for t' +rest, I'll have an eye to the folks she goes among, and if I see +that they don't befit her, I'll just give her a warning, for she's +not one to like such chaps as yon Simpson there; she can see what's +becoming in a man to say to a lass, and what's not.' + +Philip set out on his two-mile walk home with a tumult of happiness +in his heart. He was not often carried away by delusions of his own +creating; to-night he thought he had good ground for believing that +by patient self-restraint he might win Sylvia's love. A year ago he +had nearly earned her dislike by obtruding upon her looks and words +betokening his passionate love. He alarmed her girlish coyness, as +well as wearied her with the wish he had then felt that she should +take an interest in his pursuits. But, with unusual wisdom, he had +perceived his mistake; it was many months now since he had betrayed, +by word or look, that she was anything more to him than a little +cousin to be cared for and protected when need was. The consequence +was that she had become tamed, just as a wild animal is tamed; he +had remained tranquil and impassive, almost as if he did not +perceive her shy advances towards friendliness. These advances were +made by her after the lessons had ceased. She was afraid lest he was +displeased with her behaviour in rejecting his instructions, and was +not easy till she was at peace with him; and now, to all appearance, +he and she were perfect friends, but nothing more. In his absence +she would not allow her young companions to laugh at his grave +sobriety of character, and somewhat prim demeanour; she would even +go against her conscience, and deny that she perceived any +peculiarity. When she wanted it, she sought his advice on such small +subjects as came up in her daily life; and she tried not to show +signs of weariness when he used more words--and more difficult +words--than were necessary to convey his ideas. But her ideal +husband was different from Philip in every point, the two images +never for an instant merged into one. To Philip she was the only +woman in the world; it was the one subject on which he dared not +consider, for fear that both conscience and judgment should decide +against him, and that he should be convinced against his will that +she was an unfit mate for him, that she never would be his, and that +it was waste of time and life to keep her shrined in the dearest +sanctuary of his being, to the exclusion of all the serious and +religious aims which, in any other case, he would have been the +first to acknowledge as the object he ought to pursue. For he had +been brought up among the Quakers, and shared in their austere +distrust of a self-seeking spirit; yet what else but self-seeking +was his passionate prayer, 'Give me Sylvia, or else, I die?' No +other vision had ever crossed his masculine fancy for a moment; his +was a rare and constant love that deserved a better fate than it met +with. At this time his hopes were high, as I have said, not merely +as to the growth of Sylvia's feelings towards him, but as to the +probability of his soon being in a position to place her in such +comfort, as his wife, as she had never enjoyed before. + +For the brothers Foster were thinking of retiring from business, and +relinquishing the shop to their two shopmen, Philip Hepburn and +William Coulson. To be sure, it was only by looking back for a few +months, and noticing chance expressions and small indications, that +this intention of theirs could be discovered. But every step they +took tended this way, and Philip knew their usual practice of +deliberation too well to feel in the least impatient for the quicker +progress of the end which he saw steadily approaching. The whole +atmosphere of life among the Friends at this date partook of this +character of self-repression, and both Coulson and Hepburn shared in +it. Coulson was just as much aware of the prospect opening before +him as Hepburn; but they never spoke together on the subject, +although their mutual knowledge might be occasionally implied in +their conversation on their future lives. Meanwhile the Fosters were +imparting more of the background of their business to their +successors. For the present, at least, the brothers meant to retain +an interest in the shop, even after they had given up the active +management; and they sometimes thought of setting up a separate +establishment as bankers. The separation of the business,--the +introduction of their shopmen to the distant manufacturers who +furnished their goods (in those days the system of 'travellers' was +not so widely organized as it is at present),--all these steps were +in gradual progress; and already Philip saw himself in imagination +in the dignified position of joint master of the principal shop in +Monkshaven, with Sylvia installed as his wife, with certainly a silk +gown, and possibly a gig at her disposal. In all Philip's visions of +future prosperity, it was Sylvia who was to be aggrandized by them; +his own life was to be spent as it was now, pretty much between the +four shop walls. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +NEW YEAR'S FETE + + + + + +All this enlargement of interest in the shop occupied Philip fully +for some months after the period referred to in the preceding +chapter. Remembering his last conversation with his aunt, he might +have been uneasy at his inability to perform his promise and look +after his pretty cousin, but that about the middle of November Bell +Robson had fallen ill of a rheumatic fever, and that her daughter +had been entirely absorbed in nursing her. No thought of company or +gaiety was in Sylvia's mind as long as her mother's illness lasted; +vehement in all her feelings, she discovered in the dread of losing +her mother how passionately she was attached to her. Hitherto she +had supposed, as children so often do, that her parents would live +for ever; and now when it was a question of days, whether by that +time the following week her mother might not be buried out of her +sight for ever, she clung to every semblance of service to be +rendered, or affection shown, as if she hoped to condense the love +and care of years into the few days only that might remain. Mrs. +Robson lingered on, began slowly to recover, and before Christmas +was again sitting by the fireside in the house-place, wan and pulled +down, muffled up with shawls and blankets, but still there once +more, where not long before Sylvia had scarcely expected to see her +again. Philip came up that evening and found Sylvia in wild spirits. +She thought that everything was done, now that her mother had once +come downstairs again; she laughed with glee; she kissed her mother; +she shook hands with Philip, she almost submitted to a speech of +more than usual tenderness from him; but, in the midst of his words, +her mother's pillows wanted arranging and she went to her chair, +paying no more heed to his words than if they had been addressed to +the cat, that lying on the invalid's knee was purring out her +welcome to the weak hand feebly stroking her back. Robson himself +soon came in, looking older and more subdued since Philip had seen +him last. He was very urgent that his wife should have some spirits +and water; but on her refusal, almost as if she loathed the thought +of the smell, he contented himself with sharing her tea, though he +kept abusing the beverage as 'washing the heart out of a man,' and +attributing all the degeneracy of the world, growing up about him in +his old age, to the drinking of such slop. At the same time, his +little self-sacrifice put him in an unusually good temper; and, +mingled with his real gladness at having his wife once more on the +way to recovery, brought back some of the old charm of tenderness +combined with light-heartedness, which had won the sober Isabella +Preston long ago. He sat by her side, holding her hand, and talking +of old times to the young couple opposite; of his adventures and +escapes, and how he had won his wife. She, faintly smiling at the +remembrance of those days, yet half-ashamed at having the little +details of her courtship revealed, from time to time kept saying,-- + +'For shame wi' thee, Dannel--I never did,' and faint denials of a +similar kind. + +'Niver believe her, Sylvie. She were a woman, and there's niver a +woman but likes to have a sweetheart, and can tell when a chap's +castin' sheep's-eyes at her; ay, an' afore he knows what he's about +hissen. She were a pretty one then, was my old 'ooman, an' liked +them as thought her so, though she did cock her head high, as bein' +a Preston, which were a family o' standin' and means i' those parts +aforetime. There's Philip there, I'll warrant, is as proud o' bein' +Preston by t' mother's side, for it runs i' t' blood, lass. A can +tell when a child of a Preston tak's to being proud o' their kin, by +t' cut o' their nose. Now Philip's and my missus's has a turn beyond +common i' their nostrils, as if they was sniffin' at t' rest of us +world, an' seein' if we was good enough for 'em to consort wi'. Thee +an' me, lass, is Robsons--oat-cake folk, while they's pie-crust. +Lord! how Bell used to speak to me, as short as though a wasn't a +Christian, an' a' t' time she loved me as her very life, an' well a +knew it, tho' a'd to mak' as tho' a didn't. Philip, when thou goes +courtin', come t' me, and a'll give thee many a wrinkle. A've shown, +too, as a know well how t' choose a good wife by tokens an' signs, +hannot a, missus? Come t' me, my lad, and show me t' lass, an' a'll +just tak' a squint at her, an' tell yo' if she'll do or not; an' if +she'll do, a'll teach yo' how to win her.' + +'They say another o' yon Corney girls is going to be married,' said +Mrs. Robson, in her faint deliberate tones. + +'By gosh, an' it's well thou'st spoke on 'em; a was as clean +forgettin' it as iver could be. A met Nanny Corney i' Monkshaven +last neet, and she axed me for t' let our Sylvia come o' New Year's +Eve, an' see Molly an' her man, that 'n as is wed beyond Newcassel, +they'll be over at her feyther's, for t' New Year, an' there's to be +a merry-making.' + +Sylvia's colour came, her eyes brightened, she would have liked to +go; but the thought of her mother came across her, and her features +fell. Her mother's eye caught the look and the change, and knew what +both meant as well as if Sylvia had spoken out. + +'Thursday se'nnight,' said she. 'I'll be rare and strong by then, +and Sylvie shall go play hersen; she's been nurse-tending long +enough.' + +'You're but weakly yet,' said Philip shortly; he did not intend to +say it, but the words seemed to come out in spite of himself. + +'A said as our lass should come, God willin', if she only came and +went, an' thee goin' on sprightly, old 'ooman. An' a'll turn +nurse-tender mysen for t' occasion, 'special if thou can stand t' +good honest smell o' whisky by then. So, my lass, get up thy smart +clothes, and cut t' best on 'em out, as becomes a Preston. Maybe, +a'll fetch thee home, an' maybe Philip will convoy thee, for Nanny +Corney bade thee to t' merry-making, as well. She said her measter +would be seem' thee about t' wool afore then.' + +'I don't think as I can go,' said Philip, secretly pleased to know +that he had the opportunity in his power; 'I'm half bound to go Wi' +Hester Rose and her mother to t' watch-night.' + +'Is Hester a Methodee?' asked Sylvia in surprise. + +'No! she's neither a Methodee, nor a Friend, nor a Church person; +but she's a turn for serious things, choose wherever they're found.' + +'Well, then,' said good-natured farmer Robson, only seeing the +surface of things, 'a'll make shift to fetch Sylvie back fra' t' +merry-making, and thee an' thy young woman can go to t' +prayer-makin'; it's every man to his taste, say I.' + +But in spite of his half-promise, nay against his natural +inclination, Philip was lured to the Corneys' by the thought of +meeting Sylvia, of watching her and exulting in her superiority in +pretty looks and ways to all the other girls likely to be assembled. +Besides (he told his conscience) he was pledged to his aunt to watch +over Sylvia like a brother. So in the interval before New Year's +Eve, he silently revelled as much as any young girl in the +anticipation of the happy coming time. + +At this hour, all the actors in this story having played out their +parts and gone to their rest, there is something touching in +recording the futile efforts made by Philip to win from Sylvia the +love he yearned for. But, at the time, any one who had watched him +might have been amused to see the grave, awkward, plain young man +studying patterns and colours for a new waistcoat, with his head a +little on one side, after the meditative manner common to those who +are choosing a new article of dress. They might have smiled could +they have read in his imagination the frequent rehearsals of the +coming evening, when he and she should each be dressed in their gala +attire, to spend a few hours under a bright, festive aspect, among +people whose company would oblige them to assume a new demeanour +towards each other, not so familiar as their every-day manner, but +allowing more scope for the expression of rustic gallantry. Philip +had so seldom been to anything of the kind, that, even had Sylvia +not been going, he would have felt a kind of shy excitement at the +prospect of anything so unusual. But, indeed, if Sylvia had not been +going, it is very probable that Philip's rigid conscience might have +been aroused to the question whether such parties did not savour too +much of the world for him to form one in them. + +As it was, however, the facts to him were simply these. He was going +and she was going. The day before, he had hurried off to Haytersbank +Farm with a small paper parcel in his pocket--a ribbon with a little +briar-rose pattern running upon it for Sylvia. It was the first +thing he had ever ventured to give her--the first thing of the kind +would, perhaps, be more accurate; for when he had first begun to +teach her any lessons, he had given her Mavor's Spelling-book, but +that he might have done, out of zeal for knowledge, to any dunce of +a little girl of his acquaintance. This ribbon was quite a different +kind of present; he touched it tenderly, as if he were caressing it, +when he thought of her wearing it; the briar-rose (sweetness and +thorns) seemed to be the very flower for her; the soft, green ground +on which the pink and brown pattern ran, was just the colour to show +off her complexion. And she would in a way belong to him: her +cousin, her mentor, her chaperon, her lover! While others only +admired, he might hope to appropriate; for of late they had been +such happy friends! Her mother approved of him, her father liked +him. A few months, perhaps only a few weeks more of self-restraint, +and then he might go and speak openly of his wishes, and what he had +to offer. For he had resolved, with the quiet force of his +character, to wait until all was finally settled between him and his +masters, before he declared himself to either Sylvia or her parents. +The interval was spent in patient, silent endeavours to recommend +himself to her. + +He had to give his ribbon to his aunt in charge for Sylvia, and that +was a disappointment to his fancy, although he tried to reason +himself into thinking that it was better so. He had not time to wait +for her return from some errand on which she had gone, for he was +daily more and more occupied with the affairs of the shop. + +Sylvia made many a promise to her mother, and more to herself, that +she would not stay late at the party, but she might go as early as +she liked; and before the December daylight had faded away, Sylvia +presented herself at the Corneys'. She was to come early in order to +help to set out the supper, which was arranged in the large old +flagged parlour, which served as best bed-room as well. It opened +out of the house-place, and was the sacred room of the house, as +chambers of a similar description are still considered in retired +farmhouses in the north of England. They are used on occasions like +the one now described for purposes of hospitality; but in the state +bed, overshadowing so large a portion of the floor, the births and, +as far as may be, the deaths, of the household take place. At the +Corneys', the united efforts of some former generation of the family +had produced patchwork curtains and coverlet; and patchwork was +patchwork in those days, before the early Yates and Peels had found +out the secret of printing the parsley-leaf. Scraps of costly Indian +chintzes and palempours were intermixed with commoner black and red +calico in minute hexagons; and the variety of patterns served for +the useful purpose of promoting conversation as well as the more +obvious one of displaying the work-woman 's taste. Sylvia, for +instance, began at once to her old friend, Molly Brunton, who had +accompanied her into this chamber to take off her hat and cloak, +with a remark on one of the chintzes. Stooping over the counterpane, +with a face into which the flush would come whether or no, she said +to Molly,-- + +'Dear! I never seed this one afore--this--for all t' world like th' +eyes in a peacock's tail.' + +'Thou's seen it many a time and oft, lass. But weren't thou +surprised to find Charley here? We picked him up at Shields, quite +by surprise like; and when Brunton and me said as we was comin' +here, nought would serve him but comin' with us, for t' see t' new +year in. It's a pity as your mother's ta'en this time for t' fall +ill and want yo' back so early.' + +Sylvia had taken off her hat and cloak by this time, and began to +help Molly and a younger unmarried sister in laying out the +substantial supper. + +'Here,' continued Mrs. Brunton; 'stick a bit o' holly i' yon pig's +mouth, that's the way we do things i' Newcassel; but folks is so +behindhand in Monkshaven. It's a fine thing to live in a large town, +Sylvia; an' if yo're looking out for a husband, I'd advise yo' to +tak' one as lives in a town. I feel as if I were buried alive comin' +back here, such an out-o'-t'-way place after t' Side, wheere there's +many a hundred carts and carriages goes past in a day. I've a great +mind for t' tak yo' two lassies back wi' me, and let yo' see a bit +o' t' world; may-be, I may yet. + +Her sister Bessy looked much pleased with this plan, but Sylvia was +rather inclined to take offence at Molly's patronizing ways, and +replied,-- + +'I'm none so fond o' noise and bustle; why, yo'll not be able to +hear yoursels speak wi' all them carts and carriages. I'd rayther +bide at home; let alone that mother can't spare me.' + +It was, perhaps, a rather ungracious way of answering Molly +Brunton's speech, and so she felt it to be, although her invitation +had been none of the most courteously worded. She irritated Sylvia +still further by repeating her last words,-- + +'"Mother can't spare me;" why, mother 'll have to spare thee +sometime, when t' time for wedding comes.' + +'I'm none going to be wed,' said Sylvia; 'and if I were, I'd niver +go far fra' mother.' + +'Eh! what a spoilt darling it is. How Brunton will laugh when I tell +him about yo'; Brunton's a rare one for laughin'. It's a great thing +to have got such a merry man for a husband. Why! he has his joke for +every one as comes into t' shop; and he'll ha' something funny to +say to everything this evenin'.' + +Bessy saw that Sylvia was annoyed, and, with more delicacy than her +sister, she tried to turn the conversation. + +'That's a pretty ribbon in thy hair, Sylvia; I'd like to have one o' +t' same pattern. Feyther likes pickled walnuts stuck about t' round +o' beef, Molly.' + +'I know what I'm about,' replied Mrs. Brunton, with a toss of her +married head. + +Bessy resumed her inquiry. + +'Is there any more to be had wheere that come fra', Sylvia?' + +'I don't know,' replied Sylvia. 'It come fra' Foster's, and yo' can +ask.' + +'What might it cost?' said Betsy, fingering an end of it to test its +quality. + +'I can't tell,' said Sylvia, 'it were a present.' + +'Niver mak' ado about t' price,' said Molly; 'I'll gi'e thee enough +on 't to tie up thy hair, just like Sylvia's. Only thou hastn't such +wealth o' curls as she has; it'll niver look t' same i' thy straight +locks. And who might it be as give it thee, Sylvia?' asked the +unscrupulous, if good-natured Molly. + +'My cousin Philip, him as is shopman at Foster's,' said Sylvia, +innocently. But it was far too good an opportunity for the exercise +of Molly's kind of wit for her to pass over. + +'Oh, oh! our cousin Philip, is it? and he'll not be living so far +away from your mother? I've no need be a witch to put two and two +together. He's a coming here to-night, isn't he, Bessy?' + +'I wish yo' wouldn't talk so, Molly,' said Sylvia; 'me and Philip is +good enough friends, but we niver think on each other in that way; +leastways, I don't.' + +'(Sweet butter! now that's my mother's old-fashioned way; as if +folks must eat sweet butter now-a-days, because her mother did!) +That way,' continued Molly, in the manner that annoyed Sylvia so +much, repeating her words as if for the purpose of laughing at them. +'"That way?" and pray what is t' way yo're speaking on? I niver said +nought about marrying, did I, that yo' need look so red and +shamefaced about yo'r cousin Philip? But, as Brunton says, if t' cap +fits yo', put it on. I'm glad he's comin' to-night tho', for as I'm +done makin' love and courtin', it's next best t' watch other folks; +an' yo'r face, Sylvia, has letten me into a secret, as I'd some +glimpses on afore I was wed.' + +Sylvia secretly determined not to speak a word more to Philip than +she could help, and wondered how she could ever have liked Molly at +all, much less have made a companion of her. The table was now laid +out, and nothing remained but to criticize the arrangement a little. + +Bessy was full of admiration. + +'Theere, Molly!' said she. 'Yo' niver seed more vittle brought +together i' Newcassel, I'll be bound; there'll be above half a +hundredweight o' butcher's meat, beside pies and custards. I've +eaten no dinner these two days for thinking on 't; it's been a weary +burden on my mind, but it's off now I see how well it looks. I told +mother not to come near it till we'd spread it all out, and now I'll +go fetch her.' + +Bessy ran off into the house-place. + +'It's well enough in a country kind o' way,' said Molly, with the +faint approbation of condescension. 'But if I'd thought on, I'd ha' +brought 'em down a beast or two done i' sponge-cake, wi' currants +for his eyes to give t' table an air.' + +The door was opened, and Bessy came in smiling and blushing with +proud pleasure. Her mother followed her on tip-toe, smoothing down +her apron, and with her voice subdued to a whisper:-- + +'Ay, my lass, it _is_ fine! But dunnot mak' an ado about it, let 'em +think it's just our common way. If any one says aught about how good +t' vittle is, tak' it calm, and say we'n better i' t' house,--it'll +mak' 'em eat wi' a better appetite, and think the more on us. +Sylvie, I'm much beholden t' ye for comin' so early, and helpin' t' +lasses, but yo' mun come in t' house-place now, t' folks is +gatherin', an' yo'r cousin's been asking after yo' a'ready.' + +Molly gave her a nudge, which made Sylvia's face go all aflame with +angry embarrassment. She was conscious that the watching which Molly +had threatened her with began directly; for Molly went up to her +husband, and whispered something to him which set him off in a +chuckling laugh, and Sylvia was aware that his eyes followed her +about with knowing looks all the evening. She would hardly speak to +Philip, and pretended not to see his outstretched hand, but passed +on to the chimney-corner, and tried to shelter herself behind the +broad back of farmer Corney, who had no notion of relinquishing his +customary place for all the young people who ever came to the house, +--or for any old people either, for that matter. It was his +household throne, and there he sat with no more idea of abdicating +in favour of any comer than King George at St James's. But he was +glad to see his friends; and had paid them the unwonted compliment +of shaving on a week-day, and putting on his Sunday coat. The united +efforts of wife and children had failed to persuade him to make any +farther change in his attire; to all their arguments on this head he +had replied,-- + +'Them as doesn't like t' see me i' my work-a-day wescut and breeches +may bide away.' + +It was the longest sentence he said that day, but he repeated it +several times over. He was glad enough to see all the young people, +but they were not 'of his kidney,' as he expressed it to himself, +and he did not feel any call upon himself to entertain them. He left +that to his bustling wife, all smartness and smiles, and to his +daughters and son-in-law. His efforts at hospitality consisted in +sitting still, smoking his pipe; when any one came, he took it out +of his mouth for an instant, and nodded his head in a cheerful +friendly way, without a word of speech; and then returned to his +smoking with the greater relish for the moment's intermission. He +thought to himself:-- + +'They're a set o' young chaps as thinks more on t' lasses than on +baccy;--they'll find out their mistake in time; give 'em time, give +'em time.' + +And before eight o'clock, he went as quietly as a man of twelve +stone can upstairs to bed, having made a previous arrangement with +his wife that she should bring him up about two pounds of spiced +beef, and a hot tumbler of stiff grog. But at the beginning of the +evening he formed a good screen for Sylvia, who was rather a +favourite with the old man, for twice he spoke to her. + +'Feyther smokes?' + +'Yes,' said Sylvia. + +'Reach me t' baccy-box, my lass.' + +And that was all the conversation that passed between her and her +nearest neighbour for the first quarter of an hour after she came +into company. + +But, for all her screen, she felt a pair of eyes were fixed upon +her with a glow of admiration deepening their honest brightness. +Somehow, look in what direction she would, she caught the glance +of those eyes before she could see anything else. So she played +with her apron-strings, and tried not to feel so conscious. +There were another pair of eyes,--not such beautiful, sparkling +eyes,--deep-set, earnest, sad, nay, even gloomy, watching her every +movement; but of this she was not aware. Philip had not recovered +from the rebuff she had given him by refusing his offered hand, and +was standing still, in angry silence, when Mrs. Corney thrust a young +woman just arrived upon his attention. + +'Come, Measter Hepburn, here's Nancy Pratt wi'out ev'n a soul to +speak t' her, an' yo' mopin' theere. She says she knows yo' by sight +fra' having dealt at Foster's these six year. See if yo' can't find +summut t' say t' each other, for I mun go pour out tea. Dixons, an' +Walkers, an' Elliotts, an' Smiths is come,' said she, marking off +the families on her fingers, as she looked round and called over +their names; 'an' there's only Will Latham an' his two sisters, and +Roger Harbottle, an' Taylor t' come; an' they'll turn up afore tea's +ended.' + +So she went off to her duty at the one table, which, placed +alongside of the dresser, was the only article of furniture left in +the middle of the room: all the seats being arranged as close to the +four walls as could be managed. The candles of those days gave but a +faint light compared to the light of the immense fire, which it was +a point of hospitality to keep at the highest roaring, blazing +pitch; the young women occupied the seats, with the exception of two +or three of the elder ones, who, in an eager desire to show their +capability, insisted on helping Mrs. Corney in her duties, very much +to her annoyance, as there were certain little contrivances for +eking out cream, and adjusting the strength of the cups of tea to +the worldly position of the intended drinkers, which she did not +like every one to see. The young men,--whom tea did not embolden, +and who had as yet had no chance of stronger liquor,--clustered in +rustic shyness round the door, not speaking even to themselves, +except now and then, when one, apparently the wag of the party, made +some whispered remark, which set them all off laughing; but in a +minute they checked themselves, and passed the back of their hands +across their mouths to compose that unlucky feature, and then some +would try to fix their eyes on the rafters of the ceiling, in a +manner which was decorous if rather abstracted from the business in +hand. Most of these were young farmers, with whom Philip had nothing +in common, and from whom, in shy reserve, he had withdrawn himself +when he first came in. But now he wished himself among them sooner +than set to talk to Nancy Pratt, when he had nothing to say. And yet +he might have had a companion less to his mind, for she was a decent +young woman of a sober age, less inclined to giggle than many of the +younger ones. But all the time that he was making commonplace +remarks to her he was wondering if he had offended Sylvia, and why +she would not shake hands with him, and this pre-occupation of his +thoughts did not make him an agreeable companion. Nancy Pratt, who +had been engaged for some years to a mate of a whaling-ship, +perceived something of his state of mind, and took no offence at it; +on the contrary, she tried to give him pleasure by admiring Sylvia. + +'I've often heerd tell on her,' said she, 'but I niver thought she's +be so pretty, and so staid and quiet-like too. T' most part o' girls +as has looks like hers are always gape-gazing to catch other folks's +eyes, and see what is thought on 'em; but she looks just like a +child, a bit flustered wi' coming into company, and gettin' into as +dark a corner and bidin' as still as she can. + +Just then Sylvia lifted up her long, dark lashes, and catching the +same glance which she had so often met before--Charley Kinraid was +standing talking to Brunton on the opposite side of the +fire-place--she started back into the shadow as if she had not +expected it, and in so doing spilt her tea all over her gown. She +could almost have cried, she felt herself so awkward, and as if +everything was going wrong with her; she thought that every one +would think she had never been in company before, and did not know +how to behave; and while she was thus fluttered and crimson, she saw +through her tearful eyes Kinraid on his knees before her, wiping her +gown with his silk pocket handkerchief, and heard him speaking +through all the buzz of commiserating voices. + +'Your cupboard handle is so much i' th' way--I hurt my elbow +against it only this very afternoon.' + +So perhaps it was no clumsiness of hers,--as they would all know, +now, since he had so skilfully laid the blame somewhere else; and +after all it turned out that her accident had been the means of +bringing him across to her side, which was much more pleasant than +having him opposite, staring at her; for now he began to talk to +her, and this was very pleasant, although she was rather embarrassed +at their _tete-a-tete_ at first. + +'I did not know you again when I first saw you,' said he, in a tone +which implied a good deal more than was uttered in words. + +'I knowed yo' at once,' she replied, softly, and then she blushed +and played with her apron-string, and wondered if she ought to have +confessed to the clearness of her recollection. + +'You're grown up into--well, perhaps it's not manners to say what +you're grown into--anyhow, I shan't forget yo' again.' + +More playing with her apron-string, and head hung still lower down, +though the corners of her mouth would go up in a shy smile of +pleasure. Philip watched it all as greedily as if it gave him +delight. + +'Yo'r father, he'll be well and hearty, I hope?' asked Charley. + +'Yes,' replied Sylvia, and then she wished she could originate some +remark; he would think her so stupid if she just kept on saying such +little short bits of speeches, and if he thought her stupid he might +perhaps go away again to his former place. + +But he was quite far enough gone in love of her beauty, and pretty +modest ways, not to care much whether she talked or no, so long as +she showed herself so pleasingly conscious of his close +neighbourhood. + +'I must come and see the old gentleman; and your mother, too,' he +added more slowly, for he remembered that his visits last year had +not been quite so much welcomed by Bell Robson as by her husband; +perhaps it was because of the amount of drink which he and Daniel +managed to get through of an evening. He resolved this year to be +more careful to please the mother of Sylvia. + +When tea was ended there was a great bustle and shifting of places, +while Mrs. Corney and her daughters carried out trays full of used +cups, and great platters of uneaten bread and butter into the +back-kitchen, to be washed up after the guests were gone. Just +because she was so conscious that she did not want to move, and +break up the little conversation between herself and Kinraid, Sylvia +forced herself to be as active in the service going on as became a +friend of the house; and she was too much her mother's own daughter +to feel comfortable at leaving all the things in the disorder which +to the Corney girls was second nature. + +'This milk mun go back to t' dairy, I reckon,' said she, loading +herself with milk and cream. + +'Niver fash thysel' about it,' said Nelly Corney, 'Christmas comes +but onest a year, if it does go sour; and mother said she'd have a +game at forfeits first thing after tea to loosen folks's tongues, +and mix up t' lads and lasses, so come along.' + +But Sylvia steered her careful way to the cold chill of the dairy, +and would not be satisfied till she had carried away all the unused +provision into some fresher air than that heated by the fires and +ovens used for the long day's cooking of pies and cakes and much +roast meat. + +When they came back a round of red-faced 'lads,' as young men up to +five-and-thirty are called in Lancashire and Yorkshire if they are +not married before, and lasses, whose age was not to be defined, +were playing at some country game, in which the women were +apparently more interested than the men, who looked shamefaced, and +afraid of each other's ridicule. Mrs. Corney, however, knew how to +remedy this, and at a sign from her a great jug of beer was brought +in. This jug was the pride of her heart, and was in the shape of a +fat man in white knee-breeches, and a three-cornered hat; with one +arm he supported the pipe in his broad, smiling mouth, and the other +was placed akimbo and formed the handle. There was also a great +china punch-bowl filled with grog made after an old ship-receipt +current in these parts, but not too strong, because if their +visitors had too much to drink at that early part of the evening 'it +would spoil t' fun,' as Nelly Corney had observed. Her father, +however, after the notions of hospitality prevalent at that time in +higher circles, had stipulated that each man should have 'enough' +before he left the house; enough meaning in Monkshaven parlance the +liberty of getting drunk, if they thought fit to do it. + +Before long one of the lads was seized with a fit of admiration for +Toby--the name of the old gentleman who contained liquor--and went +up to the tray for a closer inspection. He was speedily followed by +other amateurs of curious earthenware; and by-and-by Mr. Brunton (who +had been charged by his mother-in-law with the due supplying of +liquor--by his father-in-law that every man should have his fill, +and by his wife and her sisters that no one should have too much, at +any rate at the beginning of the evening,) thought fit to carry out +Toby to be replenished; and a faster spirit of enjoyment and mirth +began to reign in the room. + +Kinraid was too well seasoned to care what amount of liquor he +drank; Philip had what was called a weak head, and disliked muddling +himself with drink because of the immediate consequence of intense +feelings of irritability, and the more distant one of a racking +headache next day; so both these two preserved very much the same +demeanour they had held at the beginning of the evening. + +Sylvia was by all acknowledged and treated as the belle. When they +played at blind-man's-buff go where she would, she was always +caught; she was called out repeatedly to do what was required in any +game, as if all had a pleasure in seeing her light figure and deft +ways. She was sufficiently pleased with this to have got over her +shyness with all except Charley. When others paid her their rustic +compliments she tossed her head, and made her little saucy +repartees; but when he said something low and flattering, it was too +honey-sweet to her heart to be thrown off thus. And, somehow, the +more she yielded to this fascination the more she avoided Philip. He +did not speak flatteringly--he did not pay compliments--he watched +her with discontented, longing eyes, and grew more inclined every +moment, as he remembered his anticipation of a happy evening, to cry +out in his heart _vanitas vanitatum_. + +And now came crying the forfeits. Molly Brunton knelt down, her face +buried in her mother's lap; the latter took out the forfeits one by +one, and as she held them up, said the accustomed formula,-- + +'A fine thing and a very fine thing, what must he (or she) do who +owns this thing.' + +One or two had been told to kneel to the prettiest, bow to the +wittiest, and kiss those they loved best; others had had to bite an +inch off the poker, or such plays upon words. And now came Sylvia's +pretty new ribbon that Philip had given her (he almost longed to +snatch it out of Mrs. Corney's hands and burn it before all their +faces, so annoyed was he with the whole affair.) + +'A fine thing and a very fine thing--a most particular fine +thing--choose how she came by it. What must she do as owns this +thing?' + +'She must blow out t' candle and kiss t' candlestick.' + +In one instant Kinraid had hold of the only candle within reach, all +the others had been put up high on inaccessible shelves and other +places. Sylvia went up and blew out the candle, and before the +sudden partial darkness was over he had taken the candle into his +fingers, and, according to the traditional meaning of the words, was +in the place of the candlestick, and as such was to be kissed. Every +one laughed at innocent Sylvia's face as the meaning of her penance +came into it, every one but Philip, who almost choked. + +'I'm candlestick,' said Kinraid, with less of triumph in his voice +than he would have had with any other girl in the room. + +'Yo' mun kiss t' candlestick,' cried the Corneys, 'or yo'll niver +get yo'r ribbon back.' + +'And she sets a deal o' store by that ribbon,' said Molly Brunton, +maliciously. + +'I'll none kiss t' candlestick, nor him either,' said Sylvia, in a +low voice of determination, turning away, full of confusion. + +'Yo'll not get yo'r ribbon if yo' dunnot,' cried one and all. + +'I don't care for t' ribbon,' said she, flashing up with a look at +her tormentors, now her back was turned to Kinraid. 'An' I wunnot +play any more at such like games,' she added, with fresh indignation +rising in her heart as she took her old place in the corner of the +room a little away from the rest. + +Philip's spirits rose, and he yearned to go to her and tell her how +he approved of her conduct. Alas, Philip! Sylvia, though as modest a +girl as ever lived, was no prude, and had been brought up in simple, +straightforward country ways; and with any other young man, +excepting, perhaps, Philip's self, she would have thought no more of +making a rapid pretence of kissing the hand or cheek of the +temporary 'candlestick', than our ancestresses did in a much higher +rank on similar occasions. Kinraid, though mortified by his public +rejection, was more conscious of this than the inexperienced Philip; +he resolved not to be baulked, and watched his opportunity. For the +time he went on playing as if Sylvia's conduct had not affected him +in the least, and as if he was hardly aware of her defection from +the game. As she saw others submitting, quite as a matter of course, +to similar penances, she began to be angry with herself for having +thought twice about it, and almost to dislike herself for the +strange consciousness which had made it at the time seem impossible +to do what she was told. Her eyes kept filling with tears as her +isolated position in the gay party, the thought of what a fool she +had made of herself, kept recurring to her mind; but no one saw her, +she thought, thus crying; and, ashamed to be discovered when the +party should pause in their game, she stole round behind them into +the great chamber in which she had helped to lay out the supper, +with the intention of bathing her eyes, and taking a drink of water. +One instant Charley Kinraid was missing from the circle of which he +was the life and soul; and then back he came with an air of +satisfaction on his face, intelligible enough to those who had seen +his game; but unnoticed by Philip, who, amidst the perpetual noise +and movements around him, had not perceived Sylvia's leaving the +room, until she came back at the end of about a quarter of an hour, +looking lovelier than ever, her complexion brilliant, her eyes +drooping, her hair neatly and freshly arranged, tied with a brown +ribbon instead of that she was supposed to have forfeited. She +looked as if she did not wish her return to be noticed, stealing +softly behind the romping lads and lasses with noiseless motions, +and altogether such a contrast to them in her cool freshness and +modest neatness, that both Kinraid and Philip found it difficult to +keep their eyes off her. But the former had a secret triumph in his +heart which enabled him to go on with his merry-making as if it +absorbed him; while Philip dropped out of the crowd and came up to +where she was standing silently by Mrs. Corney, who, arms akimbo, was +laughing at the frolic and fun around her. Sylvia started a little +when Philip spoke, and kept her soft eyes averted from him after the +first glance; she answered him shortly, but with unaccustomed +gentleness. He had only asked her when she would like him to take +her home; and she, a little surprised at the idea of going home when +to her the evening seemed only beginning, had answered-- + +'Go home? I don't know! It's New Year's eve!' + +'Ay! but yo'r mother 'll lie awake till yo' come home, Sylvie!' + +But Mrs. Corney, having heard his question, broke in with all sorts +of upbraidings. 'Go home! Not see t' New Year in! Why, what should +take 'em home these six hours? Wasn't there a moon as clear as day? +and did such a time as this come often? And were they to break up +the party before the New Year came in? And was there not supper, +with a spiced round of beef that had been in pickle pretty nigh sin' +Martinmas, and hams, and mince-pies, and what not? And if they +thought any evil of her master's going to bed, or that by that early +retirement he meant to imply that he did not bid his friends +welcome, why he would not stay up beyond eight o'clock for King +George upon his throne, as he'd tell them soon enough, if they'd +only step upstairs and ask him. Well; she knowed what it was to want +a daughter when she was ailing, so she'd say nought more, but hasten +supper. + +And this idea now took possession of Mrs. Corney's mind, for she +would not willingly allow one of her guests to leave before they had +done justice to her preparations; and, cutting her speech short, she +hastily left Sylvia and Philip together. + +His heart beat fast; his feeling towards her had never been so strong +or so distinct as since her refusal to kiss the 'candlestick.' He +was on the point of speaking, of saying something explicitly tender, +when the wooden trencher which the party were using at their play, +came bowling between him and Sylvia, and spun out its little period +right betwixt them. Every one was moving from chair to chair, and +when the bustle was over Sylvia was seated at some distance from him, +and he left standing outside the circle, as if he were not playing. +In fact, Sylvia had unconsciously taken his place as actor in the +game while he remained spectator, and, as it turned out, an auditor +of a conversation not intended for his ears. He was wedged against +the wall, close to the great eight-day clock, with its round moon-like +smiling face forming a ludicrous contrast to his long, sallow, grave +countenance, which was pretty much at the same level above the sanded +floor. Before him sat Molly Brunton and one of her sisters, their +heads close together in too deep talk to attend to the progress of +the game. Philip's attention was caught by the words-- + +'I'll lay any wager he kissed her when he ran off into t' parlour.' + +'She's so coy she'd niver let him,' replied Bessy Corney. + +'She couldn't help hersel'; and for all she looks so demure and prim +now' (and then both heads were turned in the direction of Sylvia), +'I'm as sure as I'm born that Charley is not t' chap to lose his +forfeit; and yet yo' see he says nought more about it, and she's +left off being 'feared of him.' + +There was something in Sylvia's look, ay, and in Charley Kinraid's, +too, that shot conviction into Philip's mind. He watched them +incessantly during the interval before supper; they were intimate, +and yet shy with each other, in a manner that enraged while it +bewildered Philip. What was Charley saying to her in that whispered +voice, as they passed each other? Why did they linger near each +other? Why did Sylvia look so dreamily happy, so startled at every +call of the game, as if recalled from some pleasant idea? Why did +Kinraid's eyes always seek her while hers were averted, or downcast, +and her cheeks all aflame? Philip's dark brow grew darker as he +gazed. He, too, started when Mrs. Corney, close at his elbow, bade +him go in to supper along with some of the elder ones, who were not +playing; for the parlour was not large enough to hold all at once, +even with the squeezing and cramming, and sitting together on +chairs, which was not at all out of etiquette at Monkshaven. Philip +was too reserved to express his disappointment and annoyance at +being thus arrested in his painful watch over Sylvia; but he had no +appetite for the good things set before him, and found it hard work +to smile a sickly smile when called upon by Josiah Pratt for +applause at some country joke. When supper was ended, there was some +little discussion between Mrs. Corney and her son-in-law as to +whether the different individuals of the company should be called +upon for songs or stories, as was the wont at such convivial +meetings. Brunton had been helping his mother-in-law in urging +people to eat, heaping their plates over their shoulders with +unexpected good things, filling the glasses at the upper end of the +table, and the mugs which supplied the deficiency of glasses at the +lower. And now, every one being satisfied, not to say stuffed to +repletion, the two who had been attending to their wants stood +still, hot and exhausted. + +'They're a'most stawed,' said Mrs. Corney, with a pleased smile. +'It'll be manners t' ask some one as knows how to sing.' + +'It may be manners for full men, but not for fasting,' replied +Brunton. 'Folks in t' next room will be wanting their victual, and +singing is allays out o' tune to empty bellies.' + +'But there's them here as 'll take it ill if they're not asked. I +heerd Josiah Pratt a-clearing his throat not a minute ago, an' he +thinks as much on his singin' as a cock does on his crowin'.' + +'If one sings I'm afeard all on 'em will like to hear their own +pipes.' + +But their dilemma was solved by Bessy Corney, who opened the door to +see if the hungry ones outside might not come in for their share of +the entertainment; and in they rushed, bright and riotous, scarcely +giving the first party time to rise from their seats ere they took +their places. One or two young men, released from all their previous +shyness, helped Mrs. Corney and her daughters to carry off such +dishes as were actually empty. There was no time for changing or +washing of plates; but then, as Mrs. Corney laughingly observed,-- + +'We're a' on us friends, and some on us mayhap sweethearts; so no +need to be particular about plates. Them as gets clean ones is +lucky; and them as doesn't, and cannot put up wi' plates that has +been used, mun go without.' + +It seemed to be Philip's luck this night to be pent up in places; +for again the space between the benches and the wall was filled up +by the in-rush before he had time to make his way out; and all he +could do was to sit quiet where he was. But between the busy heads +and over-reaching arms he could see Charley and Sylvia, sitting +close together, talking and listening more than eating. She was in a +new strange state of happiness not to be reasoned about, or +accounted for, but in a state of more exquisite feeling than she had +ever experienced before; when, suddenly lifting her eyes, she caught +Philip's face of extreme displeasure. + +'Oh,' said she, 'I must go. There's Philip looking at me so.' + +'Philip!' said Kinraid, with a sudden frown upon his face. + +'My cousin,' she replied, instinctively comprehending what had +flashed into his mind, and anxious to disclaim the suspicion of +having a lover. 'Mother told him to see me home, and he's noan one +for staying up late.' + +'But you needn't go. I'll see yo' home.' + +'Mother's but ailing,' said Sylvia, a little conscience-smitten at +having so entirely forgotten everything in the delight of the +present, 'and I said I wouldn't be late.' + +'And do you allays keep to your word?' asked he, with a tender +meaning in his tone. + +'Allays; leastways I think so,' replied she, blushing. + +'Then if I ask you not to forget me, and you give me your word, I +may be sure you'll keep it.' + +'It wasn't I as forgot you,' said Sylvia, so softly as not to be +heard by him. + +He tried to make her repeat what she had said, but she would not, +and he could only conjecture that it was something more tell-tale +than she liked to say again, and that alone was very charming to +him. + +'I shall walk home with you,' said he, as Sylvia at last rose to +depart, warned by a further glimpse of Philip's angry face. + +'No!' said she, hastily, 'I can't do with yo''; for somehow she felt +the need of pacifying Philip, and knew in her heart that a third +person joining their _tete-a-tete_ walk would only increase his +displeasure. + +'Why not?' said Charley, sharply. + +'Oh! I don't know, only please don't!' + +By this time her cloak and hood were on, and she was slowly making +her way down her side of the room followed by Charley, and often +interrupted by indignant remonstrances against her departure, and +the early breaking-up of the party. Philip stood, hat in hand, in +the doorway between the kitchen and parlour, watching her so +intently that he forgot to be civil, and drew many a jest and gibe +upon him for his absorption in his pretty cousin. + +When Sylvia reached him, he said,-- + +'Yo're ready at last, are yo'?' + +'Yes,' she replied, in her little beseeching tone. 'Yo've not been +wanting to go long, han yo'? I ha' but just eaten my supper.' + +'Yo've been so full of talk, that's been the reason your supper +lasted so long. That fellow's none going wi' us?' said he sharply, +as he saw Kinraid rummaging for his cap in a heap of men's clothes, +thrown into the back-kitchen. + +'No,' said Sylvia, in affright at Philip's fierce look and +passionate tone. 'I telled him not.' + +But at that moment the heavy outer door was opened by Daniel Robson +himself--bright, broad, and rosy, a jolly impersonation of Winter. +His large drover's coat was covered with snow-flakes, and through +the black frame of the doorway might be seen a white waste world of +sweeping fell and field, with the dark air filled with the pure +down-fall. Robson stamped his snow-laden feet and shook himself +well, still standing on the mat, and letting a cold frosty current +of fresh air into the great warm kitchen. He laughed at them all +before he spoke. + +'It's a coud new year as I'm lettin' in though it's noan t' new year +yet. Yo'll a' be snowed up, as sure as my name s Dannel, if yo' stop +for twel' o'clock. Yo'd better mak' haste and go whoam. Why, +Charley, my lad! how beest ta? who'd ha' thought o' seeing thee i' +these parts again! Nay, missus, nay, t' new year mun find its way +int' t' house by itsel' for me; for a ha' promised my oud woman to +bring Sylvie whoam as quick as may-be; she's lyin' awake and +frettin' about t' snow and what not. Thank yo' kindly, missus, but +a'll tak' nought to eat; just a drop o' somethin' hot to keep out +coud, and wish yo' a' the compliments o' the season. Philip, my man, +yo'll not be sorry to be spared t' walk round by Haytersbank such a +neet. My missus were i' such a way about Sylvie that a thought a'd +just step off mysel', and have a peep at yo' a', and bring her some +wraps. Yo'r sheep will be a' folded, a reckon, Measter Pratt, for +there'll niver be a nibble o' grass to be seen this two month, +accordin' to my readin'; and a've been at sea long enough, and on +land long enough t' know signs and wonders. It's good stuff that, +any way, and worth comin' for,' after he had gulped down a +tumblerful of half-and-half grog. 'Kinraid, if ta doesn't come and +see me afore thou'rt many days ouder, thee and me'll have words. +Come, Sylvie, what art ta about, keepin' me here? Here's Mistress +Corney mixin' me another jorum. Well, this time a'll give "T' +married happy, and t' single wed!"' + +Sylvia was all this while standing by her father quite ready for +departure, and not a little relieved by his appearance as her convoy +home. + +'I'm ready to see Haytersbank to-night, master!' said Kinraid, with +easy freedom--a freedom which Philip envied, but could not have +imitated, although he was deeply disappointed at the loss of his +walk with Sylvia, when he had intended to exercise the power his +aunt had delegated to him of remonstrance if her behaviour had been +light or thoughtless, and of warning if he saw cause to disapprove +of any of her associates. + +After the Robsons had left, a blank fell upon both Charley and +Philip. In a few minutes, however, the former, accustomed to prompt +decision, resolved that she and no other should be his wife. +Accustomed to popularity among women, and well versed in the +incipient signs of their liking for him, he anticipated no +difficulty in winning her. Satisfied with the past, and pleasantly +hopeful about the future, he found it easy to turn his attention to +the next prettiest girl in the room, and to make the whole gathering +bright with his ready good temper and buoyant spirit. + +Mrs. Corney had felt it her duty to press Philip to stay, now that, +as she said, he had no one but himself to see home, and the new year +so near coming in. To any one else in the room she would have added +the clinching argument, 'A shall take it very unkind if yo' go now'; +but somehow she could not say this, for in truth Philip's look +showed that he would be but a wet blanket on the merriment of the +party. So, with as much civility as could be mustered up between +them, he took leave. Shutting the door behind him, he went out into +the dreary night, and began his lonesome walk back to Monkshaven. +The cold sleet almost blinded him as the sea-wind drove it straight +in his face; it cut against him as it was blown with drifting force. +The roar of the wintry sea came borne on the breeze; there was more +light from the whitened ground than from the dark laden sky above. +The field-paths would have been a matter of perplexity, had it not +been for the well-known gaps in the dyke-side, which showed the +whitened land beyond, between the two dark stone walls. Yet he went +clear and straight along his way, having unconsciously left all +guidance to the animal instinct which co-exists with the human soul, +and sometimes takes strange charge of the human body, when all the +nobler powers of the individual are absorbed in acute suffering. At +length he was in the lane, toiling up the hill, from which, by day, +Monkshaven might be seen. Now all features of the landscape before +him were lost in the darkness of night, against which the white +flakes came closer and nearer, thicker and faster. On a sudden, the +bells of Monkshaven church rang out a welcome to the new year, 1796. +From the direction of the wind, it seemed as if the sound was flung +with strength and power right into Philip's face. He walked down the +hill to its merry sound--its merry sound, his heavy heart. As he +entered the long High Street of Monkshaven he could see the watching +lights put out in parlour, chamber, or kitchen. The new year had +come, and expectation was ended. Reality had begun. + +He turned to the right, into the court where he lodged with Alice +Rose. There was a light still burning there, and cheerful voices +were heard. He opened the door; Alice, her daughter, and Coulson +stood as if awaiting him. Hester's wet cloak hung on a chair before +the fire; she had her hood on, for she and Coulson had been to the +watch-night. + +The solemn excitement of the services had left its traces upon her +countenance and in her mind. There was a spiritual light in her +usually shadowed eyes, and a slight flush on her pale cheek. Merely +personal and self-conscious feelings were merged in a loving +good-will to all her fellow-creatures. Under the influence of this +large charity, she forgot her habitual reserve, and came forward as +Philip entered to meet him with her new year's wishes--wishes that +she had previously interchanged with the other two. + +'A happy new year to you, Philip, and may God have you in his +keeping all the days thereof!' + +He took her hand, and shook it warmly in reply. The flush on her +cheek deepened as she withdrew it. Alice Rose said something curtly +about the lateness of the hour and her being much tired; and then +she and her daughter went upstairs to the front chamber, and Philip +and Coulson to that which they shared at the back of the house. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +PERPLEXITIES + + + + + +Coulson and Philip were friendly, but not intimate. They never had +had a dispute, they never were confidential with each other; in +truth, they were both reserved and silent men, and, probably, +respected each other the more for being so self-contained. There was +a private feeling in Coulson's heart which would have made a less +amiable fellow dislike Philip. But of this the latter was +unconscious: they were not apt to exchange many words in the room +which they occupied jointly. + +Coulson asked Philip if he had enjoyed himself at the Corneys', and +Philip replied,-- + +'Not much; such parties are noane to my liking.' + +'And yet thou broke off from t' watch-night to go there.' + +No answer; so Coulson went on, with a sense of the duty laid upon +him, to improve the occasion--the first that had presented itself +since the good old Methodist minister had given his congregation the +solemn warning to watch over the opportunities of various kinds +which the coming year would present. + +'Jonas Barclay told us as the pleasures o' this world were like +apples o' Sodom, pleasant to look at, but ashes to taste.' + +Coulson wisely left Philip to make the application for himself. If +he did he made no sign, but threw himself on his bed with a heavy +sigh. + +'Are yo' not going to undress?' said Coulson, as he covered him up +in bed. + +There had been a long pause of silence. Philip did not answer him, +and he thought he had fallen asleep. But he was roused from his +first slumber by Hepburn's soft movements about the room. Philip had +thought better of it, and, with some penitence in his heart for his +gruffness to the unoffending Coulson, was trying not to make any +noise while he undressed. + +But he could not sleep. He kept seeing the Corneys' kitchen and the +scenes that had taken place in it, passing like a pageant before his +closed eyes. Then he opened them in angry weariness at the recurring +vision, and tried to make out the outlines of the room and the +furniture in the darkness. The white ceiling sloped into the +whitewashed walls, and against them he could see the four +rush-bottomed chairs, the looking-glass hung on one side, the old +carved oak-chest (his own property, with the initials of forgotten +ancestors cut upon it), which held his clothes; the boxes that +belonged to Coulson, sleeping soundly in the bed in the opposite +corner of the room; the casement window in the roof, through which +the snowy ground on the steep hill-side could be plainly seen; and +when he got so far as this in the catalogue of the room, he fell +into a troubled feverish sleep, which lasted two or three hours; and +then he awoke with a start, and a consciousness of uneasiness, +though what about he could not remember at first. + +When he recollected all that had happened the night before, it +impressed him much more favourably than it had done at the time. If +not joy, hope had come in the morning; and, at any rate, he could be +up and be doing, for the late wintry light was stealing down the +hill-side, and he knew that, although Coulson lay motionless in his +sleep, it was past their usual time of rising. Still, as it was new +year's Day, a time of some licence, Philip had mercy on his +fellow-shopman, and did not waken him till just as he was leaving +the room. + +Carrying his shoes in his hand, he went softly downstairs for he +could see from the top of the flight that neither Alice nor her +daughter was down yet, as the kitchen shutters were not unclosed. It +was Mrs. Rose's habit to rise early, and have all bright and clean +against her lodgers came down; but then, in general, she went to +rest before nine o'clock, whereas the last night she had not gone +till past twelve. Philip went about undoing the shutters, and trying +to break up the raking coal, with as little noise as might be, for +he had compassion on the tired sleepers. The kettle had not been +filled, probably because Mrs. Rose had been unable to face the storm +of the night before, in taking it to the pump just at the entrance +of the court. When Philip came back from filling it, he found Alice +and Hester both in the kitchen, and trying to make up for lost time +by hastening over their work. Hester looked busy and notable with +her gown pinned up behind her, and her hair all tucked away under a +clean linen cap; but Alice was angry with herself for her late +sleeping, and that and other causes made her speak crossly to +Philip, as he came in with his snowy feet and well-filled kettle. + +'Look the' there! droppin' and drippin' along t' flags as was +cleaned last night, and meddlin' wi' woman's work as a man has no +business wi'.' + +Philip was surprised and annoyed. He had found relief from his own +thoughts in doing what he believed would help others. He gave up the +kettle to her snatching hands, and sate down behind the door in +momentary ill-temper. But the kettle was better filled, and +consequently heavier than the old woman expected, and she could not +manage to lift it to the crook from which it generally hung +suspended. She looked round for Hester, but she was gone into the +back-kitchen. In a minute Philip was at her side, and had heaved it +to its place for her. She looked in his face for a moment wistfully, +but hardly condescended to thank him; at least the sound of the +words did not pass the lips that formed them. Rebuffed by her +manner, he went back to his old seat, and mechanically watched the +preparations for breakfast; but his thoughts went back to the night +before, and the comparative ease of his heart was gone. The first +stir of a new day had made him feel as if he had had no sufficient +cause for his annoyance and despondency the previous evening; but +now, condemned to sit quiet, he reviewed looks and words, and saw +just reason for his anxiety. After some consideration he resolved to +go that very night to Haytersbank, and have some talk with either +Sylvia or her mother; what the exact nature of this purposed +conversation should be, he did not determine; much would depend on +Sylvia's manner and mood, and on her mother's state of health; but +at any rate something would be learnt. + +During breakfast something was learnt nearer home; though not all +that a man less unconscious and more vain than Philip might have +discovered. He only found out that Mrs. Rose was displeased with him +for not having gone to the watch-night with Hester, according to the +plan made some weeks before. But he soothed his conscience by +remembering that he had made no promise; he had merely spoken of his +wish to be present at the service, about which Hester was speaking; +and although at the time and for a good while afterwards, he had +fully intended going, yet as there had been William Coulson to +accompany her, his absence could not have been seriously noticed. +Still he was made uncomfortable by Mrs. Rose's change of manner; once +or twice he said to himself that she little knew how miserable he +had been during his 'gay evening,' as she would persist in calling +it, or she would not talk at him with such persevering bitterness +this morning. Before he left for the shop, he spoke of his intention +of going to see how his aunt was, and of paying her a new year's day +visit. + +Hepburn and Coulson took it in turns week and week about to go first +home to dinner; the one who went first sate down with Mrs. Rose and +her daughter, instead of having his portion put in the oven to keep +warm for him. To-day it was Hepburn's turn to be last. All morning +the shop was full with customers, come rather to offer good wishes +than to buy, and with an unspoken remembrance of the cake and wine +which the two hospitable brothers Foster made a point of offering to +all comers on new year's day. It was busy work for all--for Hester +on her side, where caps, ribbons, and women's gear were exclusively +sold--for the shopmen and boys in the grocery and drapery +department. Philip was trying to do his business with his mind far +away; and the consequence was that his manner was not such as to +recommend him to the customers, some of whom recollected it as very +different, courteous and attentive, if grave and sedate. One buxom +farmer's wife noticed the change to him. She had a little girl with +her, of about five years old, that she had lifted up on the counter, +and who was watching Philip with anxious eyes, occasionally +whispering in her mother's ear, and then hiding her face against her +cloak. + +'She's thought a deal o' coming to see yo', and a dunnot think as +yo' mind her at all. My pretty, he's clean forgotten as how he said +last new year's day, he'd gi' thee a barley-sugar stick, if thou'd +hem him a handkercher by this.' + +The child's face was buried in the comfortable breadth of duffle at +these words, while the little outstretched hand held a small square +of coarse linen. + +'Ay, she's noane forgotten it, and has done her five stitches a day, +bless her; and a dunnot believe as yo' know her again. She's Phoebe +Moorsom, and a'm Hannah, and a've dealt at t' shop reg'lar this +fifteen year.' + +'I'm very sorry,' said Philip. 'I was up late last night, and I'm a +bit dazed to-day. Well! this is nice work, Phoebe, and I'm sure I'm +very much beholden to yo'. And here's five sticks o' barley-sugar, +one for every stitch, and thank you kindly, Mrs. Moorsom, too.' + +Philip took the handkerchief and hoped he had made honourable amends +for his want of recognition. But the wee lassie refused to be lifted +down, and whispered something afresh into her mother's ear, who +smiled and bade her be quiet. Philip saw, however, that there was +some wish ungratified on the part of the little maiden which he was +expected to inquire into, and, accordingly, he did his duty. + +'She's a little fool; she says yo' promised to gi'e her a kiss, and +t' make her yo'r wife.' + +The child burrowed her face closer into her mother's neck, and +refused to allow the kiss which Philip willingly offered. All he +could do was to touch the back of the little white fat neck with his +lips. The mother carried her off only half satisfied, and Philip +felt that he must try and collect his scattered wits, and be more +alive to the occasion. + +Towards the dinner-hour the crowd slackened; Hester began to +replenish decanters and bottles, and to bring out a fresh cake +before she went home to dinner; and Coulson and Philip looked over +the joint present they always made to her on this day. It was a silk +handkerchief of the prettiest colours they could pick out of the +shop, intended for her to wear round her neck. Each tried to +persuade the other to give it to her, for each was shy of the act of +presentation. Coulson was, however, the most resolute; and when she +returned from the parlour the little parcel was in Philip's hands. + +'Here, Hester,' said he, going round the counter to her, just as she +was leaving the shop. 'It's from Coulson and me; a handkerchief for +yo' to wear; and we wish yo' a happy New Year, and plenty on 'em; +and there's many a one wishes the same.' + +He took her hand as he said this. She went a little paler, and her +eyes brightened as though they would fill with tears as they met +his; she could not have helped it, do what she would. But she only +said, 'Thank yo' kindly,' and going up to Coulson she repeated the +words and action to him; and then they went off together to dinner. + +There was a lull of business for the next hour. John and Jeremiah +were dining like the rest of the world. Even the elder errand-boy +had vanished. Philip rearranged disorderly goods; and then sate down +on the counter by the window; it was the habitual place for the one +who stayed behind; for excepting on market-day there was little or +no custom during the noon-hour. Formerly he used to move the drapery +with which the window was ornamented, and watch the passers-by with +careless eye. But now, though he seemed to gaze abroad, he saw +nothing but vacancy. All the morning since he got up he had been +trying to fight through his duties--leaning against a hope--a hope +that first had bowed, and then had broke as soon as he really tried +its weight. There was not a sign of Sylvia's liking for him to be +gathered from the most careful recollection of the past evening. It +was of no use thinking that there was. It was better to give it up +altogether and at once. But what if he could not? What if the +thought of her was bound up with his life; and that once torn out by +his own free will, the very roots of his heart must come also? + +No; he was resolved he would go on; as long as there was life there +was hope; as long as Sylvia remained unpledged to any one else, +there was a chance for him. He would remodel his behaviour to her. +He could not be merry and light-hearted like other young men; his +nature was not cast in that mould; and the early sorrows that had +left him a lonely orphan might have matured, but had not enlivened, +his character. He thought with some bitterness on the power of easy +talking about trifles which some of those he had met with at the +Corneys' had exhibited. But then he felt stirring within him a force +of enduring love which he believed to be unusual, and which seemed +as if it must compel all things to his wish in the end. A year or so +ago he had thought much of his own cleverness and his painfully +acquired learning, and he had imagined that these were the qualities +which were to gain Sylvia. But now, whether he had tried them and +had failed to win even her admiration, or whether some true instinct +had told him that a woman's love may be gained in many ways sooner +than by mere learning, he was only angry with himself for his past +folly in making himself her school--nay, her taskmaster. To-night, +though, he would start off on a new tack. He would not even upbraid +her for her conduct the night before; he had shown her his +displeasure at the time; but she should see how tender and forgiving +he could be. He would lure her to him rather than find fault with +her. There had perhaps been too much of that already. + +When Coulson came back Philip went to his solitary dinner. In +general he was quite alone while eating it; but to-day Alice Rose +chose to bear him company. She watched him with cold severe eye for +some time, until he had appeased his languid appetite. Then she +began with the rebuke she had in store for him; a rebuke the motives +to which were not entirely revealed even to herself. + +'Thou 're none so keen after thy food as common,' she began. 'Plain +victuals goes ill down after feastin'.' + +Philip felt the colour mount to his face; he was not in the mood for +patiently standing the brunt of the attack which he saw was coming, +and yet he had a reverent feeling for woman and for age. He wished +she would leave him alone; but he only said--'I had nought but a +slice o' cold beef for supper, if you'll call that feasting.' + +'Neither do godly ways savour delicately after the pleasures of the +world,' continued she, unheeding his speech. 'Thou wert wont to seek +the house of the Lord, and I thought well on thee; but of late +thou'st changed, and fallen away, and I mun speak what is in my +heart towards thee.' + +'Mother,' said Philip, impatiently (both he and Coulson called Alice +'mother' at times), 'I don't think I am fallen away, and any way I +cannot stay now to be--it's new year's Day, and t' shop is throng.' + +But Alice held up her hand. Her speech was ready, and she must +deliver it. + +'Shop here, shop there. The flesh and the devil are gettin' hold on +yo', and yo' need more nor iver to seek t' ways o' grace. New year's +day comes and says, "Watch and pray," and yo' say, "Nay, I'll seek +feasts and market-places, and let times and seasons come and go +without heedin' into whose presence they're hastening me." Time was, +Philip, when thou'd niver ha' letten a merry-making keep thee fra' +t' watch-night, and t' company o' the godly.' + +'I tell yo' it was no merry-making to me,' said Philip, with +sharpness, as he left the house. + +Alice sat down on the nearest seat, and leant her head on her +wrinkled hand. + +'He's tangled and snared,' said she; 'my heart has yearned after +him, and I esteemed him as one o' the elect. And more nor me yearns +after him. O Lord, I have but one child! O Lord, spare her! But o'er +and above a' I would like to pray for his soul, that Satan might not +have it, for he came to me but a little lad.' + +At that moment Philip, smitten by his conscience for his hard manner +of speech, came back; but Alice did not hear or see him till he was +close by her, and then he had to touch her to recall her attention. + +'Mother,' said he, 'I was wrong. I'm fretted by many things. I +shouldn't ha' spoken so. It was ill-done of me.' + +'Oh, my lad!' said she, looking up and putting her thin arm on his +shoulder as he stooped, 'Satan is desiring after yo' that he may +sift yo' as wheat. Bide at whoam, bide at whoam, and go not after +them as care nought for holy things. Why need yo' go to Haytersbank +this night?' + +Philip reddened. He could not and would not give it up, and yet it +was difficult to resist the pleading of the usually stern old woman. + +'Nay,' said he, withdrawing himself ever so little from her hold; +'my aunt is but ailing, they're my own flesh and blood, and as good +folks as needs be, though they mayn't be o' our--o' your way o' +thinking in a' things.' + +'Our ways--your ways o' thinking, says he, as if they were no longer +his'n. And as good folks as need be,' repeated she, with returning +severity. 'Them's Satan's words, tho' yo' spoke 'em, Philip. I can +do nought again Satan, but I can speak to them as can; an' we'll see +which pulls hardest, for it'll be better for thee to be riven and +rent i' twain than to go body and soul to hell.' + +'But don't think, mother,' said Philip, his last words of +conciliation, for the clock had given warning for two, 'as I'm boun' +for hell, just because I go t' see my own folks, all I ha' left o' +kin.' And once more, after laying his hand with as much of a caress +as was in his nature on hers, he left the house. + +Probably Alice would have considered the first words that greeted +Philip on his entrance into the shop as an answer to her prayer, for +they were such as put a stop to his plan of going to see Sylvia that +evening; and if Alice had formed her inchoate thoughts into words, +Sylvia would have appeared as the nearest earthly representative of +the spirit of temptation whom she dreaded for Philip. + +As he took his place behind the counter, Coulson said to him in a +low voice,-- + +'Jeremiah Foster has been round to bid us to sup wi' him to-night. +He says that he and John have a little matter o' business to talk +over with us.' + +A glance from his eyes to Philip told the latter that Coulson +believed the business spoken of had something to do with the +partnership, respecting which there had been a silent intelligence +for some time between the shopmen. + +'And what did thou say?' asked Philip, doggedly unwilling, even yet, +to give up his purposed visit. + +'Say! why, what could a say, but that we'd come? There was summat +up, for sure; and summat as he thought we should be glad on. I could +tell it fra' t' look on his face.' + +'I don't think as I can go,' said Philip, feeling just then as if +the long-hoped-for partnership was as nothing compared to his plan. +It was always distasteful to him to have to give up a project, or to +disarrange an intended order of things, such was his nature; but +to-day it was absolute pain to yield his own purpose. + +'Why, man alive?' said Coulson, in amaze at his reluctance. + +'I didn't say I mightn't go,' said Philip, weighing consequences, +until called off to attend to customers. + +In the course of the afternoon, however, he felt himself more easy +in deferring his visit to Haytersbank till the next evening. Charley +Kinraid entered the shop, accompanied by Molly Brunton and her +sisters; and though they all went towards Hester's side of the shop, +and Philip and Coulson had many people to attend to, yet Hepburn's +sharpened ears caught much of what the young women were saying. From +that he gathered that Kinraid had promised them new year's gifts, +for the purchase of which they were come; and after a little more +listening he learnt that Kinraid was returning to Shields the next +day, having only come over to spend a holiday with his relations, +and being tied with ship's work at the other end. They all talked +together lightly and merrily, as if his going or staying was almost +a matter of indifference to himself and his cousins. The principal +thought of the young women was to secure the articles they most +fancied; Charley Kinraid was (so Philip thought) especially anxious +that the youngest and prettiest should be pleased. Hepburn watched +him perpetually with a kind of envy of his bright, courteous manner, +the natural gallantry of the sailor. If it were but clear that +Sylvia took as little thought of him as he did of her, to all +appearance, Philip could even have given him praise for manly good +looks, and a certain kind of geniality of disposition which made him +ready to smile pleasantly at all strangers, from babies upwards. + +As the party turned to leave the shop they saw Philip, the guest of +the night before; and they came over to shake hands with him across +the counter; Kinraid's hand was proffered among the number. Last +night Philip could not have believed it possible that such a +demonstration of fellowship should have passed between them; and +perhaps there was a slight hesitation of manner on his part, for +some idea or remembrance crossed Kinraid's mind which brought a keen +searching glance into the eyes which for a moment were fastened on +Philip's face. In spite of himself, and during the very action of +hand-shaking, Philip felt a cloud come over his face, not altering +or moving his features, but taking light and peace out of his +countenance. + +Molly Brunton began to say something, and he gladly turned to look +at her. She was asking him why he went away so early, for they had +kept it up for four hours after he left, and last of all, she added +(turning to Kinraid), her cousin Charley had danced a hornpipe among +the platters on the ground. + +Philip hardly knew what he said in reply, the mention of that pas +seul lifted such a weight off his heart. He could smile now, after +his grave fashion, and would have shaken hands again with Kinraid +had it been required; for it seemed to him that no one, caring ever +so little in the way that he did for Sylvia, could have borne four +mortal hours of a company where she had been, and was not; least of +all could have danced a hornpipe, either from gaiety of heart, or +even out of complaisance. He felt as if the yearning after the +absent one would have been a weight to his legs, as well as to his +spirit; and he imagined that all men were like himself. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +PARTNERSHIP + + + + + +As darkness closed in, and the New Year's throng became scarce, +Philip's hesitation about accompanying Coulson faded away. He was +more comfortable respecting Sylvia, and his going to see her might +be deferred; and, after all, he felt that the wishes of his masters +ought to be attended to, and the honour of an invitation to the +private house of Jeremiah not to be slighted for anything short of a +positive engagement. Besides, the ambitious man of business existed +strongly in Philip. It would never do to slight advances towards the +second great earthly object in his life; one also on which the first +depended. + +So when the shop was closed, the two set out down Bridge Street to +cross the river to the house of Jeremiah Foster. They stood a moment +on the bridge to breathe the keen fresh sea air after their busy +day. The waters came down, swollen full and dark, with rapid rushing +speed from the snow-fed springs high up on the moorland above. The +close-packed houses in the old town seemed a cluster of white roofs +irregularly piled against the more unbroken white of the hill-side. +Lights twinkled here and there in the town, and were slung from +stern and bow of the ships in the harbour. The air was very still, +settling in for a frost; so still that all distant sounds seemed +near: the rumble of a returning cart in the High Street, the voices +on board ship, the closing of shutters and barring of doors in the +new town to which they were bound. But the sharp air was filled, as +it were, with saline particles in a freezing state; little pungent +crystals of sea salt burning lips and cheeks with their cold +keenness. It would not do to linger here in the very centre of the +valley up which passed the current of atmosphere coming straight +with the rushing tide from the icy northern seas. Besides, there was +the unusual honour of a supper with Jeremiah Foster awaiting them. +He had asked each of them separately to a meal before now; but they +had never gone together, and they felt that there was something +serious in the conjuncture. + +They began to climb the steep heights leading to the freshly-built +rows of the new town of Monkshaven, feeling as if they were rising +into aristocratic regions where no shop profaned the streets. +Jeremiah Foster's house was one of six, undistinguished in size, or +shape, or colour; but noticed in the daytime by all passers-by for +its spotless cleanliness of lintel and doorstep, window and window +frame. The very bricks seemed as though they came in for the daily +scrubbing which brightened handle, knocker, all down to the very +scraper. + +The two young men felt as shy of the interview with their master +under such unusual relations of guest and host, as a girl does of +her first party. Each rather drew back from the decided step of +knocking at the door; but with a rebuffing shake at his own folly, +Philip was the one to give a loud single rap. As if they had been +waited for, the door flew open, and a middle-aged servant stood +behind, as spotless and neat as the house itself; and smiled a +welcome to the familiar faces. + +'Let me dust yo' a bit, William,' said she, suiting the action to +the word. 'You've been leanin' again some whitewash, a'll be bound. +Ay, Philip,' continued she, turning him round with motherly freedom, +'yo'll do if yo'll but gi' your shoon a polishin' wipe on yon other +mat. This'n for takin' t' roughest mud off. Measter allays polishes +on that.' + +In the square parlour the same precise order was observed. Every +article of furniture was free from speck of dirt or particle of +dust; and everything was placed either in a parallel line, or at +exact right-angles with every other. Even John and Jeremiah sat in +symmetry on opposite sides of the fire-place; the very smiles on +their honest faces seemed drawn to a line of exactitude. + +Such formality, however admirable, was not calculated to promote +ease: it was not until after supper--until a good quantity of +Yorkshire pie had been swallowed, and washed down, too, with the +best and most generous wine in Jeremiah's cellar--that there was the +least geniality among them, in spite of the friendly kindness of the +host and his brother. The long silence, during which mute thanks for +the meal were given, having come to an end, Jeremiah called for +pipes, and three of the party began to smoke. + +Politics in those days were tickle subjects to meddle with, even in +the most private company. The nation was in a state of terror +against France, and against any at home who might be supposed to +sympathise with the enormities she had just been committing. The +oppressive act against seditious meetings had been passed the year +before; and people were doubtful to what extremity of severity it +might be construed. Even the law authorities forgot to be impartial, +but either their alarms or their interests made too many of them +vehement partisans instead of calm arbiters, and thus destroyed the +popular confidence in what should have been considered the supreme +tribunal of justice. Yet for all this, there were some who dared to +speak of reform of Parliament, as a preliminary step to fair +representation of the people, and to a reduction of the heavy +war-taxation that was imminent, if not already imposed. But these +pioneers of 1830 were generally obnoxious. The great body of the +people gloried in being Tories and haters of the French, with whom +they were on tenter-hooks to fight, almost unaware of the rising +reputation of the young Corsican warrior, whose name would be used +ere a dozen years had passed to hush English babies with a terror +such as that of Marlborough once had for the French. + +At such a place as Monkshaven all these opinions were held in +excess. One or two might, for the mere sake of argument, dispute on +certain points of history or government; but they took care to be +very sure of their listeners before such arguments touched on +anything of the present day; for it had been not unfrequently found +that the public duty of prosecuting opinions not your own overrode +the private duty of respecting confidence. Most of the Monkshaven +politicians confined themselves, therefore, to such general +questions as these: 'Could an Englishman lick more than four +Frenchmen at a time?' 'What was the proper punishment for members of +the Corresponding Society (correspondence with the French +directory), hanging and quartering, or burning?' 'Would the +forthcoming child of the Princess of Wales be a boy or a girl? If a +girl, would it be more loyal to call it Charlotte or Elizabeth?' + +The Fosters were quite secure enough of their guests this evening to +have spoken freely on politics had they been so inclined. And they +did begin on the outrages which had been lately offered to the king +in crossing St James's Park to go and open the House of Lords; but +soon, so accustomed were their minds to caution and restraint, the +talk dropped down to the high price of provisions. Bread at 1_s_. +3_d_. the quartern loaf, according to the London test. Wheat at +120_s_. per quarter, as the home-baking northerners viewed the +matter; and then the conversation died away to an ominous silence. +John looked at Jeremiah, as if asking him to begin. Jeremiah was the +host, and had been a married man. Jeremiah returned the look with +the same meaning in it. John, though a bachelor, was the elder +brother. The great church bell, brought from the Monkshaven +monastery centuries ago, high up on the opposite hill-side, began to +ring nine o'clock; it was getting late. Jeremiah began: + +'It seems a bad time for starting any one on business, wi' prices +and taxes and bread so dear; but John and I are getting into years, +and we've no children to follow us: yet we would fain draw out of +some of our worldly affairs. We would like to give up the shop, and +stick to banking, to which there seemeth a plain path. But first +there is the stock and goodwill of the shop to be disposed on.' + +A dead pause. This opening was not favourable to the hopes of the +two moneyless young men who had been hoping to succeed their masters +by the more gradual process of partnership. But it was only the kind +of speech that had been agreed upon by the two brothers with a view +of impressing on Hepburn and Coulson the great and unusual +responsibility of the situation into which the Fosters wished them +to enter. In some ways the talk of many was much less simple and +straightforward in those days than it is now. The study of effect +shown in the London diners-out of the last generation, who prepared +their conversation beforehand, was not without its parallel in +humbler spheres, and for different objects than self-display. The +brothers Foster had all but rehearsed the speeches they were about +to make this evening. They were aware of the youth of the parties to +whom they were going to make a most favourable proposal; and they +dreaded that if that proposal was too lightly made, it would be too +lightly considered, and the duties involved in it too carelessly +entered upon. So the _role_ of one brother was to suggest, that of +the other to repress. The young men, too, had their reserves. They +foresaw, and had long foreseen, what was coming that evening. They +were impatient to hear it in distinct words; and yet they had to +wait, as if unconscious, during all the long preamble. Do age and +youth never play the same parts now? To return. John Foster replied +to his brother: + +'The stock and goodwill! That would take much wealth. And there will +be fixtures to be considered. Philip, canst thee tell me the exact +amount of stock in the shop at present?' + +It had only just been taken; Philip had it at his fingers' ends. +'One thousand nine hundred and forty-one pounds, thirteen shillings +and twopence.' + +Coulson looked at him in a little dismay, and could not repress a +sigh. The figures put into words and spoken aloud seemed to indicate +so much larger an amount of money than when quickly written down in +numerals. But Philip read the countenances, nay, by some process of +which he was not himself aware, he read the minds of the brothers, +and felt no dismay at what he saw there. + +'And the fixtures?' asked John Foster. + +'The appraiser valued them at four hundred and thirty-five pounds +three and sixpence when father died. We have added to them since, +but we will reckon them at that. How much does that make with the +value of the stock?' + +'Two thousand one hundred and seventy-six pounds, sixteen shillings +and eightpence,' said Philip. + +Coulson had done the sum quicker, but was too much disheartened by +the amount to speak. + +'And the goodwill?' asked the pitiless John. 'What dost thee set +that at?' + +'I think, brother, that that would depend on who came forward with +the purchase-money of the stock and fixtures. To some folks we might +make it sit easy, if they were known to us, and those as we wished +well to. If Philip and William here, for instance, said they'd like +to purchase the business, I reckon thee and me would not ask 'em so +much as we should ask Millers' (Millers was an upstart petty rival +shop at the end of the bridge in the New Town). + +'I wish Philip and William was to come after us,' said John. 'But +that's out of the question,' he continued, knowing all the while +that, far from being out of the question, it was the very question, +and that it was as good as settled at this very time. + +No one spoke. Then Jeremiah went on: + +'It's out of the question, I reckon?' + +He looked at the two young men. Coulson shook his head. Philip more +bravely said,-- + +'I have fifty-three pounds seven and fourpence in yo'r hands, Master +John, and it's all I have i' the world.' + +'It's a pity,' said John, and again they were silent. Half-past nine +struck. It was time to be beginning to make an end. 'Perhaps, +brother, they have friends who could advance 'em the money. We might +make it sit light to them, for the sake of their good service?' + +Philip replied,-- + +'There's no one who can put forwards a penny for me: I have but few +kin, and they have little to spare beyond what they need.' + +Coulson said-- + +'My father and mother have nine on us.' + +'Let alone, let alone!' said John, relenting fast; for he was weary +of his part of cold, stern prudence. 'Brother, I think we have +enough of this world's goods to do what we like wi' our own.' + +Jeremiah was a little scandalized at the rapid melting away of +assumed character, and took a good pull at his pipe before he +replied-- + +'Upwards of two thousand pounds is a large sum to set on the +well-being and well-doing of two lads, the elder of whom is not +three-and-twenty. I fear we must look farther a-field.' + +'Why, John,' replied Jeremiah, 'it was but yesterday thee saidst +thee would rather have Philip and William than any men o' fifty that +thee knowed. And now to bring up their youth again them.' + +'Well, well! t' half on it is thine, and thou shall do even as thou +wilt. But I think as I must have security for my moiety, for it's a +risk--a great risk. Have ye any security to offer? any expectations? +any legacies, as other folk have a life-interest in at present?' + +No; neither of them had. So Jeremiah rejoined-- + +'Then, I suppose, I mun do as thee dost, John, and take the security +of character. And it's a great security too, lads, and t' best o' +all, and one that I couldn't ha' done without; no, not if yo'd pay +me down five thousand for goodwill, and stock, and fixtures. For +John Foster and Son has been a shop i' Monkshaven this eighty years +and more; and I dunnot think there's a man living--or dead, for that +matter--as can say Fosters wronged him of a penny, or gave short +measure to a child or a Cousin Betty.' + +They all four shook hands round with the same heartiness as if it +had been a legal ceremony necessary to the completion of the +partnership. The old men's faces were bright with smiles; the eyes +of the young ones sparkled with hope. + +'But, after all,' said Jeremiah, 'we've not told you particulars. +Yo're thanking us for a pig in a poke; but we had more forethought, +and we put all down on a piece o' paper.' + +He took down a folded piece of paper from the mantel-shelf, put on +his horn spectacles, and began to read aloud, occasionally peering +over his glasses to note the effect on the countenances of the young +men. The only thing he was in the habit of reading aloud was a +chapter in the Bible daily to his housekeeper servant; and, like +many, he reserved a peculiar tone for that solemn occupation--a tone +which he unconsciously employed for the present enumeration of +pounds, shillings, and pence. + +'Average returns of the last three years, one hundred and +twenty-seven pounds, three shillings, and seven penny and one-sixth +a week. Profits thereupon thirty-four per cent.--as near as may be. +Clear profits of the concern, after deducting all expenses except +rent--for t' house is our own--one thousand two hundred and two +pound a year.' + +This was far more than either Hepburn or Coulson had imagined it to +be; and a look of surprise, almost amounting to dismay, crept over +their faces, in spite of their endeavour to keep simply motionless +and attentive. + +'It's a deal of money, lads, and the Lord give you grace to guide +it,' said Jeremiah, putting down his paper for a minute. + +'Amen,' said John, shaking his head to give effect to his word. + +'Now what we propose is this,' continued Jeremiah, beginning afresh +to refer to his paper: 'We will call t' value of stock and fixtures +two thousand one hundred and fifty. You may have John Holden, +appraiser and auctioneer, in to set a price on them if yo' will; or +yo' may look over books and bills; or, better still, do both, and so +check one again t'other; but for t' sake o' making the ground o' the +bargain, I state the sum as above; and I reckon it so much capital +left in yo'r hands for the use o' which yo're bound to pay us five +per cent. quarterly--that's one hundred and seven pound ten per +annum at least for t' first year; and after it will be reduced by +the gradual payment on our money, which must be at the rate of +twenty per cent., thus paying us our principal back in five years. +And the rent, including all back yards, right of wharfage, +warehouse, and premises, is reckoned by us to be sixty-five pound +per annum. So yo' will have to pay us, John and Jeremiah Foster, +brothers, six hundred and twelve pound ten out of the profits of the +first year, leaving, at the present rate of profits, about five +hundred and eighty-nine pound ten, for the share to be divided +between yo'.' + +The plan had, in all its details, been carefully arranged by the two +brothers. They were afraid lest Hepburn and Coulson should be +dazzled by the amount of profits, and had so arranged the +sliding-scale of payment as to reduce the first year's income to +what the elder men thought a very moderate sum, but what to the +younger ones appeared an amount of wealth such as they, who had +neither of them ever owned much more than fifty pounds, considered +almost inexhaustible. It was certainly a remarkable instance of +prosperity and desert meeting together so early in life. + +For a moment or two the brothers were disappointed at not hearing +any reply from either of them. Then Philip stood up, for he felt as +if anything he could say sitting down would not be sufficiently +expressive of gratitude, and William instantly followed his example. +Hepburn began in a formal manner, something the way in which he had +read in the York newspapers that honourable members returned thanks +when their health was given. + +'I can hardly express my feelings' (Coulson nudged him) 'his +feelings, too--of gratitude. Oh, Master John! Master Jeremiah, I +thought it might come i' time; nay, I've thought it might come afore +long; but I niver thought as it would be so much, or made so easy. +We've got good kind friends--we have, have we not, William?--and +we'll do our best, and I hope as we shall come up to their wishes.' + +Philip's voice quivered a little, as some remembrance passed across +his mind; at this unusual moment of expansion out it came. 'I wish +mother could ha' seen this day.' + +'She shall see a better day, my lad, when thy name and William's is +painted over t' shop-door, and J. and J. Foster blacked out.' + +'Nay, master,' said William, 'that mun never be. I'd a'most sooner +not come in for the business. Anyhow, it must be 'late J. and J. +Foster,' and I'm not sure as I can stomach that.' + +'Well, well, William,' said John Foster, highly gratified, 'there be +time enough to talk over that. There was one thing more to be said, +was there not, brother Jeremiah? We do not wish to have this talked +over in Monkshaven until shortly before the time when yo' must enter +on the business. We have our own arrangements to make wi' regard to +the banking concern, and there'll be lawyer's work to do, after +yo've examined books and looked over stock again together; may-be +we've overstated it, or t' fixtures aren't worth so much as we said. +Anyhow yo' must each on yo' give us yo'r word for to keep fra' +naming this night's conversation to any one. Meantime, Jeremiah and +I will have to pay accounts, and take a kind of farewell of the +merchants and manufacturers with whom Fosters have had dealings this +seventy or eighty year; and when and where it seems fitting to us we +will take one of yo' to introduce as our successors and friends. But +all that's to come. But yo' must each give us yo'r word not to name +what has passed here to any one till further speech on the subject +has passed between us.' + +Coulson immediately gave the promise. Philip's assent came lagging. +He had thought of Sylvia living, almost as much as of the dead +mother, whose last words had been a committal of her child to the +Father of the friendless; and now that a short delay was placed +between the sight of the cup and his enjoyment of it, there was an +impatient chafing in the mind of the composed and self-restrained +Philip; and then repentance quick as lightning effaced the feeling, +and he pledged himself to the secrecy which was enjoined. Some few +more details as to their mode of procedure--of verifying the +Fosters' statements, which to the younger men seemed a perfectly +unnecessary piece of business--of probable journeys and +introductions, and then farewell was bidden, and Hepburn and Coulson +were in the passage donning their wraps, and rather to their +indignation being assisted therein by Martha, who was accustomed to +the office with her own master. Suddenly they were recalled into the +parlour. + +John Foster was fumbling with the papers a little nervously: +Jeremiah spoke-- + +'We have not thought it necessary to commend Hester Rose to you; if +she had been a lad she would have had a third o' the business along +wi' yo'. Being a woman, it's ill troubling her with a partnership; +better give her a fixed salary till such time as she marries.' + +He looked a little knowingly and curiously at the faces of the young +men he addressed. William Coulson seemed sheepish and uncomfortable, +but said nothing, leaving it as usual to Philip to be spokesman. + +'If we hadn't cared for Hester for hersel', master, we should ha' +cared for her as being forespoken by yo'. Yo' and Master John shall +fix what we ought t' pay her; and I think I may make bold to say +that, as our income rises, hers shall too--eh, Coulson?' (a sound of +assent quite distinct enough); 'for we both look on her as a sister +and on Alice like a mother, as I told her only this very day.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A DIFFICULT QUESTION + + + + + +Philip went to bed with that kind of humble penitent gratitude in +his heart, which we sometimes feel after a sudden revulsion of +feeling from despondency to hope. The night before it seemed as if +all events were so arranged as to thwart him in his dearest wishes; +he felt now as if his discontent and repining, not twenty-four hours +before, had been almost impious, so great was the change in his +circumstances for the better. Now all seemed promising for the +fulfilment of what he most desired. He was almost convinced that he +was mistaken in thinking that Kinraid had had anything more than a +sailor's admiration for a pretty girl with regard to Sylvia; at any +rate, he was going away to-morrow, in all probability not to return +for another year (for Greenland ships left for the northern seas as +soon as there was a chance of the ice being broken up), and ere then +he himself might speak out openly, laying before her parents all his +fortunate prospects, and before her all his deep passionate love. + +So this night his prayers were more than the mere form that they had +been the night before; they were a vehement expression of gratitude +to God for having, as it were, interfered on his behalf, to grant +him the desire of his eyes and the lust of his heart. He was like +too many of us, he did not place his future life in the hands of +God, and only ask for grace to do His will in whatever circumstances +might arise; but he yearned in that terrible way after a blessing +which, when granted under such circumstances, too often turns out to +be equivalent to a curse. And that spirit brings with it the +material and earthly idea that all events that favour our wishes are +answers to our prayer; and so they are in one sense, but they need +prayer in a deeper and higher spirit to keep us from the temptation +to evil which such events invariably bring with them. + +Philip little knew how Sylvia's time had been passed that day. If he +had, he would have laid down this night with even a heavier heart +than he had done on the last. + +Charley Kinraid accompanied his cousins as far as the spot where the +path to Haytersbank Farm diverged. Then he stopped his merry talk, +and announced his intention of going to see farmer Robson. Bessy +Corney looked disappointed and a little sulky; but her sister Molly +Brunton laughed, and said,-- + +'Tell truth, lad! Dannel Robson 'd niver have a call fra' thee if he +hadn't a pretty daughter.' + +'Indeed, but he would,' replied Charley, rather annoyed; 'when I've +said a thing, I do it. I promised last night to go see him; besides, +I like the old man.' + +'Well! when shall we tell mother yo're comin' whoam?' + +'Toward eight o'clock--may-be sooner.' + +'Why it's bare five now! bless t' lad, does he think o' staying +theere a' neet, and they up so late last night, and Mrs. Robson +ailing beside? Mother 'll not think it kind on yo' either, will she, +Bess?' + +'I dunno. Charley mun do as he likes; I daresay no one'll miss him +if he does bide away till eight.' + +'Well, well! I can't tell what I shall do; but yo'd best not stop +lingering here, for it's getting on, and there'll be a keen frost by +t' look o' the stars.' + +Haytersbank was closed for the night as far as it ever was closed; +there were no shutters to the windows, nor did they care to draw the +inside curtains, so few were the passers-by. The house door was +fastened; but the shippen door a little on in the same long low +block of building stood open, and a dim light made an oblong upon +the snowy ground outside. As Kinraid drew near he heard talking +there, and a woman's voice; he threw a passing glance through the +window into the fire-lit house-place, and seeing Mrs. Robson asleep +by the fireside in her easy-chair, he went on. + +There was the intermittent sound of the sharp whistling of milk into +the pail, and Kester, sitting on a three-legged stool, cajoling a +capricious cow into letting her fragrant burden flow. Sylvia stood +near the farther window-ledge, on which a horn lantern was placed, +pretending to knit at a gray worsted stocking, but in reality +laughing at Kester's futile endeavours, and finding quite enough to +do with her eyes, in keeping herself untouched by the whisking tail, +or the occasional kick. The frosty air was mellowed by the warm and +odorous breath of the cattle--breath that hung about the place in +faint misty clouds. There was only a dim light; such as it was, it +was not dearly defined against the dark heavy shadow in which the +old black rafters and manger and partitions were enveloped. + +As Charley came to the door, Kester was saying, 'Quiet wi' thee, +wench! Theere now, she's a beauty, if she'll stand still. There's +niver sich a cow i' t' Riding; if she'll only behave hersel'. She's +a bonny lass, she is; let down her milk, theere's a pretty!' + +'Why, Kester,' laughed Sylvia, 'thou'rt asking her for her milk wi' +as many pretty speeches as if thou wert wooing a wife!' + +'Hey, lass!' said Kester, turning a bit towards her, and shutting +one eye to cock the other the better upon her; an operation which +puckered up his already wrinkled face into a thousand new lines and +folds. 'An' how does thee know how a man woos a wife, that thee +talks so knowin' about it? That's tellin'. Some un's been tryin' it +on thee.' + +'There's niver a one been so impudent,' said Sylvia, reddening and +tossing her head a little; 'I'd like to see 'em try me!' + +'Well, well!' said Kester, wilfully misunderstanding her meaning, +'thou mun be patient, wench; and if thou's a good lass, may-be thy +turn 'll come and they 'll try it.' + +'I wish thou'd talk of what thou's some knowledge on, Kester, +i'stead of i' that silly way,' replied Sylvia. + +'Then a mun talk no more 'bout women, for they're past knowin', an' +druv e'en King Solomon silly.' + +At this moment Charley stepped in. Sylvia gave a little start and +dropped her ball of worsted. Kester made as though absorbed in his +task of cajoling Black Nell; but his eyes and ears were both +vigilant. + +'I was going into the house, but I saw yo'r mother asleep, and I +didn't like to waken her, so I just came on here. Is yo'r father to +the fore?' + +'No,' said Sylvia, hanging down her head a little, wondering if he +could have heard the way in which she and Kester had been talking, +and thinking over her little foolish jokes with anger against +herself. 'Father is gone to Winthrop about some pigs as he's heerd +on. He'll not be back till seven o'clock or so.' + +It was but half-past five, and Sylvia in the irritation of the +moment believed that she wished Kinraid would go. But she would have +been extremely disappointed if he had. Kinraid himself seemed to +have no thought of the kind. He saw with his quick eyes, not +unaccustomed to women, that his coming so unexpectedly had fluttered +Sylvia, and anxious to make her quite at her ease with him, and not +unwilling to conciliate Kester, he addressed his next speech to him, +with the same kind of air of interest in the old man's pursuit that +a young man of a different class sometimes puts on when talking to +the chaperone of a pretty girl in a ball-room. + +'That's a handsome beast yo've just been milking, master.' + +'Ay; but handsome is as handsome does. It were only yesterday as she +aimed her leg right at t' pail wi' t' afterings in. She knowed it +were afterings as well as any Christian, and t' more t' mischief t' +better she likes it; an' if a hadn't been too quick for her, it +would have a' gone swash down i' t' litter. This'n 's a far better +cow i' t' long run, she's just a steady goer,' as the milky +down-pour came musical and even from the stall next to Black Nell's. + +Sylvia was knitting away vigorously, thinking all the while that it +was a great pity she had not put on a better gown, or even a cap +with brighter ribbon, and quite unconscious how very pretty she +looked standing against the faint light, her head a little bent +down; her hair catching bright golden touches, as it fell from under +her little linen cap; her pink bed-gown, confined by her +apron-string, giving a sort of easy grace to her figure; her dark +full linsey petticoat short above her trim ancles, looking far more +suitable to the place where she was standing than her long gown of +the night before would have done. Kinraid was wanting to talk to +her, and to make her talk, but was uncertain how to begin. In the +meantime Kester went on with the subject last spoken about. + +'Black Nell's at her fourth calf now, so she ought to ha' left off +her tricks and turned sober-like. But bless yo', there's some cows +as 'll be skittish till they're fat for t' butcher. Not but what a +like milking her better nor a steady goer; a man has allays summat +to be watchin' for; and a'm kind o' set up when a've mastered her at +last. T' young missus theere, she's mighty fond o' comin' t' see +Black Nell at her tantrums. She'd niver come near me if a' cows were +like this'n.' + +'Do you often come and see the cows milked?' asked Kinraid, + +'Many a time,' said Sylvia, smiling a little. 'Why, when we're +throng, I help Kester; but now we've only Black Nell and Daisy +giving milk. Kester knows as I can milk Black Nell quite easy,' she +continued, half vexed that Kester had not named this accomplishment. + +'Ay! when she's in a good frame o' mind, as she is sometimes. But t' +difficulty is to milk her at all times.' + +'I wish I'd come a bit sooner. I should like t' have seen you milk +Black Nell,' addressing Sylvia. + +'Yo'd better come to-morrow e'en, and see what a hand she'll mak' on +her,' said Kester. + +'To-morrow night I shall be far on my road back to Shields.' + +'To-morrow!' said Sylvia, suddenly looking up at him, and then +dropping her eyes, as she found he had been watching for the effect +of his intelligence on her. + +'I mun be back at t' whaler, where I'm engaged,' continued he. +'She's fitting up after a fresh fashion, and as I've been one as +wanted new ways, I mun be on the spot for t' look after her. Maybe I +shall take a run down here afore sailing in March. I'm sure I shall +try.' + +There was a good deal meant and understood by these last few words. +The tone in which they were spoken gave them a tender intensity not +lost upon either of the hearers. Kester cocked his eye once more, +but with as little obtrusiveness as he could, and pondered the +sailor's looks and ways. He remembered his coming about the place +the winter before, and how the old master had then appeared to have +taken to him; but at that time Sylvia had seemed to Kester too +little removed from a child to have either art or part in Kinraid's +visits; now, however, the case was different. Kester in his +sphere--among his circle of acquaintance, narrow though it was--had +heard with much pride of Sylvia's bearing away the bell at church +and at market, wherever girls of her age were congregated. He was a +north countryman, so he gave out no further sign of his feelings +than his mistress and Sylvia's mother had done on a like occasion. + +'T' lass is weel enough,' said he; but he grinned to himself, and +looked about, and listened to the hearsay of every lad, wondering +who was handsome, and brave, and good enough to be Sylvia's mate. +Now, of late, it had seemed to the canny farm-servant pretty clear +that Philip Hepburn was 'after her'; and to Philip, Kester had an +instinctive objection, a kind of natural antipathy such as has +existed in all ages between the dwellers in a town and those in the +country, between agriculture and trade. So, while Kinraid and Sylvia +kept up their half-tender, half-jesting conversation, Kester was +making up his slow persistent mind as to the desirability of the +young man then present as a husband for his darling, as much from +his being other than Philip in every respect, as from the individual +good qualities he possessed. Kester's first opportunity of favouring +Kinraid's suit consisted in being as long as possible over his +milking; so never were cows that required such 'stripping,' or were +expected to yield such 'afterings', as Black Nell and Daisy that +night. But all things must come to an end; and at length Kester got +up from his three-legged stool, on seeing what the others did +not--that the dip-candle in the lantern was coming to an end--and +that in two or three minutes more the shippen would be in darkness, +and so his pails of milk be endangered. In an instant Sylvia had +started out of her delicious dreamland, her drooping eyes were +raised, and recovered their power of observation; her ruddy arms +were freed from the apron in which she had enfolded them, as a +protection from the gathering cold, and she had seized and adjusted +the wooden yoke across her shoulders, ready to bear the brimming +milk-pails to the dairy. + +'Look yo' at her!' exclaimed Kester to Charley, as he adjusted the +fragrant pails on the yoke. 'She thinks she's missus a ready, and +she's allays for carrying in t' milk since t' rhumatiz cotched my +shouther i' t' back end; and when she says "Yea," it's as much as my +heed's worth to say "Nay."' + +And along the wall, round the corner, down the round slippery stones +of the rambling farmyard, behind the buildings, did Sylvia trip, +safe and well-poised, though the ground wore all one coating of +white snow, and in many places was so slippery as to oblige Kinraid +to linger near Kester, the lantern-bearer. Kester did not lose his +opportunity, though the cold misty night air provoked his asthmatic +cough when-ever he breathed, and often interrupted his words. + +'She's a good wench--a good wench as iver was--an come on a good +stock, an' that's summat, whether in a cow or a woman. A've known +her from a baby; she's a reet down good un.' + +By this time they had reached the back-kitchen door, just as Sylvia +had unladen herself, and was striking a light with flint and tinder. +The house seemed warm and inviting after the piercing outer air, +although the kitchen into which they entered contained only a raked +and slumbering fire at one end, over which, on a crook, hung the +immense pan of potatoes cooking for the evening meal of the pigs. To +this pan Kester immediately addressed himself, swinging it round +with ease, owing to the admirable simplicity of the old-fashioned +machinery. Kinraid stood between Kester and the door into the dairy, +through which Sylvia had vanished with the milk. He half wished to +conciliate Kester by helping him, but he seemed also attracted, by a +force which annihilated his will, to follow her wherever she went. +Kester read his mind. + +'Let alone, let alone,' said he; 'pigs' vittle takes noan such +dainty carryin' as milk. A may set it down an' niver spill a drop; +she's noan fit for t' serve swine, nor yo' other, mester; better +help her t' teem t' milk.' + +So Kinraid followed the light--his light--into the icy chill of the +dairy, where the bright polished tin cans were quickly dimmed with +the warm, sweet-smelling milk, that Sylvia was emptying out into the +brown pans. In his haste to help her, Charley took up one of the +pails. + +'Eh? that'n 's to be strained. Yo' have a' the cow's hair in. +Mother's very particular, and cannot abide a hair.' + +So she went over to her awkward dairymaid, and before she--but not +before he--was aware of the sweet proximity, she was adjusting his +happy awkward arms to the new office of holding a milk-strainer over +the bowl, and pouring the white liquid through it. + +'There!' said she, looking up for a moment, and half blushing; 'now +yo'll know how to do it next time.' + +'I wish next time was to come now,' said Kinraid; but she had +returned to her own pail, and seemed not to hear him. He followed +her to her side of the dairy. 'I've but a short memory, can yo' not +show me again how t' hold t' strainer?' + +'No,' said she, half laughing, but holding her strainer fast in +spite of his insinuating efforts to unlock her fingers. 'But there's +no need to tell me yo've getten a short memory.' + +'Why? what have I done? how dun you know it?' + +'Last night,' she began, and then she stopped, and turned away her +head, pretending to be busy in her dairy duties of rinsing and such +like. + +'Well!' said he, half conjecturing her meaning, and flattered by it, +if his conjecture were right. 'Last night--what?' + +'Oh, yo' know!' said she, as if impatient at being both literally +and metaphorically followed about, and driven into a corner. + +'No; tell me,' persisted he. + +'Well,' said she, 'if yo' will have it, I think yo' showed yo'd but +a short memory when yo' didn't know me again, and yo' were five +times at this house last winter, and that's not so long sin'. But I +suppose yo' see a vast o' things on yo'r voyages by land or by sea, +and then it's but natural yo' should forget.' She wished she could +go on talking, but could not think of anything more to say just +then; for, in the middle of her sentence, the flattering +interpretation he might put upon her words, on her knowing so +exactly the number of times he had been to Haytersbank, flashed upon +her, and she wanted to lead the conversation a little farther +afield--to make it a little less personal. This was not his wish, +however. In a tone which thrilled through her, even in her own +despite, he said,-- + +'Do yo' think that can ever happen again, Sylvia?' + +She was quite silent; almost trembling. He repeated the question as +if to force her to answer. Driven to bay, she equivocated. + +'What happen again? Let me go, I dunno what yo're talking about, and +I'm a'most numbed wi' cold.' + +For the frosty air came sharp in through the open lattice window, +and the ice was already forming on the milk. Kinraid would have +found a ready way of keeping his cousins, or indeed most young +women, warm; but he paused before he dared put his arm round Sylvia; +she had something so shy and wild in her look and manner; and her +very innocence of what her words, spoken by another girl, might lead +to, inspired him with respect, and kept him in check. So he +contented himself with saying,-- + +'I'll let yo' go into t' warm kitchen if yo'll tell me if yo' think +I can ever forget yo' again.' + +She looked up at him defiantly, and set her red lips firm. He +enjoyed her determination not to reply to this question; it showed +she felt its significance. Her pure eyes looked steadily into his; +nor was the expression in his such as to daunt her or make her +afraid. They were like two children defying each other; each +determined to conquer. At last she unclosed her lips, and nodding +her head as if in triumph, said, as she folded her arms once more in +her check apron,-- + +'Yo'll have to go home sometime.' + +'Not for a couple of hours yet,' said he; 'and yo'll be frozen +first; so yo'd better say if I can ever forget yo' again, without +more ado.' + +Perhaps the fresh voices breaking on the silence,--perhaps the tones +were less modulated than they had been before, but anyhow Bell +Robson's voice was heard calling Sylvia through the second door, +which opened from the dairy to the house-place, in which her mother +had been till this moment asleep. Sylvia darted off in obedience to +the call; glad to leave him, as at the moment Kinraid resentfully +imagined. Through the open door he heard the conversation between +mother and daughter, almost unconscious of its meaning, so difficult +did he find it to wrench his thoughts from the ideas he had just +been forming with Sylvia's bright lovely face right under his eyes. + +'Sylvia!' said her mother, 'who's yonder?' Bell was sitting up in +the attitude of one startled out of slumber into intensity of +listening; her hands on each of the chair-arms, as if just going to +rise. 'There's a fremd man i' t' house. I heerd his voice!' + +'It's only--it's just Charley Kinraid; he was a-talking to me i' t' +dairy.' + +'I' t' dairy, lass! and how com'd he i' t' dairy?' + +'He com'd to see feyther. Feyther asked him last night,' said +Sylvia, conscious that he could overhear every word that was said, +and a little suspecting that he was no great favourite with her +mother. + +'Thy feyther's out; how com'd he i' t' dairy?' persevered Bell. + +'He com'd past this window, and saw yo' asleep, and didn't like for +t' waken yo'; so he com'd on to t' shippen, and when I carried t' +milk in---' + +But now Kinraid came in, feeling the awkwardness of his situation a +little, yet with an expression so pleasant and manly in his open +face, and in his exculpatory manner, that Sylvia lost his first +words in a strange kind of pride of possession in him, about which +she did not reason nor care to define the grounds. But her mother +rose from her chair somewhat formally, as if she did not intend to +sit down again while he stayed, yet was too weak to be kept in that +standing attitude long. + +'I'm afeared, sir, Sylvie hasn't told yo' that my master's out, and +not like to be in till late. He'll be main and sorry to have missed +yo'.' + +There was nothing for it after this but to go. His only comfort was +that on Sylvia's rosy face he could read unmistakable signs of +regret and dismay. His sailor's life, in bringing him suddenly face +to face with unexpected events, had given him something of that +self-possession which we consider the attribute of a gentleman; and +with an apparent calmness which almost disappointed Sylvia, who +construed it into a symptom of indifference as to whether he went or +stayed, he bade her mother good-night, and only said, in holding her +hand a minute longer than was absolutely necessary,-- + +'I'm coming back ere I sail; and then, may-be, you'll answer yon +question.' + +He spoke low, and her mother was rearranging herself in her chair, +else Sylvia would have had to repeat the previous words. As it was, +with soft thrilling ideas ringing through her, she could get her +wheel, and sit down to her spinning by the fire; waiting for her +mother to speak first, Sylvia dreamt her dreams. + +Bell Robson was partly aware of the state of things, as far as it +lay on the surface. She was not aware how deep down certain feelings +had penetrated into the girl's heart who sat on the other side of +the fire, with a little sad air diffused over her face and figure. +Bell looked upon Sylvia as still a child, to be warned off forbidden +things by threats of danger. But the forbidden thing was already +tasted, and possible danger in its full acquisition only served to +make it more precious-sweet. + +Bell sat upright in her chair, gazing into the fire. Her milk-white +linen mob-cap fringed round and softened her face, from which the +usual apple-red was banished by illness, and the features, from the +same cause, rendered more prominent and stern. She had a clean buff +kerchief round her neck, and stuffed into the bosom of her Sunday +woollen gown of dark blue,--if she had been in working-trim she +would have worn a bedgown like Sylvia's. Her sleeves were pinned +back at the elbows, and her brown arms and hard-working hands lay +crossed in unwonted idleness on her check apron. Her knitting was by +her side; and if she had been going through any accustomed +calculation or consideration she would have had it busily clinking +in her fingers. But she had something quite beyond common to think +about, and, perhaps, to speak about; and for the minute she was not +equal to knitting. + +'Sylvie,' she began at length, 'did I e'er tell thee on Nancy +Hartley as I knew when I were a child? I'm thinking a deal on her +to-night; may-be it's because I've been dreaming on yon old times. +She was a bonny lass as ever were seen, I've heerd folk say; but +that were afore I knew her. When I knew her she were crazy, poor +wench; wi' her black hair a-streaming down her back, and her eyes, +as were a'most as black, allays crying out for pity, though never a +word she spoke but "He once was here." Just that o'er and o'er +again, whether she were cold or hot, full or hungry, "He once was +here," were all her speech. She had been farm-servant to my mother's +brother--James Hepburn, thy great-uncle as was; she were a poor, +friendless wench, a parish 'prentice, but honest and gaum-like, till +a lad, as nobody knowed, come o'er the hills one sheep-shearing fra' +Whitehaven; he had summat to do wi' th' sea, though not rightly to +be called a sailor: and he made a deal on Nancy Hartley, just to +beguile the time like; and he went away and ne'er sent a thought +after her more. It's the way as lads have; and there's no holding +'em when they're fellows as nobody knows--neither where they come +fro', nor what they've been doing a' their lives, till they come +athwart some poor wench like Nancy Hartley. She were but a softy +after all: for she left off doing her work in a proper manner. I've +heerd my aunt say as she found out as summat was wrong wi' Nancy as +soon as th' milk turned bingy, for there ne'er had been such a clean +lass about her milk-cans afore that; and from bad it grew to worse, +and she would sit and do nothing but play wi' her fingers fro' morn +till night, and if they asked her what ailed her, she just said, "He +once was here;" and if they bid her go about her work, it were a' +the same. And when they scolded her, and pretty sharp too, she would +stand up and put her hair from her eyes, and look about her like a +crazy thing searching for her wits, and ne'er finding them, for all +she could think on was just, "He once was here." It were a caution +to me again thinking a man t' mean what he says when he's a-talking +to a young woman.' + +'But what became on poor Nancy?' asked Sylvia. + +'What should become on her or on any lass as gives hersel' up to +thinking on a man who cares nought for her?' replied her mother, a +little severely. 'She were crazed, and my aunt couldn't keep her +on, could she? She did keep her a long weary time, thinking as she +would, may-be, come to hersel', and, anyhow, she were a motherless +wench. But at length she had for t' go where she came fro'--back to +Keswick workhouse: and when last I heerd on her she were chained to +th' great kitchen dresser i' t' workhouse; they'd beaten her till +she were taught to be silent and quiet i' th' daytime, but at night, +when she were left alone, she would take up th' oud cry, till it +wrung their heart, so they'd many a time to come down and beat her +again to get any peace. It were a caution to me, as I said afore, to +keep fro' thinking on men as thought nought on me.' + +'Poor crazy Nancy!' sighed Sylvia. The mother wondered if she had +taken the 'caution' to herself, or was only full of pity for the mad +girl, dead long before. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE ENGAGEMENT + + + + + +'As the day lengthens so the cold strengthens.' It was so that year; +the hard frost which began on new year's eve lasted on and on into +late February, black and bitter, but welcome enough to the farmers, +as it kept back the too early growth of autumn-sown wheat, and gave +them the opportunity of leading manure. But it did not suit invalids +as well, and Bell Robson, though not getting worse, did not +make any progress towards amendment. Sylvia was kept very busy, +notwithstanding that she had the assistance of a poor widow-woman in +the neighbourhood on cleaning, or washing, or churning days. Her +life was quiet and monotonous, although hard-working; and while her +hands mechanically found and did their accustomed labour, the +thoughts that rose in her head always centred on Charley Kinraid, +his ways, his words, his looks, whether they all meant what she +would fain believe they did, and whether, meaning love at the time, +such a feeling was likely to endure. Her mother's story of crazy +Nancy had taken hold of her; but not as a 'caution,' rather as a +parallel case to her own. Like Nancy, and borrowing the poor girl's +own words, she would say softly to herself, 'He once was here'; but +all along she believed in her heart he would come back again to her, +though it touched her strangely to imagine the agonies of forsaken +love. + +Philip knew little of all this. He was very busy with facts and +figures, doggedly fighting through the necessary business, and only +now and then allowing himself the delicious relaxation of going to +Haytersbank in an evening, to inquire after his aunt's health, and +to see Sylvia; for the two Fosters were punctiliously anxious to +make their shopmen test all their statements; insisting on an +examination of the stock, as if Hepburn and Coulson were strangers +to the shop; having the Monkshaven auctioneer in to appraise the +fixtures and necessary furniture; going over the shop books for the +last twenty years with their successors, an employment which took up +evening after evening; and not unfrequently taking one of the young +men on the long commercial journeys which were tediously made in a +gig. By degrees both Hepburn and Coulson were introduced to distant +manufacturers and wholesale dealers. They would have been willing to +take the Fosters' word for every statement the brothers had made on +new year's day; but this, it was evident, would not have satisfied +their masters, who were scrupulous in insisting that whatever +advantage there was should always fall on the side of the younger +men. + +When Philip saw Sylvia she was always quiet and gentle; perhaps more +silent than she had been a year ago, and she did not attend so +briskly to what was passing around her. She was rather thinner and +paler; but whatever change there was in her was always an +improvement in Philip's eyes, so long as she spoke graciously to +him. He thought she was suffering from long-continued anxiety about +her mother, or that she had too much to do; and either cause was +enough to make him treat her with a grave regard and deference which +had a repressed tenderness in it, of which she, otherwise occupied, +was quite unaware. She liked him better, too, than she had done a +year or two before, because he did not show her any of the eager +attention which teased her then, although its meaning was not fully +understood. + +Things were much in this state when the frost broke, and milder +weather succeeded. This was the time so long looked forward +to by the invalid and her friends, as favouring the doctor's +recommendation of change of air. Her husband was to take her to +spend a fortnight with a kindly neighbour, who lived near the farm +they had occupied, forty miles or so inland, before they came to +Haytersbank. The widow-woman was to come and stay in the house, to +keep Sylvia company, during her mother's absence. Daniel, indeed, +was to return home after conveying his wife to her destination; but +there was so much to be done on the land at this time of the year, +that Sylvia would have been alone all day had it not been for the +arrangement just mentioned. + +There was active stirring in Monkshaven harbour as well as on shore. +The whalers were finishing their fittings-out for the Greenland +seas. It was a 'close' season, that is to say, there would be +difficulty in passing the barrier of ice which lay between the ships +and the whaling-grounds; and yet these must be reached before June, +or the year's expedition would be of little avail. Every +blacksmith's shop rung with the rhythmical clang of busy hammers, +beating out old iron, such as horseshoes, nails or stubs, into the +great harpoons; the quays were thronged with busy and important +sailors, rushing hither and thither, conscious of the demand in +which they were held at this season of the year. It was war time, +too. Many captains unable to procure men in Monkshaven would have to +complete their crews in the Shetlands. The shops in the town were +equally busy; stores had to be purchased by the whaling-masters, +warm clothing of all sorts to be provided. These were the larger +wholesale orders; but many a man, and woman, too, brought out their +small hoards to purchase extra comforts, or precious keepsakes for +some beloved one. It was the time of the great half-yearly traffic +of the place; another impetus was given to business when the whalers +returned in the autumn, and the men were flush of money, and full of +delight at once more seeing their homes and their friends. + +There was much to be done in Fosters' shop, and later hours were +kept than usual. Some perplexity or other was occupying John and +Jeremiah Foster; their minds were not so much on the alert as usual, +being engaged on some weighty matter of which they had as yet spoken +to no one. But it thus happened that they did not give the prompt +assistance they were accustomed to render at such times; and Coulson +had been away on some of the new expeditions devolving on him and +Philip as future partners. One evening after the shop was closed, +while they were examining the goods, and comparing the sales with +the entries in the day-book, Coulson suddenly inquired-- + +'By the way, Hester, does thee know where the parcel of best +bandanas is gone? There was four left, as I'm pretty sure, when I +set off to Sandsend; and to-day Mark Alderson came in, and would +fain have had one, and I could find none nowhere.' + +'I sold t' last to-day, to yon sailor, the specksioneer, who fought +the press-gang same time as poor Darley were killed. He took it, and +three yards of yon pink ribbon wi' t' black and yellow crosses on +it, as Philip could never abide. Philip has got 'em i' t' book, if +he'll only look.' + +'Is he here again?' said Philip; 'I didn't see him. What brings him +here, where he's noan wanted?' + +'T' shop were throng wi' folk,' said Hester, 'and he knew his own +mind about the handkercher, and didn't tarry long. Just as he was +leaving, his eye caught on t' ribbon, and he came back for it. It +were when yo' were serving Mary Darby and there was a vast o' folk +about yo'.' + +'I wish I'd seen him,' said Coulson. 'I'd ha' gi'en him a word and a +look he'd not ha' forgotten in a hurry.' + +'Why, what's up?' said Philip, surprised at William's unusual +manner, and, at the same time, rather gratified to find a reflection +of his own feelings about Kinraid. Coulson's face was pale with +anger, but for a moment or two he seemed uncertain whether he would +reply or not. + +'Up!' said he at length. 'It's just this: he came after my sister +for better nor two year; and a better lass--no, nor a prettier i' my +eyes--niver broke bread. And then my master saw another girl, that +he liked better'--William almost choked in his endeavour to keep +down all appearance of violent anger, and then went on, 'and that +he played t' same game wi', as I've heerd tell.' + +'And how did thy sister take it?' asked Philip, eagerly. + +'She died in a six-month,' said William; '_she_ forgived him, but +it's beyond me. I thought it were him when I heerd of t' work about +Darley; Kinraid--and coming fra' Newcassel, where Annie lived +'prentice--and I made inquiry, and it were t' same man. But I'll +say no more about him, for it stirs t' old Adam more nor I like, or +is fitting.' + +Out of respect to him, Philip asked no more questions although there +were many things that he fain would have known. Both Coulson and he +went silently and grimly through the remainder of their day's work. +Independent of any personal interest which either or both of them +had or might have in Kinraid's being a light o' love, this fault of +his was one with which the two grave, sedate young men had no +sympathy. Their hearts were true and constant, whatever else might +be their failings; and it is no new thing to 'damn the faults we +have no mind to.' Philip wished that it was not so late, or that +very evening he would have gone to keep guard over Sylvia in her +mother's absence--nay, perhaps he might have seen reason to give her +a warning of some kind. But, if he had done so, it would have been +locking the stable-door after the steed was stolen. Kinraid had +turned his steps towards Haytersbank Farm as soon as ever he had +completed his purchases. He had only come that afternoon to +Monkshaven, and for the sole purpose of seeing Sylvia once more +before he went to fulfil his engagement as specksioneer in the +_Urania_, a whaling-vessel that was to sail from North Shields on +Thursday morning, and this was Monday. + +Sylvia sat in the house-place, her back to the long low window, in +order to have all the light the afternoon hour afforded for her +work. A basket of her father's unmended stockings was on the little +round table beside her, and one was on her left hand, which she +supposed herself to be mending; but from time to time she made long +pauses, and looked in the fire; and yet there was but little motion +of flame or light in it out of which to conjure visions. It was +'redd up' for the afternoon; covered with a black mass of coal, over +which the equally black kettle hung on the crook. In the +back-kitchen Dolly Reid, Sylvia's assistant during her mother's +absence, chanted a lugubrious ditty, befitting her condition as a +widow, while she cleaned tins, and cans, and milking-pails. Perhaps +these bustling sounds prevented Sylvia from hearing approaching +footsteps coming down the brow with swift advance; at any rate, she +started and suddenly stood up as some one entered the open door. It +was strange she should be so much startled, for the person who +entered had been in her thoughts all during those long pauses. +Charley Kinraid and the story of crazy Nancy had been the subjects +for her dreams for many a day, and many a night. Now he stood there, +bright and handsome as ever, with just that much timidity in his +face, that anxiety as to his welcome, which gave his accost an added +charm, could she but have perceived it. But she was so afraid of +herself, so unwilling to show what she felt, and how much she had +been thinking of him in his absence, that her reception seemed cold +and still. She did not come forward to meet him; she went crimson to +the very roots of her hair; but that, in the waning light, he could +not see; and she shook so that she felt as if she could hardly +stand; but the tremor was not visible to him. She wondered if he +remembered the kiss that had passed between them on new year's +eve--the words that had been spoken in the dairy on new year's day; +the tones, the looks, that had accompanied those words. But all she +said was-- + +'I didn't think to see yo'. I thought yo'd ha' sailed.' + +'I told yo' I should come back, didn't I?' said he, still standing, +with his hat in his hand, waiting to be asked to sit down; and she, +in her bashfulness, forgetting to give the invitation, but, instead, +pretending to be attentively mending the stocking she held. Neither +could keep quiet and silent long. She felt his eyes were upon her, +watching every motion, and grew more and more confused in her +expression and behaviour. He was a little taken aback by the nature +of his reception, and was not sure at first whether to take the +great change in her manner, from what it had been when last he saw +her, as a favourable symptom or otherwise. By-and-by, luckily for +him, in some turn of her arm to reach the scissors on the table, she +caught the edge of her work-basket, and down it fell. She stooped to +pick up the scattered stockings and ball of worsted, and so did he; +and when they rose up, he had fast hold of her hand, and her face +was turned away, half ready to cry. + +'What ails yo' at me?' said he, beseechingly. 'Yo' might ha' +forgotten me; and yet I thought we made a bargain against forgetting +each other.' No answer. He went on: 'Yo've never been out o' my +thoughts, Sylvia Robson; and I'm come back to Monkshaven for nought +but to see you once and again afore I go away to the northern seas. +It's not two hour sin' I landed at Monkshaven, and I've been near +neither kith nor kin as yet; and now I'm here you won't speak to +me.' + +'I don't know what to say,' said she, in a low, almost inaudible +tone. Then hardening herself, and resolving to speak as if she did +not understand his only half-expressed meaning, she lifted up her +head, and all but looking at him--while she wrenched her hand out of +his--she said: 'Mother's gone to Middleham for a visit, and +feyther's out i' t' plough-field wi' Kester; but he'll be in afore +long.' + +Charley did not speak for a minute or so. Then he said-- + +'Yo're not so dull as to think I'm come all this way for t' see +either your father or your mother. I've a great respect for 'em +both; but I'd hardly ha' come all this way for to see 'em, and me +bound to be back i' Shields, if I walk every step of the way, by +Wednesday night. It's that yo' won't understand my meaning, Sylvia; +it's not that yo' don't, or that yo' can't.' He made no effort to +repossess himself of her hand. She was quite silent, but in spite of +herself she drew long hard breaths. 'I may go back to where I came +from,' he went on. 'I thought to go to sea wi' a blessed hope to +cheer me up, and a knowledge o' some one as loved me as I'd left +behind; some one as loved me half as much as I did her; for th' +measure o' my love toward her is so great and mighty, I'd be content +wi' half as much from her, till I'd taught her to love me more. But +if she's a cold heart and cannot care for a honest sailor, why, +then, I'd best go back at once.' + +He made for the door. He must have been pretty sure from some sign +or other, or he would never have left it to her womanly pride to +give way, and for her to make the next advance. He had not taken two +steps when she turned quickly towards him, and said something--the +echo of which, rather than the words themselves, reached him. + +'I didn't know yo' cared for me; yo' niver said so.' In an instant +he was back at her side, his arm round her in spite of her short +struggle, and his eager passionate voice saying, 'Yo' never knowed I +loved you, Sylvia? say it again, and look i' my face while yo' say +it, if yo' can. Why, last winter I thought yo'd be such a woman when +yo'd come to be one as my een had never looked upon, and this year, +ever sin' I saw yo' i' the kitchen corner sitting crouching behind +my uncle, I as good as swore I'd have yo' for wife, or never wed at +all. And it was not long ere yo' knowed it, for all yo' were so coy, +and now yo' have the face--no, yo' have not the face--come, my +darling, what is it?' for she was crying; and on his turning her wet +blushing face towards him the better to look at it, she suddenly hid +it in his breast. He lulled and soothed her in his arms, as if she +had been a weeping child and he her mother; and then they sat down +on the settle together, and when she was more composed they began to +talk. He asked her about her mother; not sorry in his heart at Bell +Robson's absence. He had intended if necessary to acknowledge his +wishes and desires with regard to Sylvia to her parents; but for +various reasons he was not sorry that circumstances had given him +the chance of seeing her alone, and obtaining her promise to marry +him without being obliged to tell either her father or her mother at +present. 'I ha' spent my money pretty free,' he said, 'and I've +ne'er a penny to the fore, and yo'r parents may look for something +better for yo', my pretty: but when I come back fro' this voyage I +shall stand a chance of having a share i' th' _Urania_, and may-be I +shall be mate as well as specksioneer; and I can get a matter of +from seventy to ninety pound a voyage, let alone th' half-guineas +for every whale I strike, and six shilling a gallon on th' oil; and +if I keep steady wi' Forbes and Company, they'll make me master i' +time, for I've had good schooling, and can work a ship as well as +any man; an' I leave yo' wi' yo'r parents, or take a cottage for yo' +nigh at hand; but I would like to have something to the fore, and +that I shall have, please God, when we come back i' th' autumn. I +shall go to sea happy, now, thinking I've yo'r word. Yo're not one +to go back from it, I'm sure, else it's a long time to leave such a +pretty girl as yo', and ne'er a chance of a letter reaching yo' just +to tell yo' once again how I love yo', and to bid yo' not forget +yo'r true love.' + +'There'll be no need o' that,' murmured Sylvia. + +She was too dizzy with happiness to have attended much to his +details of his worldly prospects, but at the sound of his tender +words of love her eager heart was ready to listen. + +'I don't know,' said he, wanting to draw her out into more +confession of her feelings. 'There's many a one ready to come after +yo'; and yo'r mother is not o'er captivated wi' me; and there's yon +tall fellow of a cousin as looks black at me, for if I'm not +mista'en he's a notion of being sweet on yo' hisself.' + +'Not he,' said Sylvia, with some contempt in her tone. 'He's so full +o' business and t' shop, and o' makin' money, and gettin' wealth.' + +'Ay, ay; but perhaps when he gets a rich man he'll come and ask my +Sylvia to be his wife, and what will she say then?' + +'He'll niver come asking such a foolish question,' said she, a +little impatiently; 'he knows what answer he'd get if he did.' + +Kinraid said, almost as if to himself, 'Yo'r mother favours him +though.' But she, weary of a subject she cared nothing about, and +eager to identify herself with all his interests, asked him about +his plans almost at the same time that he said these last words; and +they went on as lovers do, intermixing a great many tender +expressions with a very little conversation relating to facts. + +Dolly Reid came in, and went out softly, unheeded by them. But +Sylvia's listening ears caught her father's voice, as he and Kester +returned homewards from their day's work in the plough-field; and +she started away, and fled upstairs in shy affright, leaving Charley +to explain his presence in the solitary kitchen to her father. + +He came in, not seeing that any one was there at first; for they had +never thought of lighting a candle. Kinraid stepped forward into the +firelight; his purpose of concealing what he had said to Sylvia +quite melted away by the cordial welcome her father gave him the +instant that he recognized him. + +'Bless thee, lad! who'd ha' thought o' seein' thee? Why, if iver a +thought on thee at all, it were half way to Davis' Straits. To be +sure, t' winter's been a dree season, and thou'rt, may-be, i' t' +reet on 't to mak' a late start. Latest start as iver I made was +ninth o' March, an' we struck thirteen whales that year.' + +'I have something to say to you,' said Charley, in a hesitating +voice, so different to his usual hearty way, that Daniel gave him a +keen look of attention before he began to speak. And, perhaps, the +elder man was not unprepared for the communication that followed. At +any rate, it was not unwelcome. He liked Kinraid, and had strong +sympathy not merely with what he knew of the young sailor's +character, but with the life he led, and the business he followed. +Robson listened to all he said with approving nods and winks, till +Charley had told him everything he had to say; and then he turned +and struck his broad horny palm into Kinraid's as if concluding a +bargain, while he expressed in words his hearty consent to their +engagement. He wound up with a chuckle, as the thought struck him +that this great piece of business, of disposing of their only child, +had been concluded while his wife was away. + +'A'm noan so sure as t' missus 'll like it,' said he; 'tho' +whativer she'll ha' to say again it, mischief only knows. But she's +noan keen on matterimony; though a have made her as good a man as +there is in a' t' Ridings. Anyhow, a'm master, and that she knows. +But may-be, for t' sake o' peace an' quietness--tho' she's niver a +scolding tongue, that a will say for her--we'n best keep this matter +to ourselves till thou comes int' port again. T' lass upstairs 'll +like nought better than t' curl hersel' round a secret, and purr +o'er it, just as t' oud cat does o'er her blind kitten. But thou'll +be wanting to see t' lass, a'll be bound. An oud man like me isn't +as good company as a pretty lass.' Laughing a low rich laugh over +his own wit, Daniel went to the bottom of the stairs, and called, +'Sylvie, Sylvie! come down, lass! a's reet; come down!' + +For a time there was no answer. Then a door was unbolted, and Sylvia +said, + +'I can't come down again. I'm noan comin' down again to-night.' + +Daniel laughed the more at this, especially when he caught Charley's +look of disappointment. + +'Hearken how she's bolted her door. She'll noane come near us this +night. Eh! but she's a stiff little 'un; she's been our only one, and +we'n mostly let her have her own way. But we'll have a pipe and a +glass; and that, to my thinking, is as good company as iver a woman +in Yorkshire.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +REJECTED WARNINGS + + + + + +The post arrived at Monkshaven three times in the week; sometimes, +indeed, there were not a dozen letters in the bag, which was brought +thither by a man in a light mail-cart, who took the better part of a +day to drive from York; dropping private bags here and there on the +moors, at some squire's lodge or roadside inn. Of the number of +letters that arrived in Monkshaven, the Fosters, shopkeepers and +bankers, had the largest share. + +The morning succeeding the day on which Sylvia had engaged herself +to Kinraid, the Fosters seemed unusually anxious to obtain their +letters. Several times Jeremiah came out of the parlour in which his +brother John was sitting in expectant silence, and, passing through +the shop, looked up and down the market-place in search of the old +lame woman, who was charitably employed to deliver letters, and who +must have been lamer than ever this morning, to judge from the +lateness of her coming. Although none but the Fosters knew the cause +of their impatience for their letters, yet there was such tacit +sympathy between them and those whom they employed, that Hepburn, +Coulson, and Hester were all much relieved when the old woman at +length appeared with her basket of letters. + +One of these seemed of especial consequence to the good brothers. +They each separately looked at the direction, and then at one +another; and without a word they returned with it unread into the +parlour, shutting the door, and drawing the green silk curtain +close, the better to read it in privacy. + +Both Coulson and Philip felt that something unusual was going on, +and were, perhaps, as full of consideration as to the possible +contents of this London letter, as of attention to their more +immediate business. But fortunately there was little doing in the +shop. Philip, indeed, was quite idle when John Foster opened the +parlour-door, and, half doubtfully, called him into the room. As the +door of communication shut the three in, Coulson felt himself a +little aggrieved. A minute ago Philip and he were on a level of +ignorance, from which the former was evidently going to be raised. +But he soon returned to his usual state of acquiescence in things as +they were, which was partly constitutional, and partly the result of +his Quaker training. + +It was apparently by John Foster's wish that Philip had been +summoned. Jeremiah, the less energetic and decided brother, was +still discussing the propriety of the step when Philip entered. + +'No need for haste, John; better not call the young man till we have +further considered the matter.' + +But the young man was there in presence; and John's will carried the +day. + +It seemed from his account to Philip (explanatory of what he, in +advance of his brother's slower judgment, thought to be a necessary +step), that the Fosters had for some time received anonymous +letters, warning them, with distinct meaning, though in ambiguous +terms, against a certain silk-manufacturer in Spitalfields, with +whom they had had straightforward business dealings for many years; +but to whom they had latterly advanced money. The letters hinted at +the utter insolvency of this manufacturer. They had urged their +correspondent to give them his name in confidence, and this +morning's letter had brought it; but the name was totally unknown to +them, though there seemed no reason to doubt the reality of either +it or the address, the latter of which was given in full. Certain +circumstances were mentioned regarding the transactions between the +Fosters and this manufacturer, which could be known only to those +who were in the confidence of one or the other; and to the Fosters +the man was, as has been said, a perfect stranger. Probably, they +would have been unwilling to incur the risk they had done on this +manufacturer Dickinson's account, if it had not been that he +belonged to the same denomination as themselves, and was publicly +distinguished for his excellent and philanthropic character; but +these letters were provocative of anxiety, especially since this +morning's post had brought out the writer's full name, and various +particulars showing his intimate knowledge of Dickinson's affairs. + +After much perplexed consultation, John had hit upon the plan of +sending Hepburn to London to make secret inquiries respecting the +true character and commercial position of the man whose creditors, +not a month ago, they had esteemed it an honour to be. + +Even now Jeremiah was ashamed of their want of confidence in one so +good; he believed that the information they had received would all +prove a mistake, founded on erroneous grounds, if not a pure +invention of an enemy; and he had only been brought partially to +consent to the sending of Hepburn, by his brother's pledging himself +that the real nature of Philip's errand should be unknown to any +human creature, save them three. + +As all this was being revealed to Philip, he sat apparently unmoved +and simply attentive. In fact, he was giving all his mind to +understanding the probabilities of the case, leaving his own +feelings in the background till his intellect should have done its +work. He said little; but what he did say was to the point, and +satisfied both brothers. John perceived that his messenger would +exercise penetration and act with energy; while Jeremiah was soothed +by Philip's caution in not hastily admitting the probability of any +charge against Dickinson, and in giving full weight to his previous +good conduct and good character. + +Philip had the satisfaction of feeling himself employed on a mission +which would call out his powers, and yet not exceed them. In his own +mind he forestalled the instructions of his masters, and was +silently in advance of John Foster's plans and arrangements, while +he appeared to listen to all that was said with quiet business-like +attention. + +It was settled that the next morning he was to make his way +northwards to Hartlepool, whence he could easily proceed either by +land or sea to Newcastle, from which place smacks were constantly +sailing to London. As to his personal conduct and behaviour there, +the brothers overwhelmed him with directions and advice; nor did +they fail to draw out of the strong box in the thick wall of their +counting-house a more than sufficient sum of money for all possible +expenses. Philip had never had so much in his hands before, and +hesitated to take it, saying it was more than he should require; but +they repeated, with fresh urgency, their warnings about the terrible +high prices of London, till he could only resolve to keep a strict +account, and bring back all that he did not expend, since nothing +but his taking the whole sum would satisfy his employers. + +When he was once more behind the counter, he had leisure enough for +consideration as far as Coulson could give it him. The latter was +silent, brooding over the confidence which Philip had apparently +received, but which was withheld from him. He did not yet know of +the culminating point--of Philip's proposed journey to London; that +great city of London, which, from its very inaccessibility fifty +years ago, loomed so magnificent through the mist of men's +imaginations. It is not to be denied that Philip felt exultant at +the mere fact of 'going to London.' But then again, the thought of +leaving Sylvia; of going out of possible daily reach of her; of not +seeing her for a week--a fortnight; nay, he might be away for a +month,--for no rash hurry was to mar his delicate negotiation,-- +gnawed at his heart, and spoilt any enjoyment he might have +anticipated from gratified curiosity, or even from the consciousness +of being trusted by those whose trust and regard he valued. The +sense of what he was leaving grew upon him the longer he thought on +the subject; he almost wished that he had told his masters earlier +in the conversation of his unwillingness to leave Monkshaven for so +long a time; and then again he felt that the gratitude he owed them +quite prohibited his declining any task they might impose, +especially as they had more than once said that it would not do for +them to appear in the affair, and yet that to no one else could they +entrust so difficult and delicate a matter. Several times that day, +as he perceived Coulson's jealous sullenness, he thought in his +heart that the consequence of the excessive confidence for which +Coulson envied him was a burden from which he would be thankful to +be relieved. + +As they all sat at tea in Alice Rose's house-place, Philip announced +his intended journey; a piece of intelligence he had not +communicated earlier to Coulson because he had rather dreaded the +increase of dissatisfaction it was sure to produce, and of which he +knew the expression would be restrained by the presence of Alice +Rose and her daughter. + +'To Lunnon!' exclaimed Alice. + +Hester said nothing. + +'Well! some folks has the luck!' said Coulson. + +'Luck!' said Alice, turning sharp round on him. 'Niver let me hear +such a vain word out o' thy mouth, laddie, again. It's the Lord's +doing, and luck's the devil's way o' putting it. Maybe it's to try +Philip he's sent there; happen it may be a fiery furnace to him; for +I've heerd tell it's full o' temptations, and he may fall into +sin--and then where'd be the "luck" on it? But why art ta going? and +the morning, say'st thou? Why, thy best shirt is in t' suds, and no +time for t' starch and iron it. Whatten the great haste as should +take thee to Lunnon wi'out thy ruffled shirt?' + +'It's none o' my doing,' said Philip; 'there's business to be done, +and John Foster says I'm to do it; and I'm to start to-morrow.' + +'I'll not turn thee out wi'out thy ruffled shirt, if I sit up a' +neet,' said Alice, resolutely. + +'Niver fret thyself, mother, about t' shirt,' said Philip. 'If I +need a shirt, London's not what I take it for if I can't buy mysel' +one ready-made.' + +'Hearken to him!' said Alice. 'He speaks as if buying o' ready-made +shirts were nought to him, and he wi' a good half-dozen as I made +mysel'. Eh, lad? but if that's the frame o' mind thou'rt in, Lunnon +is like for to be a sore place o' temptation. There's pitfalls for +men, and traps for money at ivery turn, as I've heerd say. It would +ha' been better if John Foster had sent an older man on his +business, whativer it be.' + +'They seem to make a deal o' Philip all on a sudden,' said Coulson. +'He's sent for, and talked to i' privacy, while Hester and me is +left i' t' shop for t' bear t' brunt o' t' serving.' + +'Philip knows,' said Hester, and then, somehow, her voice failed her +and she stopped. + +Philip paid no attention to this half-uttered sentence; he was eager +to tell Coulson, as far as he could do so without betraying his +master's secret, how many drawbacks there were to his proposed +journey, in the responsibility which it involved, and his +unwillingness to leave Monkshaven: he said-- + +'Coulson, I'd give a deal it were thou that were going, and not me. +At least, there is many a time I'd give a deal. I'll not deny but at +other times I'm pleased at the thought on't. But, if I could I'd +change places wi' thee at this moment.' + +'It's fine talking,' said Coulson, half mollified, and yet not +caring to show it. 'I make no doubt it were an even chance betwixt +us two at first, which on us was to go; but somehow thou got the +start and thou'st stuck to it till it's too late for aught but to +say thou's sorry.' + +'Nay, William,' said Philip, rising, 'it's an ill look-out for the +future, if thee and me is to quarrel, like two silly wenches, o'er +each bit of pleasure, or what thou fancies to be pleasure, as falls +in t' way of either on us. I've said truth to thee, and played thee +fair, and I've got to go to Haytersbank for to wish 'em good-by, so +I'll not stay longer here to be misdoubted by thee.' + +He took his cap and was gone, not heeding Alice's shrill inquiry as +to his clothes and his ruffled shirt. Coulson sat still, penitent +and ashamed; at length he stole a look at Hester. She was playing +with her teaspoon, but he could see that she was choking down her +tears; he could not choose but force her to speak with an ill-timed +question. + +'What's to do, Hester?' said he. + +She lifted up those eyes, usually so soft and serene; now they were +full of the light of indignation shining through tears. + +'To do!' she said; 'Coulson, I'd thought better of thee, going and +doubting and envying Philip, as niver did thee an ill turn, or said +an ill word, or thought an ill thought by thee; and sending him away +out o' t' house this last night of all, may-be, wi' thy envyings and +jealousy.' + +She hastily got up and left the room. Alice was away, looking up +Philip's things for his journey. Coulson remained alone, feeling +like a guilty child, but dismayed by Hester's words, even more than +by his own regret at what he had said. + +Philip walked rapidly up the hill-road towards Haytersbank. He was +chafed and excited by Coulson's words, and the events of the day. He +had meant to shape his life, and now it was, as it were, being +shaped for him, and yet he was reproached for the course it was +taking, as much as though he were an active agent; accused of taking +advantage over Coulson, his intimate companion for years; he who +esteemed himself above taking an unfair advantage over any man! His +feeling on the subject was akin to that of Hazael, 'Is thy servant a +dog that he should do this thing?' + +His feelings, disturbed on this one point, shook his judgment off +its balance on another. The resolution he had deliberately formed of +not speaking to Sylvia on the subject of his love till he could +announce to her parents the fact of his succession to Fosters' +business, and till he had patiently, with long-continuing and deep +affection, worked his way into her regard, was set aside during the +present walk. He would speak to her of his passionate attachment, +before he left, for an uncertain length of time, and the certain +distance of London. And all the modification on this point which his +judgment could obtain from his impetuous and excited heart was, that +he would watch her words and manner well when he announced his +approaching absence, and if in them he read the slightest token of +tender regretful feeling, he would pour out his love at her feet, +not even urging the young girl to make any return, or to express the +feelings of which he hoped the germ was already budding in her. He +would be patient with her; he could not be patient himself. His +heart beating, his busy mind rehearsing the probable coming scene, +he turned into the field-path that led to Haytersbank. Coming along +it, and so meeting him, advanced Daniel Robson, in earnest talk with +Charley Kinraid. Kinraid, then, had been at the farm: Kinraid had +been seeing Sylvia, her mother away. The thought of poor dead Annie +Coulson flashed into Philip's mind. Could he be playing the same +game with Sylvia? Philip set his teeth and tightened his lips at the +thought of it. They had stopped talking; they had seen him already, +or his impulse would have been to dodge behind the wall and avoid +them; even though one of his purposes in going to Haytersbank had +been to bid his uncle farewell. + +Kinraid took him by surprise from the hearty greeting he gave him, +and which Philip would fain have avoided. But the specksioneer was +full of kindliness towards all the world, especially towards all +Sylvia's friends, and, convinced of her great love towards himself, +had forgotten any previous jealousy of Philip. Secure and exultant, +his broad, handsome, weather-bronzed face was as great a contrast to +Philip's long, thoughtful, sallow countenance, as his frank manner +was to the other's cold reserve. It was some minutes before Hepburn +could bring himself to tell the great event that was about to befall +him before this third person whom he considered as an intrusive +stranger. But as Kinraid seemed to have no idea of going on, and as +there really was no reason why he and all the world should not know +of Philip's intentions, he told his uncle that he was bound for +London the next day on business connected with the Fosters. + +Daniel was deeply struck with the fact that he was talking to a man +setting off for London at a day's notice. + +'Thou'll niver tell me this hasn't been brewin' longer nor twelve +hours; thou's a sly close chap, and we hannot seen thee this +se'nnight; thou'll ha' been thinkin' on this, and cogitating it, +may-be, a' that time.' + +'Nay,' said Philip, 'I knew nought about it last night; it's none o' +my doing, going, for I'd liefer ha' stayed where I am.' + +'Yo'll like it when once yo're there,' said Kinraid, with a +travelled air of superiority, as Philip fancied. + +'No, I shan't,' he replied, shortly. 'Liking has nought to do with +it.' + +'Ah' yo' knew nought about it last neet,' continued Daniel, +musingly. 'Well, life's soon o'er; else when I were a young fellow, +folks made their wills afore goin' to Lunnon.' + +'Yet I'll be bound to say yo' niver made a will before going to +sea,' said Philip, half smiling. + +'Na, na; but that's quite another mak' o' thing; going' to sea comes +natteral to a man, but goin' to Lunnon,--I were once there, and were +near deafened wi' t' throng and t' sound. I were but two hours i' t' +place, though our ship lay a fortneet off Gravesend.' + +Kinraid now seemed in a hurry; but Philip was stung with curiosity +to ascertain his movements, and suddenly addressed him: + +'I heard yo' were i' these parts. Are you for staying here long?' + +There was a certain abruptness in Philip's tone, if not in his +words, which made Kinraid look in his face with surprise, and answer +with equal curtness. + +'I'm off i' th' morning; and sail for the north seas day after.' + +He turned away, and began to whistle, as if he did not wish for any +further conversation with his interrogator. Philip, indeed, had +nothing more to say to him: he had learned all he wanted to know. + +'I'd like to bid good-by to Sylvie. Is she at home?' he asked of her +father. + +'A'm thinking thou'll not find her. She'll be off to Yesterbarrow t' +see if she'd get a settin' o' their eggs; her grey speckled hen is +cluckin', and nought 'll serve our Sylvia but their eggs to set her +upon. But, for a' that, she mayn't be gone yet. Best go on and see +for thysel'.' + +So they parted; but Philip had not gone many steps before his uncle +called him back, Kinraid slowly loitering on meanwhile. Robson was +fumbling among some dirty papers he had in an old leather case, +which he had produced out of his pocket. + +'Fact is, Philip, t' pleugh's in a bad way, gearin' and a', an' folk +is talkin' on a new kind o' mak'; and if thou's bound for York---' + +'I'm not going by York; I'm going by a Newcastle smack.' + +'Newcassel--Newcassel--it's pretty much t' same. Here, lad, thou can +read print easy; it's a bit as was cut out on a papper; there's +Newcassel, and York, and Durham, and a vast more towns named, wheere +folk can learn a' about t' new mak' o' pleugh.' + +'I see,' said Philip: '"Robinson, Side, Newcastle, can give all +requisite information."' + +'Ay, ay,' said Robson; 'thou's hit t' marrow on t' matter. Now, if +thou'rt i' Newcassel, thou can learn all about it; thou'rt little +better nor a woman, for sure, bein' mainly acquaint wi' ribbons, but +they'll tell thee--they'll tell thee, lad; and write down what they +sayn, and what's to be t' price, and look sharp as to what kind o' +folk they are as sells 'em, an' write and let me know. Thou'll be i' +Newcassel to-morrow, may-be? Well, then, I'll reckon to hear fro' +thee in a week, or, mayhap, less,--for t' land is backward, and I'd +like to know about t' pleughs. I'd a month's mind to write to +Brunton, as married Molly Corney, but writin' is more i' thy way an' +t' parson's nor mine; and if thou sells ribbons, Brunton sells +cheese, and that's no better.' + +Philip promised to do his best, and to write word to Robson, who, +satisfied with his willingness to undertake the commission, bade him +go on and see if he could not find the lass. Her father was right in +saying that she might not have set out for Yesterbarrow. She had +talked about it to Kinraid and her father in order to cover her +regret at her lover's accompanying her father to see some new kind +of harpoon about which the latter had spoken. But as soon as they +had left the house, and she had covertly watched them up the brow in +the field, she sate down to meditate and dream about her great +happiness in being beloved by her hero, Charley Kinraid. No gloomy +dread of his long summer's absence; no fear of the cold, glittering +icebergs bearing mercilessly down on the _Urania_, nor shuddering +anticipation of the dark waves of evil import, crossed her mind. He +loved her, and that was enough. Her eyes looked, trance-like, into a +dim, glorious future of life; her lips, still warm and reddened by +his kiss, were just parted in a happy smile, when she was startled +by the sound of an approaching footstep--a footstep quite familiar +enough for her to recognize it, and which was unwelcome now, as +disturbing her in the one blessed subject of thought in which alone +she cared to indulge. + +'Well, Philip! an' what brings _yo'_ here?' was her rather +ungracious greeting. + +'Why, Sylvie, are yo' sorry to see me?' asked Philip, reproachfully. +But she turned it off with assumed lightness. + +'Oh, yes,' said she. 'I've been wanting yo' this week past wi' t' +match to my blue ribbon yo' said yo'd get and bring me next time yo' +came.' + +'I've forgotten it, Sylvie. It's clean gone out of my mind,' said +Philip, with true regret. 'But I've had a deal to think on,' he +continued, penitently, as if anxious to be forgiven. Sylvia did not +want his penitence, did not care for her ribbon, was troubled by his +earnestness of manner--but he knew nothing of all that; he only knew +that she whom he loved had asked him to do something for her, and he +had neglected it; so, anxious to be excused and forgiven, he went on +with the apology she cared not to hear. + +If she had been less occupied with her own affairs, less engrossed +with deep feeling, she would have reproached him, if only in jest, +for his carelessness. As it was, she scarcely took in the sense of +his words. + +'You see, Sylvie, I've had a deal to think on; before long I intend +telling yo' all about it; just now I'm not free to do it. And when a +man's mind is full o' business, most particular when it's other +folk's as is trusted to him, he seems to lose count on the very +things he'd most care for at another time.' He paused a little. + +Sylvia's galloping thoughts were pulled suddenly up by his silence; +she felt that he wanted her to say something, but she could think of +nothing besides an ambignous-- + +'Well?' + +'And I'm off to London i' t' morning,' added he, a little wistfully, +almost as if beseeching her to show or express some sorrow at a +journey, the very destination of which showed that he would be +absent for some time. + +'To Lunnon!' said she, with some surprise. 'Yo're niver thinking o' +going to live theere, for sure!' + +Surprise, and curiosity, and wonder; nothing more, as Philip's +instinct told him. But he reasoned that first correct impression +away with ingenious sophistry. + +'Not to live there: only to stay for some time. I shall be back, I +reckon, in a month or so.' + +'Oh! that's nought of a going away,' said she, rather petulantly. +'Them as goes to t' Greenland seas has to bide away for six months +and more,' and she sighed. + +Suddenly a light shone down into Philip's mind. His voice was +changed as he spoke next. + +'I met that good-for-nothing chap, Kinraid, wi' yo'r father just +now. He'll ha' been here, Sylvie?' + +She stooped for something she had dropped, and came up red as a +rose. + +'To be sure; what then?' And she eyed him defiantly, though in her +heart she trembled, she knew not why. + +'What then? and yo'r mother away. He's no company for such as thee, +at no time, Sylvie.' + +'Feyther and me chooses our own company, without iver asking leave +o' yo',' said Sylvia, hastily arranging the things in the little +wooden work-box that was on the table, preparatory to putting it +away. At the time, in his agitation, he saw, but did not affix any +meaning to it, that the half of some silver coin was among the +contents thus turned over before the box was locked. + +'But thy mother wouldn't like it, Sylvie; he's played false wi' +other lasses, he'll be playing thee false some o' these days, if +thou lets him come about thee. He went on wi' Annie Coulson, +William's sister, till he broke her heart; and sin then he's been on +wi' others.' + +'I dunnot believe a word on 't,' said Sylvia, standing up, all +aflame. + +'I niver telled a lie i' my life,' said Philip, almost choking with +grief at her manner to him, and the regard for his rival which she +betrayed. 'It were Willie Coulson as telled me, as solemn and +serious as one man can speak to another; and he said it weren't the +first nor the last time as he had made his own game with young +women.' + +'And how dare yo' come here to me wi' yo'r backbiting tales?' said +Sylvia, shivering all over with passion. + +Philip tried to keep calm, and to explain. + +'It were yo'r own mother, Sylvia, as knowed yo' had no brother, or +any one to see after yo'; and yo' so pretty, so pretty, Sylvia,' he +continued, shaking his head, sadly, 'that men run after yo' against +their will, as one may say; and yo'r mother bade me watch o'er ye +and see what company yo' kept, and who was following after yo', and +to warn yo', if need were.' + +'My mother niver bade yo' to come spying after me, and blaming me +for seeing a lad as my feyther thinks well on. An' I don't believe a +word about Annie Coulson; an' I'm not going to suffer yo' to come +wi' yo'r tales to me; say 'em out to his face, and hear what he'll +say to yo'.' + +'Sylvie, Sylvie,' cried poor Philip, as his offended cousin rushed +past him, and upstairs to her little bedroom, where he heard the +sound of the wooden bolt flying into its place. He could hear her +feet pacing quickly about through the unceiled rafters. He sate +still in despair, his head buried in his two hands. He sate till it +grew dusk, dark; the wood fire, not gathered together by careful +hands, died out into gray ashes. Dolly Reid had done her work and +gone home. There were but Philip and Sylvia in the house. He knew he +ought to be going home, for he had much to do, and many arrangements +to make. Yet it seemed as though he could not stir. At length he +raised his stiffened body, and stood up, dizzy. Up the little wooden +stairs he went, where he had never been before, to the small square +landing, almost filled up with the great chest for oat-cake. He +breathed hard for a minute, and then knocked at the door of Sylvia's +room. + +'Sylvie! I'm going away; say good-by.' No answer. Not a sound heard. +'Sylvie!' (a little louder, and less hoarsely spoken). There was no +reply. 'Sylvie! I shall be a long time away; perhaps I may niver +come back at all'; here he bitterly thought of an unregarded death. +'Say good-by.' No answer. He waited patiently. Can she be wearied +out, and gone to sleep, he wondered. Yet once again--'Good-by, +Sylvie, and God bless yo'! I'm sorry I vexed yo'.' + +No reply. + +With a heavy, heavy heart he creaked down the stairs, felt for his +cap, and left the house. + +'She's warned, any way,' thought he. Just at that moment the little +casement window of Sylvia's room was opened, and she said-- + +'Good-by, Philip!' + +The window was shut again as soon as the words were spoken. Philip +knew the uselessness of remaining; the need for his departure; and +yet he stood still for a little time like one entranced, as if his +will had lost all power to compel him to leave the place. Those two +words of hers, which two hours before would have been so far beneath +his aspirations, had now power to re-light hope, to quench reproach +or blame. + +'She's but a young lassie,' said he to himself; 'an' Kinraid has +been playing wi' her, as such as he can't help doing, once they get +among the women. An' I came down sudden on her about Annie Coulson, +and touched her pride. Maybe, too, it were ill advised to tell her +how her mother was feared for her. I couldn't ha' left the place +to-morrow if he'd been biding here; but he's off for half a year or +so, and I'll be home again as soon as iver I can. In half a year +such as he forgets, if iver he's thought serious about her; but in +a' my lifetime, if I live to fourscore, I can niver forget. God +bless her for saying, "Good-by, Philip."' He repeated the words +aloud in fond mimicry of her tones: 'Good-by, Philip.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +EDDY IN LOVE'S CURRENT + + + + + +The next morning shone bright and clear, if ever a March morning +did. The beguiling month was coming in like a lamb, with whatever +storms it might go raging out. It was long since Philip had tasted +the freshness of the early air on the shore, or in the country, as +his employment at the shop detained him in Monkshaven till the +evening. And as he turned down the quays (or staithes) on the north +side of the river, towards the shore, and met the fresh sea-breeze +blowing right in his face, it was impossible not to feel bright and +elastic. With his knapsack slung over his shoulder, he was prepared +for a good stretch towards Hartlepool, whence a coach would take him +to Newcastle before night. For seven or eight miles the level sands +were as short and far more agreeable a road than the up and down +land-ways. Philip walked on pretty briskly, unconsciously enjoying +the sunny landscape before him; the crisp curling waves rushing +almost up to his feet, on his right hand, and then swishing back +over the fine small pebbles into the great swelling sea. To his left +were the cliffs rising one behind another, having deep gullies here +and there between, with long green slopes upward from the land, and +then sudden falls of brown and red soil or rock deepening to a yet +greater richness of colour at their base towards the blue ocean +before him. The loud, monotonous murmur of the advancing and +receding waters lulled him into dreaminess; the sunny look of +everything tinged his day-dreams with hope. So he trudged merrily +over the first mile or so; not an obstacle to his measured pace on +the hard, level pavement; not a creature to be seen since he had +left the little gathering of bare-legged urchins dabbling in the +sea-pools near Monkshaven. The cares of land were shut out by the +glorious barrier of rocks before him. There were some great masses +that had been detached by the action of the weather, and lay half +embedded in the sand, draperied over by the heavy pendent +olive-green seaweed. The waves were nearer at this point; the +advancing sea came up with a mighty distant length of roar; here and +there the smooth swell was lashed by the fret against unseen rocks +into white breakers; but otherwise the waves came up from the German +Ocean upon that English shore with a long steady roll that might +have taken its first impetus far away, in the haunt of the +sea-serpent on the coast of 'Norroway over the foam.' The air was +soft as May; right overhead the sky was blue, but it deadened into +gray near the sea lines. Flocks of seagulls hovered about the edge +of the waves, slowly rising and turning their white under-plumage to +glimmer in the sunlight as Philip approached. The whole scene was so +peaceful, so soothing, that it dispelled the cares and fears (too +well founded in fact) which had weighed down on his heart during the +dark hours of the past night. + +There was Haytersbank gully opening down its green entrance among +the warm brown bases of the cliffs. Below, in the sheltered +brushwood, among the last year's withered leaves, some primroses +might be found. He half thought of gathering Sylvia a posy of them, +and rushing up to the farm to make a little farewell peace-offering. +But on looking at his watch, he put all thoughts of such an action +out of his head; it was above an hour later than he had supposed, +and he must make all haste on to Hartlepool. Just as he was +approaching this gully, a man came dashing down, and ran out some +way upon the sand with the very force of his descent; then he turned +to the left and took the direction of Hartlepool a hundred yards or +so in advance of Philip. He never stayed to look round him, but went +swiftly and steadily on his way. By the peculiar lurch in his +walk--by everything--Philip knew it was the specksioneer, Kinraid. + +Now the road up Haytersbank gully led to the farm, and nowhere else. +Still any one wishing to descend to the shore might do so by first +going up to the Robsons' house, and skirting the walls till they +came to the little slender path down to the shore. But by the farm, +by the very house-door they must of necessity pass. Philip slackened +his pace, keeping under the shadow of the rock. By-and-by Kinraid, +walking on the sunlight open sands, turned round and looked long and +earnestly towards Haytersbank gully. Hepburn paused when he paused, +but as intently as he looked at some object above, so intently did +Hepburn look at him. No need to ascertain by sight towards whom his +looks, his thoughts were directed. He took off his hat and waved it, +touching one part of it as if with particular meaning. When he +turned away at last, Hepburn heaved a heavy sigh, and crept yet more +into the cold dank shadow of the cliffs. Each step was now a heavy +task, his sad heart tired and weary. After a while he climbed up a +few feet, so as to mingle his form yet more completely with the +stones and rocks around. Stumbling over the uneven and often jagged +points, slipping on the sea-weed, plunging into little pools of +water left by the ebbing tide in some natural basins, he yet kept +his eyes fixed as if in fascination on Kinraid, and made his way +almost alongside of him. But the last hour had pinched Hepburn's +features into something of the wan haggardness they would wear when +he should first be lying still for ever. + +And now the two men were drawing near a creek, about eight miles +from Monkshaven. The creek was formed by a beck (or small stream) +that came flowing down from the moors, and took its way to the sea +between the widening rocks. The melting of the snows and running of +the flooded water-springs above made this beck in the early +spring-time both deep and wide. Hepburn knew that here they both +must take a path leading inland to a narrow foot-bridge about a +quarter of a mile up the stream; indeed from this point, owing to +the jutting out of the rocks, the land path was the shortest; and +this way lay by the water-side at an angle right below the cliff to +which Hepburn's steps were leading him. He knew that on this long +level field path he might easily be seen by any one following; nay, +if he followed any one at a short distance, for it was full of +turnings; and he resolved, late as he was, to sit down for a while +till Kinraid was far enough in advance for him to escape being seen. +He came up to the last rock behind which he could be concealed; +seven or eight feet above the stream he stood, and looked cautiously +for the specksioneer. Up by the rushing stream he looked, then right +below. + +'It is God's providence,' he murmured. 'It is God's providence.' + +He crouched down where he had been standing and covered his face +with his hands. He tried to deafen as well as to blind himself, that +he might neither hear nor see anything of the coming event of which +he, an inhabitant of Monkshaven at that day, well understood the +betokening signs. + +Kinraid had taken the larger angle of the sands before turning up +towards the bridge. He came along now nearing the rocks. By this +time he was sufficiently buoyant to whistle to himself. It steeled +Philip's heart to what was coming to hear his rival whistling, 'Weel +may the keel row,' so soon after parting with Sylvia. + +The instant Kinraid turned the corner of the cliff, the ambush was +upon him. Four man-of-war's men sprang on him and strove to pinion +him. + +'In the King's name!' cried they, with rough, triumphant jeers. + +Their boat was moored not a dozen yards above; they were sent by the +tender of a frigate lying off Hartlepool for fresh water. The tender +was at anchor just beyond the jutting rocks in face. + +They knew that fishermen were in the habit of going to and from +their nets by the side of the creek; but such a prize as this +active, strong, and evidently superior sailor, was what they had not +hoped for, and their endeavours to secure him were in proportion to +the value of the prize. + +Although taken by surprise, and attacked by so many, Kinraid did not +lose his wits. He wrenched himself free, crying out loud: + +'Avast, I'm a protected whaler. I claim my protection. I've my +papers to show, I'm bonded specksioneer to the _Urania_ whaler, +Donkin captain, North Shields port.' + +As a protected whaler, the press-gang had, by the 17th section of +Act 26 Geo. III. no legal right to seize him, unless he had failed +to return to his ship by the 10th March following the date of his +bond. But of what use were the papers he hastily dragged out of his +breast; of what use were laws in those days of slow intercourse with +such as were powerful enough to protect, and in the time of popular +panic against a French invasion? + +'D--n your protection,' cried the leader of the press-gang; 'come +and serve his Majesty, that's better than catching whales.' + +'Is it though?' said the specksioneer, with a motion of his hand, +which the swift-eyed sailor opposed to him saw and interpreted +rightly. + +'Thou wilt, wilt thou? Close with him, Jack; and ware the cutlass.' + +In a minute his cutlass was forced from him, and it became a +hand-to-hand struggle, of which, from the difference in numbers, it +was not difficult to foretell the result. Yet Kinraid made desperate +efforts to free himself; he wasted no breath in words, but fought, +as the men said, 'like a very devil.' + +Hepburn heard loud pants of breath, great thuds, the dull struggle +of limbs on the sand, the growling curses of those who thought to +have managed their affair more easily; the sudden cry of some one +wounded, not Kinraid he knew, Kinraid would have borne any pain in +silence at such a moment; another wrestling, swearing, infuriated +strife, and then a strange silence. Hepburn sickened at the heart; +was then his rival dead? had he left this bright world? lost his +life--his love? For an instant Hepburn felt guilty of his death; he +said to himself he had never wished him dead, and yet in the +struggle he had kept aloof, and now it might be too late for ever. +Philip could not bear the suspense; he looked stealthily round the +corner of the rock behind which he had been hidden, and saw that +they had overpowered Kinraid, and, too exhausted to speak, were +binding him hand and foot to carry him to their boat. + +Kinraid lay as still as any hedgehog: he rolled when they pushed +him; he suffered himself to be dragged without any resistance, any +motion; the strong colour brought into his face while fighting was +gone now, his countenance was livid pale; his lips were tightly held +together, as if it cost him more effort to be passive, wooden, and +stiff in their hands than it had done to fight and struggle with all +his might. His eyes seemed the only part about him that showed +cognizance of what was going on. They were watchful, vivid, fierce +as those of a wild cat brought to bay, seeking in its desperate +quickened brain for some mode of escape not yet visible, and in all +probability never to become visible to the hopeless creature in its +supreme agony. + +Without a motion of his head, he was perceiving and taking in +everything while he lay bound at the bottom of the boat. A sailor +sat by his side, who had been hurt by a blow from him. The man held +his head in his hand, moaning; but every now and then he revenged +himself by a kick at the prostrate specksioneer, till even his +comrades stopped their cursing and swearing at their prisoner for +the trouble he had given them, to cry shame on their comrade. But +Kinraid never spoke, nor shrank from the outstretched foot. + +One of his captors, with the successful insolence of victory, +ventured to jeer him on the supposed reason for his vehement and +hopeless resistance. + +He might have said yet more insolent things; the kicks might have +hit harder; Kinraid did not hear or heed. His soul was beating +itself against the bars of inflexible circumstance; reviewing in one +terrible instant of time what had been, what might have been, what +was. Yet while these thoughts thus stabbed him, he was still +mechanically looking out for chances. He moved his head a little, so +as to turn towards Haytersbank, where Sylvia must be quickly, if +sadly, going about her simple daily work; and then his quick eye +caught Hepburn's face, blanched with excitement rather than fear, +watching eagerly from behind the rock, where he had sat breathless +during the affray and the impressment of his rival. + +'Come here, lad!' shouted the specksioneer as soon as he saw Philip, +heaving and writhing his body the while with so much vigour that the +sailors started away from the work they were engaged in about the +boat, and held him down once more, as if afraid he should break the +strong rope that held him like withes of green flax. But the bound +man had no such notion in his head. His mighty wish was to call +Hepburn near that he might send some message by him to Sylvia. 'Come +here, Hepburn,' he cried again, falling back this time so weak and +exhausted that the man-of-war's men became sympathetic. + +'Come down, peeping Tom, and don't be afeared,' they called out. + +'I'm not afeared,' said Philip; 'I'm no sailor for yo' t' impress +me: nor have yo' any right to take that fellow; he's a Greenland +specksioneer, under protection, as I know and can testify.' + +'Yo' and yo'r testify go hang. Make haste, man and hear what this +gem'man, as was in a dirty blubbery whale-ship, and is now in his +Majesty's service, has got to say. I dare say, Jack,' went on the +speaker, 'it's some message to his sweetheart, asking her to come +for to serve on board ship along with he, like Billy Taylor's young +woman.' + +Philip was coming towards them slowly, not from want of activity, +but because he was undecided what he should be called upon to do or +to say by the man whom he hated and dreaded, yet whom just now he +could not help admiring. + +Kinraid groaned with impatience at seeing one, free to move with +quick decision, so slow and dilatory. + +'Come on then,' cried the sailors, 'or we'll take you too on board, +and run you up and down the main-mast a few times. Nothing like life +aboard ship for quickening a land-lubber.' + +'Yo'd better take him and leave me,' said Kinraid, grimly. 'I've +been taught my lesson; and seemingly he has his yet to learn.' + +'His Majesty isn't a schoolmaster to need scholars; but a jolly good +captain to need men,' replied the leader of the gang, eyeing Philip +nevertheless, and questioning within himself how far, with only two +other available men, they durst venture on his capture as well as +the specksioneer's. It might be done, he thought, even though there +was this powerful captive aboard, and the boat to manage too; but, +running his eye over Philip's figure, he decided that the tall +stooping fellow was never cut out for a sailor, and that he should +get small thanks if he captured him, to pay him for the possible +risk of losing the other. Or else the mere fact of being a landsman +was of as little consequence to the press-gang, as the protecting +papers which Kinraid had vainly showed. + +'Yon fellow wouldn't have been worth his grog this many a day, and +be d--d to you,' said he, catching Hepburn by the shoulder, and +giving him a push. Philip stumbled over something in this, his +forced run. He looked down; his foot had caught in Kinraid's hat, +which had dropped off in the previous struggle. In the band that +went round the low crown, a ribbon was knotted; a piece of that same +ribbon which Philip had chosen out, with such tender hope, to give +to Sylvia for the Corneys' party on new year's eve. He knew every +delicate thread that made up the briar-rose pattern; and a spasm of +hatred towards Kinraid contracted his heart. He had been almost +relenting into pity for the man captured before his eyes; now he +abhorred him. + +Kinraid did not speak for a minute or two. The sailors, who had +begun to take him into favour, were all agog with curiosity to hear +the message to his sweetheart, which they believed he was going to +send. Hepburn's perceptions, quickened with his vehement agitation +of soul, were aware of this feeling of theirs; and it increased his +rage against Kinraid, who had exposed the idea of Sylvia to be the +subject of ribald whispers. But the specksioneer cared little what +others said or thought about the maiden, whom he yet saw before his +closed eyelids as she stood watching him, from the Haytersbank +gully, waving her hands, her handkerchief, all in one passionate +farewell. + +'What do yo' want wi' me?' asked Hepburn at last in a gloomy tone. +If he could have helped it, he would have kept silence till Kinraid +spoke first; but he could no longer endure the sailors' nudges, and +winks, and jests among themselves. + +'Tell Sylvia,' said Kinraid---- + +'There's a smart name for a sweetheart,' exclaimed one of the men; +but Kinraid went straight on,-- + +'What yo've seen; how I've been pressed by this cursed gang.' + +'Civil words, messmate, if you please. Sylvia can't abide cursing +and swearing, I'm sure. We're gentlemen serving his Majesty on board +the _Alcestis_, and this proper young fellow shall be helped on to +more honour and glory than he'd ever get bobbing for whales. Tell +Sylvia this, with my love; Jack Carter's love, if she's anxious +about my name.' + +One of the sailors laughed at this rude humour; another bade Carter +hold his stupid tongue. Philip hated him in his heart. Kinraid +hardly heard him. He was growing faint with the heavy blows he had +received, the stunning fall he had met with, and the reaction from +his dogged self-control at first. + +Philip did not speak nor move. + +'Tell her,' continued Kinraid, rousing himself for another effort, +'what yo've seen. Tell her I'll come back to her. Bid her not forget +the great oath we took together this morning; she's as much my wife +as if we'd gone to church;--I'll come back and marry her afore +long.' + +Philip said something inarticulately. + +'Hurra!' cried Carter, 'and I'll be best man. Tell her, too that +I'll have an eye on her sweetheart, and keep him from running after +other girls.' + +'Yo'll have yo'r hands full, then,' muttered Philip, his passion +boiling over at the thought of having been chosen out from among all +men to convey such a message as Kinraid's to Sylvia. + +'Make an end of yo'r d--d yarns, and be off,' said the man who had +been hurt by Kinraid, and who had sate apart and silent till now. + +Philip turned away; Kinraid raised himself and cried after him,-- + +'Hepburn, Hepburn! tell her---' what he added Philip could not hear, +for the words were lost before they reached him in the outward noise +of the regular splash of the oars and the rush of the wind down the +gully, with which mingled the closer sound that filled his ears of +his own hurrying blood surging up into his brain. He was conscious +that he had said something in reply to Kinraid's adjuration that he +would deliver his message to Sylvia, at the very time when Carter +had stung him into fresh anger by the allusion to the possibility of +the specksioneer's 'running after other girls,' for, for an instant, +Hepburn had been touched by the contrast of circumstances. Kinraid +an hour or two ago,--Kinraid a banished man; for in those days, an +impressed sailor might linger out years on some foreign station, far +from those he loved, who all this time remained ignorant of his +cruel fate. + +But Hepburn began to wonder what he himself had said--how much of a +promise he had made to deliver those last passionate words of +Kinraid's. He could not recollect how much, how little he had said; +he knew he had spoken hoarsely and low almost at the same time as +Carter had uttered his loud joke. But he doubted if Kinraid had +caught his words. + +And then the dread Inner Creature, who lurks in each of our hearts, +arose and said, 'It is as well: a promise given is a fetter to the +giver. But a promise is not given when it has not been received.' + +At a sudden impulse, he turned again towards the shore when he had +crossed the bridge, and almost ran towards the verge of the land. +Then he threw himself down on the soft fine turf that grew on the +margin of the cliffs overhanging the sea, and commanding an extent +of view towards the north. His face supported by his hands, he +looked down upon the blue rippling ocean, flashing here and there, +into the sunlight in long, glittering lines. The boat was still in +the distance, making her swift silent way with long regular bounds +to the tender that lay in the offing. + +Hepburn felt insecure, as in a nightmare dream, so long as the boat +did not reach her immediate destination. His contracted eyes could +see four minute figures rowing with ceaseless motion, and a fifth +sate at the helm. But he knew there was a sixth, unseen, lying, +bound and helpless, at the bottom of the boat; and his fancy kept +expecting this man to start up and break his bonds, and overcome all +the others, and return to the shore free and triumphant. + +It was by no fault of Hepburn's that the boat sped well away; that +she was now alongside the tender, dancing on the waves; now emptied +of her crew; now hoisted up to her place. No fault of his! and yet +it took him some time before he could reason himself into the belief +that his mad, feverish wishes not an hour before--his wild prayer to +be rid of his rival, as he himself had scrambled onward over the +rocks alongside of Kinraid's path on the sands--had not compelled +the event. + +'Anyhow,' thought he, as he rose up, 'my prayer is granted. God be +thanked!' + +Once more he looked out towards the ship. She had spread her +beautiful great sails, and was standing out to sea in the glittering +path of the descending sun. + +He saw that he had been delayed on his road, and had lingered long. +He shook his stiffened limbs, shouldered his knapsack, and prepared +to walk on to Hartlepool as swiftly as he could. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +AN IMPORTANT MISSION + + + + + +Philip was too late for the coach he had hoped to go by, but there +was another that left at night, and which reached Newcastle in the +forenoon, so that, by the loss of a night's sleep, he might overtake +his lost time. But, restless and miserable, he could not stop in +Hartlepool longer than to get some hasty food at the inn from which +the coach started. He acquainted himself with the names of the towns +through which it would pass, and the inns at which it would stop, +and left word that the coachman was to be on the look-out for him +and pick him up at some one of these places. + +He was thoroughly worn out before this happened--too much tired to +gain any sleep in the coach. When he reached Newcastle, he went to +engage his passage in the next London-bound smack, and then directed +his steps to Robinson's, in the Side, to make all the inquiries he +could think of respecting the plough his uncle wanted to know about. + +So it was pretty late in the afternoon, indeed almost evening, +before he arrived at the small inn on the quay-side, where he +intended to sleep. It was but a rough kind of place, frequented +principally by sailors; he had been recommended to it by Daniel +Robson, who had known it well in former days. The accommodation in +it was, however, clean and homely, and the people keeping it were +respectable enough in their way. + +Still Hepburn was rather repelled by the appearance of the sailors +who sate drinking in the bar, and he asked, in a low voice, if there +was not another room. The woman stared in surprise, and only shook +her head. Hepburn went to a separate table, away from the roaring +fire, which on this cold March evening was the great attraction, and +called for food and drink. Then seeing that the other men were +eyeing him with the sociable idea of speaking to him, he asked for +pen and ink and paper, with the intention of defeating their purpose +by pre-occupation on his part. But when the paper came, the new pen, +the unused thickened ink, he hesitated long before he began to +write; and at last he slowly put down the words,-- + +'DEAR AND HONOURED UNCLE,'---- + +There was a pause; his meal was brought and hastily swallowed. Even +while he was eating it, he kept occasionally touching up the letters +of these words. When he had drunk a glass of ale he began again to +write: fluently this time, for he was giving an account of the +plough. Then came another long stop; he was weighing in his own mind +what he should say about Kinraid. Once he thought for a second of +writing to Sylvia herself, and telling her---how much? She might +treasure up her lover's words like grains of gold, while they were +lighter than dust in their meaning to Philip's mind; words which +such as the specksioneer used as counters to beguile and lead astray +silly women. It was for him to prove his constancy by action; and +the chances of his giving such proof were infinitesimal in Philip's +estimation. But should the latter mention the bare fact of Kinraid's +impressment to Robson? That would have been the natural course of +things, remembering that the last time Philip had seen either, they +were in each other's company. Twenty times he put his pen to the +paper with the intention of relating briefly the event that had +befallen Kinraid; and as often he stopped, as though the first word +would be irrevocable. While he thus sate pen in hand, thinking +himself wiser than conscience, and looking on beyond the next step +which she bade him take into an indefinite future, he caught some +fragments of the sailors' talk at the other end of the room, which +made him listen to their words. They were speaking of that very +Kinraid, the thought of whom filled his own mind like an actual +presence. In a rough, careless way they spoke of the specksioneer, +with admiration enough for his powers as a sailor and harpooner; and +from that they passed on to jesting mention of his power amongst +women, and one or two girls' names were spoken of in connection with +him. Hepburn silently added Annie Coulson and Sylvia Robson to this +list, and his cheeks turned paler as he did so. Long after they had +done speaking about Kinraid, after they had paid their shot, and +gone away, he sate in the same attitude, thinking bitter thoughts. + +The people of the house prepared for bed. Their silent guest took no +heed of their mute signs. At length the landlord spoke to him, and +he started, gathered his wits together with an effort, and prepared +to retire with the rest. But before he did so, he signed and +directed the letter to his uncle, leaving it still open, however, in +case some sudden feeling should prompt him to add a postscript. The +landlord volunteered the information that the letter his guest had +been writing must be posted early the next morning if it was going +south; as the mails in that direction only left Newcastle every +other day. + +All night long Hepburn wearied himself with passionate tossings, +prompted by stinging recollection. Towards morning he fell into a +dead sound sleep. He was roused by a hasty knocking at the door. It +was broad full daylight; he had overslept himself, and the smack was +leaving by the early tide. He was even now summoned on board. He +dressed, wafered his letter, and rushed with it to the neighbouring +post-office; and, without caring to touch the breakfast for which he +paid, he embarked. Once on board, he experienced the relief which it +always is to an undecided man, and generally is at first to any one +who has been paltering with duty, when circumstances decide for him. +In the first case, it is pleasant to be relieved from the burden of +decision; in the second, the responsibility seems to be shifted on +to impersonal events. + +And so Philip sailed out of the mouth of the Tyne on to the great +open sea. It would be a week before the smack reached London, even +if she pursued a tolerably straight course, but she had to keep a +sharp look-out after possible impressment of her crew; and it was +not until after many dodges and some adventures that, at the end of +a fortnight from the time of his leaving Monkshaven, Philip found +himself safely housed in London, and ready to begin the delicate +piece of work which was given him to do. + +He felt himself fully capable of unravelling each clue to +information, and deciding on the value of the knowledge so gained. +But during the leisure of the voyage he had wisely determined to +communicate everything he learnt about Dickinson, in short, every +step he took in the matter, by letter to his employers. And thus his +mind both in and out of his lodgings might have appeared to have +been fully occupied with the concerns of others. + +But there were times when the miserable luxury of dwelling upon his +own affairs was his--when he lay down in his bed till he fell into +restless sleep--when the point to which his steps tended in his +walks was ascertained. Then he gave himself up to memory, and regret +which often deepened into despair, and but seldom was cheered by +hope. + +He grew so impatient of the ignorance in which he was kept--for in +those days of heavy postage any correspondence he might have had on +mere Monkshaven intelligence was very limited--as to the affairs at +Haytersbank, that he cut out an advertisement respecting some new +kind of plough, from a newspaper that lay in the chop-house where he +usually dined, and rising early the next morning he employed the +time thus gained in going round to the shop where these new ploughs +were sold. + +That night he wrote another letter to Daniel Robson, with a long +account of the merits of the implements he had that day seen. With a +sick heart and a hesitating hand, he wound up with a message of +regard to his aunt and to Sylvia; an expression of regard which he +dared not make as warm as he wished, and which, consequently, fell +below the usual mark attained by such messages, and would have +appeared to any one who cared to think about it as cold and formal. + +When this letter was despatched, Hepburn began to wonder what he had +hoped for in writing it. He knew that Daniel could write--or rather +that he could make strange hieroglyphics, the meaning of which +puzzled others and often himself; but these pen-and-ink signs were +seldom employed by Robson, and never, so far as Philip knew, for the +purpose of letter-writing. But still he craved so for news of +Sylvia--even for a sight of paper which she had seen, and perhaps +touched--that he thought all his trouble about the plough (to say +nothing of the one-and-twopence postage which he had prepaid in +order to make sure of his letter's reception in the frugal household +at Haytersbank) well lost for the mere chance of his uncle's caring +enough for the intelligence to write in reply, or even to get some +friend to write an answer; for in such case, perhaps, Philip might +see her name mentioned in some way, even though it was only that she +sent her duty to him. + +But the post-office was dumb; no letter came from Daniel Robson. +Philip heard, it is true, from his employers pretty frequently on +business; and he felt sure they would have named it, if any ill had +befallen his uncle's family, for they knew of the relationship and +of his intimacy there. They generally ended their formal letters +with as formal a summary of Monkshaven news; but there was never a +mention of the Robsons, and that of itself was well, but it did not +soothe Philip's impatient curiosity. He had never confided his +attachment to his cousin to any one, it was not his way; but he +sometimes thought that if Coulson had not taken his present +appointment to a confidential piece of employment so ill, he would +have written to him and asked him to go up to Haytersbank Farm, and +let him know how they all were. + +All this time he was transacting the affair on which he had been +sent, with great skill; and, indeed, in several ways, he was quietly +laying the foundation for enlarging the business in Monkshaven. +Naturally grave and quiet, and slow to speak, he impressed those who +saw him with the idea of greater age and experience than he really +possessed. Indeed, those who encountered him in London, thought he +was absorbed in the business of money-making. Yet before the time +came when he could wind up affairs and return to Monkshaven, he +would have given all he possessed for a letter from his uncle, +telling him something about Sylvia. For he still hoped to hear from +Robson, although he knew that he hoped against reason. But we often +convince ourselves by good argument that what we wish for need never +have been expected; and then, at the end of our reasoning, find that +we might have saved ourselves the trouble, for that our wishes are +untouched, and are as strong enemies to our peace of mind as ever. +Hepburn's baulked hope was the Mordecai sitting in Haman's gate; all +his success in his errand to London, his well-doing in worldly +affairs, was tasteless, and gave him no pleasure, because of this +blank and void of all intelligence concerning Sylvia. + +And yet he came back with a letter from the Fosters in his pocket, +curt, yet expressive of deep gratitude for his discreet services in +London; and at another time--in fact, if Philip's life had been +ordered differently to what it was--it might have given this man a +not unworthy pleasure to remember that, without a penny of his own, +simply by diligence, honesty, and faithful quick-sightedness as to +the interests of his masters, he had risen to hold the promise of +being their successor, and to be ranked by them as a trusted friend. + +As the Newcastle smack neared the shore on her voyage home, Hepburn +looked wistfully out for the faint gray outline of Monkshaven Priory +against the sky, and the well-known cliffs; as if the masses of +inanimate stone could tell him any news of Sylvia. + +In the streets of Shields, just after landing, he encountered a +neighbour of the Robsons, and an acquaintance of his own. By this +honest man, he was welcomed as a great traveller is welcomed on his +return from a long voyage, with many hearty good shakes of the hand, +much repetition of kind wishes, and offers to treat him to drink. +Yet, from some insurmountable feeling, Philip avoided all mention of +the family who were the principal bond between the honest farmer and +himself. He did not know why, but he could not bear the shock of +first hearing her name in the open street, or in the rough +public-house. And thus he shrank from the intelligence he craved to +hear. + +Thus he knew no more about the Robsons when he returned to +Monkshaven, than he had done on the day when he had last seen them; +and, of course, his first task there was to give a long _viva voce_ +account of all his London proceedings to the two brothers Foster, +who, considering that they had heard the result of everything by +letter, seemed to take an insatiable interest in details. + +He could hardly tell why, but even when released from the Fosters' +parlour, he was unwilling to go to Haytersbank Farm. It was late, it +is true, but on a May evening even country people keep up till eight +or nine o'clock. Perhaps it was because Hepburn was still in his +travel-stained dress; having gone straight to the shop on his +arrival in Monkshaven. Perhaps it was because, if he went this night +for the short half-hour intervening before bed-time, he would have +no excuse for paying a longer visit on the following evening. At any +rate, he proceeded straight to Alice Rose's, as soon as he had +finished his interview with his employers. + +Both Hester and Coulson had given him their welcome home in the +shop, which they had, however, left an hour or two before him. + +Yet they gave him a fresh greeting, almost one in which surprise was +blended, when he came to his lodgings. Even Alice seemed gratified +by his spending this first evening with them, as if she had thought +it might have been otherwise. Weary though he was, he exerted +himself to talk and to relate what he had done and seen in London, +as far as he could without breaking confidence with his employers. +It was something to see the pleasure he gave to his auditors, +although there were several mixed feelings in their minds to produce +the expression of it which gratified him. Coulson was sorry for his +former ungenerous reception of the news that Philip was going to +London; Hester and her mother each secretly began to feel as if this +evening was like more happy evenings of old, before the Robsons came +to Haytersbank Farm; and who knows what faint delicious hopes this +resemblance may not have suggested? + +While Philip, restless and excited, feeling that he could not sleep, +was glad to pass away the waking hours that must intervene before +to-morrow night, at times, he tried to make them talk of what had +happened in Monkshaven during his absence, but all had gone on in an +eventless manner, as far as he could gather; if they knew of +anything affecting the Robsons, they avoided speaking of it to him; +and, indeed, how little likely were they ever to have heard their +names while he was away? + + + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +LOVED AND LOST + + + + + +Philip walked towards the Robsons' farm like a man in a dream, who +has everything around him according to his wish, and yet is +conscious of a secret mysterious inevitable drawback to his +enjoyment. Hepburn did not care to think--would not realize what +this drawback, which need not have been mysterious in his case, was. + +The May evening was glorious in light and shadow. The crimson sun +warmed up the chilly northern air to a semblance of pleasant heat. +The spring sights and sounds were all about; the lambs were bleating +out their gentle weariness before they sank to rest by the side of +their mothers; the linnets were chirping in every bush of golden +gorse that grew out of the stone walls; the lark was singing her +good-night in the cloudless sky, before she dropped down to her nest +in the tender green wheat; all spoke of brooding peace--but Philip's +heart was not at peace. + +Yet he was going to proclaim his good fortune. His masters had that +day publicly announced that Coulson and he were to be their +successors, and he had now arrived at that longed-for point in his +business, when he had resolved to openly speak of his love to +Sylvia, and might openly strive to gain her love. But, alas! the +fulfilment of that wish of his had lagged sadly behind. He was +placed as far as he could, even in his most sanguine moments, have +hoped to be as regarded business, but Sylvia was as far from his +attainment as ever--nay, farther. Still the great obstacle was +removed in Kinraid's impressment. Philip took upon himself to decide +that, with such a man as the specksioneer, absence was equivalent to +faithless forgetfulness. He thought that he had just grounds for +this decision in the account he had heard of Kinraid's behaviour to +Annie Coulson; to the other nameless young girl, her successor in +his fickle heart; in the ribald talk of the sailors in the Newcastle +public-house. It would be well for Sylvia if she could forget as +quickly; and, to promote this oblivion, the name of her lover should +never be brought up, either in praise or blame. And Philip would be +patient and enduring; all the time watching over her, and labouring +to win her reluctant love. + +There she was! He saw her as he stood at the top of the little +hill-path leading down to the Robsons' door. She was out of doors, +in the garden, which, at some distance from the house, sloped up the +bank on the opposite side of the gully; much too far off to be +spoken to--not too far off to be gazed at by eyes that caressed her +every movement. How well Philip knew that garden; placed long ago by +some tenant of the farm on a southern slope; walled in with rough +moorland stones; planted with berry-bushes for use, and southernwood +and sweet-briar for sweetness of smell. When the Robsons had first +come to Haytersbank, and Sylvia was scarcely more than a pretty +child, how well he remembered helping her with the arrangement of +this garden; laying out his few spare pence in hen-and-chicken +daisies at one time, in flower-seeds at another; again in a +rose-tree in a pot. He knew how his unaccustomed hands had laboured +with the spade at forming a little primitive bridge over the beck in +the hollow before winter streams should make it too deep for +fording; how he had cut down branches of the mountain-ash and +covered them over, yet decked with their scarlet berries, with sods +of green turf, beyond which the brilliancy crept out; but now it was +months and years since he had been in that garden, which had lost +its charm for Sylvia, as she found the bleak sea-winds came up and +blighted all endeavours at cultivating more than the most useful +things--pot-herbs, marigolds, potatoes, onions, and such-like. Why +did she tarry there now, standing quite motionless up by the highest +bit of wall, looking over the sea, with her hand shading her eyes? +Quite motionless; as if she were a stone statue. He began to wish +she would move--would look at him--but any way that she would move, +and not stand gazing thus over that great dreary sea. + +He went down the path with an impatient step, and entered the +house-place. There sat his aunt spinning, and apparently as well as +ever. He could hear his uncle talking to Kester in the neighbouring +shippen; all was well in the household. Why was Sylvia standing in +the garden in that strange quiet way? + +'Why, lad! thou'rt a sight for sair een!' said his aunt, as she +stood up to welcome him back. 'An' when didst ta come, eh?--but thy +uncle will be glad to see thee, and to hear thee talk about yon +pleughs; he's thought a deal o' thy letters. I'll go call him in.' + +'Not yet,' said Philip, stopping her in her progress towards the +door. 'He's busy talking to Kester. I'm in no haste to be gone. I +can stay a couple of hours. Sit down, and tell me how you are +yoursel'--and how iverything is. And I've a deal to tell you.' + +'To be sure--to be sure. To think thou's been in Lunnon sin' I saw +thee!--well to be sure! There's a vast o' coming and going i' this +world. Thou'll mind yon specksioneer lad, him as was cousin to t' +Corneys--Charley Kinraid?' + +Mind him! As if he could forget him. + +'Well! he's dead and gone.' + +'Dead! Who told you? I don't understand,' said Philip, in strange +bewilderment. Could Kinraid have tried to escape after all, and been +wounded, killed in the attempt? If not, how should they know he was +dead? Missing he might be, though how this should be known was +strange, as he was supposed to be sailing to the Greenland seas. But +dead! What did they mean? At Philip's worst moment of hatred he had +hardly dared to wish him dead. + +'Dunnot yo' mention it afore our Sylvie; we niver speak on him to +her, for she takes it a deal to heart, though I'm thinkin' it were a +good thing for her; for he'd got a hold of her--he had on Bessy +Corney, too, as her mother telled me;--not that I iver let on to +them as Sylvia frets after him, so keep a calm sough, my lad. It's a +girl's fancy--just a kind o' calf-love; let it go by; and it's well +for her he's dead, though it's hard to say so on a drowned man.' + +'Drowned!' said Philip. 'How do yo' know?' half hoping that the poor +drenched swollen body might have been found, and thus all questions +and dilemmas solved. Kinraid might have struggled overboard with +ropes or handcuffs on, and so have been drowned. + +'Eh, lad! there's no misdoubtin' it. He were thought a deal on by t' +captain o' t' _Urania_; and when he niver come back on t' day when +she ought for to have sailed, he sent to Kinraid's people at +Cullercoats, and they sent to Brunton's i' Newcassel, and they knew +he'd been here. T' captain put off sailing for two or three days, +that he might ha' that much law; but when he heard as Kinraid were +not at Corneys', but had left 'em a'most on to a week, he went off +to them Northern seas wi' t' next best specksioneer he could find. +For there's no use speaking ill on t' dead; an' though I couldn't +abear his coming for iver about t' house, he were a rare good +specksioneer, as I've been told.' + +'But how do you know he was drowned?' said Philip, feeling guiltily +disappointed at his aunt's story. + +'Why, lad! I'm a'most ashamed to tell thee, I were sore put out +mysel'; but Sylvia were so broken-hearted like I couldn't cast it up +to her as I should ha' liked: th' silly lass had gone and gi'en him +a bit o' ribbon, as many a one knowed, for it had been a vast +noticed and admired that evenin' at th' Corneys'--new year's eve I +think it were--and t' poor vain peacock had tied it on his hat, so +that when t' tide----hist! there's Sylvie coming in at t' back-door; +never let on,' and in a forced made-up voice she inquired aloud, for +hitherto she had been speaking almost in a whisper,-- + +'And didst ta see King George an' Queen Charlotte?' + +Philip could not answer--did not hear. His soul had gone out to meet +Sylvia, who entered with quiet slowness quite unlike her former +self. Her face was wan and white; her gray eyes seemed larger, and +full of dumb tearless sorrow; she came up to Philip, as if his being +there touched her with no surprise, and gave him a gentle greeting +as if he were a familiar indifferent person whom she had seen but +yesterday. Philip, who had recollected the quarrel they had had, and +about Kinraid too, the very last time they had met, had expected +some trace of this remembrance to linger in her looks and speech to +him. But there was no such sign; her great sorrow had wiped away all +anger, almost all memory. Her mother looked at her anxiously, and +then said in the same manner of forced cheerfulness which she had +used before,-- + +'Here's Philip, lass, a' full o' Lunnon; call thy father in, an +we'll hear a' about t' new-fangled pleughs. It'll be rare an' nice +a' sitting together again.' + +Sylvia, silent and docile, went out to the shippen to obey her +mother's wish. Bell Robson leant forward towards Philip, +misinterpreting the expression on his face, which was guilt as much +as sympathy, and checked the possible repentance which might have +urged him on at that moment to tell all he knew, by saying, 'Lad! +it's a' for t' best. He were noane good enough for her; and I +misdoubt me he were only playin' wi' her as he'd done by others. Let +her a-be, let her a-be; she'll come round to be thankful.' + +Robson bustled in with loud welcome; all the louder and more +talkative because he, like his wife, assumed a cheerful manner +before Sylvia. Yet he, unlike his wife, had many a secret regret +over Kinraid's fate. At first, while merely the fact of his +disappearance was known, Daniel Robson had hit on the truth, and had +stuck to his opinion that the cursed press-gang were at the bottom +of it. He had backed his words by many an oath, and all the more +because he had not a single reason to give that applied to the +present occasion. No one on the lonely coast had remarked any sign +of the presence of the men-of-war, or the tenders that accompanied +them, for the purpose of impressment on the king's ships. At +Shields, and at the mouth of the Tyne, where they lay in greedy +wait, the owners of the _Urania_ had caused strict search to be made +for their skilled and protected specksioneer, but with no success. +All this positive evidence in contradiction to Daniel Robson's +opinion only made him cling to it the more; until the day when the +hat was found on the shore with Kinraid's name written out large and +fair in the inside, and the tell-tale bit of ribbon knotted in the +band. Then Daniel, by a sudden revulsion, gave up every hope; it +never entered his mind that it could have fallen off by any +accident. No! now Kinraid was dead and drowned, and it was a bad +job, and the sooner it could be forgotten the better for all +parties; and it was well no one knew how far it had gone with +Sylvia, especially now since Bessy Corney was crying her eyes out as +if he had been engaged to her. So Daniel said nothing to his wife +about the mischief that had gone on in her absence, and never spoke +to Sylvia about the affair; only he was more than usually tender to +her in his rough way, and thought, morning, noon, and night, on what +he could do to give her pleasure, and drive away all recollection of +her ill-starred love. + +To-night he would have her sit by him while Philip told his stories, +or heavily answered questions put to him. Sylvia sat on a stool by +her father's knee, holding one of his hands in both of hers; and +presently she laid down her head upon them, and Philip saw her sad +eyes looking into the flickering fire-light with long unwinking +stare, showing that her thoughts were far distant. He could hardly +go on with his tales of what he had seen, and what done, he was so +full of pity for her. Yet, for all his pity, he had now resolved +never to soothe her with the knowledge of what he knew, nor to +deliver the message sent by her false lover. He felt like a mother +withholding something injurious from the foolish wish of her +plaining child. + +But he went away without breathing a word of his good fortune in +business. The telling of such kind of good fortune seemed out of +place this night, when the thought of death and the loss of friends +seemed to brood over the household, and cast its shadow there, +obscuring for the time all worldly things. + +And so the great piece of news came out in the ordinary course of +gossip, told by some Monkshaven friend to Robson the next market +day. For months Philip had been looking forward to the sensation +which the intelligence would produce in the farm household, as a +preliminary to laying his good fortune at Sylvia's feet. And they +heard of it, and he away, and all chance of his making use of it in +the manner he had intended vanished for the present. + +Daniel was always curious after other people's affairs, and now was +more than ever bent on collecting scraps of news which might +possibly interest Sylvia, and rouse her out of the state of +indifference as to everything into which she had fallen. Perhaps he +thought that he had not acted altogether wisely in allowing her to +engage herself to Kinraid, for he was a man apt to judge by results; +and moreover he had had so much reason to repent of the +encouragement which he had given to the lover whose untimely end had +so deeply affected his only child, that he was more unwilling than +ever that his wife should know of the length to which the affair had +gone during her absence. He even urged secrecy upon Sylvia as a +personal favour; unwilling to encounter the silent blame which he +openly affected to despise. + +'We'll noane fret thy mother by lettin' on how oft he came and went. +She'll, may-be, be thinkin' he were for speakin' to thee, my poor +lass; an' it would put her out a deal, for she's a woman of a stern +mind towards matteremony. And she'll be noane so strong till +summer-weather comes, and I'd be loath to give her aught to worrit +hersel' about. So thee and me 'll keep our own counsel.' + +'I wish mother had been here, then she'd ha' known all, without my +telling her.' + +'Cheer up, lass; it's better as it is. Thou'll get o'er it sooner +for havin' no one to let on to. A myself am noane going to speak +on't again.' + +No more he did; but there was a strange tenderness in his tones when +he spoke to her; a half-pathetic way of seeking after her, if by any +chance she was absent for a minute from the places where he expected +to find her; a consideration for her, about this time, in his way of +bringing back trifling presents, or small pieces of news that he +thought might interest her, which sank deep into her heart. + +'And what dun yo' think a' t' folks is talkin' on i' Monkshaven?' +asked he, almost before he had taken off his coat, on the day when +he had heard of Philip's promotion in the world. 'Why, missus, thy +nephew, Philip Hepburn, has got his name up i' gold letters four +inch long o'er Fosters' door! Him and Coulson has set up shop +together, and Fosters is gone out!' + +'That's t' secret of his journey t' Lunnon,' said Bell, more +gratified than she chose to show. + +'Four inch long if they're theere at all! I heerd on it at t' Bay +Horse first; but I thought yo'd niver be satisfied 'bout I seed it +wi' my own eyes. They do say as Gregory Jones, t' plumber, got it +done i' York, for that nought else would satisfy old Jeremiah. It'll +be a matter o' some hundreds a year i' Philip's pocket.' + +'There'll be Fosters i' th' background, as one may say, to take t' +biggest share on t' profits,' said Bell. + +'Ay, ay, that's but as it should be, for I reckon they'll ha' to +find t' brass the first, my lass!' said he, turning to Sylvia. 'A'm +fain to tak' thee in to t' town next market-day, just for thee t' +see 't. A'll buy thee a bonny ribbon for thy hair out o' t' cousin's +own shop.' + +Some thought of another ribbon which had once tied up her hair, and +afterwards been cut in twain, must have crossed Sylvia's mind, for +she answered, as if she shrank from her father's words,-- + +'I cannot go, I'm noane wantin' a ribbon; I'm much obliged, father, +a' t' same.' + +Her mother read her heart clearly, and suffered with her, but never +spoke a word of sympathy. But she went on rather more quickly than +she would otherwise have done to question her husband as to all he +knew about this great rise of Philip's. Once or twice Sylvia joined +in with languid curiosity; but presently she became tired and went +to bed. For a few moments after she left, her parents sate silent. +Then Daniel, in a tone as if he were justifying his daughter, and +comforting himself as well as his wife, observed that it was almost +on for nine; the evenings were light so long now. Bell said nothing +in reply, but gathered up her wool, and began to arrange the things +for night. + +By-and-by Daniel broke the silence by saying,-- + +'A thowt at one time as Philip had a fancy for our Sylvie.' + +For a minute or two Bell did not speak. Then, with deeper insight +into her daughter's heart than her husband, in spite of his greater +knowledge of the events that had happened to affect it, she said,-- + +'If thou's thinking on a match between 'em, it 'll be a long time +afore th' poor sad wench is fit t' think on another man as +sweetheart.' + +'A said nought about sweethearts,' replied he, as if his wife had +reproached him in some way. 'Woman's allays so full o' sweethearts +and matteremony. A only said as a'd thowt once as Philip had a fancy +for our lass, and a think so still; and he'll be worth his two +hunder a year afore long. But a niver said nought about +sweethearts.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A REJECTED SUITOR + + + + + +There were many domestic arrangements to be made in connection with +the new commercial ones which affected Hepburn and Coulson. + +The Fosters, with something of the busybodiness which is apt to +mingle itself with kindly patronage, had planned in their own minds +that the Rose household should be removed altogether to the house +belonging to the shop; and that Alice, with the assistance of the +capable servant, who, at present, managed all John's domestic +affairs, should continue as mistress of the house, with Philip and +Coulson for her lodgers. + +But arrangements without her consent did not suit Alice at any time, +and she had very good reasons for declining to accede to this. She +was not going to be uprooted at her time of life, she said, nor +would she consent to enter upon a future which might be so +uncertain. Why, Hepburn and Coulson were both young men, she said, +and they were as likely to marry as not; and then the bride would be +sure to wish to live in the good old-fashioned house at the back of +the shop. + +It was in vain she was told by every one concerned, that, in case of +such an event, the first married partner should take a house of his +own, leaving her in undisputed possession. She replied, with +apparent truth, that both might wish to marry, and surely the wife +of one ought to take possession of the house belonging to the +business; that she was not going to trust herself to the fancies of +young men, who were always, the best of them, going and doing the +very thing that was most foolish in the way of marriage; of which +state, in fact, she spoke with something of acrimonious contempt and +dislike, as if young people always got mismatched, yet had not the +sense to let older and wiser people choose for them. + +'Thou'll not have been understanding why Alice Rose spoke as she did +this morning,' said Jeremiah Foster to Philip, on the afternoon +succeeding the final discussion of this plan. 'She was a-thinking of +her youth, I reckon, when she was a well-favoured young woman, and +our John was full of the thought of marrying her. As he could not +have her, he has lived a bachelor all his days. But if I am not a +vast mistaken, all that he has will go to her and to Hester, for all +that Hester is the child of another man. Thee and Coulson should +have a try for Hester, Philip. I have told Coulson this day of +Hester's chances. I told him first because he is my wife's nephew; +but I tell thee now, Philip. It would be a good thing for the shop +if one of ye was married.' + +Philip reddened. Often as the idea of marriage had come into his +mind, this was the first time it had been gravely suggested to him +by another. But he replied quietly enough. + +'I don't think Hester Rose has any thought of matrimony.' + +'To be sure not; it is for thee, or for William Coulson, to make her +think. She, may-be, remembers enough of her mother's life with her +father to make her slow to think on such things. But it's in her to +think on matrimony; it's in all of us.' + +'Alice's husband was dead before I knew her,' said Philip, rather +evading the main subject. + +'It was a mercy when he were taken. A mercy to them who were left, I +mean. Alice was a bonny young woman, with a smile for everybody, +when he wed her--a smile for every one except our John, who never +could do enough to try and win one from her. But, no! she would have +none of him, but set her heart on Jack Rose, a sailor in a +whale-ship. And so they were married at last, though all her own +folks were against it. And he was a profligate sinner, and went +after other women, and drank, and beat her. She turned as stiff and +as grey as thou seest her now within a year of Hester's birth. I +believe they'd have perished for want and cold many a time if it had +not been for John. If she ever guessed where the money came from, it +must have hurt her pride above a bit, for she was always a proud +woman. But mother's love is stronger than pride.' + +Philip fell to thinking; a generation ago something of the same kind +had been going on as that which he was now living through, quick +with hopes and fears. A girl beloved by two--nay, those two so +identical in occupation as he and Kinraid were--Rose identical even +in character with what he knew of the specksioneer; a girl choosing +the wrong lover, and suffering and soured all her life in +consequence of her youth's mistake; was that to be Sylvia's +lot?--or, rather, was she not saved from it by the event of the +impressment, and by the course of silence he himself had resolved +upon? Then he went on to wonder if the lives of one generation were +but a repetition of the lives of those who had gone before, with no +variation but from the internal cause that some had greater capacity +for suffering than others. Would those very circumstances which made +the interest of his life now, return, in due cycle, when he was dead +and Sylvia was forgotten? + +Perplexed thoughts of this and a similar kind kept returning into +Philip's mind whenever he had leisure to give himself up to +consideration of anything but the immediate throng of business. And +every time he dwelt on this complication and succession of similar +events, he emerged from his reverie more and more satisfied with the +course he had taken in withholding from Sylvia all knowledge of her +lover's fate. + +It was settled at length that Philip was to remove to the house +belonging to the shop, Coulson remaining with Alice and her +daughter. But in the course of the summer the latter told his +partner that he had offered marriage to Hester on the previous day, +and been refused. It was an awkward affair altogether, as he lived +in their house, and was in daily companionship with Hester, who, +however, seemed to preserve her gentle calmness, with only a tinge +more of reserve in her manner to Coulson. + +'I wish yo' could find out what she has again' me, Philip,' said +Coulson, about a fortnight after he had made the proposal. The poor +young man thought that Hester's composure of manner towards him +since the event argued that he was not distasteful to her; and as he +was now on very happy terms with Philip, he came constantly to him, +as if the latter could interpret the meaning of all the little +occurrences between him and his beloved. 'I'm o' right age, not two +months betwixt us; and there's few in Monkshaven as would think on +her wi' better prospects than me; and she knows my folks; we're kind +o' cousins, in fact; and I'd be like a son to her mother; and +there's noane i' Monkshaven as can speak again' my character. +There's nought between yo' and her, is there, Philip?' + +'I ha' telled thee many a time that she and me is like brother and +sister. She's no more thought on me nor I have for her. So be +content wi't, for I'se not tell thee again.' + +'Don't be vexed, Philip; if thou knew what it was to be in love, +thou'd be always fancying things, just as I am.' + +'I might be,' said Philip; 'but I dunnut think I should be always +talking about my fancies.' + +'I wunnot talk any more after this once, if thou'll just find out +fra' thysel', as it were, what it is she has again' me. I'd go to +chapel for iver with her, if that's what she wants. Just ask her, +Philip.' + +'It's an awkward thing for me to be melling wi',' said Hepburn, +reluctantly. + +'But thou said thee and she were like brother and sister; and a +brother would ask a sister, and niver think twice about it.' + +'Well, well,' replied Philip, 'I'll see what I can do; but, lad, I +dunnot think she'll have thee. She doesn't fancy thee, and fancy is +three parts o' love, if reason is t' other fourth.' + +But somehow Philip could not begin on the subject with Hester. He +did not know why, except that, as he said, 'it was so awkward.' But +he really liked Coulson so much as to be anxious to do what the +latter wished, although he was almost convinced that it would be of +no use. So he watched his opportunity, and found Alice alone and at +leisure one Sunday evening. + +She was sitting by the window, reading her Bible, when he went in. +She gave him a curt welcome, hearty enough for her, for she was +always chary in her expressions of pleasure or satisfaction. But she +took off her horn spectacles and placed them in the book to keep her +place; and then turning more fully round on her chair, so as to face +him, she said,-- + +'Well, lad! and how does it go on? Though it's not a day for t' ask +about worldly things. But I niver see thee now but on Sabbath day, +and rarely then. Still we munnot speak o' such things on t' Lord's +day. So thee mun just say how t' shop is doing, and then we'll leave +such vain talk.' + +'T' shop is doing main an' well, thank ye, mother. But Coulson could +tell yo' o' that any day.' + +'I'd a deal rayther hear fra' thee, Philip. Coulson doesn't know how +t' manage his own business, let alone half the business as it took +John and Jeremiah's heads--ay, and tasked 'em, too--to manage. I've +no patience with Coulson.' + +'Why? he's a decent young fellow as ever there is in Monkshaven.' + +'He may be. He's noane cut his wisdom-teeth yet. But, for that +matter, there's other folks as far fra' sense as he is.' + +'Ay, and farther. Coulson mayn't be so bright at all times as he +might be, but he's a steady-goer, and I'd back him again' any chap +o' his age i' Monkshaven.' + +'I know who I'd sooner back in many a thing, Philip!' She said it +with so much meaning that he could not fail to understand that he +himself was meant, and he replied, ingenuously enough,-- + +'If yo' mean me, mother, I'll noane deny that in a thing or two I +may be more knowledgeable than Coulson. I've had a deal o' time on +my hands i' my youth, and I'd good schooling as long as father +lived.' + +'Lad! it's not schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as +carries a man through t' world. It's mother-wit. And it's noane +schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as takes a young woman. +It's summat as cannot be put into words.' + +'That's just what I told Coulson!' said Philip, quickly. 'He were +sore put about because Hester had gi'en him the bucket, and came to +me about it.' + +'And what did thou say?' asked Alice, her deep eyes gleaming at him +as if to read his face as well as his words. Philip, thinking he +could now do what Coulson had begged of him in the neatest manner, +went on,-- + +'I told him I'd help him all as I could---' + +'Thou did, did thou? Well, well, there's nought sa queer as folks, +that a will say,' muttered Alice, between her teeth. + +'--but that fancy had three parts to do wi' love,' continued Philip, +'and it would be hard, may-be, to get a reason for her not fancying +him. Yet I wish she'd think twice about it; he so set upon having +her, I think he'll do himself a mischief wi' fretting, if it goes on +as it is.' + +'It'll noane go on as it is,' said Alice, with gloomy oracularness. + +'How not?' asked Philip. Then, receiving no answer, he went on, 'He +loves her true, and he's within a month or two on her age, and his +character will bear handling on a' sides; and his share on t' shop +will be worth hundreds a year afore long.' + +Another pause. Alice was trying to bring down her pride to say +something, which she could not with all her efforts. + +'Maybe yo'll speak a word for him, mother,' said Philip, annoyed at +her silence. + +'I'll do no such thing. Marriages are best made wi'out melling. How +do I know but what she likes some one better?' + +'Our Hester's not th' lass to think on a young man unless he's been +a-wooing on her. And yo' know, mother, as well as I do--and Coulson +does too--she's niver given any one a chance to woo her; living half +her time here, and t' other half in t' shop, and niver speaking to +no one by t' way.' + +'I wish thou wouldn't come here troubling me on a Sabbath day wi' +thy vanity and thy worldly talk. I'd liefer by far be i' that world +wheere there's neither marrying nor giving in marriage, for it's all +a moithering mess here.' She turned to the closed Bible lying on the +dresser, and opened it with a bang. While she was adjusting her +spectacles on her nose, with hands trembling with passion, she heard +Philip say,-- + +'I ask yo'r pardon, I'm sure. I couldn't well come any other day.' + +'It's a' t' same--I care not. But thou might as well tell truth. +I'll be bound thou's been at Haytersbank Farm some day this week?' + +Philip reddened; in fact, he had forgotten how he had got to +consider his frequent visits to the farm as a regular piece of +occupation. He kept silence. + +Alice looked at him with a sharp intelligence that read his silence +through. + +'I thought so. Next time thou thinks to thyself, 'I'm more +knowledgeable than Coulson,' just remember Alice Rose's words, and +they are these:--If Coulson's too thick-sighted to see through a +board, thou'rt too blind to see through a window. As for comin' and +speakin' up for Coulson, why he'll be married to some one else afore +t' year's out, for all he thinks he's so set upon Hester now. Go thy +ways, and leave me to my Scripture, and come no more on Sabbath days +wi' thy vain babbling.' + +So Philip returned from his mission rather crestfallen, but quite as +far as ever from 'seeing through a glass window.' + +Before the year was out, Alice's prophecy was fulfilled. Coulson, +who found the position of a rejected lover in the same house with +the girl who had refused him, too uncomfortable to be endured, as +soon as he was convinced that his object was decidedly out of his +reach, turned his attention to some one else. He did not love his +new sweetheart as he had done Hester: there was more of reason and +less of fancy in his attachment. But it ended successfully; and +before the first snow fell, Philip was best man at his partner's +wedding. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +DEEPENING SHADOWS + + + + + +But before Coulson was married, many small events happened--small +events to all but Philip. To him they were as the sun and moon. The +days when he went up to Haytersbank and Sylvia spoke to him, the +days when he went up and she had apparently no heart to speak to any +one, but left the room as soon as he came, or never entered it at +all, although she must have known that he was there--these were his +alternations from happiness to sorrow. + +From her parents he always had a welcome. Oppressed by their +daughter's depression of spirits, they hailed the coming of any +visitor as a change for her as well as for themselves. The former +intimacy with the Corneys was in abeyance for all parties, owing to +Bessy Corney's out-spoken grief for the loss of her cousin, as if +she had had reason to look upon him as her lover, whereas Sylvia's +parents felt this as a slur upon their daughter's cause of grief. +But although at this time the members of the two families ceased to +seek after each other's society, nothing was said. The thread of +friendship might be joined afresh at any time, only just now it was +broken; and Philip was glad of it. Before going to Haytersbank he +sought each time for some little present with which to make his +coming welcome. And now he wished even more than ever that Sylvia +had cared for learning; if she had he could have taken her many a +pretty ballad, or story-book, such as were then in vogue. He did try +her with the translation of the _Sorrows of Werther_, so popular at +the time that it had a place in all pedlars' baskets, with Law's +_Serious Call_, the _Pilgrim's Progress_, Klopstock's _Messiah_, and +_Paradise Lost_. But she could not read it for herself; and after +turning the leaves languidly over, and smiling a little at the +picture of Charlotte cutting bread and butter in a left-handed +manner, she put it aside on the shelf by the _Complete Farrier_; and +there Philip saw it, upside down and untouched, the next time he +came to the farm. + +Many a time during that summer did he turn to the few verses in +Genesis in which Jacob's twice seven years' service for Rachel is +related, and try and take fresh heart from the reward which came to +the patriarch's constancy at last. After trying books, nosegays, +small presents of pretty articles of dress, such as suited the +notions of those days, and finding them all received with the same +languid gratitude, he set himself to endeavour to please her in some +other way. It was time that he should change his tactics; for the +girl was becoming weary of the necessity for thanking him, every +time he came, for some little favour or other. She wished he would +let her alone and not watch her continually with such sad eyes. Her +father and mother hailed her first signs of impatient petulance +towards him as a return to the old state of things before Kinraid +had come to disturb the tenour of their lives; for even Daniel had +turned against the specksioneer, irritated by the Corneys' loud +moans over the loss of the man to whom their daughter said that she +was attached. If Daniel wished for him to be alive again, it was +mainly that the Corneys might be convinced that his last visit to +the neighbourhood of Monkshaven was for the sake of the pale and +silent Sylvia, and not for that of Bessy, who complained of +Kinraid's untimely death rather as if by it she had been cheated of +a husband than for any overwhelming personal love towards the +deceased. + +'If he were after her he were a big black scoundrel, that's what he +were; and a wish he were alive again to be hung. But a dunnot +believe it; them Corney lasses were allays a-talkin' an' a-thinking +on sweethearts, and niver a man crossed t' threshold but they tried +him on as a husband. An' their mother were no better: Kinraid has +spoken civil to Bessy as became a lad to a lass, and she makes an +ado over him as if they'd been to church together not a week sin'.' + +'I dunnot uphold t' Corneys; but Molly Corney--as is Molly Brunton +now--used to speak on this dead man to our Sylvie as if he were her +sweetheart in old days. Now there's no smoke without fire, and I'm +thinking it's likely enough he were one of them fellows as is always +after some lass or another, and, as often as not, two or three at a +time. Now look at Philip, what a different one he is! He's niver +thought on a woman but our Sylvie, I'll be bound. I wish he wern't +so old-fashioned and faint-hearted.' + +'Ay! and t' shop's doin' a vast o' business, I've heard say. He's a +deal better company, too, 'n or he used to be. He'd a way o' +preaching wi' him as a couldn't abide; but now he tak's his glass, +an' holds his tongue, leavin' room for wiser men to say their say.' + +Such was a conjugal colloquy about this time. Philip was gaining +ground with Daniel, and that was something towards winning Sylvia's +heart; for she was unaware of her father's change of feeling towards +Kinraid, and took all his tenderness towards herself as if they were +marks of his regard for her lost lover and his sympathy in her loss, +instead of which he was rather feeling as if it might be a good +thing after all that the fickle-hearted sailor was dead and drowned. +In fact, Daniel was very like a child in all the parts of his +character. He was strongly affected by whatever was present, and apt +to forget the absent. He acted on impulse, and too often had reason +to be sorry for it; but he hated his sorrow too much to let it teach +him wisdom for the future. With all his many faults, however, he had +something in him which made him be dearly loved, both by the +daughter whom he indulged, and the wife who was in fact superior to +him, but whom he imagined that he ruled with a wise and absolute +sway. + +Love to Sylvia gave Philip tact. He seemed to find out that to +please the women of the household he must pay all possible attention +to the man; and though he cared little in comparison for Daniel, yet +this autumn he was continually thinking of how he could please him. +When he had said or done anything to gratify or amuse her father, +Sylvia smiled and was kind. Whatever he did was right with his aunt; +but even she was unusually glad when her husband was pleased. Still +his progress was slow towards his object; and often he sighed +himself to sleep with the words, 'seven years, and maybe seven years +more'. Then in his dreams he saw Kinraid again, sometimes +struggling, sometimes sailing towards land, the only one on board a +swift advancing ship, alone on deck, stern and avenging; till Philip +awoke in remorseful terror. + +Such and similar dreams returned with the greater frequency when, in +the November of that year, the coast between Hartlepool and +Monkshaven was overshadowed by the presence of guard-ships, driven +south from their station at North Shields by the resolution which +the sailors of that port had entered into to resist the press-gang, +and the energy with which they had begun to carry out their +determination. For on a certain Tuesday evening yet remembered by +old inhabitants of North Shields, the sailors in the merchant +service met together and overpowered the press-gang, dismissing them +from the town with the highest contempt, and with their jackets +reversed. A numerous mob went with them to Chirton Bar; gave them +three cheers at parting, but vowed to tear them limb from limb +should they seek to re-enter North Shields. But a few days +afterwards some fresh cause of irritation arose, and five hundred +sailors, armed with such swords and pistols as they could collect, +paraded through the town in the most riotous manner, and at last +attempted to seize the tender Eleanor, on some pretext of the +ill-treatment of the impressed men aboard. This endeavour failed, +however, owing to the energetic conduct of the officers in command. +Next day this body of sailors set off for Newcastle; but learning, +before they reached the town, that there was a strong military and +civil force prepared to receive them there, they dispersed for the +time; but not before the good citizens had received a great fright, +the drums of the North Yorkshire militia beating to arms, and the +terrified people rushing out into the streets to learn the reason of +the alarm, and some of them seeing the militia, under the command of +the Earl of Fauconberg, marching from the guard-house adjoining New +Gate to the house of rendezvous for impressed seamen in the Broad +Chase. + +But a few weeks after, the impressment service took their revenge +for the insults they had been subjected to in North Shields. In the +dead of night a cordon was formed round that town by a regiment +stationed at Tynemouth barracks; the press-gangs belonging to armed +vessels lying off Shields harbour were let loose; no one within the +circle could escape, and upwards of two hundred and fifty men, +sailors, mechanics, labourers of every description, were forced on +board the armed ships. With that prize they set sail, and wisely +left the place, where deep passionate vengeance was sworn against +them. Not all the dread of an invasion by the French could reconcile +the people of these coasts to the necessity of impressment. Fear and +confusion prevailed after this to within many miles of the +sea-shore. A Yorkshire gentleman of rank said that his labourers +dispersed like a covey of birds, because a press-gang was reported +to have established itself so far inland as Tadcaster; and they only +returned to work on the assurance from the steward of his master's +protection, but even then begged leave to sleep on straw in the +stables or outhouses belonging to their landlord, not daring to +sleep at their own homes. No fish was caught, for the fishermen +dared not venture out to sea; the markets were deserted, as the +press-gangs might come down on any gathering of men; prices were +raised, and many were impoverished; many others ruined. For in the +great struggle in which England was then involved, the navy was +esteemed her safeguard; and men must be had at any price of money, +or suffering, or of injustice. Landsmen were kidnapped and taken to +London; there, in too many instances, to be discharged without +redress and penniless, because they were discovered to be useless +for the purpose for which they had been taken. + +Autumn brought back the whaling-ships. But the period of their +return was full of gloomy anxiety, instead of its being the annual +time of rejoicing and feasting; of gladdened households, where brave +steady husbands or sons returned; of unlimited and reckless +expenditure, and boisterous joviality among those who thought that +they had earned unbounded licence on shore by their six months of +compelled abstinence. In other years this had been the time for new +and handsome winter clothing; for cheerful if humble hospitality; +for the shopkeepers to display their gayest and best; for the +public-houses to be crowded; for the streets to be full of blue +jackets, rolling along with merry words and open hearts. In other +years the boiling-houses had been full of active workers, the +staithes crowded with barrels, the ship-carpenters' yards thronged +with seamen and captains; now a few men, tempted by high wages, went +stealthily by back lanes to their work, clustering together, with +sinister looks, glancing round corners, and fearful of every +approaching footstep, as if they were going on some unlawful +business, instead of true honest work. Most of them kept their +whaling-knives about them ready for bloody defence if they were +attacked. The shops were almost deserted; there was no unnecessary +expenditure by the men; they dared not venture out to buy lavish +presents for the wife or sweetheart or little children. The +public-houses kept scouts on the look-out; while fierce men drank +and swore deep oaths of vengeance in the bar--men who did not +maunder in their cups, nor grow foolishly merry, but in whom liquor +called forth all the desperate, bad passions of human nature. + +Indeed, all along the coast of Yorkshire, it seemed as if a blight +hung over the land and the people. Men dodged about their daily +business with hatred and suspicion in their eyes, and many a curse +went over the sea to the three fatal ships lying motionless at +anchor three miles off Monkshaven. When first Philip had heard in +his shop that these three men-of-war might be seen lying fell and +still on the gray horizon, his heart sank, and he scarcely dared to +ask their names. For if one should be the _Alcestis_; if Kinraid +should send word to Sylvia; if he should say he was living, and +loving, and faithful; if it should come to pass that the fact of the +undelivered message sent by her lover through Philip should reach +Sylvia's ears: what would be the position of the latter, not merely +in her love--that, of course, would be hopeless--but in her esteem? +All sophistry vanished; the fear of detection awakened Philip to a +sense of guilt; and, besides, he found out, that, in spite of all +idle talk and careless slander, he could not help believing that +Kinraid was in terrible earnest when he uttered those passionate +words, and entreated that they might be borne to Sylvia. Some +instinct told Philip that if the specksioneer had only flirted with +too many, yet that for Sylvia Robson his love was true and vehement. +Then Philip tried to convince himself that, from all that was said +of his previous character, Kinraid was not capable of an enduring +constant attachment; and with such poor opiate to his conscience as +he could obtain from this notion Philip was obliged to remain +content, until, a day or two after the first intelligence of the +presence of those three ships, he learned, with some trouble and +pains, that their names were the _Megoera_, the _Bellerophon_, and +the _Hanover_. + +Then he began to perceive how unlikely it was that the _Alcestis_ +should have been lingering on this shore all these many months. She +was, doubtless, gone far away by this time; she had, probably, +joined the fleet on the war station. Who could tell what had become +of her and her crew? she might have been in battle before now, and +if so--- + +So his previous fancies shrank to nothing, rebuked for their +improbability, and with them vanished his self-reproach. Yet there +were times when the popular attention seemed totally absorbed by the +dread of the press-gang; when no other subject was talked about-- +hardly, in fact, thought about. At such flows of panic, Philip had +his own private fears lest a flash of light should come upon Sylvia, +and she should suddenly see that Kinraid's absence might be +accounted for in another way besides death. But when he reasoned, +this seemed unlikely. No man-of-war had been seen off the coast, or, +if seen, had never been spoken about, at the time of Kinraid's +disappearance. If he had vanished this winter time, every one would +have been convinced that the press-gang had seized upon him. Philip +had never heard any one breathe the dreaded name of the _Alcestis_. +Besides, he went on to think, at the farm they are out of hearing of +this one great weary subject of talk. But it was not so, as he +became convinced one evening. His aunt caught him a little aside +while Sylvia was in the dairy, and her husband talking in the +shippen with Kester. + +'For good's sake, Philip, dunnot thee bring us talk about t' +press-gang. It's a thing as has got hold on my measter, till thou'd +think him possessed. He's speaking perpetual on it i' such a way, +that thou'd think he were itching to kill 'em a' afore he tasted +bread again. He really trembles wi' rage and passion; an' a' night +it's just as bad. He starts up i' his sleep, swearing and cursing at +'em, till I'm sometimes afeard he'll mak' an end o' me by mistake. +And what mun he do last night but open out on Charley Kinraid, and +tell Sylvie he thought m'appen t' gang had got hold on him. It might +make her cry a' her saut tears o'er again.' + +Philip spoke, by no wish of his own, but as if compelled to speak. + +'An' who knows but what it's true?' + +The instant these words had come out of his lips he could have +bitten his tongue off. And yet afterwards it was a sort of balm to +his conscience that he had so spoken. + +'What nonsense, Philip!' said his aunt; 'why, these fearsome ships +were far out o' sight when he went away, good go wi' him, and Sylvie +just getting o'er her trouble so nicely, and even my master went on +for to say if they'd getten hold on him, he were not a chap to stay +wi' 'em; he'd gi'en proofs on his hatred to 'em, time on. He either +ha' made off--an' then sure enough we should ha' heerd on him +somehow--them Corneys is full on him still and they've a deal to wi' +his folk beyond Newcassel--or, as my master says, he were just t' +chap to hang or drown hissel, sooner nor do aught against his will.' + +'What did Sylvie say?' asked Philip, in a hoarse low voice. + +'Say? why, a' she could say was to burst out crying, and after a +bit, she just repeated her feyther's words, and said anyhow he was +dead, for he'd niver live to go to sea wi' a press-gang. She knowed +him too well for that. Thou sees she thinks a deal on him for a +spirited chap, as can do what he will. I belie' me she first began +to think on him time o' t' fight aboard th' _Good Fortune_, when +Darley were killed, and he would seem tame-like to her if he +couldn't conquer press-gangs, and men-o'-war. She's sooner think on +him drowned, as she's ne'er to see him again.' + +'It's best so,' said Philip, and then, to calm his unusually excited +aunt, he promised to avoid the subject of the press-gang as much as +possible. + +But it was a promise very difficult of performance, for Daniel +Robson was, as his wife said, like one possessed. He could hardly +think of anything else, though he himself was occasionally weary of +the same constantly recurring idea, and would fain have banished it +from his mind. He was too old a man to be likely to be taken by +them; he had no son to become their victim; but the terror of them, +which he had braved and defied in his youth, seemed to come back and +take possession of him in his age; and with the terror came +impatient hatred. Since his wife's illness the previous winter he +had been a more sober man until now. He was never exactly drunk, for +he had a strong, well-seasoned head; but the craving to hear the +last news of the actions of the press-gang drew him into Monkshaven +nearly every day at this dead agricultural season of the year; and a +public-house is generally the focus from which gossip radiates; and +probably the amount of drink thus consumed weakened Robson's power +over his mind, and caused the concentration of thought on one +subject. This may be a physiological explanation of what afterwards +was spoken of as a supernatural kind of possession, leading him to +his doom. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +RETALIATION + + + + + +The public-house that had been chosen by the leaders of the +press-gang in Monkshaven at this time, for their rendezvous (or +'Randyvowse', as it was generally pronounced), was an inn of poor +repute, with a yard at the back which opened on to the staithe or +quay nearest to the open sea. A strong high stone wall bounded this +grass-grown mouldy yard on two sides; the house, and some unused +out-buildings, formed the other two. The choice of the place was +good enough, both as to situation, which was sufficiently isolated, +and yet near to the widening river; and as to the character of the +landlord, John Hobbs was a failing man, one who seemed as if doomed +to be unfortunate in all his undertakings, and the consequence of +all this was that he was envious of the more prosperous, and willing +to do anything that might bring him in a little present success in +life. His household consisted of his wife, her niece, who acted as +servant, and an out-of-doors man, a brother of Ned Simpson, the +well-doing butcher, who at one time had had a fancy for Sylvia. But +the one brother was prosperous, the other had gone on sinking in +life, like him who was now his master. Neither Hobbs nor his man +Simpson were absolutely bad men; if things had gone well with them +they might each have been as scrupulous and conscientious as their +neighbours, and even now, supposing the gain in money to be equal, +they would sooner have done good than evil; but a very small sum was +enough to turn the balance. And in a greater degree than in most +cases was the famous maxim of Rochefoucault true with them; for in +the misfortunes of their friends they seemed to see some +justification of their own. It was blind fate dealing out events, +not that the events themselves were the inevitable consequences of +folly or misconduct. To such men as these the large sum offered by +the lieutenant of the press-gang for the accommodation of the +Mariners' Arms was simply and immediately irresistible. The best +room in the dilapidated house was put at the service of the +commanding officer of the impress service, and all other +arrangements made at his desire, irrespective of all the former +unprofitable sources of custom and of business. If the relatives +both of Hobbs and of Simpson had not been so well known and so +prosperous in the town, they themselves would have received more +marks of popular ill opinion than they did during the winter the +events of which are now being recorded. As it was, people spoke to +them when they appeared at kirk or at market, but held no +conversation with them; no, not although they each appeared better +dressed than they had either of them done for years past, and +although their whole manner showed a change, inasmuch as they had +been formerly snarling and misanthropic, and were now civil almost +to deprecation. + +Every one who was capable of understanding the state of feeling in +Monkshaven at this time must have been aware that at any moment an +explosion might take place; and probably there were those who had +judgment enough to be surprised that it did not take place sooner +than it did. For until February there were only occasional cries and +growls of rage, as the press-gang made their captures first here, +then there; often, apparently, tranquil for days, then heard of at +some distance along the coast, then carrying off a seaman from the +very heart of the town. They seemed afraid of provoking any general +hostility, such as that which had driven them from Shields, and +would have conciliated the inhabitants if they could; the officers +on the service and on board the three men-of-war coming often into +the town, spending largely, talking to all with cheery friendliness, +and making themselves very popular in such society as they could +obtain access to at the houses of the neighbouring magistrates or at +the rectory. But this, however agreeable, did not forward the object +the impress service had in view; and, accordingly, a more decided +step was taken at a time when, although there was no apparent +evidence as to the fact, the town was full of the Greenland mariners +coming quietly in to renew their yearly engagements, which, when +done, would legally entitle them to protection from impressment. One +night--it was on a Saturday, February 23rd, when there was a bitter +black frost, with a north-east wind sweeping through the streets, +and men and women were close shut in their houses--all were startled +in their household content and warmth by the sound of the fire-bell +busily swinging, and pealing out for help. The fire-bell was kept in +the market-house where High Street and Bridge Street met: every one +knew what it meant. Some dwelling, or maybe a boiling-house was on +fire, and neighbourly assistance was summoned with all speed, in a +town where no water was laid on, nor fire-engines kept in readiness. +Men snatched up their hats, and rushed out, wives following, some +with the readiest wraps they could lay hands on, with which to +clothe the over-hasty husbands, others from that mixture of dread +and curiosity which draws people to the scene of any disaster. Those +of the market people who were making the best of their way +homewards, having waited in the town till the early darkness +concealed their path, turned back at the sound of the ever-clanging +fire-bell, ringing out faster and faster as if the danger became +every instant more pressing. + +As men ran against or alongside of each other, their breathless +question was ever, 'Where is it?' and no one could tell; so they +pressed onwards into the market-place, sure of obtaining the +information desired there, where the fire-bell kept calling out with +its furious metal tongue. + +The dull oil-lamps in the adjoining streets only made darkness +visible in the thronged market-place, where the buzz of many men's +unanswered questions was rising louder and louder. A strange feeling +of dread crept over those nearest to the closed market-house. Above +them in the air the bell was still clanging; but before them was a +door fast shut and locked; no one to speak and tell them why they +were summoned--where they ought to be. They were at the heart of the +mystery, and it was a silent blank! Their unformed dread took shape +at the cry from the outside of the crowd, from where men were still +coming down the eastern side of Bridge Street. 'The gang! the gang!' +shrieked out some one. 'The gang are upon us! Help! help!' Then the +fire-bell had been a decoy; a sort of seething the kid in its +mother's milk, leading men into a snare through their kindliest +feelings. Some dull sense of this added to utter dismay, and made +them struggle and strain to get to all the outlets save that in +which a fight was now going on; the swish of heavy whips, the thud +of bludgeons, the groans, the growls of wounded or infuriated men, +coming with terrible distinctness through the darkness to the +quickened ear of fear. + +A breathless group rushed up the blackness of a narrow entry to +stand still awhile, and recover strength for fresh running. For a +time nothing but heavy pants and gasps were heard amongst them. No +one knew his neighbour, and their good feeling, so lately abused and +preyed upon, made them full of suspicion. The first who spoke was +recognized by his voice. + +'Is it thee, Daniel Robson?' asked his neighbour, in a low tone. + +'Ay! Who else should it be?' + +'A dunno.' + +'If a am to be any one else, I'd like to be a chap of nobbut eight +stun. A'm welly done for!' + +'It were as bloody a shame as iver I heerd on. Who's to go t' t' +next fire, a'd like to know!' + +'A tell yo' what, lads,' said Daniel, recovering his breath, but +speaking in gasps. 'We were a pack o' cowards to let 'em carry off +yon chaps as easy as they did, a'm reckoning!' + +'A think so, indeed,' said another voice. + +Daniel went on-- + +'We was two hunder, if we was a man; an' t' gang has niver numbered +above twelve.' + +'But they was armed. A seen t' glitter on their cutlasses,' spoke +out a fresh voice. + +'What then!' replied he who had latest come, and who stood at the +mouth of the entry. 'A had my whalin' knife wi' me i' my pea-jacket +as my missus threw at me, and a'd ha' ripped 'em up as soon as +winkin', if a could ha' thought what was best to do wi' that d----d +bell makin' such a din reet above us. A man can but die onest, and +we was ready to go int' t' fire for t' save folks' lives, and yet +we'd none on us t' wit to see as we might ha' saved yon poor chaps +as screeched out for help.' + +'They'll ha' getten 'em to t' Randyvowse by now,' said some one. + +'They cannot tak' 'em aboard till morning; t' tide won't serve,' +said the last speaker but one. + +Daniel Robson spoke out the thought that was surging up into the +brain of every one there. + +'There's a chance for us a'. How many be we?' By dint of touching +each other the numbers were counted. Seven. 'Seven. But if us seven +turns out and rouses t' town, there'll be many a score ready to gang +t' Mariners' Arms, and it'll be easy work reskyin' them chaps as is +pressed. Us seven, each man jack on us, go and seek up his friends, +and get him as well as he can to t' church steps; then, mebbe, +there'll be some theere as'll not be so soft as we was, lettin' them +poor chaps be carried off from under our noses, just becase our ears +was busy listenin' to yon confounded bell, whose clip-clappin' +tongue a'll tear out afore this week is out.' + +Before Daniel had finished speaking, those nearest to the entrance +muttered their assent to his project, and had stolen off, keeping to +the darkest side of the streets and lanes, which they threaded in +different directions; most of them going straight as sleuth-hounds +to the haunts of the wildest and most desperate portion of the +seafaring population of Monkshaven. For, in the breasts of many, +revenge for the misery and alarm of the past winter took a deeper +and more ferocious form than Daniel had thought of when he made his +proposal of a rescue. To him it was an adventure like many he had +been engaged in in his younger days; indeed, the liquor he had drunk +had given him a fictitious youth for the time; and it was more in +the light of a rough frolic of which he was to be the leader, that +he limped along ( always lame from old attacks of rheumatism), +chuckling to himself at the apparent stillness of the town, which +gave no warning to the press-gang at the Rendezvous of anything in +the wind. Daniel, too, had his friends to summon; old hands like +himself, but 'deep uns', also, like himself, as he imagined. + +It was nine o'clock when all who were summoned met at the church +steps; and by nine o'clock, Monkshaven, in those days, was more +quiet and asleep than many a town at present is at midnight. The +church and churchyard above them were flooded with silver light, for +the moon was high in the heavens: the irregular steps were here and +there in pure white clearness, here and there in blackest shadow. +But more than half way up to the top, men clustered like bees; all +pressing so as to be near enough to question those who stood nearest +to the planning of the attack. Here and there, a woman, with wild +gestures and shrill voice, that no entreaty would hush down to the +whispered pitch of the men, pushed her way through the crowd--this +one imploring immediate action, that adjuring those around her to +smite and spare not those who had carried off her 'man',--the +father, the breadwinner. Low down in the darkened silent town were +many whose hearts went with the angry and excited crowd, and who +would bless them and caress them for that night's deeds. Daniel soon +found himself a laggard in planning, compared to some of those +around him. But when, with the rushing sound of many steps and but +few words, they had arrived at the blank, dark, shut-up Mariners' +Arms, they paused in surprise at the uninhabited look of the whole +house: it was Daniel once more who took the lead. + +'Speak 'em fair,' said he; 'try good words first. Hobbs 'll mebbe +let 'em out quiet, if we can catch a word wi' him. A say, Hobbs,' +said he, raising his voice, 'is a' shut up for t' neet; for a'd be +glad of a glass. A'm Dannel Robson, thou knows.' + +Not one word in reply, any more than from the tomb; but his speech +had been heard nevertheless. The crowd behind him began to jeer and +to threaten; there was no longer any keeping down their voices, +their rage, their terrible oaths. If doors and windows had not of +late been strengthened with bars of iron in anticipation of some +such occasion, they would have been broken in with the onset of the +fierce and now yelling crowd who rushed against them with the force +of a battering-ram, to recoil in baffled rage from the vain assault. +No sign, no sound from within, in that breathless pause. + +'Come away round here! a've found a way to t' back o' behint, where +belike it's not so well fenced,' said Daniel, who had made way for +younger and more powerful men to conduct the assault, and had +employed his time meanwhile in examining the back premises. The men +rushed after him, almost knocking him down, as he made his way into +the lane into which the doors of the outbuildings belonging to the +inn opened. Daniel had already broken the fastening of that which +opened into a damp, mouldy-smelling shippen, in one corner of which +a poor lean cow shifted herself on her legs, in an uneasy, restless +manner, as her sleeping-place was invaded by as many men as could +cram themselves into the dark hold. Daniel, at the end farthest from +the door, was almost smothered before he could break down the rotten +wooden shutter, that, when opened, displayed the weedy yard of the +old inn, the full clear light defining the outline of each blade of +grass by the delicate black shadow behind. + +This hole, used to give air and light to what had once been a +stable, in the days when horse travellers were in the habit of +coming to the Mariners' Arms, was large enough to admit the passage +of a man; and Daniel, in virtue of its discovery, was the first to +get through. But he was larger and heavier than he had been; his +lameness made him less agile, and the impatient crowd behind him +gave him a helping push that sent him down on the round stones with +which the yard was paved, and for the time disabled him so much that +he could only just crawl out of the way of leaping feet and heavy +nailed boots, which came through the opening till the yard was +filled with men, who now set up a fierce, derisive shout, which, to +their delight, was answered from within. No more silence, no more +dead opposition: a living struggle, a glowing, raging fight; and +Daniel thought he should be obliged to sit there still, leaning +against the wall, inactive, while the strife and the action were +going on in which he had once been foremost. + +He saw the stones torn up; he saw them used with good effect on the +unguarded back-door; he cried out in useless warning as he saw the +upper windows open, and aim taken among the crowd; but just then the +door gave way, and there was an involuntary forward motion in the +throng, so that no one was so disabled by the shots as to prevent +his forcing his way in with the rest. And now the sounds came veiled +by the walls as of some raging ravening beast growling over his +prey; the noise came and went--once utterly ceased; and Daniel +raised himself with difficulty to ascertain the cause, when again +the roar came clear and fresh, and men poured into the yard again, +shouting and rejoicing over the rescued victims of the press-gang. +Daniel hobbled up, and shouted, and rejoiced, and shook hands with +the rest, hardly caring to understand that the lieutenant and his +gang had quitted the house by a front window, and that all had +poured out in search of them; the greater part, however, returning +to liberate the prisoners, and then glut their vengeance on the +house and its contents. + +From all the windows, upper and lower, furniture was now being +thrown into the yard. The smash of glass, the heavier crash of wood, +the cries, the laughter, the oaths, all excited Daniel to the +utmost; and, forgetting his bruises, he pressed forwards to lend a +helping hand. The wild, rough success of his scheme almost turned +his head. He hurraed at every flagrant piece of destruction; he +shook hands with every one around him, and, at last, when the +destroyers inside paused to take breath, he cried out,-- + +'If a was as young as onest a was, a'd have t' Randyvowse down, and +mak' a bonfire on it. We'd ring t' fire-bell then t' some purpose.' + +No sooner said than done. Their excitement was ready to take the +slightest hint of mischief; old chairs, broken tables, odd drawers, +smashed chests, were rapidly and skilfully heaped into a pyramid, +and one, who at the first broaching of the idea had gone for live +coals the speedier to light up the fire, came now through the crowd +with a large shovelful of red-hot cinders. The rioters stopped to +take breath and look on like children at the uncertain flickering +blaze, which sprang high one moment, and dropped down the next only +to creep along the base of the heap of wreck, and make secure of its +future work. Then the lurid blaze darted up wild, high, and +irrepressible; and the men around gave a cry of fierce exultation, +and in rough mirth began to try and push each other in. In one of +the pauses of the rushing, roaring noise of the flames, the moaning +low and groan of the poor alarmed cow fastened up in the shippen +caught Daniel's ear, and he understood her groans as well as if they +had been words. He limped out of the yard through the now deserted +house, where men were busy at the mad work of destruction, and found +his way back to the lane into which the shippen opened. The cow was +dancing about at the roar, and dazzle, and heat of the fire; but +Daniel knew how to soothe her, and in a few minutes he had a rope +round her neck, and led her gently out from the scene of her alarm. +He was still in the lane when Simpson, the man-of-all-work at the +Mariners' Arms, crept out of some hiding-place in the deserted +outbuilding, and stood suddenly face to face with Robson. + +The man was white with fear and rage. + +'Here, tak' thy beast, and lead her wheere she'll noane hear yon +cries and shouts. She's fairly moithered wi' heat an' noise.' + +'They're brennin' ivery rag I have i' t' world,' gasped out Simpson: +'I niver had much, and now I'm a beggar.' + +'Well! thou shouldn't ha' turned again' thine own town-folks, and +harboured t' gang. Sarves thee reet. A'd noane be here leadin' +beasts if a were as young as a were; a'd be in t' thick on it.' + +'It was thee set 'm on--a heerd thee--a see'd thee a helping on 'em +t' break in; they'd niver ha' thought on attackin' t' house, and +settin' fire to yon things, if thou hadn't spoken on it.' Simpson +was now fairly crying. But Daniel did not realize what the loss +of all the small property he had in the world was to the poor +fellow (rapscallion though he was, broken down, unprosperous +ne'er-do-weel!) in his pride at the good work he believed he had set +on foot. + +'Ay,' said he; 'it's a great thing for folk to have a chap for t' +lead 'em wi' a head on his shouthers. A misdoubt me if there were a +felly theere as would ha' thought o' routling out yon wasps' nest; +it tak's a deal o' mother-wit to be up to things. But t' gang'll +niver harbour theere again, one while. A only wish we'd cotched 'em. +An' a should like t' ha' gi'en Hobbs a bit o' my mind.' + +'He's had his sauce,' said Simpson, dolefully. 'Him and me is +ruined.' + +'Tut, tut, thou's got thy brother, he's rich enough. And Hobbs 'll +do a deal better; he's had his lesson now, and he'll stick to his +own side time to come. Here, tak' thy beast an' look after her, for +my bones is achin'. An' mak' thysel' scarce, for some o' them fellys +has getten their blood up, an' wunnot be for treating thee o'er well +if they fall in wi' thee.' + +'Hobbs ought to be served out; it were him as made t' bargain wi' +lieutenant; and he's off safe wi' his wife and his money bag, and +a'm left a beggar this neet i' Monkshaven street. My brother and me +has had words, and he'll do nought for me but curse me. A had three +crown-pieces, and a good pair o' breeches, and a shirt, and a dare +say better nor two pair o' stockings. A wish t' gang, and thee, and +Hobbs and them mad folk up yonder, were a' down i' hell, a do.' + +'Coom, lad,' said Daniel, noways offended at his companion's wish on +his behalf. 'A'm noane flush mysel', but here's half-a-crown and +tuppence; it's a' a've getten wi' me, but it'll keep thee and t' +beast i' food and shelter to-neet, and get thee a glass o' comfort, +too. A had thought o' takin' one mysel', but a shannot ha' a penny +left, so a'll just toddle whoam to my missus.' + +Daniel was not in the habit of feeling any emotion at actions not +directly affecting himself; or else he might have despised the poor +wretch who immediately clutched at the money, and overwhelmed that +man with slobbery thanks whom he had not a minute before been +cursing. But all Simpson's stronger passions had been long ago used +up; now he only faintly liked and disliked, where once he loved and +hated; his only vehement feeling was for himself; that cared for, +other men might wither or flourish as best suited them. + +Many of the doors which had been close shut when the crowd went down +the High Street, were partially open as Daniel slowly returned; and +light streamed from them on the otherwise dark road. The news of the +successful attempt at rescue had reached those who had sate in +mourning and in desolation an hour or two ago, and several of these +pressed forwards as from their watching corner they recognized +Daniel's approach; they pressed forward into the street to shake him +by the hand, to thank him (for his name had been bruited abroad as +one of those who had planned the affair), and at several places he +was urged to have a dram--urgency that he was loath for many reasons +to refuse, but his increasing uneasiness and pain made him for once +abstinent, and only anxious to get home and rest. But he could not +help being both touched and flattered at the way in which those who +formed his 'world' looked upon him as a hero; and was not +insensible to the words of blessing which a wife, whose husband had +been impressed and rescued this night, poured down upon him as he +passed. + +'Theere, theere,--dunnot crack thy throat wi' blessin'. Thy man +would ha' done as much for me, though mebbe he mightn't ha' shown so +much gumption and capability; but them's gifts, and not to be proud +on.' + +When Daniel reached the top of the hill on the road home, he turned +to look round; but he was lame and bruised, he had gone along +slowly, the fire had pretty nearly died out, only a red hue in the +air about the houses at the end of the long High Street, and a hot +lurid mist against the hill-side beyond where the Mariners' Arms had +stood, were still left as signs and token of the deed of violence. + +Daniel looked and chuckled. 'That comes o' ringin' t' fire-bell,' +said he to himself; 'it were shame for it to be tellin' a lie, poor +oud story-teller.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +BRIEF REJOICING + + + + + +Daniel's unusually late absence from home disturbed Bell and Sylvia +not a little. He was generally at home between eight and nine on +market days. They expected to see him the worse for liquor at such +times; but this did not shock them; he was no worse than most of his +neighbours, indeed better than several, who went off once or twice a +year, or even oftener, on drinking bouts of two or three days' +duration, returning pale, sodden, and somewhat shame-faced, when all +their money was gone; and, after the conjugal reception was well +over, settling down into hard-working and decently sober men until +the temptation again got power over them. But, on market days, every +man drank more than usual; every bargain or agreement was ratified +by drink; they came from greater or less distances, either afoot or +on horseback, and the 'good accommodation for man and beast' (as the +old inn-signs expressed it) always included a considerable amount of +liquor to be drunk by the man. + +Daniel's way of announcing his intention of drinking more than +ordinary was always the same. He would say at the last moment, +'Missus, I've a mind to get fuddled to-neet,' and be off, +disregarding her look of remonstrance, and little heeding the +injunctions she would call after him to beware of such and such +companions, or to attend to his footsteps on his road home. + +But this night he had given no such warning. Bell and Sylvia put the +candle on the low window-seat at the usual hour to guide him through +the fields--it was a habit kept up even on moonlight nights like +this--and sate on each side of the fire, at first scarcely caring to +listen, so secure were they of his return. Bell dozed, and Sylvia +sate gazing at the fire with abstracted eyes, thinking of the past +year and of the anniversary which was approaching of the day when +she had last seen the lover whom she believed to be dead, lying +somewhere fathoms deep beneath the surface of that sunny sea on +which she looked day by day without ever seeing his upturned face +through the depths, with whatsoever heart-sick longing for just one +more sight she yearned and inwardly cried. If she could set her eyes +on his bright, handsome face, that face which was fading from her +memory, overtasked in the too frequent efforts to recall it; if she +could but see him once again, coming over the waters beneath which +he lay with supernatural motion, awaiting her at the stile, with the +evening sun shining ruddy into his bonny eyes, even though, after +that one instant of vivid and visible life, he faded into mist; if +she could but see him now, sitting in the faintly flickering +fire-light in the old, happy, careless way, on a corner of the +dresser, his legs dangling, his busy fingers playing with some of +her woman's work;--she wrung her hands tight together as she +implored some, any Power, to let her see him just once again--just +once--for one minute of passionate delight. Never again would she +forget that dear face, if but once more she might set her eyes upon +it. + +Her mother's head fell with a sudden jerk, and she roused herself +up; and Sylvia put by her thought of the dead, and her craving after +his presence, into that receptacle of her heart where all such are +kept closed and sacred from the light of common day. + +'Feyther's late,' said Bell. + +'It's gone eight,' replied Sylvia. + +'But our clock is better nor an hour forrard,' answered Bell. + +'Ay, but t' wind brings Monkshaven bells clear to-night. I heerd t' +eight o'clock bell ringing not five minutes ago.' + +It was the fire-bell, but she had not distinguished the sound. + +There was another long silence; both wide awake this time. + +'He'll have his rheumatics again,' said Bell. + +'It's cold for sartin,' said Sylvia. 'March weather come afore its +time. But I'll make him a treacle-posset, it's a famous thing for +keeping off hoasts.' + +The treacle-posset was entertainment enough for both while it was +being made. But once placed in a little basin in the oven, there was +again time for wonder and anxiety. + +'He said nought about having a bout, did he, mother?' asked Sylvia +at length. + +'No,' said Bell, her face a little contracting. After a while she +added, 'There's many a one as has husbands that goes off drinking +without iver saying a word to their wives. My master is none o' that +mak'.' + +'Mother,' broke in Sylvia again, 'I'll just go and get t' lantern +out of t' shippen, and go up t' brow, and mebbe to t' ash-field +end.' + +'Do, lass,' said her mother. 'I'll get my wraps and go with thee.' + +'Thou shall do niver such a thing,' said Sylvia. 'Thou's too frail +to go out i' t' night air such a night as this.' + +'Then call Kester up.' + +'Not I. I'm noane afraid o' t' dark.' + +'But of what thou mayst meet i' t' dark, lass?' + +Sylvia shivered all over at the sudden thought, suggested by this +speech of her mother's, that the idea that had flashed into her own +mind of going to look for her father might be an answer to the +invocation to the Powers which she had made not long ago, that she +might indeed meet her dead lover at the ash-field stile; but though +she shivered as this superstitious fancy came into her head, her +heart beat firm and regular; not from darkness nor from the spirits +of the dead was she going to shrink; her great sorrow had taken away +all her girlish nervous fear. + +She went; and she came back. Neither man nor spirit had she seen; +the wind was blowing on the height enough to sweep all creatures +before it; but no one was coming. + +So they sate down again to keep watch. At length his step was heard +close to the door; and it startled them even in their state of +expectation. + +'Why, feyther!' cried Sylvia as he entered; while his wife stood up +trembling, but not saying a word. + +'A'm a'most done up,' said he, sitting heavily down on the chair +nearest the door. + +'Poor old feyther!' said Sylvia, stooping to take off his heavy +clogged shoes; while Bell took the posset out of the oven. + +'What's this? posset? what creatures women is for slops,' said he; +but he drank it all the same, while Sylvia fastened the door, and +brought the flaring candle from the window-seat. The fresh +arrangement of light displayed his face blackened with smoke, and +his clothes disarranged and torn. + +'Who's been melling wi' thee?' asked Bell. + +'No one has melled wi' me; but a've been mellin' wi' t' gang at +last.' + +'Thee: they niver were for pressing thee!' exclaimed both the women +at once. + +'No! they knowed better. They'n getten their belly-full as it is. +Next time they try it on, a reckon they'll ax if Daniel Robson is +wi'in hearin'. A've led a resky this neet, and saved nine or ten +honest chaps as was pressed, and carried off to t' Randyvowse. Me +and some others did it. And Hobbs' things and t' lieutenant's is a' +burnt; and by this time a reckon t' Randyvowse is pretty nigh four +walls, ready for a parish-pound.' + +'Thou'rt niver for saying thou burnt it down wi' t' gang in it, for +sure?' asked Bell. + +'Na, na, not this time. T' 'gang fled up t' hill like coneys; and +Hobbs and his folks carried off a bag o' money; but t' oud +tumbledown place is just a heap o' brick and mortar; an' t' +furniture is smoulderin' int' ashes; and, best of a', t' men is +free, and will niver be cotched wi' a fire-bell again.' + +And so he went on to tell of the ruse by which they had been enticed +into the market-place; interrupted from time to time by their eager +questions, and interrupting himself every now and then with +exclamations of weariness and pain, which made him at last say,-- + +'Now a'm willing to tell yo' a' about it to-morrow, for it's not +ivery day a man can do such great things; but to-neet a mun go to +bed, even if King George were wantin' for to know how a managed it +a'.' + +He went wearily upstairs, and wife and daughter both strove their +best to ease his aching limbs, and make him comfortable. The +warming-pan, only used on state occasions, was taken down and +unpapered for his service; and as he got between the warm sheets, he +thanked Sylvia and her mother in a sleepy voice, adding,-- + +'It's a vast o' comfort to think on yon poor lads as is sleepin' i' +their own homes this neet,' and then slumber fell upon him, and he +was hardly roused by Bell's softly kissing his weather-beaten cheek, +and saying low,-- + +'God bless thee, my man! Thou was allays for them that was down and +put upon.' + +He murmured some monosyllabic reply, unheard by his wife, who stole +away to undress herself noiselessly, and laid herself down on her +side of the bed as gently as her stiffened limbs would permit. + +They were late in rising the next morning. Kester was long since up +and at his work among the cattle before he saw the house-door open +to admit the fresh chill morning air; and even then Sylvia brushed +softly, and went about almost on tip-toe. When the porridge was +ready, Kester was called in to his breakfast, which he took sitting +at the dresser with the family. A large wooden platter stood in the +middle; and each had a bowl of the same material filled with milk. +The way was for every one to dip his pewter spoon into the central +dish, and convey as much or as little as he liked at a time of the +hot porridge into his pure fresh milk. But to-day Bell told Kester +to help himself all at once, and to take his bowl up to the master's +room and keep him company. For Daniel was in bed, resting from his +weariness, and bemoaning his painful bruises whenever he thought of +them. But his mind was still so much occupied with the affair of the +previous night, that Bell judged rightly that a new listener would +give ease to his body as well as to his mind, and her proposal of +Kester's carrying up his breakfast had been received by Daniel with +satisfaction. + +So Kester went up slowly, carrying his over-full basin tenderly, and +seated himself on the step leading down into the bed-room (for +levels had not been calculated when the old house was built) facing +his master, who, half sitting up in the blue check bed, not +unwillingly began his relation again; to which Kester listened so +attentively, that his spoon was often arrested in its progress from +the basin to his mouth, open ready to receive it, while he gazed +with unwinking eyes at Daniel narrating his exploits. + +But after Daniel had fought his battle o'er again to every auditor +within his reach, he found the seclusion of his chamber rather +oppressive, without even the usual week-days' noises below; so after +dinner, though far from well, he came down and wandered about the +stable and the fields nearest to the house, consulting with Kester +as to crops and manure for the most part; but every now and then +breaking out into an episodical chuckle over some part of last +night's proceedings. Kester enjoyed the day even more than his +master, for he had no bruises to remind him that, although a hero, +he was also flesh and blood. + +When they returned to the house they found Philip there, for it was +already dusk. It was Kester's usual Sunday plan to withdraw to bed +at as early an hour as he could manage to sleep, often in winter +before six; but now he was too full of interest in what Philip might +have to tell of Monkshaven news to forego his Sabbath privilege of +spending the evening sitting on the chair at the end of the dresser +behind the door. + +Philip was as close to Sylvia as he could possibly get without +giving her offence, when they came in. Her manner was listless and +civil; she had lost all that active feeling towards him which made +him positively distasteful, and had called out her girlish +irritation and impertinence. She now was rather glad to see him than +otherwise. He brought some change into the heavy monotony of her +life--monotony so peaceful until she had been stirred by passion out +of that content with the small daily events which had now become +burdensome recurrences. Insensibly to herself she was becoming +dependent on his timid devotion, his constant attention; and he, +lover-like, once so attracted, in spite of his judgment, by her +liveliness and piquancy, now doted on her languor, and thought her +silence more sweet than words. + +He had only just arrived when master and man came in. He had been to +afternoon chapel; none of them had thought of going to the distant +church; worship with them was only an occasional duty, and this day +their minds had been too full of the events of the night before. +Daniel sate himself heavily down in his accustomed chair, the +three-cornered arm-chair in the fireside corner, which no one +thought of anybody else ever occupying on any occasion whatever. In +a minute or two he interrupted Philip's words of greeting and +inquiry by breaking out into the story of the rescue of last night. +But to the mute surprise of Sylvia, the only one who noticed it, +Philip's face, instead of expressing admiration and pleasant wonder, +lengthened into dismay; once or twice he began to interrupt, but +stopped himself as if he would consider his words again. Kester was +never tired of hearing his master talk; by long living together they +understood every fold of each other's minds, and small expressions +had much significance to them. Bell, too, sate thankful that her +husband should have done such deeds. Only Sylvia was made uneasy by +Philip's face and manner. When Daniel had ended there was a great +silence, instead of the questions and compliments he looked to +receive. He became testy, and turning to Bell, said,-- + +'My nephew looks as though he was a-thinking more on t' little +profit he has made on his pins an' bobs, than as if he was heeding +how honest men were saved from being haled out to yon tender, an' +carried out o' sight o' wives and little 'uns for iver. Wives an' +little 'uns may go t' workhouse or clem for aught he cares. + +Philip went very red, and then more sallow than usual. He had not +been thinking of Charley Kinraid, but of quite another thing, while +Daniel had told his story; but this last speech of the old man's +brought up the remembrance that was always quick, do what he would +to smother or strangle it. He did not speak for a moment or two, +then he said,-- + +'To-day has not been like Sabbath in Monkshaven. T' rioters, as +folks call 'em, have been about all night. They wanted to give +battle to t' men-o'-war's men; and it were taken up by th' better +end, and they've sent to my Lord Malton for t' militia; and they're +come into t' town, and they're hunting for a justice for t' read th' +act; folk do say there'll be niver a shop opened to-morrow.' + +This was rather a more serious account of the progress of the affair +than any one had calculated upon. They looked grave upon it awhile, +then Daniel took heart and said,-- + +'A think we'd done a'most enough last neet; but men's not to be +stopped wi' a straw when their blood is up; still it's hard lines to +call out t' sojers, even if they be but militia. So what we seven +hatched in a dark entry has ta'en a lord to put a stop to 't!' +continued he, chuckling a little, but more faintly this time. + +Philip went on, still graver than before, boldly continuing to say +what he knew would be discordant to the family he loved so well. + +'I should ha' telled yo' all about it; I thought on it just as a bit +o' news; I'd niver thought on such a thing as uncle there having +been in it, and I'm main sorry to hear on it, I am.' + +'Why?' said Sylvia, breathlessly. + +'It's niver a thing to be sorry on. I'm proud and glad,' said Bell. + +'Let-a-be, let-a-be,' said Daniel, in much dudgeon. 'A were a fool +to tell him o' such-like doings, they're noane i' his line; we'll +talk on yard measures now. + +Philip took no notice of this poor attempt at sarcasm: he seemed as +if lost in thought, then he said,-- + +'I'm vexed to plague yo', but I'd best say all I've got i' my mind. +There was a vast o' folk at our chapel speaking about it--last +night's doings and this morning's work--and how them as set it afoot +was assured o' being clapt int' prison and tried for it; and when I +heered uncle say as he was one, it like ran through me; for they say +as t' justices will be all on t' Government side, and mad for +vengeance.' + +For an instant there was dead silence. The women looked at each +other with blank eyes, as if they were as yet unable to take in the +new idea that the conduct which had seemed to them a subject for +such just pride could be regarded by any one as deserving of +punishment or retribution. Daniel spoke before they had recovered +from their amazement. + +'A'm noane sorry for what a did, an' a'd do it again to-neet, if +need were. So theere's for thee. Thou may tell t' justices fra' me +that a reckon a did righter nor them, as letten poor fellys be +carried off i' t' very midst o' t' town they're called justices +for.' + +Perhaps Philip had better have held his tongue; but he believed in +the danger, which he was anxious to impress upon his uncle, in order +that, knowing what was to be apprehended, the latter might take some +pains to avert it. + +He went on. + +'But they're making a coil about the Randyvowse being all +destroyed!' + +Daniel had taken down his pipe from the shelf in the chimney corner, +and was stuffing tobacco into the bowl. He went on pretending to do +this a little while after it was filled; for, to tell the truth, he +was beginning to feel uncomfortable at the new view of his conduct +presented to him. Still he was not going to let this appear, so +lifting up his head with an indifferent air he lighted the pipe, +blew into it, took it out and examined it as something were wrong +about it, and until that was put to rights he was unable to attend +to anything else; all the while the faithful three who hung upon his +well-being, gazing, breathless, at his proceedings, and anxious for +his reply. + +'Randyvowse!' said he at length, 'it were a good job it were brenned +down, for such a harbour for vermin a never seed: t' rats ran across +t' yard by hunders an' thousands; an' it were no man's property as +a've heerd tell, but belonged to Chancery, up i' Lunnon; so wheere's +t' harm done, my fine felly?' + +Philip was silent. He did not care to brave any further his uncle's +angry frown and contracted eye. If he had only known of Daniel +Robson's part in the riot before he had left the town, he would have +taken care to have had better authority for the reality of the +danger which he had heard spoken about, and in which he could not +help believing. As it was, he could only keep quiet until he had +ascertained what was the legal peril overhanging the rioters, and +how far his uncle had been recognized. + +Daniel went on puffing angrily. Kester sighed audibly, and then was +sorry he had done so, and began to whistle. Bell, full of her new +fear, yet desirous to bring all present into some kind of harmony, +said,-- + +'It'll ha' been a loss to John Hobbs--all his things burnt, or +trampled on. Mebbe he desarved it all, but one's a kind o' tender +feeling to one's tables and chairs, special if one's had t' +bees-waxing on 'em.' + +'A wish he'd been burnt on t' top on 'em, a do,' growled out Daniel, +shaking the ash out of his pipe. + +'Don't speak so ill o' thysel',' said his wife. 'Thou'd ha' been t' +first t' pluck him down if he'd screeched out.' + +'An' a'll warrant if they come about wi' a paper asking for +feyther's name to make up for what Hobbs has lost by t' fire, +feyther 'll be for giving him summut,' said Sylvia. + +'Thou knows nought about it,' said Daniel. 'Hold thy tongue next +time till thou's axed to speak, my wench.' + +His sharp irritated way of speaking was so new to Sylvia, that the +tears sprang to her eyes, and her lip quivered. Philip saw it all, +and yearned over her. He plunged headlong into some other subject to +try and divert attention from her; but Daniel was too ill at ease to +talk much, and Bell was obliged to try and keep up the semblance of +conversation, with an occasional word or two from Kester, who seemed +instinctively to fall into her way of thinking, and to endeavour to +keep the dark thought in the background. + +Sylvia stole off to bed; more concerned at her father's angry way of +speaking than at the idea of his being amenable to law for what he +had done; the one was a sharp present evil, the other something +distant and unlikely. Yet a dim terror of this latter evil hung over +her, and once upstairs she threw herself on her bed and sobbed. +Philip heard her where he sate near the bottom of the short steep +staircase, and at every sob the cords of love round his heart seemed +tightened, and he felt as if he must there and then do something to +console her. + +But, instead, he sat on talking of nothings, a conversation in which +Daniel joined with somewhat of surliness, while Bell, grave and +anxious, kept wistfully looking from one to the other, desirous of +gleaning some further information on the subject, which had begun to +trouble her mind. She hoped some chance would give her the +opportunity of privately questioning Philip, but it seemed to be +equally her husband's wish to thwart any such intention of hers. He +remained in the house-place, till after Philip had left, although he +was evidently so much fatigued as to give some very distinct, though +unintentional, hints to his visitor to be gone. + +At length the house-door was locked on Philip, and then Daniel +prepared to go to bed. Kester had left for his loft above the +shippen more than an hour before. Bell had still to rake the fire, +and then she would follow her husband upstairs. + +As she was scraping up the ashes, she heard, intermixed with the +noise she was making, the sound of some one rapping gently at the +window. In her then frame of mind she started a little; but on +looking round, she saw Kester's face pressed against the glass, and, +reassured, she softly opened the door. There he stood in the dusk +outer air, distinct against the gray darkness beyond, and in his +hand something which she presently perceived was a pitchfork. + +'Missus!' whispered he, 'a've watched t' maister t' bed; an' now a'd +be greatly beholden to yo' if yo'd let me just lay me down i' t' +house-place. A'd warrant niver a constable i' a' Monkshaven should +get sight o' t' maister, an' me below t' keep ward.' + +Bell shivered a little. + +'Nay, Kester,' she said, patting her hand kindly on his shoulder; +'there's nought for t' fear. Thy master is not one for t' hurt +nobody; and I dunnot think they can harm him for setting yon poor +chaps free, as t' gang catched i' their wicked trap.' + +Kester stood still; then he shook his head slowly. + +'It's t' work at t' Randyvowse as a'm afeared on. Some folks thinks +such a deal o' a bonfire. Then a may lay me down afore t' fire, +missus?' said he, beseechingly. + +'Nay, Kester--' she began; but suddenly changing, she said, 'God +bless thee, my man; come in and lay thee down on t' settle, and I'll +cover thee up wi' my cloak as hangs behind t' door. We're not many +on us that love him, an' we'll be all on us under one roof, an' +niver a stone wall or a lock betwixt us.' + +So Kester took up his rest in the house-place that night, and none +knew of it besides Bell. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +COMING TROUBLES + + + + + +The morning brought more peace if it did not entirely dissipate +fear. Daniel seemed to have got over his irritability, and was +unusually kind and tender to wife and daughter, especially striving +by silent little deeds to make up for the sharp words he had said +the night before to the latter. + +As if by common consent, all allusion to the Saturday night's +proceedings was avoided. They spoke of the day's work before them; +of the crops to be sown; of the cattle; of the markets; but each one +was conscious of a wish to know more distinctly what were the +chances of the danger that, to judge from Philip's words, hung over +them, falling upon them and cutting them off from all these places +for the coming days. + +Bell longed to send Kester down into Monkshaven as a sort of spy to +see how the land lay; but she dared not manifest her anxiety to her +husband, and could not see Kester alone. She wished that she had +told him to go to the town, when she had had him to herself in the +house-place the night before; now it seemed as though Daniel were +resolved not to part from him, and as though both had forgotten that +any peril had been anticipated. Sylvia and her mother, in like +manner, clung together, not speaking of their fears, yet each +knowing that it was ever present in the other's mind. + +So things went on till twelve o'clock--dinner-time. If at any time +that morning they had had the courage to speak together on the +thought which was engrossing all their minds, it is possible that +some means might have been found to avert the calamity that was +coming towards them with swift feet. But among the uneducated--the +partially educated--nay, even the weakly educated--the feeling +exists which prompted the futile experiment of the well-known +ostrich. They imagine that, by closing their own eyes to apprehended +evil, they avert it. The expression of fear is supposed to +accelerate the coming of its cause. Yet, on the other hand, they +shrink from acknowledging the long continuance of any blessing, in +the idea that when unusual happiness is spoken about, it disappears. +So, although perpetual complaints of past or present grievances and +sorrows are most common among this class, they shrink from embodying +apprehensions for the future in words, as if it then took shape and +drew near. + +They all four sate down to dinner, but not one of them was inclined +to eat. The food was scarcely touched on their plates, yet they were +trying to make talk among themselves as usual; they seemed as though +they dared not let themselves be silent, when Sylvia, sitting +opposite to the window, saw Philip at the top of the brow, running +rapidly towards the farm. She had been so full of the anticipation +of some kind of misfortune all the morning that she felt now as if +this was the very precursive circumstance she had been expecting; +she stood up, turning quite white, and, pointing with her finger, +said,-- + +'There he is!' + +Every one at table stood up too. An instant afterwards, Philip, +breathless, was in the room. + +He gasped out, 'They're coming! the warrant is out. You must go. I +hoped you were gone.' + +'God help us!' said Bell, and sate suddenly down, as if she had +received a blow that made her collapse into helplessness; but she +got up again directly. + +Sylvia flew for her father's hat. He really seemed the most unmoved +of the party. + +'A'm noane afeared,' said he. 'A'd do it o'er again, a would; an' +a'll tell 'em so. It's a fine time o' day when men's to be trapped +and carried off, an' them as lays traps to set 'em free is to be put +i' t' lock-ups for it.' + +'But there was rioting, beside the rescue; t' house was burnt,' +continued eager, breathless Philip. + +'An' a'm noane goin' t' say a'm sorry for that, neyther; tho', +mebbe, a wouldn't do it again.' + +Sylvia had his hat on his head by this time; and Bell, wan and +stiff, trembling all over, had his over-coat, and his leather purse +with the few coins she could muster, ready for him to put on. + +He looked at these preparations, at his wife and daughter, and his +colour changed from its ruddy brown. + +'A'd face lock-ups, an' a fair spell o' jail, but for these,' said +he, hesitating. + +'Oh!' said Philip, 'for God's sake, lose no time, but be off.' + +'Where mun he go?' asked Bell, as if Philip must decide all. + +'Anywhere, anywhere, out of this house--say Haverstone. This +evening, I'll go and meet him there and plan further; only be off +now.' Philip was so keenly eager, he hardly took note at the time of +Sylvia's one vivid look of unspoken thanks, yet he remembered it +afterwards. + +'A'll dang 'em dead,' said Kester, rushing to the door, for he saw +what the others did not--that all chance of escape was over; the +constables were already at the top of the little field-path not +twenty yards off. + +'Hide him, hide him,' cried Bell, wringing her hands in terror; for +she, indeed they all, knew that flight would now be impossible. +Daniel was heavy, rheumatic, and, moreover, had been pretty severely +bruised on that unlucky night. + +Philip, without another word, pushed Daniel before him upstairs, +feeling that his own presence at Haytersbank Farm at that hour of +the day would be a betrayal. They had just time to shut themselves +up in the larger bed-room, before they heard a scuffle and the +constables' entry down-stairs. + +'They're in,' said Philip, as Daniel squeezed himself under the bed; +and then they held quite still, Philip as much concealed by the +scanty, blue-check curtain as he could manage to be. They heard a +confusion of voices below, a hasty moving of chairs, a banging of +doors, a further parley, and then a woman's scream, shrill and +pitiful; then steps on the stairs. + +'That screech spoiled all,' sighed Philip. + +In one instant the door was opened, and each of the hiders was +conscious of the presence of the constables, although at first the +latter stood motionless, surveying the apparently empty room with +disappointment. Then in another moment they had rushed at Philip's +legs, exposed as these were. They drew him out with violence, and +then let him go. + +'Measter Hepburn!' said one in amaze. But immediately they put two +and two together; for in so small a place as Monkshaven every one's +relationships and connexions, and even likings, were known; and the +motive of Philip's coming out to Haytersbank was perfectly clear to +these men. + +'T' other 'll not be far off,' said the other constable. 'His plate +were down-stairs, full o' victual; a seed Measter Hepburn a-walking +briskly before me as a left Monkshaven' + +'Here he be, here he be,' called out the other man, dragging Daniel +out by his legs, 'we've getten him.' + +Daniel kicked violently, and came out from his hiding-place in a +less ignominious way than by being pulled out by his heels. + +He shook himself, and then turned, facing his captors. + +'A wish a'd niver hidden mysel'; it were his doing,' jerking his +thumb toward Philip: 'a'm ready to stand by what a've done. Yo've +getten a warrant a'll be bound, for them justices is grand at +writin' when t' fight's over.' + +He was trying to carry it off with bravado, but Philip saw that he +had received a shock, from his sudden look of withered colour and +shrunken feature. + +'Don't handcuff him,' said Philip, putting money into the +constable's hand. 'You'll be able to guard him well enough without +them things.' + +Daniel turned round sharp at this whisper. + +'Let-a-be, let-a-be, my lad,' he said. 'It 'll be summut to think on +i' t' lock-up how two able-bodied fellys were so afeared on t' chap +as reskyed them honest sailors o' Saturday neet, as they mun put him +i' gyves, and he sixty-two come Martinmas, and sore laid up wi' t' +rheumatics.' + +But it was difficult to keep up this tone of bravado when he was led +a prisoner through his own house-place, and saw his poor wife +quivering and shaking all over with her efforts to keep back all +signs of emotion until he was gone; and Sylvia standing by her +mother, her arm round Bell's waist and stroking the poor shrunken +fingers which worked so perpetually and nervously in futile +unconscious restlessness. Kester was in a corner of the room, +sullenly standing. + +Bell quaked from head to foot as her husband came down-stairs a +prisoner. She opened her lips several times with an uneasy motion, +as if she would fain say something, but knew not what. Sylvia's +passionate swollen lips and her beautiful defiant eyes gave her face +quite a new aspect; she looked a helpless fury. + +'A may kiss my missus, a reckon,' said Daniel, coming to a +standstill as he passed near her. + +'Oh, Dannel, Dannel!' cried she, opening her arms wide to receive +him. 'Dannel, Dannel, my man!' and she shook with her crying, laying +her head on his shoulder, as if he was all her stay and comfort. + +'Come, missus! come, missus!' said he, 'there couldn't be more ado +if a'd been guilty of murder, an' yet a say again, as a said afore, +a'm noane ashamed o' my doings. Here, Sylvie, lass, tak' thy mother +off me, for a cannot do it mysel', it like sets me off.' His voice +was quavering as he said this. But he cheered up a little and said, +'Now, good-by, oud wench' (kissing her), 'and keep a good heart, +and let me see thee lookin' lusty and strong when a come back. +Good-by, my lass; look well after mother, and ask Philip for +guidance if it's needed.' + +He was taken out of his home, and then arose the shrill cries of the +women; but in a minute or two they were checked by the return of one +of the constables, who, cap in hand at the sight of so much grief, +said,-- + +'He wants a word wi' his daughter.' + +The party had come to a halt about ten yards from the house. Sylvia, +hastily wiping her tears on her apron, ran out and threw her arms +round her father, as if to burst out afresh on his neck. + +'Nay, nay, my wench, it's thee as mun be a comfort to mother: nay, +nay, or thou'll niver hear what a've got to say. Sylvie, my lass, +a'm main and sorry a were so short wi' thee last neet; a ax thy +pardon, lass, a were cross to thee, and sent thee to thy bed wi' a +sore heart. Thou munnot think on it again, but forgie me, now a'm +leavin' thee.' + +'Oh, feyther! feyther!' was all Sylvia could say; and at last they +had to make as though they would have used force to separate her +from their prisoner. Philip took her hand, and softly led her back +to her weeping mother. + +For some time nothing was to be heard in the little farmhouse +kitchen but the sobbing and wailing of the women. Philip stood by +silent, thinking, as well as he could, for his keen sympathy with +their grief, what had best be done next. Kester, after some growls +at Sylvia for having held back the uplifted arm which he thought +might have saved Daniel by a well-considered blow on his captors as +they entered the house, went back into his shippen--his cell for +meditation and consolation, where he might hope to soothe himself +before going out to his afternoon's work; labour which his master +had planned for him that very morning, with a strange foresight, as +Kester thought, for the job was one which would take him two or +three days without needing any further directions than those he had +received, and by the end of that time he thought that his master +would be at liberty again. So he--so they all thought in their +ignorance and inexperience. + +Although Daniel himself was unreasoning, hasty, impulsive--in a +word, often thinking and acting very foolishly--yet, somehow, either +from some quality in his character, or from the loyalty of nature in +those with whom he had to deal in his every-day life, he had made +his place and position clear as the arbiter and law-giver of his +household. On his decision, as that of husband, father, master, +perhaps superior natures waited. So now that he was gone and had +left them in such strange new circumstances so suddenly, it seemed +as though neither Bell nor Sylvia knew exactly what to do when their +grief was spent, so much had every household action and plan been +regulated by the thought of him. Meanwhile Philip had slowly been +arriving at the conclusion that he was more wanted at Monkshaven to +look after Daniel's interests, to learn what were the legal +probabilities in consequence of the old man's arrest, and to arrange +for his family accordingly, than standing still and silent in the +Haytersbank kitchen, too full of fellow-feeling and heavy foreboding +to comfort, awkwardly unsympathetic in appearance from the very +aching of his heart. + +So when his aunt, with instinctive sense of regularity and +propriety, began to put away the scarcely tasted dinner, and Sylvia, +blinded with crying, and convulsively sobbing, was yet trying to +help her mother, Philip took his hat, and brushing it round and +round with the sleeve of his coat, said,-- + +'I think I'll just go back, and see how matters stand.' He had a +more distinct plan in his head than these words implied, but it +depended on so many contingencies of which he was ignorant that he +said only these few words; and with a silent resolution to see them +again that day, but a dread of being compelled to express his fears, +so far beyond theirs, he went off without saying anything more. Then +Sylvia lifted up her voice with a great cry. Somehow she had +expected him to do something--what, she did not know; but he was +gone, and they were left without stay or help. + +'Hush thee, hush thee,' said her mother, trembling all over herself; +'it's for the best. The Lord knows.' + +'But I niver thought he'd leave us,' moaned Sylvia, half in her +mother's arms, and thinking of Philip. Her mother took the words as +applied to Daniel. + +'And he'd niver ha' left us, my wench, if he could ha' stayed.' + +'Oh, mother, mother, it's Philip as has left us, and he could ha' +stayed.' + +'He'll come back, or mebbe send, I'll be bound. Leastways he'll be +gone to see feyther, and he'll need comfort most on all, in a fremd +place--in Bridewell--and niver a morsel of victual or a piece o' +money.' And now she sate down, and wept the dry hot tears that come +with such difficulty to the eyes of the aged. And so--first one +grieving, and then the other, and each draining her own heart of +every possible hope by way of comfort, alternately trying to cheer +and console--the February afternoon passed away; the continuous rain +closing in the daylight even earlier than usual, and adding to the +dreariness, with the natural accompaniments of wailing winds, coming +with long sweeps over the moors, and making the sobbings at the +windows that always sound like the gasps of some one in great agony. +Meanwhile Philip had hastened back to Monkshaven. He had no +umbrella, he had to face the driving rain for the greater part of +the way; but he was thankful to the weather, for it kept men +indoors, and he wanted to meet no one, but to have time to think and +mature his plans. The town itself was, so to speak, in mourning. The +rescue of the sailors was a distinctly popular movement; the +subsequent violence (which had, indeed, gone much further than has +been described, after Daniel left it) was, in general, considered as +only a kind of due punishment inflicted in wild justice on the +press-gang and their abettors. The feeling of the Monkshaven people +was, therefore, in decided opposition to the vigorous steps taken by +the county magistrates, who, in consequence of an appeal from the +naval officers in charge of the impressment service, had called out +the militia (from a distant and inland county) stationed within a +few miles, and had thus summarily quenched the riots that were +continuing on the Sunday morning after a somewhat languid fashion; +the greater part of the destruction of property having been +accomplished during the previous night. Still there was little doubt +but that the violence would have been renewed as evening drew on, +and the more desperate part of the population and the enraged +sailors had had the Sabbath leisure to brood over their wrongs, and +to encourage each other in a passionate attempt at redress, or +revenge. So the authorities were quite justified in the decided +steps they had taken, both in their own estimation then, and now, in +ours, looking back on the affair in cold blood. But at the time +feeling ran strongly against them; and all means of expressing +itself in action being prevented, men brooded sullenly in their own +houses. Philip, as the representative of the family, the head of +which was now suffering for his deeds in the popular cause, would +have met with more sympathy, ay, and more respect than he imagined, +as he went along the streets, glancing from side to side, fearful of +meeting some who would shy him as the relation of one who had been +ignominiously taken to Bridewell a few hours before. But in spite of +this wincing of Philip's from observation and remark, he never +dreamed of acting otherwise than as became a brave true friend. And +this he did, and would have done, from a natural faithfulness and +constancy of disposition, without any special regard for Sylvia. + +He knew his services were needed in the shop; business which he had +left at a moment's warning awaited him, unfinished; but at this time +he could not bear the torture of giving explanations, and alleging +reasons to the languid intelligence and slow sympathies of Coulson. + +He went to the offices of Mr. Donkin, the oldest established and most +respected attorney in Monkshaven--he who had been employed to draw +up the law papers and deeds of partnership consequent on Hepburn and +Coulson succeeding to the shop of John and Jeremiah Foster, +Brothers. + +Mr. Donkin knew Philip from this circumstance. But, indeed, nearly +every one in Monkshaven knew each other; if not enough to speak to, +at least enough to be acquainted with the personal appearance and +reputation of most of those whom they met in the streets. It so +happened that Mr. Donkin had a favourable opinion of Philip; and +perhaps for this reason the latter had a shorter time to wait before +he obtained an interview with the head of the house, than many of +the clients who came for that purpose from town or country for many +miles round. + +Philip was ushered in. Mr. Donkin sate with his spectacles pushed up +on his forehead, ready to watch his countenance and listen to his +words. + +'Good afternoon, Mr. Hepburn!' + +'Good afternoon, sir.' Philip hesitated how to begin. Mr. Donkin +became impatient, and tapped with the fingers of his left hand on +his desk. Philip's sensitive nerves felt and rightly interpreted the +action. + +'Please, sir, I'm come to speak to you about Daniel Robson, of +Haytersbank Farm.' + +'Daniel Robson?' said Mr. Donkin, after a short pause, to try and +compel Philip into speed in his story. + +'Yes, sir. He's been taken up on account of this affair, sir, about +the press-gang on Saturday night.' + +'To be sure! I thought I knew the name.' And Mr. Donkin's face became +graver, and the expression more concentrated. Looking up suddenly at +Philip, he said, 'You are aware that I am the clerk to the +magistrates?' + +'No, sir,' in a tone that indicated the unexpressed 'What then?' + +'Well, but I am. And so of course, if you want my services or advice +in favour of a prisoner whom they have committed, or are going to +commit, you can't have them, that's all.' + +'I am very sorry--very!' said Philip; and then he was again silent +for a period; long enough to make the busy attorney impatient. + +'Well, Mr. Hepburn, have you anything else to say to me?' + +'Yes, sir. I've a deal to ask of you; for you see I don't rightly +understand what to do; and yet I'm all as Daniel's wife and daughter +has to look to; and I've their grief heavy on my heart. You could +not tell me what is to be done with Daniel, could you, sir?' + +'He'll be brought up before the magistrates to-morrow morning for +final examination, along with the others, you know, before he's sent +to York Castle to take his trial at the spring assizes.' + +'To York Castle, sir?' + +Mr. Donkin nodded, as if words were too precious to waste. + +'And when will he go?' asked poor Philip, in dismay. + +'To-morrow: most probably as soon as the examination is over. The +evidence is clear as to his being present, aiding and abetting,-- +indicted on the 4th section of 1 George I., statute 1, chapter 5. +I'm afraid it's a bad look-out. Is he a friend of yours, Mr +Hepburn?' + +'Only an uncle, sir,' said Philip, his heart getting full; more from +Mr. Donkin's manner than from his words. 'But what can they do to +him, sir?' + +'Do?' Mr. Donkin half smiled at the ignorance displayed. 'Why, hang +him, to be sure; if the judge is in a hanging mood. He's been either +a principal in the offence, or a principal in the second degree, +and, as such, liable to the full punishment. I drew up the warrant +myself this morning, though I left the exact name to be filled up by +my clerk.' + +'Oh, sir! can you do nothing for me?' asked Philip, with sharp +beseeching in his voice. He had never imagined that it was a capital +offence; and the thought of his aunt's and Sylvia's ignorance of the +possible fate awaiting him whom they so much loved, was like a stab +to his heart. + +'No, my good fellow. I'm sorry; but, you see, it's my duty to do all +I can to bring criminals to justice.' + +'My uncle thought he was doing such a fine deed.' + +'Demolishing and pulling down, destroying and burning +dwelling-houses and outhouses,' said Mr. Donkin. 'He must have some +peculiar notions.' + +'The people is so mad with the press-gang, and Daniel has been at +sea hisself; and took it so to heart when he heard of mariners and +seafaring folk being carried off, and just cheated into doing what +was kind and helpful--leastways, what would have been kind and +helpful, if there had been a fire. I'm against violence and riots +myself, sir, I'm sure; but I cannot help thinking as Daniel had a +deal to justify him on Saturday night, sir.' + +'Well; you must try and get a good lawyer to bring out all that side +of the question. There's a good deal to be said on it; but it's my +duty to get up all the evidence to prove that he and others were +present on the night in question; so, as you'll perceive, I can give +you no help in defending him.' + +'But who can, sir? I came to you as a friend who, I thought, would +see me through it. And I don't know any other lawyer; leastways, to +speak to.' + +Mr. Donkin was really more concerned for the misguided rioters than +he was aware; and he was aware of more interest than he cared to +express. So he softened his tone a little, and tried to give the +best advice in his power. + +'You'd better go to Edward Dawson on the other side of the river; he +that was articled clerk with me two years ago, you know. He's a +clever fellow, and has not too much practice; he'll do the best he +can for you. He'll have to be at the court-house, tell him, +to-morrow morning at ten, when the justices meet. He'll watch the +case for you; and then he'll give you his opinion, and tell you what +to do. You can't do better than follow his advice. I must do all I +can to collect evidence for a conviction, you know.' + +Philip stood up, looked at his hat, and then came forward and laid +down six and eightpence on the desk in a blushing, awkward way. + +'Pooh! pooh!' said Mr. Donkin, pushing the money away. 'Don't be a +fool; you'll need it all before the trial's over. I've done nothing, +man. It would be a pretty thing for me to be feed by both parties.' + +Philip took up the money, and left the room. In an instant he came +back again, glanced furtively at Mr. Donkin's face, and then, once +more having recourse to brushing his hat, he said, in a low voice-- + +'You'll not be hard upon him, sir, I hope?' + +'I must do my duty,' replied Mr. Donkin, a little sternly, 'without +any question of hardness.' + +Philip, discomfited, left the room; an instant of thought and Mr +Donkin had jumped up, and hastening to the door he opened it and +called after Philip. + +'Hepburn--Hepburn--I say, he'll be taken to York as soon as may be +to-morrow morning; if any one wants to see him before then, they'd +better look sharp about it.' + +Philip went quickly along the streets towards Mr. Dawson's, pondering +upon the meaning of all that he had heard, and what he had better +do. He had made his plans pretty clearly out by the time he arrived +at Mr. Dawson's smart door in one of the new streets on the other +side of the river. A clerk as smart as the door answered Philip's +hesitating knock, and replied to his inquiry as to whether Mr. Dawson +was at home, in the negative, adding, after a moment's pause-- + +'He'll be at home in less than an hour; he's only gone to make Mrs +Dawson's will--Mrs. Dawson, of Collyton--she's not expected to get +better.' + +Probably the clerk of an older-established attorney would not have +given so many particulars as to the nature of his master's +employment; but, as it happened it was of no consequence, the +unnecessary information made no impression on Philip's mind; he +thought the matter over and then said-- + +'I'll be back in an hour, then. It's gone a quarter to four; I'll be +back before five, tell Mr. Dawson.' + +He turned on his heel and went back to the High Street as fast as he +could, with a far more prompt and decided step than before. He +hastened through the streets, emptied by the bad weather, to the +principal inn of the town, the George--the sign of which was +fastened to a piece of wood stretched across the narrow street; and +going up to the bar with some timidity (for the inn was frequented +by the gentry of Monkshaven and the neighbourhood, and was +considered as a touch above such customers as Philip), he asked if +he could have a tax-cart made ready in a quarter of an hour, and +sent up to the door of his shop. + +'To be sure he could; how far was it to go?' + +Philip hesitated before he replied-- + +'Up the Knotting Lane, to the stile leading down to Haytersbank +Farm; they'll have to wait there for some as are coming.' + +'They must not wait long such an evening as this; standing in such +rain and wind as there'll be up there, is enough to kill a horse.' + +'They shan't wait long,' said Philip, decisively: 'in a quarter of +an hour, mind.' + +He now went back to the shop, beating against the storm, which was +increasing as the tide came in and the night hours approached. + +Coulson had no word for him, but he looked reproachfully at his +partner for his long, unexplained absence. Hester was putting away +the ribbons and handkerchiefs, and bright-coloured things which had +been used to deck the window; for no more customers were likely to +come this night through the blustering weather to a shop dimly +lighted by two tallow candles and an inefficient oil-lamp. Philip +came up to her, and stood looking at her with unseeing eyes; but the +strange consciousness of his fixed stare made her uncomfortable, and +called the faint flush to her pale cheeks, and at length compelled +her, as it were, to speak, and break the spell of the silence. So, +curiously enough, all three spoke at once. Hester asked (without +looking at Philip)-- + +'Yo're sadly wet, I'm feared?' + +Coulson said-- + +'Thou might have a bit o' news to tell one after being on the gad +all afternoon.' + +Philip whispered to Hester-- + +'Wilt come into t' parlour? I want a word wi' thee by oursel's.' + +Hester quietly finished rolling up the ribbon she had in her hands +when he spoke, and then followed him into the room behind the shop +before spoken of. + +Philip set down on the table the candle which he had brought out of +the shop, and turning round to Hester, took her trembling hand into +both of his, and gripping it nervously, said-- + +'Oh! Hester, thou must help me--thou will, will not thou?' + +Hester gulped down something that seemed to rise in her throat and +choke her, before she answered. + +'Anything, thou knows, Philip.' + +'Yes, yes, I know. Thou sees the matter is this: Daniel Robson--he +who married my aunt--is taken up for yon riot on Saturday night at +t' Mariners' Arms----' + +'They spoke on it this afternoon; they said the warrant was out,' +said Hester, filling up the sentence as Philip hesitated, lost for +an instant in his own thoughts. + +'Ay! the warrant is out, and he's in t' lock-up, and will be carried +to York Castle to-morrow morn; and I'm afeared it will go bad with +him; and they at Haytersbank is not prepared, and they must see him +again before he goes. Now, Hester, will thou go in a tax-cart as +will be here in less than ten minutes from t' George, and bring them +back here, and they must stay all night for to be ready to see him +to-morrow before he goes? It's dree weather for them, but they'll +not mind that.' + +He had used words as if he was making a request to Hester; but he +did not seem to await her answer, so sure was he that she would go. +She noticed this, and noticed also that the rain was spoken of in +reference to them, not to her. A cold shadow passed over her heart, +though it was nothing more than she already knew--that Sylvia was +the one centre of his thoughts and his love. + +'I'll go put on my things at once,' said she, gently. + +Philip pressed her hand tenderly, a glow of gratitude overspread +him. + +'Thou's a real good one, God bless thee!' said he. 'Thou must take +care of thyself, too,' continued he; 'there's wraps and plenty i' +th' house, and if there are not, there's those i' the shop as 'll be +none the worse for once wearing at such a time as this; and wrap +thee well up, and take shawls and cloaks for them, and mind as they +put 'em on. Thou'll have to get out at a stile, I'll tell t' driver +where; and thou must get over t' stile and follow t' path down two +fields, and th' house is right before ye, and bid 'em make haste and +lock up th' house, for they mun stay all night here. Kester 'll look +after things.' + +All this time Hester was hastily putting on her hat and cloak, which +she had fetched from the closet where they usually hung through the +day; now she stood listening, as it were, for final directions. + +'But suppose they will not come,' said she; 'they dunnot know me, +and mayn't believe my words.' + +'They must,' said he, impatiently. 'They don't know what awaits +'em,' he continued. 'I'll tell thee, because thou 'll not let out, +and it seems as if I mun tell some one--it were such a shock--he's +to be tried for 's life. They know not it's so serious; and, +Hester,' said he, going on in his search after sympathy, 'she's +like as if she was bound up in her father.' + +His lips quivered as he looked wistfully into Hester's face at these +words. No need to tell her who was _she_. No need to put into words +the fact, told plainer than words could have spoken it, that his +heart was bound up in Sylvia. + +Hester's face, instead of responding to his look, contracted a +little, and, for the life of her, she could not have helped +saying,-- + +'Why don't yo' go yourself, Philip?' + +'I can't, I can't,' said he, impatiently. 'I'd give the world to go, +for I might be able to comfort her; but there's lawyers to see, and +iver so much to do, and they've niver a man friend but me to do it +all. You'll tell her,' said Philip, insinuatingly, as if a fresh +thought had struck him, 'as how I would ha' come. I would fain ha' +come for 'em, myself, but I couldn't, because of th' lawyer,--mind +yo' say because of th' lawyer. I'd be loath for her to think I was +minding any business of my own at this time; and, whatever yo' do, +speak hopeful, and, for t' life of yo', don't speak of th' hanging, +it's likely it's a mistake o' Donkin's; and anyhow--there's t' cart +--anyhow I should perhaps not ha' telled thee, but it's a comfort to +make a clean breast to a friend at times. God bless thee, Hester. I +don't know what I should ha' done without thee,' said he, as he +wrapped her well up in the cart, and placed the bundles of cloaks +and things by her side. + +Along the street, in the jolting cart, as long as Hester could see +the misty light streaming out of the shop door, so long was Philip +standing bareheaded in the rain looking after her. But she knew that +it was not her own poor self that attracted his lingering gaze. It +was the thought of the person she was bound to. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A DREARY VIGIL + + + + + +Through the dark rain, against the cold wind, shaken over the rough +stones, went Hester in the little tax-cart. Her heart kept rising +against her fate; the hot tears came unbidden to her eyes. But +rebellious heart was soothed, and hot tears were sent back to their +source before the time came for her alighting. + +The driver turned his horse in the narrow lane, and shouted after +her an injunction to make haste as, with her head bent low, she +struggled down to the path to Haytersbank Farm. She saw the light in +the window from the top of the brow, and involuntarily she slackened +her pace. She had never seen Bell Robson, and would Sylvia recollect +her? If she did not how awkward it would be to give the explanation +of who she was, and what her errand was, and why she was sent. +Nevertheless, it must be done; so on she went, and standing within +the little porch, she knocked faintly at the door; but in the +bluster of the elements the sound was lost. Again she knocked, and +now the murmur of women's voices inside was hushed, and some one +came quickly to the door, and opened it sharply. + +It was Sylvia. Although her face was completely in shadow, of course +Hester knew her well; but she, if indeed she would have recognized +Hester less disguised, did not know in the least who the woman, +muffled up in a great cloak, with her hat tied down with a silk +handkerchief, standing in the porch at this time of night, could be. +Nor, indeed, was she in a mood to care or to inquire. She said +hastily, in a voice rendered hoarse and arid with grief: + +'Go away. This is no house for strangers to come to. We've enough on +our own to think on;' and she hastily shut the door in Hester's +face, before the latter could put together the right words in which +to explain her errand. Hester stood outside in the dark, wet porch +discomfited, and wondering how next to obtain a hearing through the +shut and bolted door. Not long did she stand, however; some one was +again at the door, talking in a voice of distress and remonstrance, +and slowly unbarring the bolts. A tall, thin figure of an elderly +woman was seen against the warm fire-light inside as soon as the +door was opened; a hand was put out, like that which took the dove +into the ark, and Hester was drawn into the warmth and the light, +while Bell's voice went on speaking to Sylvia before addressing the +dripping stranger-- + +'It's not a night to turn a dog fra' t' door; it's ill letting our +grief harden our hearts. But oh! missus (to Hester), yo' mun forgive +us, for a great sorrow has fallen upon us this day, an' we're like +beside ourselves wi' crying an' plaining.' + +Bell sate down, and threw her apron over her poor worn face, as if +decently to shield the signs of her misery from a stranger's gaze. +Sylvia, all tear-swollen, and looking askance and almost fiercely at +the stranger who had made good her intrusion, was drawn, as it were, +to her mother's side, and, kneeling down by her, put her arms round +her waist, and almost lay across her lap, still gazing at Hester +with cold, distrustful eyes, the expression of which repelled and +daunted that poor, unwilling messenger, and made her silent for a +minute or so after her entrance. Bell suddenly put down her apron. + +'Yo're cold and drenched,' said she. 'Come near to t' fire and warm +yo'rsel'; yo' mun pardon us if we dunnot think on everything at +onest.' + +'Yo're very kind, very kind indeed,' said Hester, touched by the +poor woman's evident effort to forget her own grief in the duties of +hospitality, and loving Bell from that moment. + +'I'm Hester Rose,' she continued, half addressing Sylvia, who she +thought might remember the name, 'and Philip Hepburn has sent me in +a tax-cart to t' stile yonder, to fetch both on yo' back to +Monkshaven.' Sylvia raised her head and looked intently at Hester. +Bell clasped her hands tight together and leant forwards. + +'It's my master as wants us?' said she, in an eager, questioning +tone. + +'It's for to see yo'r master,' said Hester. 'Philip says he'll be +sent to York to-morrow, and yo'll be fain to see him before he goes; +and if yo'll come down to Monkshaven to-night, yo'll be on t' spot +again' the time comes when t' justices will let ye.' + +Bell was up and about, making for the place where she kept her +out-going things, almost before Hester had begun to speak. She +hardly understood about her husband's being sent to York, in the +possession of the idea that she might go and see him. She did not +understand or care how, in this wild night, she was to get to +Monkshaven; all she thought of was, that she might go and see her +husband. But Sylvia took in more points than her mother, and, almost +suspiciously, began to question Hester. + +'Why are they sending him to York? What made Philip leave us? Why +didn't he come hissel'?' + +'He couldn't come hissel', he bade me say; because he was bound to +be at the lawyer's at five, about yo'r father's business. I think +yo' might ha' known he would ha' come for any business of his own; +and, about York, it's Philip as telled me, and I never asked why. I +never thought on yo'r asking me so many questions. I thought yo'd be +ready to fly on any chance o' seeing your father.' Hester spoke out +the sad reproach that ran from her heart to her lips. To distrust +Philip! to linger when she might hasten! + +'Oh!' said Sylvia, breaking out into a wild cry, that carried with +it more conviction of agony than much weeping could have done. 'I +may be rude and hard, and I may ask strange questions, as if I cared +for t' answers yo' may gi' me; an', in my heart o' hearts, I care +for nought but to have father back wi' us, as love him so dear. I +can hardly tell what I say, much less why I say it. Mother is so +patient, it puts me past mysel', for I could fight wi' t' very +walls, I'm so mad wi' grieving. Sure, they'll let him come back wi' +us to-morrow, when they hear from his own sel' why he did it?' + +She looked eagerly at Hester for an answer to this last question, +which she had put in a soft, entreating tone, as if with Hester +herself the decision rested. Hester shook her head. Sylvia came up +to her and took her hands, almost fondling them. + +'Yo' dunnot think they'll be hard wi' him when they hear all about +it, done yo'? Why, York Castle's t' place they send a' t' thieves +and robbers to, not honest men like feyther.' + +Hester put her hand on Sylvia's shoulder with a soft, caressing +gesture. + +'Philip will know,' she said, using Philip's name as a kind of +spell--it would have been so to her. 'Come away to Philip,' said she +again, urging Sylvia, by her looks and manner, to prepare for the +little journey. Sylvia moved away for this purpose, saying to +herself,-- + +'It's going to see feyther: he will tell me all.' + +Poor Mrs. Robson was collecting a few clothes for her husband with an +eager, trembling hand, so trembling that article after article fell +to the floor, and it was Hester who picked them up; and at last, +after many vain attempts by the grief-shaken woman, it was Hester +who tied the bundle, and arranged the cloak, and fastened down the +hood; Sylvia standing by, not unobservant, though apparently +absorbed in her own thoughts. + +At length, all was arranged, and the key given over to Kester. As +they passed out into the storm, Sylvia said to Hester,-- + +'Thou's a real good wench. Thou's fitter to be about mother than me. +I'm but a cross-patch at best, an' now it's like as if I was no good +to nobody.' + +Sylvia began to cry, but Hester had no time to attend to her, even +had she the inclination: all her care was needed to help the hasty, +tottering steps of the wife who was feebly speeding up the wet and +slippery brow to her husband. All Bell thought of was that 'he' was +at the end of her toil. She hardly understood when she was to see +him; her weary heart and brain had only received one idea--that each +step she was now taking was leading her to him. Tired and exhausted +with her quick walk up hill, battling all the way with wind and +rain, she could hardly have held up another minute when they reached +the tax-cart in the lane, and Hester had almost to lift her on to +the front seat by the driver. She covered and wrapped up the poor +old woman, and afterwards placed herself in the straw at the back of +the cart, packed up close by the shivering, weeping Sylvia. Neither +of them spoke a word at first; but Hester's tender conscience smote +her for her silence before they had reached Monkshaven. She wanted +to say some kind word to Sylvia, and yet knew not how to begin. +Somehow, without knowing why, or reasoning upon it, she hit upon +Philip's message as the best comfort in her power to give. She had +delivered it before, but it had been apparently little heeded. + +'Philip bade me say it was business as kept him from fetchin' yo' +hissel'--business wi' the lawyer, about--about yo'r father.' + +'What do they say?' said Sylvia, suddenly, lifting her bowed head, +as though she would read her companion's face in the dim light. + +'I dunnot know,' said Hester, sadly. They were now jolting over the +paved streets, and not a word could be spoken. They were now at +Philip's door, which was opened to receive them even before they +arrived, as if some one had been watching and listening. The old +servant, Phoebe, the fixture in the house, who had belonged to it +and to the shop for the last twenty years, came out, holding a +candle and sheltering it in her hand from the weather, while Philip +helped the tottering steps of Mrs. Robson as she descended behind. As +Hester had got in last, so she had now to be the first to move. Just +as she was moving, Sylvia's cold little hand was laid on her arm. + +'I am main and thankful to yo'. I ask yo'r pardon for speaking +cross, but, indeed, my heart's a'most broken wi' fear about +feyther.' + +The voice was so plaintive, so full of tears, that Hester could not +but yearn towards the speaker. She bent over and kissed her cheek, +and then clambered unaided down by the wheel on the dark side of the +cart. Wistfully she longed for one word of thanks or recognition +from Philip, in whose service she had performed this hard task; but +he was otherwise occupied, and on casting a further glance back as +she turned the corner of the street, she saw Philip lifting Sylvia +carefully down in his arms from her footing on the top of the wheel, +and then they all went into the light and the warmth, the door was +shut, the lightened cart drove briskly away, and Hester, in rain, +and cold, and darkness, went homewards with her tired sad heart. + +Philip had done all he could, since his return from lawyer Dawson's, +to make his house bright and warm for the reception of his beloved. +He had a strong apprehension of the probable fate of poor Daniel +Robson; he had a warm sympathy with the miserable distress of the +wife and daughter; but still at the back of his mind his spirits +danced as if this was to them a festal occasion. He had even taken +unconscious pleasure in Phoebe's suspicious looks and tones, as he +had hurried and superintended her in her operations. A fire blazed +cheerily in the parlour, almost dazzling to the travellers brought +in from the darkness and the rain; candles burned--two candles, much +to Phoebe's discontent. Poor Bell Robson had to sit down almost as +soon as she entered the room, so worn out was she with fatigue and +excitement; yet she grudged every moment which separated her, as she +thought, from her husband. + +'I'm ready now,' said she, standing up, and rather repulsing +Sylvia's cares; 'I'm ready now,' said she, looking eagerly at +Philip, as if for him to lead the way. + +'It's not to-night,' replied he, almost apologetically. 'You can't +see him to-night; it's to-morrow morning before he goes to York; it +was better for yo' to be down here in town ready; and beside I +didn't know when I sent for ye that he was locked up for the night.' + +'Well-a-day, well-a-day,' said Bell, rocking herself backwards and +forwards, and trying to soothe herself with these words. Suddenly +she said,-- + +'But I've brought his comforter wi' me--his red woollen comforter as +he's allays slept in this twelvemonth past; he'll get his rheumatiz +again; oh, Philip, cannot I get it to him?' + +'I'll send it by Phoebe,' said Philip, who was busy making tea, +hospitable and awkward. + +'Cannot I take it mysel'?' repeated Bell. 'I could make surer nor +anybody else; they'd maybe not mind yon woman--Phoebe d'ye call +her?' + +'Nay, mother,' said Sylvia, 'thou's not fit to go.' + +'Shall I go?' asked Philip, hoping she would say 'no', and be +content with Phoebe, and leave him where he was. + +'Oh, Philip, would yo'?' said Sylvia, turning round. + +'Ay,' said Bell, 'if thou would take it they'd be minding yo'.' + +So there was nothing for it but for him to go, in the first flush of +his delightful rites of hospitality. + +'It's not far,' said he, consoling himself rather than them. 'I'll +be back in ten minutes, the tea is maskit, and Phoebe will take yo'r +wet things and dry 'em by t' kitchen fire; and here's the stairs,' +opening a door in the corner of the room, from which the stairs +immediately ascended. 'There's two rooms at the top; that to t' left +is all made ready, t' other is mine,' said he, reddening a little as +he spoke. Bell was busy undoing her bundle with trembling fingers. + +'Here,' said she; 'and oh, lad, here's a bit o' peppermint cake; +he's main and fond on it, and I catched sight on it by good luck +just t' last minute.' + +Philip was gone, and the excitement of Bell and Sylvia flagged once +more, and sank into wondering despondency. Sylvia, however, roused +herself enough to take off her mother's wet clothes, and she took +them timidly into the kitchen and arranged them before Phoebe's +fire. + +Phoebe opened her lips once or twice to speak in remonstrance, and +then, with an effort, gulped her words down; for her sympathy, like +that of all the rest of the Monkshaven world, was in favour of +Daniel Robson; and his daughter might place her dripping cloak this +night wherever she would, for Phoebe. + +Sylvia found her mother still sitting on the chair next the door, +where she had first placed herself on entering the room. + +'I'll gi'e you some tea, mother,' said she, struck with the shrunken +look of Bell's face. + +'No, no' said her mother. 'It's not manners for t' help oursel's.' + +'I'm sure Philip would ha' wished yo' for to take it,' said Sylvia, +pouring out a cup. + +Just then he returned, and something in his look, some dumb +expression of delight at her occupation, made her blush and hesitate +for an instant; but then she went on, and made a cup of tea ready, +saying something a little incoherent all the time about her mother's +need of it. After tea Bell Robson's weariness became so extreme, +that Philip and Sylvia urged her to go to bed. She resisted a +little, partly out of 'manners,' and partly because she kept +fancying, poor woman, that somehow or other her husband might send +for her. But about seven o'clock Sylvia persuaded her to come +upstairs. Sylvia, too, bade Philip good-night, and his look followed +the last wave of her dress as she disappeared up the stairs; then +leaning his chin on his hand, he gazed at vacancy and thought +deeply--for how long he knew not, so intent was his mind on the +chances of futurity. + +He was aroused by Sylvia's coming down-stairs into the sitting-room +again. He started up. + +'Mother is so shivery,' said she. 'May I go in there,' indicating +the kitchen, 'and make her a drop of gruel?' + +'Phoebe shall make it, not you,' said Philip, eagerly preventing +her, by going to the kitchen door and giving his orders. When he +turned round again, Sylvia was standing over the fire, leaning her +head against the stone mantel-piece for the comparative coolness. +She did not speak at first, or take any notice of him. He watched +her furtively, and saw that she was crying, the tears running down +her cheeks, and she too much absorbed in her thoughts to wipe them +away with her apron. + +While he was turning over in his mind what he could best say to +comfort her (his heart, like hers, being almost too full for words), +she suddenly looked him full in the face, saying,-- + +'Philip! won't they soon let him go? what can they do to him?' Her +open lips trembled while awaiting his answer, the tears came up and +filled her eyes. It was just the question he had most dreaded; it +led to the terror that possessed his own mind, but which he had +hoped to keep out of hers. He hesitated. 'Speak, lad!' said she, +impatiently, with a little passionate gesture. 'I can see thou +knows!' + +He had only made it worse by consideration; he rushed blindfold at a +reply. + +'He's ta'en up for felony.' + +'Felony,' said she. 'There thou're out; he's in for letting yon men +out; thou may call it rioting if thou's a mind to set folks again' +him, but it's too bad to cast such hard words at him as +yon--felony,' she repeated, in a half-offended tone. + +'It's what the lawyers call it,' said Philip, sadly; 'it's no word +o' mine.' + +'Lawyers is allays for making the worst o' things,' said she, a +little pacified, 'but folks shouldn't allays believe them.' + +'It's lawyers as has to judge i' t' long run.' + +'Cannot the justices, Mr. Harter and them as is no lawyers, give him +a sentence to-morrow, wi'out sending him to York?' + +'No!' said Philip, shaking his head. He went to the kitchen door and +asked if the gruel was not ready, so anxious was he to stop the +conversation at this point; but Phoebe, who held her young master in +but little respect, scolded him for a stupid man, who thought, like +all his sex, that gruel was to be made in a minute, whatever the +fire was, and bade him come and make it for himself if he was in +such a hurry. + +He had to return discomfited to Sylvia, who meanwhile had arranged +her thoughts ready to return to the charge. + +'And say he's sent to York, and say he's tried theere, what's t' +worst they can do again' him?' asked she, keeping down her agitation +to look at Philip the more sharply. Her eyes never slackened their +penetrating gaze at his countenance, until he replied, with the +utmost unwillingness, and most apparent confusion,-- + +'They may send him to Botany Bay.' + +He knew that he held back a worse contingency, and he was mortally +afraid that she would perceive this reserve. But what he did say was +so much beyond her utmost apprehension, which had only reached to +various terms of imprisonment, that she did not imagine the dark +shadow lurking behind. What he had said was too much for her. Her +eyes dilated, her lips blanched, her pale cheeks grew yet paler. +After a minute's look into his face, as if fascinated by some +horror, she stumbled backwards into the chair in the chimney comer, +and covered her face with her hands, moaning out some inarticulate +words. + +Philip was on his knees by her, dumb from excess of sympathy, +kissing her dress, all unfelt by her; he murmured half-words, he +began passionate sentences that died away upon his lips; and +she--she thought of nothing but her father, and was possessed and +rapt out of herself by the dread of losing him to that fearful +country which was almost like the grave to her, so all but +impassable was the gulf. But Philip knew that it was possible that +the separation impending might be that of the dark, mysterious +grave--that the gulf between the father and child might indeed be +that which no living, breathing, warm human creature can ever cross. + +'Sylvie, Sylvie!' said he,--and all their conversation had to be +carried on in low tones and whispers, for fear of the listening ears +above,--'don't,--don't, thou'rt rending my heart. Oh, Sylvie, +hearken. There's not a thing I'll not do; there's not a penny I've +got,--th' last drop of blood that's in me,--I'll give up my life for +his.' + +'Life,' said she, putting down her hands, and looking at him as if +her looks could pierce his soul; 'who talks o' touching his life? +Thou're going crazy, Philip, I think;' but she did not think so, +although she would fain have believed it. In her keen agony she read +his thoughts as though they were an open page; she sate there, +upright and stony, the conviction creeping over her face like the +grey shadow of death. No more tears, no more trembling, almost no +more breathing. He could not bear to see her, and yet she held his +eyes, and he feared to make the effort necessary to move or to turn +away, lest the shunning motion should carry conviction to her heart. +Alas! conviction of the probable danger to her father's life was +already there: it was that that was calming her down, tightening her +muscles, bracing her nerves. In that hour she lost all her early +youth. + +'Then he may be hung,' said she, low and solemnly, after a long +pause. Philip turned away his face, and did not utter a word. Again +deep silence, broken only by some homely sound in the kitchen. +'Mother must not know on it,' said Sylvia, in the same tone in which +she had spoken before. + +'It's t' worst as can happen to him,' said Philip. 'More likely +he'll be transported: maybe he'll be brought in innocent after all.' + +'No,' said Sylvia, heavily, as one without hope--as if she were +reading some dreadful doom in the tablets of the awful future. +'They'll hang him. Oh, feyther! feyther!' she choked out, almost +stuffing her apron into her mouth to deaden the sound, and catching +at Philip's hand, and wringing it with convulsive force, till the +pain that he loved was nearly more than he could bear. No words of +his could touch such agony; but irrepressibly, and as he would have +done it to a wounded child, he bent over her, and kissed her with a +tender, trembling kiss. She did not repulse it, probably she did not +even perceive it. + +At that moment Phoebe came in with the gruel. Philip saw her, and +knew, in an instant, what the old woman's conclusion must needs be; +but Sylvia had to be shaken by the now standing Philip, before she +could be brought back to the least consciousness of the present +time. She lifted up her white face to understand his words, then she +rose up like one who slowly comes to the use of her limbs. + +'I suppose I mun go,' she said; 'but I'd sooner face the dead. If +she asks me, Philip, what mun I say?' + +'She'll not ask yo',' said he, 'if yo' go about as common. She's +never asked yo' all this time, an' if she does, put her on to me. +I'll keep it from her as long as I can; I'll manage better nor I've +done wi' thee, Sylvie,' said he, with a sad, faint smile, looking +with fond penitence at her altered countenance. + +'Thou mustn't blame thysel',' said Sylvia, seeing his regret. 'I +brought it on me mysel'; I thought I would ha' t' truth, whativer +came on it, and now I'm not strong enough to stand it, God help me!' +she continued, piteously. + +'Oh, Sylvie, let me help yo'! I cannot do what God can,--I'm not +meaning that, but I can do next to Him of any man. I have loved yo' +for years an' years, in a way it's terrible to think on, if my love +can do nought now to comfort yo' in your sore distress.' + +'Cousin Philip,' she replied, in the same measured tone in which she +had always spoken since she had learnt the extent of her father's +danger, and the slow stillness of her words was in harmony with the +stony look of her face, 'thou's a comfort to me, I couldn't bide my +life without thee; but I cannot take in the thought o' love, it +seems beside me quite; I can think on nought but them that is quick +and them that is dead.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +GLOOMY DAYS + + + + + +Philip had money in the Fosters' bank, not so much as it might have +been if he had not had to pay for the furniture in his house. Much +of this furniture was old, and had belonged to the brothers Foster, +and they had let Philip have it at a very reasonable rate; but still +the purchase of it had diminished the amount of his savings. But on +the sum which he possessed he drew largely--he drew all--nay, he +overdrew his account somewhat, to his former masters' dismay, +although the kindness of their hearts overruled the harder arguments +of their heads. + +All was wanted to defend Daniel Robson at the approaching York +assizes. His wife had handed over to Philip all the money or money's +worth she could lay her hands upon. Daniel himself was not one to be +much beforehand with the world; but to Bell's thrifty imagination +the round golden guineas, tied up in the old stocking-foot against +rent-day, seemed a mint of money on which Philip might draw +infinitely. As yet she did not comprehend the extent of her +husband's danger. Sylvia went about like one in a dream, keeping +back the hot tears that might interfere with the course of life she +had prescribed for herself in that terrible hour when she first +learnt all. Every penny of money either she or her mother could save +went to Philip. Kester's hoard, too, was placed in Hepburn's hands +at Sylvia's earnest entreaty; for Kester had no great opinion of +Philip's judgment, and would rather have taken his money straight +himself to Mr. Dawson, and begged him to use it for his master's +behoof. + +Indeed, if anything, the noiseless breach between Kester and Philip +had widened of late. It was seed-time, and Philip, in his great +anxiety for every possible interest that might affect Sylvia, and +also as some distraction from his extreme anxiety about her father, +had taken to study agriculture of an evening in some old books which +he had borrowed--_The Farmer's Complete Guide_, and such like; and +from time to time he came down upon the practical dogged Kester with +directions gathered from the theories in his books. Of course the +two fell out, but without many words. Kester persevered in his old +ways, making light of Philip and his books in manner and action, +till at length Philip withdrew from the contest. 'Many a man may +lead a horse to water, but there's few can make him drink,' and +Philip certainly was not one of those few. Kester, indeed, looked +upon him with jealous eyes on many accounts. He had favoured Charley +Kinraid as a lover of Sylvia's; and though he had no idea of the +truth--though he believed in the drowning of the specksioneer as +much as any one--yet the year which had elapsed since Kinraid's +supposed death was but a very short while to the middle-aged man, +who forgot how slowly time passes with the young; and he could often +have scolded Sylvia, if the poor girl had been a whit less heavy at +heart than she was, for letting Philip come so much about her--come, +though it was on her father's business. For the darkness of their +common dread drew them together, occasionally to the comparative +exclusion of Bell and Kester, which the latter perceived and +resented. Kester even allowed himself to go so far as to wonder what +Philip could want with all the money, which to him seemed +unaccountable; and once or twice the ugly thought crossed his mind, +that shops conducted by young men were often not so profitable as +when guided by older heads, and that some of the coin poured into +Philip's keeping might have another destination than the defence of +his master. Poor Philip! and he was spending all his own, and more +than all his own money, and no one ever knew it, as he had bound +down his friendly bankers to secrecy. + +Once only Kester ventured to speak to Sylvia on the subject of +Philip. She had followed her cousin to the field just in front of +their house, just outside the porch, to ask him some question she +dared not put in her mother's presence--(Bell, indeed, in her +anxiety, usually absorbed all the questions when Philip came)--and +stood, after Philip had bid her good-by, hardly thinking about him +at all, but looking unconsciously after him as he ascended the brow; +and at the top he had turned to take a last glance at the place his +love inhabited, and, seeing her, he had waved his hat in gratified +farewell. She, meanwhile, was roused from far other thoughts than of +him, and of his now acknowledged love, by the motion against the +sky, and was turning back into the house when she heard Kester's low +hoarse call, and saw him standing at the shippen door. + +'Come hither, wench,' said he, indignantly; 'is this a time for +courtin'?' + +'Courting?' said she, drawing up her head, and looking back at him +with proud defiance. + +'Ay, courtin'! what other mak' o' thing is't when thou's gazin' +after yon meddlesome chap, as if thou'd send thy eyes after him, and +he making marlocks back at thee? It's what we ca'ed courtin' i' my +young days anyhow. And it's noane a time for a wench to go courtin' +when her feyther's i' prison,' said he, with a consciousness as he +uttered these last words that he was cruel and unjust and going too +far, yet carried on to say them by his hot jealousy against Philip. + +Sylvia continued looking at him without speaking: she was too much +offended for expression. + +'Thou may glower an' thou may look, lass,' said he, 'but a'd thought +better on thee. It's like last week thy last sweetheart were +drowned; but thou's not one to waste time i' rememberin' them as is +gone--if, indeed, thou iver cared a button for yon Kinraid--if it +wasn't a make-believe.' + +Her lips were contracted and drawn up, showing her small glittering +teeth, which were scarcely apart as she breathed out-- + +'Thou thinks so, does thou, that I've forgetten _him_? Thou'd better +have a care o' thy tongue.' + +Then, as if fearful that her self-command might give way, she turned +into the house; and going through the kitchen like a blind person, +she went up to her now unused chamber, and threw herself, face +downwards, flat on her bed, almost smothering herself. + +Ever since Daniel's committal, the decay that had imperceptibly +begun in his wife's bodily and mental strength during her illness of +the previous winter, had been making quicker progress. She lost her +reticence of speech, and often talked to herself. She had not so +much forethought as of old; slight differences, it is true, but +which, with some others of the same description, gave foundation for +the homely expression which some now applied to Bell, 'She'll never +be t' same woman again. + +This afternoon she had cried herself to sleep in her chair after +Philip's departure. She had not heard Sylvia's sweeping passage +through the kitchen; but half an hour afterwards she was startled up +by Kester's abrupt entry. + +'Where's Sylvie?' asked he. + +'I don't know,' said Bell, looking scared, and as if she was ready +to cry. 'It's no news about him?' said she, standing up, and +supporting herself on the stick she was now accustomed to use. + +'Bless yo', no, dunnot be afeared, missus; it's only as a spoke +hasty to t' wench, an' a want t' tell her as a'm sorry,' said +Kester, advancing into the kitchen, and looking round for Sylvia. + +'Sylvie, Sylvie!' shouted he; 'she mun be i' t' house.' + +Sylvia came slowly down the stairs, and stood before him. Her face +was pale, her mouth set and determined; the light of her eyes veiled +in gloom. Kester shrank from her look, and even more from her +silence. + +'A'm come to ax pardon,' said he, after a little pause. + +She was still silent. + +'A'm noane above axing pardon, though a'm fifty and more, and thee's +but a silly wench, as a've nursed i' my arms. A'll say before thy +mother as a ought niver to ha' used them words, and as how a'm sorry +for 't.' + +'I don't understand it all,' said Bell, in a hurried and perplexed +tone. 'What has Kester been saying, my lass?' she added, turning to +Sylvia. + +Sylvia went a step or two nearer to her mother, and took hold of her +hand as if to quieten her; then facing once more round, she said +deliberately to Kester,-- + +'If thou wasn't Kester, I'd niver forgive thee. Niver,' she added, +with bitterness, as the words he had used recurred to her mind. +'It's in me to hate thee now, for saying what thou did; but thou're +dear old Kester after all, and I can't help mysel', I mun needs +forgive thee,' and she went towards him. He took her little head +between his horny hands and kissed it. She looked up with tears in +her eyes, saying softly,-- + +'Niver say things like them again. Niver speak on----' + +'A'll bite my tongue off first,' he interrupted. + +He kept his word. + +In all Philip's comings and goings to and from Haytersbank Farm at +this time, he never spoke again of his love. In look, words, manner, +he was like a thoughtful, tender brother; nothing more. He could be +nothing more in the presence of the great dread which loomed larger +upon him after every conversation with the lawyer. + +For Mr. Donkin had been right in his prognostication. Government took +up the attack on the Rendezvous with a high and heavy hand. It was +necessary to assert authority which had been of late too often +braved. An example must be made, to strike dismay into those who +opposed and defied the press-gang; and all the minor authorities who +held their powers from Government were in a similar manner severe +and relentless in the execution of their duty. So the attorney, who +went over to see the prisoner in York Castle, told Philip. He added +that Daniel still retained his pride in his achievement, and could +not be brought to understand the dangerous position in which he was +placed; that when pressed and questioned as to circumstances that +might possibly be used in his defence, he always wandered off to +accounts of previous outrages committed by the press-gang, or to +passionate abuse of the trick by which men had been lured from their +homes on the night in question to assist in putting out an imaginary +fire, and then seized and carried off. Some of this very natural +indignation might possibly have some effect on the jury; and this +seemed the only ground of hope, and was indeed a slight one, as the +judge was likely to warn the jury against allowing their natural +sympathy in such a case to divert their minds from the real +question. + +Such was the substance of what Philip heard, and heard repeatedly, +during his many visits to Mr. Dawson. And now the time of trial drew +near; for the York assizes opened on March the twelfth; not much +above three weeks since the offence was committed which took Daniel +from his home and placed him in peril of death. + +Philip was glad that, the extremity of his danger never having been +hinted to Bell, and travelling some forty miles being a most unusual +exertion at that time to persons of her class, the idea of going to +see her husband at York had never suggested itself to Bell's mind. +Her increasing feebleness made this seem a step only to be taken in +case of the fatal extreme necessity; such was the conclusion that +both Sylvia and he had come to; and it was the knowledge of this +that made Sylvia strangle her own daily longing to see her father. +Not but that her hopes were stronger than her fears. Philip never +told her the causes for despondency; she was young, and she, like +her father, could not understand how fearful sometimes is the +necessity for prompt and severe punishment of rebellion against +authority. + +Philip was to be in York during the time of the assizes; and it was +understood, almost without words, that if the terrible worst +occurred, the wife and daughter were to come to York as soon as +might be. For this end Philip silently made all the necessary +arrangements before leaving Monkshaven. The sympathy of all men was +with him; it was too large an occasion for Coulson to be anything +but magnanimous. He urged Philip to take all the time requisite; to +leave all business cares to him. And as Philip went about pale and +sad, there was another cheek that grew paler still, another eye that +filled with quiet tears as his heaviness of heart became more and +more apparent. The day for opening the assizes came on. Philip was +in York Minster, watching the solemn antique procession in which the +highest authority in the county accompanies the judges to the House +of the Lord, to be there admonished as to the nature of their +duties. As Philip listened to the sermon with a strained and beating +heart, his hopes rose higher than his fears for the first time, and +that evening he wrote his first letter to Sylvia. + +'DEAR SYLVIA, + +'It will be longer first than I thought for. Mr. Dawson says Tuesday +in next week. But keep up your heart. I have been hearing the sermon +to-day which is preached to the judges; and the clergyman said so +much in it about mercy and forgiveness, I think they cannot fail to +be lenient this assize. I have seen uncle, who looks but thin, but +is in good heart: only he will keep saying he would do it over again +if he had the chance, which neither Mr. Dawson nor I think is wise in +him, in especial as the gaoler is by and hears every word as is +said. He was very fain of hearing all about home; and wants you to +rear Daisy's calf, as he thinks she will prove a good one. He bade +me give his best love to you and my aunt, and his kind duty to +Kester. + +'Sylvia, will you try and forget how I used to scold you about your +writing and spelling, and just write me two or three lines. I think +I would rather have them badly spelt than not, because then I shall +be sure they are yours. And never mind about capitals; I was a fool +to say such a deal about them, for a man does just as well without +them. A letter from you would do a vast to keep me patient all these +days till Tuesday. Direct-- + +'Mr. Philip Hepburn, + +'Care of Mr. Fraser, Draper, +'Micklegate, York. +'My affectionate duty to my aunt. +'Your respectful cousin and servant, +'PHILIP HEPBURN. + +'P.S. The sermon was grand. The text was Zechariah vii. 9, "Execute +true judgment and show mercy." God grant it may have put mercy into +the judge's heart as is to try my uncle.' + +Heavily the days passed over. On Sunday Bell and Sylvia went to +church, with a strange, half-superstitious feeling, as if they could +propitiate the Most High to order the events in their favour by +paying Him the compliment of attending to duties in their time of +sorrow which they had too often neglected in their prosperous days. + +But He 'who knoweth our frame, and remembereth that we are dust,' +took pity upon His children, and sent some of His blessed peace into +their hearts, else they could scarce have endured the agony of +suspense of those next hours. For as they came slowly and wearily +home from church, Sylvia could no longer bear her secret, but told +her mother of the peril in which Daniel stood. Cold as the March +wind blew, they had not felt it, and had sate down on a hedge bank +for Bell to rest. And then Sylvia spoke, trembling and sick for +fear, yet utterly unable to keep silence any longer. Bell heaved up +her hands, and let them fall down on her knees before she replied. + +'The Lord is above us,' said she, solemnly. 'He has sent a fear o' +this into my heart afore now. I niver breathed it to thee, my +lass----' + +'And I niver spoke on it to thee, mother, because----' + +Sylvia choked with crying, and laid her head on her mother's lap, +feeling that she was no longer the strong one, and the protector, +but the protected. Bell went on, stroking her head, + +'The Lord is like a tender nurse as weans a child to look on and to +like what it lothed once. He has sent me dreams as has prepared me +for this, if so be it comes to pass. + +'Philip is hopeful,' said Sylvia, raising her head and looking +through her tears at her mother. + +'Ay, he is. And I cannot tell, but I think it's not for nought as +the Lord has ta'en away all fear o' death out o' my heart. I think +He means as Daniel and me is to go hand-in-hand through the +valley--like as we walked up to our wedding in Crosthwaite Church. I +could never guide th' house without Daniel, and I should be feared +he'd take a deal more nor is good for him without me.' + +'But me, mother, thou's forgetting me,' moaned out Sylvia. 'Oh, +mother, mother, think on me!' + +'Nay, my lass, I'm noane forgetting yo'. I'd a sore heart a' last +winter a-thinking on thee, when that chap Kinraid were hanging about +thee. I'll noane speak ill on the dead, but I were uneasylike. But +sin' Philip and thee seem to ha' made it up----' + +Sylvia shivered, and opened her mouth to speak, but did not say a +word. + +'And sin' the Lord has been comforting me, and talking to me many a +time when thou's thought I were asleep, things has seemed to redd +theirselves up, and if Daniel goes, I'm ready to follow. I could +niver stand living to hear folks say he'd been hung; it seems so +unnatural and shameful.' + +'But, mother, he won't!--he shan't be hung!' said Sylvia, springing +to her feet. 'Philip says he won't.' + +Bell shook her head. They walked on, Sylvia both disheartened and +almost irritated at her mother's despondency. But before they went +to bed at night Bell said things which seemed as though the +morning's feelings had been but temporary, and as if she was +referring every decision to the period of her husband's return. +'When father comes home,' seemed a sort of burden at the beginning +or end of every sentence, and this reliance on his certain coming +back to them was almost as great a trial to Sylvia as the absence of +all hope had been in the morning. But that instinct told her that +her mother was becoming incapable of argument, she would have asked +her why her views were so essentially changed in so few hours. This +inability of reason in poor Bell made Sylvia feel very desolate. + +Monday passed over--how, neither of them knew, for neither spoke of +what was filling the thoughts of both. Before it was light on +Tuesday morning, Bell was astir. + +'It's very early, mother,' said weary, sleepy Sylvia, dreading +returning consciousness. + +'Ay, lass!' said Bell, in a brisk, cheerful tone; 'but he'll, maybe, +be home to-night, and I'se bound to have all things ready for him.' + +'Anyhow,' said Sylvia, sitting up in bed, 'he couldn't come home +to-night.' + +'Tut, lass! thou doesn't know how quick a man comes home to wife and +child. I'll be a' ready at any rate.' + +She hurried about in a way which Sylvia wondered to see; till at +length she fancied that perhaps her mother did so to drive away +thought. Every place was cleaned; there was scarce time allowed for +breakfast; till at last, long before mid-day, all the work was done, +and the two sat down to their spinning-wheels. Sylvia's spirits sank +lower and lower at each speech of her mother's, from whose mind all +fear seemed to have disappeared, leaving only a strange restless +kind of excitement. + +'It's time for t' potatoes,' said Bell, after her wool had snapped +many a time from her uneven tread. + +'Mother,' said Sylvia, 'it's but just gone ten!' + +'Put 'em on,' said Bell, without attending to the full meaning of +her daughter's words. 'It'll, maybe, hasten t' day on if we get +dinner done betimes.' + +'But Kester is in t' Far Acre field, and he'll not be home till +noon.' + +This seemed to settle matters for a while; but then Bell pushed her +wheel away, and began searching for her hood and cloak. Sylvia found +them for her, and then asked sadly-- + +'What does ta want 'em for, mother?' + +'I'll go up t' brow and through t' field, and just have a look down +t' lane.' + +'I'll go wi' thee,' said Sylvia, feeling all the time the +uselessness of any looking for intelligence from York so early in +the day. Very patiently did she wait by her mother's side during the +long half-hour which Bell spent in gazing down the road for those +who never came. + +When they got home Sylvia put the potatoes on to boil; but when +dinner was ready and the three were seated at the dresser, Bell +pushed her plate away from her, saying it was so long after dinner +time that she was past eating. Kester would have said something +about its being only half-past twelve, but Sylvia gave him a look +beseeching silence, and he went on with his dinner without a word, +only brushing away the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand +from time to time. + +'A'll noane go far fra' home t' rest o' t' day,' said he, in a +whisper to Sylvia, as he went out. + +'Will this day niver come to an end?' cried Bell, plaintively. + +'Oh, mother! it'll come to an end some time, never fear. I've heerd +say-- + +"Be the day weary or be the day long, +At length it ringeth to even-song."' + +'To even-song--to even-song,' repeated Bell. 'D'ye think now that +even-song means death, Sylvie?' + +'I cannot tell--I cannot bear it. Mother,' said Sylvia, in despair, +'I'll make some clap-bread: that's a heavy job, and will while away +t' afternoon.' + +'Ay, do!' replied the mother. 'He'll like it fresh--he'll like it +fresh.' + +Murmuring and talking to herself, she fell into a doze, from which +Sylvia was careful not to disturb her. + +The days were now getting long, although as cold as ever; and at +Haytersbank Farm the light lingered, as there was no near horizon to +bring on early darkness. Sylvia had all ready for her mother's tea +against she wakened; but she slept on and on, the peaceful sleep of +a child, and Sylvia did not care to waken her. Just after the sun +had set, she saw Kester outside the window making signs to her to +come out. She stole out on tip-toe by the back-kitchen, the door of +which was standing open. She almost ran against Philip, who did not +perceive her, as he was awaiting her coming the other way round the +corner of the house, and who turned upon her a face whose import she +read in an instant. 'Philip!' was all she said, and then she fainted +at his feet, coming down with a heavy bang on the round paving +stones of the yard. + +'Kester! Kester!' he cried, for she looked like one dead, and with +all his strength the wearied man could not lift her and carry her +into the house. + +With Kester's help she was borne into the back-kitchen, and Kester +rushed to the pump for some cold water to throw over her. + +While Philip, kneeling at her head, was partly supporting her in his +arms, and heedless of any sight or sound, the shadow of some one +fell upon him. He looked up and saw his aunt; the old dignified, +sensible expression on her face, exactly like her former self, +composed, strong, and calm. + +'My lass,' said she, sitting down by Philip, and gently taking her +out of his arms into her own. 'Lass, bear up! we mun bear up, and be +agait on our way to him, he'll be needing us now. Bear up, my lass! +the Lord will give us strength. We mun go to him; ay, time's +precious; thou mun cry thy cry at after!' + +Sylvia opened her dim eyes, and heard her mother's voice; the ideas +came slowly into her mind, and slowly she rose up, standing still, +like one who has been stunned, to regain her strength; and then, +taking hold of her mother's arm, she said, in a soft, strange +voice-- + +'Let's go. I'm ready.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE ORDEAL + + + + + +It was the afternoon of an April day in that same year, and the sky +was blue above, with little sailing white clouds catching the +pleasant sunlight. The earth in that northern country had scarcely +yet put on her robe of green. The few trees grew near brooks running +down from the moors and the higher ground. The air was full of +pleasant sounds prophesying of the coming summer. The rush, and +murmur, and tinkle of the hidden watercourses; the song of the lark +poised high up in the sunny air; the bleat of the lambs calling to +their mothers--everything inanimate was full of hope and gladness. + +For the first time for a mournful month the front door of +Haytersbank Farm was open; the warm spring air might enter, and +displace the sad dark gloom, if it could. There was a newly-lighted +fire in the unused grate; and Kester was in the kitchen, with his +clogs off his feet, so as not to dirty the spotless floor, stirring +here and there, and trying in his awkward way to make things look +home-like and cheerful. He had brought in some wild daffodils which +he had been to seek in the dawn, and he placed them in a jug on the +dresser. Dolly Reid, the woman who had come to help Sylvia during +her mother's illness a year ago, was attending to something in the +back-kitchen, making a noise among the milk-cans, and singing a +ballad to herself as she worked; yet every now and then she checked +herself in her singing, as if a sudden recollection came upon her +that this was neither the time nor the place for songs. Once or +twice she took up the funeral psalm which is sung by the bearers of +the body in that country-- + +Our God, our help in ages past. + +But it was of no use: the pleasant April weather out of doors, and +perhaps the natural spring in the body, disposed her nature to +cheerfulness, and insensibly she returned to her old ditty. + +Kester was turning over many things in his rude honest mind as he +stood there, giving his finishing touches every now and then to the +aspect of the house-place, in preparation for the return of the +widow and daughter of his old master. + +It was a month and more since they had left home; more than a +fortnight since Kester, with three halfpence in his pocket, had set +out after his day's work to go to York--to walk all night long, and +to wish Daniel Robson his last farewell. + +Daniel had tried to keep up and had brought out one or two familiar, +thread-bare, well-worn jokes, such as he had made Kester chuckle +over many a time and oft, when the two had been together afield or +in the shippen at the home which he should never more see. But no +'Old Grouse in the gunroom' could make Kester smile, or do anything +except groan in but a heart-broken sort of fashion, and presently +the talk had become more suitable to the occasion, Daniel being up +to the last the more composed of the two; for Kester, when turned +out of the condemned cell, fairly broke down into the heavy sobbing +he had never thought to sob again on earth. He had left Bell and +Sylvia in their lodging at York, under Philip's care; he dared not +go to see them; he could not trust himself; he had sent them his +duty, and bade Philip tell Sylvia that the game-hen had brought out +fifteen chickens at a hatch. + +Yet although Kester sent this message through Philip--although he +saw and recognized all that Philip was doing in their behalf, in the +behalf of Daniel Robson, the condemned felon, his honoured master-- +he liked Hepburn not a whit better than he had done before all this +sorrow had come upon them. + +Philip had, perhaps, shown a want of tact in his conduct to Kester. +Acute with passionate keenness in one direction, he had a sort of +dull straightforwardness in all others. For instance, he had +returned Kester the money which the latter had so gladly advanced +towards the expenses incurred in defending Daniel. Now the money +which Philip gave him back was part of an advance which Foster +Brothers had made on Philip's own account. Philip had thought that +it was hard on Kester to lose his savings in a hopeless cause, and +had made a point of repaying the old man; but Kester would far +rather have felt that the earnings of the sweat of his brow had gone +in the attempt to save his master's life than have had twice ten +times as many golden guineas. + +Moreover, it seemed to take his action in lending his hoard out of +the sphere of love, and make it but a leaden common loan, when it +was Philip who brought him the sum, not Sylvia, into whose hands he +had given it. + +With these feelings Kester felt his heart shut up as he saw the +long-watched-for two coming down the little path with a third +person; with Philip holding up the failing steps of poor Bell +Robson, as, loaded with her heavy mourning, and feeble from the +illness which had detained her in York ever since the day of her +husband's execution, she came faltering back to her desolate home. +Sylvia was also occupied in attending to her mother; one or twice, +when they paused a little, she and Philip spoke, in the familiar way +in which there is no coyness nor reserve. Kester caught up his +clogs, and went quickly out through the back-kitchen into the +farm-yard, not staying to greet them, as he had meant to do; and yet +it was dull-sighted of him not to have perceived that whatever might +be the relations between Philip and Sylvia, he was sure to have +accompanied them home; for, alas! he was the only male protector of +their blood remaining in the world. Poor Kester, who would fain have +taken that office upon himself, chose to esteem himself cast off, +and went heavily about the farmyard, knowing that he ought to go in +and bid such poor welcome as he had to offer, yet feeling too much +to like to show himself before Philip. + +It was long, too, before any one had leisure to come and seek him. +Bell's mind had flashed up for a time, till the fatal day, only to +be reduced by her subsequent illness into complete and hopeless +childishness. It was all Philip and Sylvia could do to manage her in +the first excitement of returning home; her restless inquiry for him +who would never more be present in the familiar scene, her feverish +weariness and uneasiness, all required tender soothing and most +patient endurance of her refusals to be satisfied with what they +said or did. + +At length she took some food, and, refreshed by it, and warmed by +the fire, she sank asleep in her chair. Then Philip would fain have +spoken with Sylvia before the hour came at which he must return to +Monkshaven, but she eluded him, and went in search of Kester, whose +presence she had missed. + +She had guessed some of the causes which kept him from greeting them +on their first return. But it was not as if she had shaped these +causes into the definite form of words. It is astonishing to look +back and find how differently constituted were the minds of most +people fifty or sixty years ago; they felt, they understood, without +going through reasoning or analytic processes, and if this was the +case among the more educated people, of course it was still more so +in the class to which Sylvia belonged. She knew by some sort of +intuition that if Philip accompanied them home (as, indeed, under +the circumstances, was so natural as to be almost unavoidable), the +old servant and friend of the family would absent himself; and so +she slipped away at the first possible moment to go in search of +him. There he was in the farm-yard, leaning over the gate that +opened into the home-field, apparently watching the poultry that +scratched and pecked at the new-springing grass with the utmost +relish. A little farther off were the ewes with their new-dropped +lambs, beyond that the great old thorn-tree with its round fresh +clusters of buds, again beyond that there was a glimpse of the vast +sunny rippling sea; but Sylvia knew well that Kester was looking at +none of these things. She went up to him and touched his arm. He +started from his reverie, and turned round upon her with his dim +eyes full of unshed tears. When he saw her black dress, her deep +mourning, he had hard work to keep from breaking out, but by dint of +a good brush of his eyes with the back of his hand, and a moment's +pause, he could look at her again with tolerable calmness. + +'Why, Kester: why didst niver come to speak to us?' said Sylvia, +finding it necessary to be cheerful if she could. + +'A dun know; niver ax me. A say, they'n gi'en Dick Simpson' (whose +evidence had been all material against poor Daniel Robson at the +trial) 'a' t' rotten eggs and fou' things they could o' Saturday, +they did,' continued he, in a tone of satisfaction; 'ay, and they +niver stopped t' see whether t' eggs were rotten or fresh when their +blood was up--nor whether stones was hard or soft,' he added, in a +lower tone, and chuckling a little. + +Sylvia was silent. He looked at her now, chuckling still. Her face +was white, her lips tightened, her eyes a-flame. She drew a long +breath. + +'I wish I'd been theere! I wish I could do him an ill turn,' sighed +she, with some kind of expression on her face that made Kester quail +a little. + +'Nay, lass! he'll get it fra' others. Niver fret thysel' about sich +rubbish. A'n done ill to speak on him.' + +'No! thou hasn't. Then as was friends o' father's I'll love for iver +and iver; them as helped for t' hang him' (she shuddered from head +to foot--a sharp irrepressible shudder!) 'I'll niver forgive--niver!' + +'Niver's a long word,' said Kester, musingly. 'A could horsewhip +him, or cast stones at him, or duck him mysel'; but, lass! niver's a +long word!' + +'Well! niver heed if it is--it's me as said it, and I'm turned +savage late days. Come in, Kester, and see poor mother.' + +'A cannot,' said he, turning his wrinkled puckered face away, that +she might not see the twitchings of emotion on it. 'There's kine to +be fetched up, and what not, and he's theere, isn't he, Sylvie?' +facing round upon her with inquisitiveness. Under his peering eyes +she reddened a little. + +'Yes, if it's Philip thou means; he's been all we've had to look to +sin'.' Again the shudder. + +'Well, now he'll be seein' after his shop, a reckon?' + +Sylvia was calling to the old mare nibbling tufts of early-springing +grass here and there, and half unconsciously coaxing the creature to +come up to the gate to be stroked. But she heard Kester's words well +enough, and so he saw, although she made this excuse not to reply. +But Kester was not to be put off. + +'Folks is talkin' about thee and him; thou'll ha' to mind lest thee +and him gets yo'r names coupled together.' + +'It's right down cruel on folks, then,' said she, crimsoning from +some emotion. 'As if any man as was a man wouldn't do all he could +for two lone women at such a time--and he a cousin, too! Tell me who +said so,' continued she, firing round at Kester, 'and I'll niver +forgive 'em--that's all.' + +'Hoots!' said Kester, a little conscious that he himself was the +principal representative of that name of multitude folk. 'Here's a +pretty lass; she's' got "a'll niver forgi'e" at her tongue's end wi' +a vengeance.' + +Sylvia was a little confused. + +'Oh, Kester, man,' said she, 'my heart is sore again' every one, for +feyther's sake.' + +And at length the natural relief of plentiful tears came; and +Kester, with instinctive wisdom, let her weep undisturbed; indeed, +he cried not a little himself. They were interrupted by Philip's +voice from the back-door. + +'Sylvie, your mother's awake, and wants you!' + +'Come, Kester, come,' and taking hold of him she drew him with her +into the house. + +Bell rose as they came in, holding by the arms of the chair. At +first she received Kester as though he had been a stranger. + +'I'm glad to see yo', sir; t' master's out, but he'll be in afore +long. It'll be about t' lambs yo're come, mebbe?' + +'Mother!' said Sylvia, 'dunnot yo' see? it's Kester,--Kester, wi' +his Sunday clothes on.' + +'Kester! ay, sure it is; my eyes have getten so sore and dim of +late; just as if I'd been greeting. I'm sure, lad, I'm glad +to see thee! It's a long time I've been away, but it were not +pleasure-seeking as took me, it were business o' some mak'--tell +him, Sylvie, what it were, for my head's clean gone. I only know I +wouldn't ha' left home if I could ha' helped it; for I think I +should ha' kept my health better if I'd bided at home wi' my master. +I wonder as he's not comed in for t' bid me welcome? Is he far +afield, think ye, Kester?' + +Kester looked at Sylvia, mutely imploring her to help him out in the +dilemma of answering, but she was doing all she could to help +crying. Philip came to the rescue. + +'Aunt,' said he, 'the clock has stopped; can you tell me where t' +find t' key, and I'll wind it up.' + +'T' key,' said she, hurriedly, 't' key, it's behind th' big Bible on +yon shelf. But I'd rayther thou wouldn't touch it, lad; it's t' +master's work, and he distrusts folk meddling wi' it.' + +Day after day there was this constant reference to her dead husband. +In one sense it was a blessing; all the circumstances attendant on +his sad and untimely end were swept out of her mind along with the +recollection of the fact itself. She referred to him as absent, and +had always some plausible way of accounting for it, which satisfied +her own mind; and, accordingly they fell into the habit of humouring +her, and speaking of him as gone to Monkshaven, or afield, or +wearied out, and taking a nap upstairs, as her fancy led her to +believe for the moment. But this forgetfulness, though happy for +herself, was terrible for her child. It was a constant renewing of +Sylvia's grief, while her mother could give her no sympathy, no +help, or strength in any circumstances that arose out of this grief. +She was driven more and more upon Philip; his advice and his +affection became daily more necessary to her. + +Kester saw what would be the end of all this more clearly than +Sylvia did herself; and, impotent to hinder what he feared and +disliked, he grew more and more surly every day. Yet he tried to +labour hard and well for the interests of the family, as if they +were bound up in his good management of the cattle and land. He was +out and about by the earliest dawn, working all day long with might +and main. He bought himself a pair of new spectacles, which might, +he fancied, enable him to read the _Farmer's Complete Guide_, his +dead master's _vade-mecum_. But he had never learnt more than his +capital letters, and had forgotten many of them; so the spectacles +did him but little good. Then he would take the book to Sylvia, and +ask her to read to him the instructions he needed; instructions, be +it noted, that he would formerly have despised as mere book-learning: +but his present sense of responsibility had made him humble. + +Sylvia would find the place with all deliberation: and putting her +finger under the line to keep the exact place of the word she was +reading, she would strive in good earnest to read out the directions +given; but when every fourth word had to be spelt, it was rather +hopeless work, especially as all these words were unintelligible to +the open-mouthed listener, however intent he might be. He had +generally to fall back on his own experience; and, guided by that, +things were not doing badly in his estimation, when, one day, Sylvia +said to him, as they were in the hay-field, heaping up the hay into +cocks with Dolly Reid's assistance-- + +'Kester--I didn't tell thee--there were a letter from Measter Hall, +Lord Malton's steward, that came last night and that Philip read +me.' + +She stopped for a moment. + +'Ay, lass! Philip read it thee, and whatten might it say?' + +'Only that he had an offer for Haytersbank Farm, and would set +mother free to go as soon as t' crops was off t' ground.' + +She sighed a little as she said this. + +"'Only!" sayst ta? Whatten business has he for to go an' offer to +let t' farm afore iver he were told as yo' wished to leave it?' +observed Kester, in high dudgeon. + +'Oh!' replied Sylvia, throwing down her rake, as if weary of life. +'What could we do wi' t' farm and land? If it were all dairy I might +ha' done, but wi' so much on it arable.' + +'And if 'tis arable is not I allays to t' fore?' + +'Oh, man, dunnot find fault wi' me! I'm just fain to lie down and +die, if it were not for mother.' + +'Ay! thy mother will be sore unsettled if thou's for quitting +Haytersbank,' said merciless Kester. + +'I cannot help it; I cannot help it! What can I do? It would take +two pair o' men's hands to keep t' land up as Measter Hall likes it; +and beside----' + +'Beside what?' said Kester, looking up at her with his sudden odd +look, one eye shut, the other open: there she stood, her two hands +clasped tight together, her eyes filling with tears, her face pale +and sad. 'Beside what?' he asked again, sharply. + +'T' answer's sent to Measter Hall--Philip wrote it last night; so +there's no use planning and fretting, it were done for t' best, and +mun be done.' She stooped and picked up her rake, and began tossing +the hay with energy, the tears streaming down her cheeks unheeded. +It was Kester's turn to throw down his rake. She took no notice, he +did not feel sure that she had observed his action. He began to walk +towards the field-gate; this movement did catch her eye, for in a +minute her hand was on his arm, and she was stooping forward to look +into his face. It was working and twitching with emotion. 'Kester! +oh, man! speak out, but dunnot leave me a this-ns. What could I ha' +done? Mother is gone dateless wi' sorrow, and I am but a young lass, +i' years I mean; for I'm old enough wi' weeping.' + +'I'd ha' put up for t' farm mysel', sooner than had thee turned +out,' said Kester, in a low voice; then working himself up into a +passion, as a new suspicion crossed his mind, he added, 'An' what +for didn't yo' tell me on t' letter? Yo' were in a mighty hurry to +settle it a', and get rid on t' oud place.' + +'Measter Hall had sent a notice to quit on Midsummer day; but Philip +had answered it hisself. Thou knows I'm not good at reading writing, +'special when a letter's full o' long words, and Philip had ta'en it +in hand to answer.' + +'Wi'out asking thee?' + +Sylvia went on without minding the interruption. + +'And Measter Hall makes a good offer, for t' man as is going to come +in will take t' stock and a' t' implements; and if mother--if we--if +I--like, th' furniture and a'----' + +'Furniture!' said Kester, in grim surprise. 'What's to come o' t' +missus and thee, that yo'll not need a bed to lie on, or a pot to +boil yo'r vittel in?' + +Sylvia reddened, but kept silence. + +'Cannot yo' speak?' + +'Oh, Kester, I didn't think thou'd turn again' me, and me so +friendless. It's as if I'd been doin' something wrong, and I have so +striven to act as is best; there's mother as well as me to be +thought on.' + +'Cannot yo' answer a question?' said Kester, once more. 'Whatten's +up that t' missus and yo'll not need bed and table, pots and pans?' + +'I think I'm going to marry Philip,' said Sylvia, in so low a tone, +that if Kester had not suspected what her answer was to be, he could +not have understood it. + +After a moment's pause he recommenced his walk towards the +field-gate. But she went after him and held him tight by the arm, +speaking rapidly. + +'Kester, what could I do? What can I do? He's my cousin, and mother +knows him, and likes him; and he's been so good to us in a' this +time o' trouble and heavy grief, and he'll keep mother in comfort +all t' rest of her days.' + +'Ay, and thee in comfort. There's a deal in a well-filled purse in a +wench's eyes, or one would ha' thought it weren't so easy forgettin' +yon lad as loved thee as t' apple on his eye.' + +'Kester, Kester,' she cried, 'I've niver forgotten Charley; I think +on him, I see him ivery night lying drowned at t' bottom o' t' sea. +Forgetten him! Man! it's easy talking!' She was like a wild creature +that sees its young, but is unable to reach it without a deadly +spring, and yet is preparing to take that fatal leap. Kester himself +was almost startled, and yet it was as if he must go on torturing +her. + +'An' who telled thee so sure and certain as he were drowned? He +might ha' been carried off by t' press-gang as well as other men.' + +'Oh! if I were but dead that I might know all!' cried she, flinging +herself down on the hay. + +Kester kept silence. Then she sprang up again, and looking with +eager wistfulness into his face, she said,-- + +'Tell me t' chances. Tell me quick! Philip's very good, and kind, +and he says he shall die if I will not marry him, and there's no +home for mother and me,--no home for her, for as for me I dunnot +care what becomes on me; but if Charley's alive I cannot marry +Philip--no, not if he dies for want o' me--and as for mother, poor +mother, Kester, it's an awful strait; only first tell me if there's +a chance, just one in a thousand, only one in a hundred thousand, as +Charley were ta'en by t' gang?' She was breathless by this time, +what with her hurried words, and what with the beating of her heart. +Kester took time to answer. He had spoken before too hastily, this +time he weighed his words. + +'Kinraid went away from this here place t' join his ship. An' he +niver joined it no more; an' t' captain an' all his friends at +Newcassel as iver were, made search for him, on board t' king's +ships. That's more nor fifteen month ago, an' nought has iver been +heerd on him by any man. That's what's to be said on one side o' t' +matter. Then on t' other there's this as is known. His hat were cast +up by t' sea wi' a ribbon in it, as there's reason t' think as he'd +not ha' parted wi' so quick if he'd had his own will.' + +'But yo' said as he might ha' been carried off by t' gang--yo' did, +Kester, tho' now yo're a' for t' other side.' + +'My lass, a'd fain have him alive, an' a dunnot fancy Philip for thy +husband; but it's a serious judgment as thou's put me on, an' a'm +trying it fair. There's allays one chance i' a thousand as he's +alive, for no man iver saw him dead. But t' gang were noane about +Monkshaven then: there were niver a tender on t' coast nearer than +Shields, an' those theere were searched.' + +He did not say any more, but turned back into the field, and took up +his hay-making again. + +Sylvia stood quite still, thinking, and wistfully longing for some +kind of certainty. + +Kester came up to her. + +'Sylvie, thou knows Philip paid me back my money, and it were eight +pound fifteen and three-pence; and t' hay and stock 'll sell for +summat above t' rent; and a've a sister as is a decent widow-woman, +tho' but badly off, livin' at Dale End; and if thee and thy mother +'ll go live wi' her, a'll give thee well on to all a can earn, and +it'll be a matter o' five shilling a week. But dunnot go and marry a +man as thou's noane taken wi', and another as is most like for t' be +dead, but who, mebbe, is alive, havin' a pull on thy heart.' + +Sylvia began to cry as if her heart was broken. She had promised +herself more fully to Philip the night before than she had told +Kester; and, with some pains and much patience, her cousin, her +lover, alas! her future husband, had made the fact clear to the +bewildered mind of her poor mother, who had all day long shown that +her mind and heart were full of the subject, and that the +contemplation of it was giving her as much peace as she could ever +know. And now Kester's words came to call up echoes in the poor +girl's heart. Just as she was in this miserable state, wishing that +the grave lay open before her, and that she could lie down, and be +covered up by the soft green turf from all the bitter sorrows and +carking cares and weary bewilderments of this life; wishing that her +father was alive, that Charley was once more here; that she had not +repeated the solemn words by which she had promised herself to +Philip only the very evening before, she heard a soft, low whistle, +and, looking round unconsciously, there was her lover and affianced +husband, leaning on the gate, and gazing into the field with +passionate eyes, devouring the fair face and figure of her, his +future wife. + +'Oh, Kester,' said she once more, 'what mun I do? I'm pledged to him +as strong as words can make it, and mother blessed us both wi' more +sense than she's had for weeks. Kester, man, speak! Shall I go and +break it all off?--say.' + +'Nay, it's noane for me t' say; m'appen thou's gone too far. Them +above only knows what is best.' + +Again that long, cooing whistle. 'Sylvie!' + +'He's been very kind to us all,' said Sylvia, laying her rake down +with slow care, 'and I'll try t' make him happy.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +WEDDING RAIMENT + + + + + +Philip and Sylvia were engaged. It was not so happy a state of +things as Philip had imagined. He had already found that out, +although it was not twenty-four hours since Sylvia had promised to +be his. He could not have defined why he was dissatisfied; if he had +been compelled to account for his feeling, he would probably have +alleged as a reason that Sylvia's manner was so unchanged by her new +position towards him. She was quiet and gentle; but no shyer, no +brighter, no coyer, no happier, than she had been for months before. +When she joined him at the field-gate, his heart was beating fast, +his eyes were beaming out love at her approach. She neither blushed +nor smiled, but seemed absorbed in thought of some kind. But she +resisted his silent effort to draw her away from the path leading to +the house, and turned her face steadily homewards. He murmured soft +words, which she scarcely heard. Right in their way was the stone +trough for the fresh bubbling water, that, issuing from a roadside +spring, served for all the household purposes of Haytersbank Farm. +By it were the milk-cans, glittering and clean. Sylvia knew she +should have to stop for these, and carry them back home in readiness +for the evening's milking; and at this time, during this action, she +resolved to say what was on her mind. + +They were there. Sylvia spoke. + +'Philip, Kester has been saying as how it might ha' been----' + +'Well!' said Philip. + +Sylvia sate down on the edge of the trough, and dipped her hot +little hand in the water. Then she went on quickly, and lifting her +beautiful eyes to Philip's face, with a look of inquiry--'He thinks +as Charley Kinraid may ha' been took by t' press-gang.' + +It was the first time she had named the name of her former lover to +her present one since the day, long ago now, when they had +quarrelled about him; and the rosy colour flushed her all over; but +her sweet, trustful eyes never flinched from their steady, +unconscious gaze. + +Philip's heart stopped beating; literally, as if he had come to a +sudden precipice, while he had thought himself securely walking on +sunny greensward. He went purple all over from dismay; he dared not +take his eyes away from that sad, earnest look of hers, but he was +thankful that a mist came before them and drew a veil before his +brain. He heard his own voice saying words he did not seem to have +framed in his own mind. + +'Kester's a d--d fool,' he growled. + +'He says there's mebbe but one chance i' a hundred,' said Sylvia, +pleading, as it were, for Kester; 'but oh! Philip, think yo' there's +just that one chance?' + +'Ay, there's a chance, sure enough,' said Philip, in a kind of +fierce despair that made him reckless what he said or did. 'There's +a chance, I suppose, for iverything i' life as we have not seen with +our own eyes as it may not ha' happened. Kester may say next as +there's a chance as your father is not dead, because we none on us +saw him----' + +'Hung,' he was going to have said, but a touch of humanity came back +into his stony heart. Sylvia sent up a little sharp cry at his +words. He longed at the sound to take her in his arms and hush her +up, as a mother hushes her weeping child. But the very longing, +having to be repressed, only made him more beside himself with +guilt, anxiety, and rage. They were quite still now. Sylvia looking +sadly down into the bubbling, merry, flowing water: Philip glaring +at her, wishing that the next word were spoken, though it might stab +him to the heart. But she did not speak. + +At length, unable to bear it any longer, he said, 'Thou sets a deal +o' store on that man, Sylvie.' + +If 'that man' had been there at the moment, Philip would have +grappled with him, and not let go his hold till one or the other +were dead. Sylvia caught some of the passionate meaning of the +gloomy, miserable tone of Philip's voice as he said these words. She +looked up at him. + +'I thought yo' knowed that I cared a deal for him.' + +There was something so pleading and innocent in her pale, troubled +face, so pathetic in her tone, that Philip's anger, which had been +excited against her, as well as against all the rest of the world, +melted away into love; and once more he felt that have her for his +own he must, at any cost. He sate down by her, and spoke to her in +quite a different manner to that which he had used before, with a +ready tact and art which some strange instinct or tempter 'close at +his ear' supplied. + +'Yes, darling, I knew yo' cared for him. I'll not say ill of him +that is--dead--ay, dead and drowned--whativer Kester may +say--before now; but if I chose I could tell tales.' + +'No! tell no tales; I'll not hear them,' said she, wrenching herself +out of Philip's clasping arm. 'They may misca' him for iver, and +I'll not believe 'em.' + +'I'll niver miscall one who is dead,' said Philip; each new +unconscious sign of the strength of Sylvia's love for her former +lover only making him the more anxious to convince her that he was +dead, only rendering him more keen at deceiving his own conscience +by repeating to it the lie that long ere this Kinraid was in all +probability dead--killed by either the chances of war or tempestuous +sea; that, even if not, he was as good as dead to her; so that the +word 'dead' might be used in all honest certainty, as in one of its +meanings Kinraid was dead for sure. + +'Think yo' that if he were not dead he wouldn't ha' written ere this +to some one of his kin, if not to thee? Yet none of his folk +Newcassel-way but believe him dead.' + +'So Kester says,' sighed Sylvia. + +Philip took heart. He put his arm softly round her again, and +murmured-- + +'My lassie, try not to think on them as is gone, as is dead, but t' +think a bit more on him as loves yo' wi' heart, and soul, and might, +and has done iver sin' he first set eyes on yo'. Oh, Sylvie, my love +for thee is just terrible.' + +At this moment Dolly Reid was seen at the back-door of the +farmhouse, and catching sight of Sylvia, she called out-- + +'Sylvia, thy mother is axing for thee, and I cannot make her mind +easy.' + +In a moment Sylvia had sprung up from her seat, and was running in +to soothe and comfort her mother's troubled fancies. + +Philip sate on by the well-side, his face buried in his two hands. +Presently he lifted himself up, drank some water eagerly out of his +hollowed palm, sighed, and shook himself, and followed his cousin +into the house. Sometimes he came unexpectedly to the limits of his +influence over her. In general she obeyed his expressed wishes with +gentle indifference, as if she had no preferences of her own; once +or twice he found that she was doing what he desired out of the +spirit of obedience, which, as her mother's daughter, she believed +to be her duty towards her affianced husband. And this last motive +for action depressed her lover more than anything. He wanted the old +Sylvia back again; captious, capricious, wilful, haughty, merry, +charming. Alas! that Sylvia was gone for ever. + +But once especially his power, arising from whatever cause, was +stopped entirely short--was utterly of no avail. + +It was on the occasion of Dick Simpson's mortal illness. Sylvia and +her mother kept aloof from every one. They had never been intimate +with any family but the Corneys, and even this friendship had +considerably cooled since Molly's marriage, and most especially +since Kinraid's supposed death, when Bessy Corney and Sylvia had +been, as it were, rival mourners. But many people, both in +Monkshaven and the country round about, held the Robson family in +great respect, although Mrs. Robson herself was accounted 'high' and +'distant;' and poor little Sylvia, in her heyday of beautiful youth +and high spirits, had been spoken of as 'a bit flighty,' and 'a +set-up lassie.' Still, when their great sorrow fell upon them, there +were plenty of friends to sympathize deeply with them; and, as +Daniel had suffered in a popular cause, there were even more who, +scarcely knowing them personally, were ready to give them all the +marks of respect and friendly feeling in their power. But neither +Bell nor Sylvia were aware of this. The former had lost all +perception of what was not immediately before her; the latter shrank +from all encounters of any kind with a sore heart, and sensitive +avoidance of everything that could make her a subject of remark. So +the poor afflicted people at Haytersbank knew little of Monkshaven +news. What little did come to their ears came through Dolly Reid, +when she returned from selling the farm produce of the week; and +often, indeed, even then she found Sylvia too much absorbed in other +cares or thoughts to listen to her gossip. So no one had ever named +that Simpson was supposed to be dying till Philip began on the +subject one evening. Sylvia's face suddenly flashed into glow and +life. + +'He's dying, is he? t' earth is well rid on such a fellow!' + +'Eh, Sylvie, that's a hard speech o' thine!' said Philip; 'it gives +me but poor heart to ask a favour of thee!' + +'If it's aught about Simpson,' replied she, and then she interrupted +herself. 'But say on; it were ill-mannered in me for t' interrupt +yo'.' + +'Thou would be sorry to see him, I think, Sylvie. He cannot get over +the way, t' folk met him, and pelted him when he came back fra' +York,--and he's weak and faint, and beside himself at times; and +he'll lie a dreaming, and a-fancying they're all at him again, +hooting, and yelling, and pelting him.' + +'I'm glad on 't,' said Sylvia; 'it's t' best news I've heered for +many a day,--he, to turn again' feyther, who gave him money fo t' +get a lodging that night, when he'd no place to go to. It were his +evidence as hung feyther; and he's rightly punished for it now.' + +'For a' that,--and he's done a vast o' wrong beside, he's dying now, +Sylvie!' + +'Well! let him die--it's t' best thing he could do!' + +'But he's lying i' such dree poverty,--and niver a friend to go near +him,--niver a person to speak a kind word t' him.' + +'It seems as yo've been speaking wi' him, at any rate,' said Sylvia, +turning round on Philip. + +'Ay. He sent for me by Nell Manning, th' old beggar-woman, who +sometimes goes in and makes his bed for him, poor wretch,--he's +lying in t' ruins of th' cow-house of th' Mariners' Arms, Sylvie.' + +'Well!' said she, in the same hard, dry tone. + +'And I went and fetched th' parish doctor, for I thought he'd ha' +died before my face,--he was so wan, and ashen-grey, so thin, too, +his eyes seem pushed out of his bony face.' + +'That last time--feyther's eyes were starting, wild-like, and as if +he couldn't meet ours, or bear the sight on our weeping.' + +It was a bad look-out for Philip's purpose; but after a pause he +went bravely on. + +'He's a poor dying creature, anyhow. T' doctor said so, and told him +he hadn't many hours, let alone days, to live.' + +'And he'd shrink fra' dying wi' a' his sins on his head?' said +Sylvia, almost exultingly. + +Philip shook his head. 'He said this world had been too strong for +him, and men too hard upon him; he could niver do any good here, and +he thought he should, maybe, find folks i' t' next place more +merciful.' + +'He'll meet feyther theere,' said Sylvia, still hard and bitter. + +'He's a poor ignorant creature, and doesn't seem to know rightly who +he's like to meet; only he seems glad to get away fra' Monkshaven +folks; he were really hurt, I am afeared, that night, Sylvie,--and +he speaks as if he'd had hard times of it ever since he were a +child,--and he talks as if he were really grieved for t' part t' +lawyers made him take at th' trial,--they made him speak, against +his will, he says.' + +'Couldn't he ha' bitten his tongue out?' asked Sylvia. 'It's fine +talking o' sorrow when the thing is done!' + +'Well, anyhow he's sorry now; and he's not long for to live. And, +Sylvie, he bid me ask thee, if, for the sake of all that is dear to +thee both here, and i' th' world to come, thou'd go wi' me, and just +say to him that thou forgives him his part that day.' + +'He sent thee on that errand, did he? And thou could come and ask +me? I've a mind to break it off for iver wi' thee, Philip.' She kept +gasping, as if she could not say any more. Philip watched and waited +till her breath came, his own half choked. + +'Thee and me was niver meant to go together. It's not in me to +forgive,--I sometimes think it's not in me to forget. I wonder, +Philip, if thy feyther had done a kind deed--and a right deed--and a +merciful deed--and some one as he'd been good to, even i' t' midst +of his just anger, had gone and let on about him to th' judge, as +was trying to hang him,--and had getten him hanged,--hanged dead, so +that his wife were a widow, and his child fatherless for +ivermore,--I wonder if thy veins would run milk and water, so that +thou could go and make friends, and speak soft wi' him as had caused +thy feyther's death?' + +'It's said in t' Bible, Sylvie, that we're to forgive.' + +'Ay, there's some things as I know I niver forgive; and there's +others as I can't--and I won't, either.' + +'But, Sylvie, yo' pray to be forgiven your trespasses, as you +forgive them as trespass against you.' + +'Well, if I'm to be taken at my word, I'll noane pray at all, that's +all. It's well enough for them as has but little to forgive to use +them words; and I don't reckon it's kind, or pretty behaved in yo', +Philip, to bring up Scripture again' me. Thou may go about thy +business.' + +'Thou'rt vexed with me, Sylvie; and I'm not meaning but that it +would go hard with thee to forgive him; but I think it would be +right and Christian-like i' thee, and that thou'd find thy comfort +in thinking on it after. If thou'd only go, and see his wistful +eyes--I think they'd plead wi' thee more than his words, or mine +either.' + +'I tell thee my flesh and blood wasn't made for forgiving and +forgetting. Once for all, thou must take my word. When I love I +love, and when I hate I hate; and him as has done hard to me, or to +mine, I may keep fra' striking or murdering, but I'll niver forgive. +I should be just a monster, fit to be shown at a fair, if I could +forgive him as got feyther hanged.' + +Philip was silent, thinking what more he could urge. + +'Yo'd better be off,' said Sylvia, in a minute or two. 'Yo' and me +has got wrong, and it'll take a night's sleep to set us right. Yo've +said all yo' can for him; and perhaps it's not yo' as is to blame, +but yo'r nature. But I'm put out wi' thee, and want thee out o' my +sight for awhile.' + +One or two more speeches of this kind convinced him that it would be +wise in him to take her at her word. He went back to Simpson, and +found him, though still alive, past the understanding of any words +of human forgiveness. Philip had almost wished he had not troubled +or irritated Sylvia by urging the dying man's request: the +performance of this duty seemed now to have been such a useless +office. + +After all, the performance of a duty is never a useless office, +though we may not see the consequences, or they may be quite +different to what we expected or calculated on. In the pause of +active work, when daylight was done, and the evening shades came on, +Sylvia had time to think; and her heart grew sad and soft, in +comparison to what it had been when Philip's urgency had called out +all her angry opposition. She thought of her father--his sharp +passions, his frequent forgiveness, or rather his forgetfulness that +he had even been injured. All Sylvia's persistent or enduring +qualities were derived from her mother, her impulses from her +father. It was her dead father whose example filled her mind this +evening in the soft and tender twilight. She did not say to herself +that she would go and tell Simpson that she forgave him; but she +thought that if Philip asked her again that she should do so. + +But when she saw Philip again he told her that Simpson was dead; and +passed on from what he had reason to think would be an unpleasant +subject to her. Thus he never learnt how her conduct might have been +more gentle and relenting than her words--words which came up into +his memory at a future time, with full measure of miserable +significance. + +In general, Sylvia was gentle and good enough; but Philip wanted her +to be shy and tender with him, and this she was not. She spoke to +him, her pretty eyes looking straight and composedly at him. She +consulted him like the family friend that he was: she met him +quietly in all the arrangements for the time of their marriage, +which she looked upon more as a change of home, as the leaving of +Haytersbank, as it would affect her mother, than in any more +directly personal way. Philip was beginning to feel, though not as +yet to acknowledge, that the fruit he had so inordinately longed for +was but of the nature of an apple of Sodom. + +Long ago, lodging in widow Rose's garret, he had been in the habit +of watching some pigeons that were kept by a neighbour; the flock +disported themselves on the steep tiled roofs just opposite to the +attic window, and insensibly Philip grew to know their ways, and one +pretty, soft little dove was somehow perpetually associated in his +mind with his idea of his cousin Sylvia. The pigeon would sit in one +particular place, sunning herself, and puffing out her feathered +breast, with all the blue and rose-coloured lights gleaming in the +morning rays, cooing softly to herself as she dressed her plumage. +Philip fancied that he saw the same colours in a certain piece of +shot silk--now in the shop; and none other seemed to him so suitable +for his darling's wedding-dress. He carried enough to make a gown, +and gave it to her one evening, as she sate on the grass just +outside the house, half attending to her mother, half engaged in +knitting stockings for her scanty marriage outfit. He was glad that +the sun was not gone down, thus allowing him to display the changing +colours in fuller light. Sylvia admired it duly; even Mrs. Robson was +pleased and attracted by the soft yet brilliant hues. Philip +whispered to Sylvia--(he took delight in whispers,--she, on the +contrary, always spoke to him in her usual tone of voice)-- + +'Thou'lt look so pretty in it, sweetheart,--o' Thursday fortnight!' + +'Thursday fortnight. On the fourth yo're thinking on. But I cannot +wear it then,--I shall be i' black.' + +'Not on that day, sure!' said Philip. + +'Why not? There's nought t' happen on that day for t' make me forget +feyther. I couldn't put off my black, Philip,--no, not to save my +life! Yon silk is just lovely, far too good for the likes of +me,--and I'm sure I'm much beholden to yo'; and I'll have it made up +first of any gown after last April come two years,--but, oh, Philip, +I cannot put off my mourning!' + +'Not for our wedding-day!' said Philip, sadly. + +'No, lad, I really cannot. I'm just sorry about it, for I see +thou'rt set upon it; and thou'rt so kind and good, I sometimes think +I can niver be thankful enough to thee. When I think on what would +ha' become of mother and me if we hadn't had thee for a friend i' +need, I'm noane ungrateful, Philip; tho' I sometimes fancy thou'rt +thinking I am.' + +'I don't want yo' to be grateful, Sylvie,' said poor Philip, +dissatisfied, yet unable to explain what he did want; only knowing +that there was something he lacked, yet fain would have had. + +As the marriage-day drew near, all Sylvia's care seemed to be for +her mother; all her anxiety was regarding the appurtenances of the +home she was leaving. In vain Philip tried to interest her in +details of his improvements or contrivances in the new home to which +he was going to take her. She did not tell him; but the idea of the +house behind the shop was associated in her mind with two times of +discomfort and misery. The first time she had gone into the parlour +about which Philip spoke so much was at the time of the press-gang +riot, when she had fainted from terror and excitement; the second +was on that night of misery when she and her mother had gone in to +Monkshaven, to bid her father farewell before he was taken to York; +in that room, on that night, she had first learnt something of the +fatal peril in which he stood. She could not show the bright shy +curiosity about her future dwelling that is common enough with girls +who are going to be married. All she could do was to restrain +herself from sighing, and listen patiently, when he talked on the +subject. In time he saw that she shrank from it; so he held his +peace, and planned and worked for her in silence,--smiling to +himself as he looked on each completed arrangement for her pleasure +or comfort; and knowing well that her happiness was involved in what +fragments of peace and material comfort might remain to her mother. + +The wedding-day drew near apace. It was Philip's plan that after +they had been married in Kirk Moorside church, he and his Sylvia, +his cousin, his love, his wife, should go for the day to Robin +Hood's Bay, returning in the evening to the house behind the shop in +the market-place. There they were to find Bell Robson installed in +her future home; for Haytersbank Farm was to be given up to the new +tenant on the very day of the wedding. Sylvia would not be married +any sooner; she said that she must stay there till the very last; +and had said it with such determination that Philip had desisted +from all urgency at once. + +He had told her that all should be settled for her mother's comfort +during their few hours' absence; otherwise Sylvia would not have +gone at all. He told her he should ask Hester, who was always so +good and kind--who never yet had said him nay, to go to church with +them as bridesmaid--for Sylvia would give no thought or care to +anything but her mother--and that they would leave her at +Haytersbank as they returned from church; she would manage Mrs +Robson's removal--she would do this--do that--do everything. Such +friendly confidence had Philip in Hester's willingness and tender +skill. Sylvia acquiesced at length, and Philip took upon himself to +speak to Hester on the subject. + +'Hester,' said he, one day when he was preparing to go home after +the shop was closed; 'would yo' mind stopping a bit? I should like +to show yo' the place now it's done up; and I've a favour to ask on +yo' besides.' He was so happy he did not see her shiver all over. +She hesitated just a moment before she answered,-- + +'I'll stay, if thou wishes it, Philip. But I'm no judge o' fashions +and such like.' + +'Thou'rt a judge o' comfort, and that's what I've been aiming at. I +were niver so comfortable in a' my life as when I were a lodger at +thy house,' said he, with brotherly tenderness in his tone. 'If my +mind had been at ease I could ha' said I niver were happier in all +my days than under thy roof; and I know it were thy doing for the +most part. So come along, Hester, and tell me if there's aught more +I can put in for Sylvie.' + +It might not have been a very appropriate text, but such as it was +the words, 'From him that would ask of thee turn not thou away,' +seemed the only source of strength that could have enabled her to go +patiently through the next half-hour. As it was, she unselfishly +brought all her mind to bear upon the subject; admired this, thought +and decided upon that, as one by one Philip showed her all his +alterations and improvements. Never was such a quiet little bit of +unconscious and unrecognized heroism. She really ended by such a +conquest of self that she could absolutely sympathize with the proud +expectant lover, and had quenched all envy of the beloved, in +sympathy with the delight she imagined Sylvia must experience when +she discovered all these proofs of Philip's fond consideration and +care. But it was a great strain on the heart, that source of life; +and when Hester returned into the parlour, after her deliberate +survey of the house, she felt as weary and depressed in bodily +strength as if she had gone through an illness of many days. She +sate down on the nearest chair, and felt as though she never could +rise again. Philip, joyous and content, stood near her talking. + +'And, Hester,' said he, 'Sylvie has given me a message for thee-- +she says thou must be her bridesmaid--she'll have none other.' + +'I cannot,' said Hester, with sudden sharpness. + +'Oh, yes, but yo' must. It wouldn't be like my wedding if thou +wasn't there: why I've looked upon thee as a sister iver since I +came to lodge with thy mother.' + +Hester shook her head. Did her duty require her not to turn away +from this asking, too? Philip saw her reluctance, and, by intuition +rather than reason, he knew that what she would not do for gaiety or +pleasure she would consent to, if by so doing she could render any +service to another. So he went on. + +'Besides, Sylvie and me has planned to go for our wedding jaunt to +Robin Hood's Bay. I ha' been to engage a shandry this very morn, +before t' shop was opened; and there's no one to leave wi' my aunt. +Th' poor old body is sore crushed with sorrow; and is, as one may +say, childish at times; she's to come down here, that we may find +her when we come back at night; and there's niver a one she'll come +with so willing and so happy as with thee, Hester. Sylvie and me has +both said so.' + +Hester looked up in his face with her grave honest eyes. + +'I cannot go to church wi' thee, Philip; and thou must not ask me +any further. But I'll go betimes to Haytersbank Farm, and I'll do my +best to make the old lady happy, and to follow out thy directions in +bringing her here before nightfall.' + +Philip was on the point of urging her afresh to go with them to +church; but something in her eyes brought a thought across his mind, +as transitory as a breath passes over a looking-glass, and he +desisted from his entreaty, and put away his thought as a piece of +vain coxcombry, insulting to Hester. He passed rapidly on to all the +careful directions rendered necessary by her compliance with the +latter part of his request, coupling Sylvia's name with his +perpetually; so that Hester looked upon her as a happy girl, as +eager in planning all the details of her marriage as though no heavy +shameful sorrow had passed over her head not many months ago. + +Hester did not see Sylvia's white, dreamy, resolute face, that +answered the solemn questions of the marriage service in a voice +that did not seem her own. Hester was not with them to notice the +heavy abstraction that made the bride as if unconscious of her +husband's loving words, and then start and smile, and reply with a +sad gentleness of tone. No! Hester's duty lay in conveying the poor +widow and mother down from Haytersbank to the new home in +Monkshaven; and for all Hester's assistance and thoughtfulness, it +was a dreary, painful piece of work--the poor old woman crying like +a child, with bewilderment at the confused bustle which, in spite of +all Sylvia's careful forethought, could not be avoided on this final +day, when her mother had to be carried away from the homestead over +which she had so long presided. But all this was as nothing to the +distress which overwhelmed poor Bell Robson when she entered +Philip's house; the parlour--the whole place so associated with the +keen agony she had undergone there, that the stab of memory +penetrated through her deadened senses, and brought her back to +misery. In vain Hester tried to console her by telling her the fact +of Sylvia's marriage with Philip in every form of words that +occurred to her. Bell only remembered her husband's fate, which +filled up her poor wandering mind, and coloured everything; insomuch +that Sylvia not being at hand to reply to her mother's cry for her, +the latter imagined that her child, as well as her husband, was in +danger of trial and death, and refused to be comforted by any +endeavour of the patient sympathizing Hester. In a pause of Mrs +Robson's sobs, Hester heard the welcome sound of the wheels of the +returning shandry, bearing the bride and bridegroom home. It stopped +at the door--an instant, and Sylvia, white as a sheet at the sound +of her mother's wailings, which she had caught while yet at a +distance, with the quick ears of love, came running in; her mother +feebly rose and tottered towards her, and fell into her arms, +saying, 'Oh! Sylvie, Sylvie, take me home, and away from this cruel +place!' + +Hester could not but be touched with the young girl's manner to her +mother--as tender, as protecting as if their relation to each other +had been reversed, and she was lulling and tenderly soothing a +wayward, frightened child. She had neither eyes nor ears for any one +till her mother was sitting in trembling peace, holding her +daughter's hand tight in both of hers, as if afraid of losing sight +of her: then Sylvia turned to Hester, and, with the sweet grace +which is a natural gift to some happy people, thanked her; in common +words enough she thanked her, but in that nameless manner, and with +that strange, rare charm which made Hester feel as if she had never +been thanked in all her life before; and from that time forth she +understood, if she did not always yield to, the unconscious +fascination which Sylvia could exercise over others at times. + +Did it enter into Philip's heart to perceive that he had wedded his +long-sought bride in mourning raiment, and that the first sounds +which greeted them as they approached their home were those of +weeping and wailing? + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +HAPPY DAYS + + + + + +And now Philip seemed as prosperous as his heart could desire. The +business flourished, and money beyond his moderate wants came in. As +for himself he required very little; but he had always looked +forward to placing his idol in a befitting shrine; and means for +this were now furnished to him. The dress, the comforts, the +position he had desired for Sylvia were all hers. She did not need +to do a stroke of household work if she preferred to 'sit in her +parlour and sew up a seam'. Indeed Phoebe resented any interference +in the domestic labour, which she had performed so long, that she +looked upon the kitchen as a private empire of her own. 'Mrs +Hepburn' (as Sylvia was now termed) had a good dark silk gown-piece +in her drawers, as well as the poor dove-coloured, against the day +when she chose to leave off mourning; and stuff for either gray or +scarlet cloaks was hers at her bidding. + +What she cared for far more were the comforts with which it was in +her power to surround her mother. In this Philip vied with her; for +besides his old love, and new pity for his aunt Bell, he never +forgot how she had welcomed him to Haytersbank, and favoured his +love to Sylvia, in the yearning days when he little hoped he should +ever win his cousin to be his wife. But even if he had not had these +grateful and affectionate feelings towards the poor woman, he would +have done much for her if only to gain the sweet, rare smiles which +his wife never bestowed upon him so freely as when she saw him +attending to 'mother,' for so both of them now called Bell. For her +creature comforts, her silk gowns, and her humble luxury, Sylvia did +not care; Philip was almost annoyed at the indifference she often +manifested to all his efforts to surround her with such things. It +was even a hardship to her to leave off her country dress, her +uncovered hair, her linsey petticoat, and loose bed-gown, and to don +a stiff and stately gown for her morning dress. Sitting in the dark +parlour at the back of the shop, and doing 'white work,' was much +more wearying to her than running out into the fields to bring up +the cows, or spinning wool, or making up butter. She sometimes +thought to herself that it was a strange kind of life where there +were no out-door animals to look after; the 'ox and the ass' had +hitherto come into all her ideas of humanity; and her care and +gentleness had made the dumb creatures round her father's home into +mute friends with loving eyes, looking at her as if wistful to speak +in words the grateful regard that she could read without the poor +expression of language. + +She missed the free open air, the great dome of sky above the +fields; she rebelled against the necessity of 'dressing' (as she +called it) to go out, although she acknowledged that it was a +necessity where the first step beyond the threshold must be into a +populous street. + +It is possible that Philip was right at one time when he had thought +to win her by material advantages; but the old vanities had been +burnt out of her by the hot iron of acute suffering. A great deal of +passionate feeling still existed, concealed and latent; but at this +period it appeared as though she were indifferent to most things, +and had lost the power of either hoping or fearing much. She was +stunned into a sort of temporary numbness on most points; those on +which she was sensitive being such as referred to the injustice and +oppression of her father's death, or anything that concerned her +mother. + +She was quiet even to passiveness in all her dealings with Philip; +he would have given not a little for some of the old bursts of +impatience, the old pettishness, which, naughty as they were, had +gone to form his idea of the former Sylvia. Once or twice he was +almost vexed with her for her docility; he wanted her so much to +have a will of her own, if only that he might know how to rouse her +to pleasure by gratifying it. Indeed he seldom fell asleep at nights +without his last thoughts being devoted to some little plan for the +morrow, that he fancied she would like; and when he wakened in the +early dawn he looked to see if she were indeed sleeping by his side, +or whether it was not all a dream that he called Sylvia 'wife.' + +He was aware that her affection for him was not to be spoken of in +the same way as his for her, but he found much happiness in only +being allowed to love and cherish her; and with the patient +perseverance that was one remarkable feature in his character, he +went on striving to deepen and increase her love when most other men +would have given up the endeavour, made themselves content with half +a heart, and turned to some other object of attainment. All this +time Philip was troubled by a dream that recurred whenever he was +over-fatigued, or otherwise not in perfect health. Over and over +again in this first year of married life he dreamt this dream; +perhaps as many as eight or nine times, and it never varied. It was +always of Kinraid's return; Kinraid was full of life in Philip's +dream, though in his waking hours he could and did convince himself +by all the laws of probability that his rival was dead. He never +remembered the exact sequence of events in that terrible dream after +he had roused himself, with a fight and a struggle, from his +feverish slumbers. He was generally sitting up in bed when he found +himself conscious, his heart beating wildly, with a conviction of +Kinraid's living presence somewhere near him in the darkness. +Occasionally Sylvia was disturbed by his agitation, and would +question him about his dreams, having, like most of her class at +that time, great faith in their prophetic interpretation; but Philip +never gave her any truth in his reply. + +After all, and though he did not acknowledge it even to himself, the +long-desired happiness was not so delicious and perfect as he had +anticipated. Many have felt the same in their first year of married +life; but the faithful, patient nature that still works on, striving +to gain love, and capable itself of steady love all the while, is a +gift not given to all. + +For many weeks after their wedding, Kester never came near them: a +chance word or two from Sylvia showed Philip that she had noticed +this and regretted it; and, accordingly, he made it his business at +the next leisure opportunity to go to Haytersbank (never saying a +word to his wife of his purpose), and seek out Kester. + +All the whole place was altered! It was new white-washed, new +thatched: the patches of colour in the surrounding ground were +changed with altered tillage; the great geraniums were gone from the +window, and instead, was a smart knitted blind. Children played +before the house-door; a dog lying on the step flew at Philip; all +was so strange, that it was even the strangest thing of all for +Kester to appear where everything else was so altered! + +Philip had to put up with a good deal of crabbed behaviour on the +part of the latter before he could induce Kester to promise to come +down into the town and see Sylvia in her new home. + +Somehow, the visit when paid was but a failure; at least, it seemed +so at the time, though probably it broke the ice of restraint which +was forming over the familiar intercourse between Kester and Sylvia. +The old servant was daunted by seeing Sylvia in a strange place, and +stood, sleeking his hair down, and furtively looking about him, +instead of seating himself on the chair Sylvia had so eagerly +brought forward for him. + +Then his sense of the estrangement caused by their new positions +infected her, and she began to cry pitifully, saying,-- + +'Oh, Kester! Kester! tell me about Haytersbank! Is it just as it +used to be in feyther's days?' + +'Well, a cannot say as it is,' said Kester, thankful to have a +subject started. 'They'n pleughed up t' oud pasture-field, and are +settin' it for 'taters. They're not for much cattle, isn't +Higginses. They'll be for corn in t' next year, a reckon, and +they'll just ha' their pains for their payment. But they're allays +so pig-headed, is folk fra' a distance.' + +So they went on discoursing on Haytersbank and the old days, till +Bell Robson, having finished her afternoon nap, came slowly +down-stairs to join them; and after that the conversation became so +broken up, from the desire of the other two to attend and reply as +best they could to her fragmentary and disjointed talk, that Kester +took his leave before long; falling, as he did so, into the formal +and unnaturally respectful manner which he had adopted on first +coming in. + +But Sylvia ran after him, and brought him back from the door. + +'To think of thy going away, Kester, without either bit or drink; +nay, come back wi' thee, and taste wine and cake.' + +Kester stood at the door, half shy, half pleased, while Sylvia, in +all the glow and hurry of a young housekeeper's hospitality, sought +for the decanter of wine, and a wine-glass in the corner cupboard, +and hastily cut an immense wedge of cake, which she crammed into his +hand in spite of his remonstrances; and then she poured him out an +overflowing glass of wine, which Kester would far rather have gone +without, as he knew manners too well to suppose that he might taste +it without having gone through the preliminary ceremony of wishing +the donor health and happiness. He stood red and half smiling, with +his cake in one hand, his wine in the other, and then began,-- + +'Long may ye live, +Happy may ye he, +And blest with a num'rous +Pro-ge-ny.' + +'Theere, that's po'try for yo' as I larnt i' my youth. But there's a +deal to be said as cannot be put int' po'try, an' yet a cannot say +it, somehow. It 'd tax a parson t' say a' as a've getten i' my mind. +It's like a heap o' woo' just after shearin' time; it's worth a +deal, but it tak's a vast o' combin', an' cardin', an' spinnin' +afore it can be made use on. If a were up to t' use o' words, a +could say a mighty deal; but somehow a'm tongue-teed when a come to +want my words most, so a'll only just mak' bold t' say as a think +yo've done pretty well for yo'rsel', getten a house-full o' +furniture' (looking around him as he said this), 'an' vittle an' +clothin' for t' axing, belike, an' a home for t' missus in her time +o' need; an' mebbe not such a bad husband as a once thought yon man +'ud mak'; a'm not above sayin' as he's, mebbe, better nor a took him +for;--so here's to ye both, and wishin' ye health and happiness, ay, +and money to buy yo' another, as country folk say.' + +Having ended his oration, much to his own satisfaction, Kester +tossed off his glass of wine, smacked his lips, wiped his mouth with +the back of his hand, pocketed his cake, and made off. + +That night Sylvia spoke of his visit to her husband. Philip never +said how he himself had brought it to pass, nor did he name the fact +that he had heard the old man come in just as he himself had +intended going into the parlour for tea, but had kept away, as he +thought Sylvia and Kester would most enjoy their interview +undisturbed. And Sylvia felt as if her husband's silence was +unsympathizing, and shut up the feelings that were just beginning to +expand towards him. She sank again into the listless state of +indifference from which nothing but some reference to former days, +or present consideration for her mother, could rouse her. + +Hester was almost surprised at Sylvia's evident liking for her. By +slow degrees Hester was learning to love the woman, whose position +as Philip's wife she would have envied so keenly had she not been so +truly good and pious. But Sylvia seemed as though she had given +Hester her whole affection all at once. Hester could not understand +this, while she was touched and melted by the trust it implied. For +one thing Sylvia remembered and regretted--her harsh treatment of +Hester the rainy, stormy night on which the latter had come to +Haytersbank to seek her and her mother, and bring them into +Monkshaven to see the imprisoned father and husband. Sylvia had been +struck with Hester's patient endurance of her rudeness, a rudeness +which she was conscious that she herself should have immediately and +vehemently resented. Sylvia did not understand how a totally +different character from hers might immediately forgive the anger +she could not forget; and because Hester had been so meek at the +time, Sylvia, who knew how passing and transitory was her own anger, +thought that all was forgotten; while Hester believed that the +words, which she herself could not have uttered except under deep +provocation, meant much more than they did, and admired and wondered +at Sylvia for having so entirely conquered her anger against her. + +Again, the two different women were divergently affected by the +extreme fondness which Bell had shown towards Hester ever since +Sylvia's wedding-day. Sylvia, who had always received more love from +others than she knew what to do with, had the most entire faith in +her own supremacy in her mother's heart, though at times Hester +would do certain things more to the poor old woman's satisfaction. +Hester, who had craved for the affection which had been withheld +from her, and had from that one circumstance become distrustful of +her own power of inspiring regard, while she exaggerated the delight +of being beloved, feared lest Sylvia should become jealous of her +mother's open display of great attachment and occasional preference +for Hester. But such a thought never entered Sylvia's mind. She was +more thankful than she knew how to express towards any one who made +her mother happy; as has been already said, the contributing to Bell +Robson's pleasures earned Philip more of his wife's smiles than +anything else. And Sylvia threw her whole heart into the words and +caresses she lavished on Hester whenever poor Mrs. Robson spoke of +the goodness and kindness of the latter. Hester attributed more +virtue to these sweet words and deeds of gratitude than they +deserved; they did not imply in Sylvia any victory over evil +temptation, as they would have done in Hester. + +It seemed to be Sylvia's fate to captivate more people than she +cared to like back again. She turned the heads of John and Jeremiah +Foster, who could hardly congratulate Philip enough on his choice of +a wife. + +They had been prepared to be critical on one who had interfered with +their favourite project of a marriage between Philip and Hester; +and, though full of compassion for the cruelty of Daniel Robson's +fate, they were too completely men of business not to have some +apprehension that the connection of Philip Hepburn with the daughter +of a man who was hanged, might injure the shop over which both his +and their name appeared. But all the possible proprieties demanded +that they should pay attention to the bride of their former shopman +and present successor; and the very first visitors whom Sylvia had +received after her marriage had been John and Jeremiah Foster, in +their sabbath-day clothes. They found her in the parlour (so +familiar to both of them!) clear-starching her mother's caps, which +had to be got up in some particular fashion that Sylvia was afraid +of dictating to Phoebe. + +She was a little disturbed at her visitors discovering her at this +employment; but she was on her own ground, and that gave her +self-possession; and she welcomed the two old men so sweetly and +modestly, and looked so pretty and feminine, and, besides, so +notable in her handiwork, that she conquered all their prejudices at +one blow; and their first thought on leaving the shop was how to do +her honour, by inviting her to a supper party at Jeremiah Foster's +house. + +Sylvia was dismayed when she was bidden to this wedding feast, and +Philip had to use all his authority, though tenderly, to make her +consent to go at all. She had been to merry country parties like the +Corneys', and to bright haymaking romps in the open air; but never +to a set stately party at a friend's house. + +She would fain have made attendance on her mother an excuse; but +Philip knew he must not listen to any such plea, and applied to +Hester in the dilemma, asking her to remain with Mrs. Robson while he +and Sylvia went out visiting; and Hester had willingly, nay, eagerly +consented--it was much more to her taste than going out. + +So Philip and Sylvia set out, arm-in-arm, down Bridge Street, across +the bridge, and then clambered up the hill. On the way he gave her +the directions she asked for about her behaviour as bride and most +honoured guest; and altogether succeeded, against his intention and +will, in frightening her so completely as to the grandeur and +importance of the occasion, and the necessity of remembering certain +set rules, and making certain set speeches and attending to them +when the right time came, that, if any one so naturally graceful +could have been awkward, Sylvia would have been so that night. + +As it was, she sate, pale and weary-looking, on the very edge of her +chair; she uttered the formal words which Philip had told her were +appropriate to the occasion, and she heartily wished herself safe at +home and in bed. Yet she left but one unanimous impression on the +company when she went away, namely, that she was the prettiest and +best-behaved woman they had ever seen, and that Philip Hepburn had +done well in choosing her, felon's daughter though she might be. + +Both the hosts had followed her into the lobby to help Philip in +cloaking her, and putting on her pattens. They were full of +old-fashioned compliments and good wishes; one speech of theirs came +up to her memory in future years:-- + +'Now, Sylvia Hepburn,' said Jeremiah, 'I've known thy husband long, +and I don't say but what thou hast done well in choosing him; but if +he ever neglects or ill-uses thee, come to me, and I'll give him a +sound lecture on his conduct. Mind, I'm thy friend from this day +forrards, and ready to take thy part against him!' + +Philip smiled as if the day would never come when he should neglect +or ill-use his darling; Sylvia smiled a little, without much +attending to, or caring for, the words that were detaining her, +tired as she was; John and Jeremiah chuckled over the joke; but the +words came up again in after days, as words idly spoken sometimes +do. + +Before the end of that first year, Philip had learnt to be jealous +of his wife's new love for Hester. To the latter, Sylvia gave the +free confidence on many things which Philip fancied she withheld +from him. A suspicion crossed his mind, from time to time, that +Sylvia might speak of her former lover to Hester. It would be not +unnatural, he thought, if she did so, believing him to be dead; but +the idea irritated him. + +He was entirely mistaken, however; Sylvia, with all her apparent +frankness, kept her deep sorrows to herself. She never mentioned her +father's name, though he was continually present to her mind. Nor +did she speak of Kinraid to human being, though, for his sake, her +voice softened when, by chance, she spoke to a passing sailor; and +for his sake her eyes lingered on such men longer than on others, +trying to discover in them something of the old familiar gait; and +partly for his dead sake, and partly because of the freedom of the +outlook and the freshness of the air, she was glad occasionally to +escape from the comfortable imprisonment of her 'parlour', and the +close streets around the market-place, and to mount the cliffs and +sit on the turf, gazing abroad over the wide still expanse of the +open sea; for, at that height, even breaking waves only looked like +broken lines of white foam on the blue watery plain. + +She did not want any companion on these rambles, which had somewhat +of the delight of stolen pleasures; for all the other respectable +matrons and town-dwellers whom she knew were content to have always +a business object for their walk, or else to stop at home in their +own households; and Sylvia was rather ashamed of her own yearnings +for solitude and open air, and the sight and sound of the +mother-like sea. She used to take off her hat, and sit there, her +hands clasping her knees, the salt air lifting her bright curls, +gazing at the distant horizon over the sea, in a sad dreaminess of +thought; if she had been asked on what she meditated, she could not +have told you. + +But, by-and-by, the time came when she was a prisoner in the house; +a prisoner in her room, lying in bed with a little baby by her +side--her child, Philip's child. His pride, his delight knew no +bounds; this was a new fast tie between them; this would reconcile +her to the kind of life that, with all its respectability and +comfort, was so different from what she had lived before, and which +Philip had often perceived that she felt to be dull and restraining. +He already began to trace in the little girl, only a few days old, +the lovely curves that he knew so well by heart in the mother's +face. Sylvia, too, pale, still, and weak, was very happy; yes, +really happy for the first time since her irrevocable marriage. For +its irrevocableness had weighed much upon her with a sense of dull +hopelessness; she felt all Philip's kindness, she was grateful to +him for his tender regard towards her mother, she was learning to +love him as well as to like and respect him. She did not know what +else she could have done but marry so true a friend, and she and her +mother so friendless; but, at the same time, it was like lead on her +morning spirits when she awoke and remembered that the decision was +made, the deed was done, the choice taken which comes to most people +but once in their lives. Now the little baby came in upon this state +of mind like a ray of sunlight into a gloomy room. + +Even her mother was rejoiced and proud; even with her crazed brain +and broken heart, the sight of sweet, peaceful infancy brought light +to her. All the old ways of holding a baby, of hushing it to sleep, +of tenderly guarding its little limbs from injury, came back, like +the habits of her youth, to Bell; and she was never so happy or so +easy in her mind, or so sensible and connected in her ideas, as when +she had Sylvia's baby in her arms. + +It was a pretty sight to see, however familiar to all of us such +things may be--the pale, worn old woman, in her quaint, +old-fashioned country dress, holding the little infant on her knees, +looking at its open, unspeculative eyes, and talking the little +language to it as though it could understand; the father on his +knees, kept prisoner by a small, small finger curled round his +strong and sinewy one, and gazing at the tiny creature with +wondering idolatry; the young mother, fair, pale, and smiling, +propped up on pillows in order that she, too, might see the +wonderful babe; it was astonishing how the doctor could come and go +without being drawn into the admiring vortex, and look at this baby +just as if babies came into the world every day. + +'Philip,' said Sylvia, one night, as he sate as still as a mouse in +her room, imagining her to be asleep. He was by her bed-side in a +moment. + +'I've been thinking what she's to be called. Isabella, after mother; +and what were yo'r mother's name?' + +'Margaret,' said he. + +'Margaret Isabella; Isabella Margaret. Mother's called Bell. She +might be called Bella.' + +'I could ha' wished her to be called after thee.' + +She made a little impatient movement. + +'Nay; Sylvia's not a lucky name. Best be called after thy mother and +mine. And I want for to ask Hester to be godmother.' + +'Anything thou likes, sweetheart. Shall we call her Rose, after +Hester Rose?' + +'No, no!' said Sylvia; 'she mun be called after my mother, or thine, +or both. I should like her to be called Bella, after mother, because +she's so fond of baby.' + +'Anything to please thee, darling.' + +'Don't say that as if it didn't signify; there's a deal in having a +pretty name,' said Sylvia, a little annoyed. 'I ha' allays hated +being called Sylvia. It were after father's mother, Sylvia Steele.' + +'I niver thought any name in a' the world so sweet and pretty as +Sylvia,' said Philip, fondly; but she was too much absorbed in her +own thoughts to notice either his manner or his words. + +'There, yo'll not mind if it is Bella, because yo' see my mother is +alive to be pleased by its being named after her, and Hester may be +godmother, and I'll ha' t' dove-coloured silk as yo' gave me afore +we were married made up into a cloak for it to go to church in.' + +'I got it for thee,' said Philip, a little disappointed. 'It'll be +too good for the baby.' + +'Eh! but I'm so careless, I should be spilling something on it? But +if thou got it for me I cannot find i' my heart for t' wear it on +baby, and I'll have it made into a christening gown for mysel'. But +I'll niver feel at my ease in it, for fear of spoiling it.' + +'Well! an' if thou does spoil it, love, I'll get thee another. I +make account of riches only for thee; that I may be able to get thee +whativer thou's a fancy for, for either thysel', or thy mother.' + +She lifted her pale face from her pillow, and put up her lips to +kiss him for these words. + +Perhaps on that day Philip reached the zenith of his life's +happiness. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +EVIL OMENS + + + + + +The first step in Philip's declension happened in this way. Sylvia +had made rapid progress in her recovery; but now she seemed at a +stationary point of weakness; wakeful nights succeeding to languid +days. Occasionally she caught a little sleep in the afternoons, but +she usually awoke startled and feverish. + +One afternoon Philip had stolen upstairs to look at her and his +child; but the efforts he made at careful noiselessness made the +door creak on its hinges as he opened it. The woman employed to +nurse her had taken the baby into another room that no sound might +rouse her from her slumber; and Philip would probably have been +warned against entering the chamber where his wife lay sleeping had +he been perceived by the nurse. As it was, he opened the door, made +a noise, and Sylvia started up, her face all one flush, her eyes +wild and uncertain; she looked about her as if she did not know +where she was; pushed the hair off her hot forehead; all which +actions Philip saw, dismayed and regretful. But he kept still, +hoping that she would lie down and compose herself. Instead she +stretched out her arms imploringly, and said, in a voice full of +yearning and tears,-- + +'Oh! Charley! come to me--come to me!' and then as she more fully +became aware of the place where she was, her actual situation, she +sank back and feebly began to cry. Philip's heart boiled within him; +any man's would under the circumstances, but he had the sense of +guilty concealment to aggravate the intensity of his feelings. Her +weak cry after another man, too, irritated him, partly through his +anxious love, which made him wise to know how much physical harm she +was doing herself. At this moment he stirred, or unintentionally +made some sound: she started up afresh, and called out,-- + +'Oh, who's theere? Do, for God's sake, tell me who yo' are!' + +'It's me,' said Philip, coming forwards, striving to keep down the +miserable complication of love and jealousy, and remorse and anger, +that made his heart beat so wildly, and almost took him out of +himself. Indeed, he must have been quite beside himself for the +time, or he could never have gone on to utter the unwise, cruel +words he did. But she spoke first, in a distressed and plaintive +tone of voice. + +'Oh, Philip, I've been asleep, and yet I think I was awake! And I +saw Charley Kinraid as plain as iver I see thee now, and he wasn't +drowned at all. I'm sure he's alive somewheere; he were so clear and +life-like. Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?' + +She wrung her hands in feverish distress. Urged by passionate +feelings of various kinds, and also by his desire to quench the +agitation which was doing her harm, Philip spoke, hardly knowing +what he said. + +'Kinraid's dead, I tell yo', Sylvie! And what kind of a woman are +yo' to go dreaming of another man i' this way, and taking on so +about him, when yo're a wedded wife, with a child as yo've borne to +another man?' + +In a moment he could have bitten out his tongue. She looked at him +with the mute reproach which some of us see (God help us!) in the +eyes of the dead, as they come before our sad memories in the +night-season; looked at him with such a solemn, searching look, +never saying a word of reply or defence. Then she lay down, +motionless and silent. He had been instantly stung with remorse for +his speech; the words were not beyond his lips when an agony had +entered his heart; but her steady, dilated eyes had kept him dumb +and motionless as if by a spell. + +Now he rushed to the bed on which she lay, and half knelt, half +threw himself upon it, imploring her to forgive him; regardless for +the time of any evil consequences to her, it seemed as if he must +have her pardon--her relenting--at any price, even if they both died +in the act of reconciliation. But she lay speechless, and, as far as +she could be, motionless, the bed trembling under her with the +quivering she could not still. + +Philip's wild tones caught the nurse's ears, and she entered full of +the dignified indignation of wisdom. + +'Are yo' for killing yo'r wife, measter?' she asked. 'She's noane so +strong as she can bear flytin' and scoldin', nor will she be for +many a week to come. Go down wi' ye, and leave her i' peace if yo're +a man as can be called a man!' + +Her anger was rising as she caught sight of Sylvia's averted face. +It was flushed crimson, her eyes full of intense emotion of some +kind, her lips compressed; but an involuntary twitching +overmastering her resolute stillness from time to time. Philip, who +did not see the averted face, nor understand the real danger in +which he was placing his wife, felt as though he must have one word, +one responsive touch of the hand which lay passive in his, which was +not even drawn away from the kisses with which he covered it, any +more than if it had been an impassive stone. The nurse had fairly to +take him by the shoulders, and turn him out of the room. + +In half an hour the doctor had to be summoned. Of course, the nurse +gave him her version of the events of the afternoon, with much +_animus_ against Philip; and the doctor thought it his duty to have +some very serious conversation with him. + +'I do assure you, Mr. Hepburn, that, in the state your wife has been +in for some days, it was little less than madness on your part to +speak to her about anything that could give rise to strong emotion.' + +'It was madness, sir!' replied Philip, in a low, miserable tone of +voice. The doctor's heart was touched, in spite of the nurse's +accusations against the scolding husband. Yet the danger was now too +serious for him to mince matters. + +'I must tell you that I cannot answer for her life, unless the +greatest precautions are taken on your part, and unless the measures +I shall use have the effect I wish for in the next twenty-four +hours. She is on the verge of a brain fever. Any allusion to the +subject which has been the final cause of the state in which she now +is must be most cautiously avoided, even to a chance word which may +bring it to her memory.' + +And so on; but Philip seemed to hear only this: then he might not +express contrition, or sue for pardon, he must go on unforgiven +through all this stress of anxiety; and even if she recovered the +doctor warned him of the undesirableness of recurring to what had +passed! + +Heavy miserable times of endurance and waiting have to be passed +through by all during the course of their lives; and Philip had had +his share of such seasons, when the heart, and the will, and the +speech, and the limbs, must be bound down with strong resolution to +patience. + +For many days, nay, for weeks, he was forbidden to see Sylvia, as +the very sound of his footstep brought on a recurrence of the fever +and convulsive movement. Yet she seemed, from questions she feebly +asked the nurse, to have forgotten all that had happened on the day +of her attack from the time when she dropped off to sleep. But how +much she remembered of after occurrences no one could ascertain. She +was quiet enough when, at length, Philip was allowed to see her. But +he was half jealous of his child, when he watched how she could +smile at it, while she never changed a muscle of her face at all he +could do or say. + +And of a piece with this extreme quietude and reserve was her +behaviour to him when at length she had fully recovered, and was +able to go about the house again. Philip thought many a time of the +words she had used long before--before their marriage. Ominous words +they were. + +'It's not in me to forgive; I sometimes think it's not in me to +forget.' + +Philip was tender even to humility in his conduct towards her. But +nothing stirred her from her fortress of reserve. And he knew she +was so different; he knew how loving, nay, passionate, was her +nature--vehement, demonstrative--oh! how could he stir her once more +into expression, even if the first show or speech she made was of +anger? Then he tried being angry with her himself; he was sometimes +unjust to her consciously and of a purpose, in order to provoke her +into defending herself, and appealing against his unkindness. He +only seemed to drive her love away still more. + +If any one had known all that was passing in that household, while +yet the story of it was not ended, nor, indeed, come to its crisis, +their hearts would have been sorry for the man who lingered long at +the door of the room in which his wife sate cooing and talking to +her baby, and sometimes laughing back to it, or who was soothing the +querulousness of failing age with every possible patience of love; +sorry for the poor listener who was hungering for the profusion of +tenderness thus scattered on the senseless air, yet only by stealth +caught the echoes of what ought to have been his. + +It was so difficult to complain, too; impossible, in fact. +Everything that a wife could do from duty she did; but the love +seemed to have fled, and, in such cases, no reproaches or complaints +can avail to bring it back. So reason outsiders, and are convinced +of the result before the experiment is made. But Philip could not +reason, or could not yield to reason; and so he complained and +reproached. She did not much answer him; but he thought that her +eyes expressed the old words,-- + +'It's not in me to forgive; I sometimes think it's not in me to +forget.' + +However, it is an old story, an ascertained fact, that, even in the +most tender and stable masculine natures, at the supremest season of +their lives, there is room for other thoughts and passions than such +as are connected with love. Even with the most domestic and +affectionate men, their emotions seem to be kept in a cell distinct +and away from their actual lives. Philip had other thoughts and +other occupations than those connected with his wife during all this +time. + +An uncle of his mother's, a Cumberland 'statesman', of whose +existence he was barely conscious, died about this time, leaving to +his unknown great-nephew four or five hundred pounds, which put him +at once in a different position with regard to his business. +Henceforward his ambition was roused,--such humble ambition as +befitted a shop-keeper in a country town sixty or seventy years ago. +To be respected by the men around him had always been an object with +him, and was, perhaps, becoming more so than ever now, as a sort of +refuge from his deep, sorrowful mortification in other directions. +He was greatly pleased at being made a sidesman; and, in preparation +for the further honour of being churchwarden, he went regularly +twice a day to church on Sundays. There was enough religious feeling +in him to make him disguise the worldly reason for such conduct from +himself. He believed that he went because he thought it right to +attend public worship in the parish church whenever it was offered +up; but it may be questioned of him, as of many others, how far he +would have been as regular in attendance in a place where he was not +known. With this, however, we have nothing to do. The fact was that +he went regularly to church, and he wished his wife to accompany him +to the pew, newly painted, with his name on the door, where he sate +in full sight of the clergyman and congregation. + +Sylvia had never been in the habit of such regular church-going, and +she felt it as a hardship, and slipped out of the duty as often as +ever she could. In her unmarried days, she and her parents had gone +annually to the mother-church of the parish in which Haytersbank was +situated: on the Monday succeeding the Sunday next after the Romish +Saint's Day, to whom the church was dedicated, there was a great +feast or wake held; and, on the Sunday, all the parishioners came to +church from far and near. Frequently, too, in the course of the +year, Sylvia would accompany one or other of her parents to Scarby +Moorside afternoon service,--when the hay was got in, and the corn +not ready for cutting, or the cows were dry and there was no +afternoon milking. Many clergymen were languid in those days, and +did not too curiously inquire into the reasons which gave them such +small congregations in country parishes. + +Now she was married, this weekly church-going which Philip seemed to +expect from her, became a tie and a small hardship, which connected +itself with her life of respectability and prosperity. 'A crust of +bread and liberty' was much more accordant to Sylvia's nature than +plenty of creature comforts and many restraints. Another wish of +Philip's, against which she said no word, but constantly rebelled in +thought and deed, was his desire that the servant he had engaged +during the time of her illness to take charge of the baby, should +always carry it whenever it was taken out for a walk. Sylvia often +felt, now she was strong, as if she would far rather have been +without the responsibility of having this nursemaid, of whom she +was, in reality, rather afraid. The good side of it was that it set +her at liberty to attend to her mother at times when she would have +been otherwise occupied with her baby; but Bell required very little +from any one: she was easily pleased, unexacting, and methodical +even in her dotage; preserving the quiet, undemonstrative habits of +her earlier life now that the faculty of reason, which had been at +the basis of the formation of such habits, was gone. She took great +delight in watching the baby, and was pleased to have it in her care +for a short time; but she dozed so much that it prevented her having +any strong wish on the subject. + +So Sylvia contrived to get her baby as much as possible to herself, +in spite of the nursemaid; and, above all, she would carry it out, +softly cradled in her arms, warm pillowed on her breast, and bear it +to the freedom and solitude of the sea-shore on the west side of the +town where the cliffs were not so high, and there was a good space +of sand and shingle at all low tides. + +Once here, she was as happy as she ever expected to be in this +world. The fresh sea-breeze restored something of the colour of +former days to her cheeks, the old buoyancy to her spirits; here she +might talk her heart-full of loving nonsense to her baby; here it +was all her own; no father to share in it, no nursemaid to dispute +the wisdom of anything she did with it. She sang to it, she tossed +it; it crowed and it laughed back again, till both were weary; and +then she would sit down on a broken piece of rock, and fall to +gazing on the advancing waves catching the sunlight on their crests, +advancing, receding, for ever and for ever, as they had done all her +life long--as they did when she had walked with them that once by +the side of Kinraid; those cruel waves that, forgetful of the happy +lovers' talk by the side of their waters, had carried one away, and +drowned him deep till he was dead. Every time she sate down to look +at the sea, this process of thought was gone through up to this +point; the next step would, she knew, bring her to the question she +dared not, must not ask. He was dead; he must be dead; for was she +not Philip's wife? Then came up the recollection of Philip's speech, +never forgotten, only buried out of sight: 'What kind of a woman are +yo' to go on dreaming of another man, and yo' a wedded wife?' She +used to shudder as if cold steel had been plunged into her warm, +living body as she remembered these words; cruel words, harmlessly +provoked. They were too much associated with physical pains to be +dwelt upon; only their memory was always there. She paid for these +happy rambles with her baby by the depression which awaited her on +her re-entrance into the dark, confined house that was her home; its +very fulness of comfort was an oppression. Then, when her husband +saw her pale and fatigued, he was annoyed, and sometimes upbraided +her for doing what was so unnecessary as to load herself with her +child. She knew full well it was not that that caused her weariness. +By-and-by, when he inquired and discovered that all these walks were +taken in one direction, out towards the sea, he grew jealous of her +love for the inanimate ocean. Was it connected in her mind with the +thought of Kinraid? Why did she so perseveringly, in wind or cold, +go out to the sea-shore; the western side, too, where, if she went +but far enough, she would come upon the mouth of the Haytersbank +gully, the point at which she had last seen Kinraid? Such fancies +haunted Philip's mind for hours after she had acknowledged the +direction of her walks. But he never said a word that could +distinctly tell her he disliked her going to the sea, otherwise she +would have obeyed him in this, as in everything else; for absolute +obedience to her husband seemed to be her rule of life at this +period--obedience to him who would so gladly have obeyed her +smallest wish had she but expressed it! She never knew that Philip +had any painful association with the particular point on the +sea-shore that she instinctively avoided, both from a consciousness +of wifely duty, and also because the sight of it brought up so much +sharp pain. + +Philip used to wonder if the dream that preceded her illness was the +suggestive cause that drew her so often to the shore. Her illness +consequent upon that dream had filled his mind, so that for many +months he himself had had no haunting vision of Kinraid to disturb +his slumbers. But now the old dream of Kinraid's actual presence by +Philip's bedside began to return with fearful vividness. Night after +night it recurred; each time with some new touch of reality, and +close approach; till it was as if the fate that overtakes all men +were then, even then, knocking at his door. + +In his business Philip prospered. Men praised him because he did +well to himself. He had the perseverance, the capability for +head-work and calculation, the steadiness and general forethought +which might have made him a great merchant if he had lived in a +large city. Without any effort of his own, almost, too, without +Coulson's being aware of it, Philip was now in the position of +superior partner; the one to suggest and arrange, while Coulson only +carried out the plans that emanated from Philip. The whole work of +life was suited to the man: he did not aspire to any different +position, only to the full development of the capabilities of that +which he already held. He had originated several fresh schemes with +regard to the traffic of the shop; and his old masters, with all +their love of tried ways, and distrust of everything new, had been +candid enough to confess that their successors' plans had resulted +in success. 'Their successors.' Philip was content with having the +power when the exercise of it was required, and never named his own +important share in the new improvements. Possibly, if he had, +Coulson's vanity might have taken the alarm, and he might not have +been so acquiescent for the future. As it was, he forgot his own +subordinate share, and always used the imperial 'we', 'we thought', +'it struck us,' &c. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +RESCUED FROM THE WAVES + + + + + +Meanwhile Hester came and went as usual; in so quiet and methodical +a way, with so even and undisturbed a temper, that she was almost +forgotten when everything went well in the shop or household. She +was a star, the brightness of which was only recognized in times of +darkness. She herself was almost surprised at her own increasing +regard for Sylvia. She had not thought she should ever be able to +love the woman who had been such a laggard in acknowledging Philip's +merits; and from all she had ever heard of Sylvia before she came to +know her, from the angry words with which Sylvia had received her +when she had first gone to Haytersbank Farm, Hester had intended to +remain on friendly terms, but to avoid intimacy. But her kindness to +Bell Robson had won both the mother's and daughter's hearts; and in +spite of herself, certainly against her own mother's advice, she had +become the familiar friend and welcome guest of the household. + +Now the very change in Sylvia's whole manner and ways, which grieved +and vexed Philip, made his wife the more attractive to Hester. +Brought up among Quakers, although not one herself, she admired and +respected the staidness and outward peacefulness common amongst the +young women of that sect. Sylvia, whom she had expected to find +volatile, talkative, vain, and wilful, was quiet and still, as if +she had been born a Friend: she seemed to have no will of her own; +she served her mother and child for love; she obeyed her husband in +all things, and never appeared to pine after gaiety or pleasure. And +yet at times Hester thought, or rather a flash came across her mind, +as if all things were not as right as they seemed. Philip looked +older, more care-worn; nay, even Hester was obliged to allow to +herself that she had heard him speak to his wife in sharp, aggrieved +tones. Innocent Hester! she could not understand how the very +qualities she so admired in Sylvia were just what were so foreign to +her nature that the husband, who had known her from a child, felt +what an unnatural restraint she was putting upon herself, and would +have hailed petulant words or wilful actions with an unspeakable +thankfulness for relief. + +One day--it was in the spring of 1798--Hester was engaged to stay to +tea with the Hepburns, in order that after that early meal she might +set to again in helping Philip and Coulson to pack away the winter +cloths and flannels, for which there was no longer any use. The +tea-time was half-past four; about four o'clock a heavy April shower +came on, the hail pattering against the window-panes so as to awaken +Mrs. Robson from her afternoon's nap. She came down the corkscrew +stairs, and found Phoebe in the parlour arranging the tea-things. + +Phoebe and Mrs. Robson were better friends than Phoebe and her young +mistress; and so they began to talk a little together in a +comfortable, familiar way. Once or twice Philip looked in, as if he +would be glad to see the tea-table in readiness; and then Phoebe +would put on a spurt of busy bustle, which ceased almost as soon as +his back was turned, so eager was she to obtain Mrs. Robson's +sympathy in some little dispute that had occurred between her and +the nurse-maid. The latter had misappropriated some hot water, +prepared and required by Phoebe, to the washing of the baby's +clothes; it was a long story, and would have tired the patience of +any one in full possession of their senses; but the details were +just within poor Bell's comprehension, and she was listening with +the greatest sympathy. Both the women were unaware of the lapse of +time; but it was of consequence to Philip, as the extra labour was +not to be begun until after tea, and the daylight hours were +precious. + +At a quarter to five Hester and he came in, and then Phoebe began to +hurry. Hester went up to sit by Bell and talk to her. Philip spoke +to Phoebe in the familiar words of country-folk. Indeed, until his +marriage, Phoebe had always called him by his Christian name, and +had found it very difficult to change it into 'master.' + +'Where's Sylvie?' said he. + +'Gone out wi' t' babby,' replied Phoebe. + +'Why can't Nancy carry it out?' asked Philip. + +It was touching on the old grievance: he was tired, and he spoke +with sharp annoyance. Phoebe might easily have told him the real +state of the case; Nancy was busy at her washing, which would have +been reason enough. But the nursemaid had vexed her, and she did not +like Philip's sharpness, so she only said,-- + +'It's noane o' my business; it's yo' t' look after yo'r own wife and +child; but yo'r but a lad after a'.' + +This was not conciliatory speech, and just put the last stroke to +Philip's fit of ill-temper. + +'I'm not for my tea to-night,' said he, to Hester, when all was +ready. 'Sylvie's not here, and nothing is nice, or as it should be. +I'll go and set to on t' stock-taking. Don't yo' hurry, Hester; stop +and chat a bit with th' old lady.' + +'Nay, Philip,' said Hester, 'thou's sadly tired; just take this cup +o' tea; Sylvia 'll be grieved if yo' haven't something.' + +'Sylvia doesn't care whether I'm full or fasting,' replied he, +impatiently putting aside the cup. 'If she did she'd ha' taken care +to be in, and ha' seen to things being as I like them.' + +Now in general Philip was the least particular of men about meals; +and to do Sylvia justice, she was scrupulously attentive to every +household duty in which old Phoebe would allow her to meddle, and +always careful to see after her husband's comforts. But Philip was +too vexed at her absence to perceive the injustice of what he was +saying, nor was he aware how Bell Robson had been attending to what +he said. But she was sadly discomfited by it, understanding just +enough of the grievance in hand to think that her daughter was +neglectful of those duties which she herself had always regarded as +paramount to all others; nor could Hester convince her that Philip +had not meant what he said; neither could she turn the poor old +woman's thoughts from the words which had caused her distress. + +Presently Sylvia came in, bright and cheerful, although breathless +with hurry. + +'Oh,' said she, taking off her wet shawl, 'we've had to shelter from +such a storm of rain, baby and me--but see! she's none the worse for +it, as bonny as iver, bless her.' + +Hester began some speech of admiration for the child in order to +prevent Bell from delivering the lecture she felt sure was coming +down on the unsuspecting Sylvia; but all in vain. + +'Philip's been complaining on thee, Sylvie,' said Bell, in the way +in which she had spoken to her daughter when she was a little child; +grave and severe in tone and look, more than in words. 'I forget +justly what about, but he spoke on thy neglecting him continual. +It's not right, my lass, it's not right; a woman should--but my +head's very tired, and all I can think on to say is, it's not +right.' + +'Philip been complaining of me, and to mother!' said Sylvia, ready +to burst into tears, so grieved and angry was she. + +'No!' said Hester, 'thy mother has taken it a little too strong; he +were vexed like at his tea not being ready.' + +Sylvia said no more, but the bright colour faded from her cheek, and +the contraction of care returned to her brow. She occupied herself +with taking off her baby's walking things. Hester lingered, anxious +to soothe and make peace; she was looking sorrowfully at Sylvia, +when she saw tears dropping on the baby's cloak, and then it seemed +as if she must speak a word of comfort before going to the +shop-work, where she knew she was expected by both Philip and +Coulson. She poured out a cup of tea, and coming close up to Sylvia, +and kneeling down by her, she whispered,-- + +'Just take him this into t' ware-room; it'll put all to rights if +thou'll take it to him wi' thy own hands.' + +Sylvia looked up, and Hester then more fully saw how she had been +crying. She whispered in reply, for fear of disturbing her mother,-- + +'I don't mind anything but his speaking ill on me to mother. I know +I'm for iver trying and trying to be a good wife to him, an' it's +very dull work; harder than yo' think on, Hester,--an' I would ha' +been home for tea to-night only I was afeared of baby getting wet +wi' t' storm o' hail as we had down on t' shore; and we sheltered +under a rock. It's a weary coming home to this dark place, and to +find my own mother set against me.' + +'Take him his tea, like a good lassie. I'll answer for it he'll be +all right. A man takes it hardly when he comes in tired, a-thinking +his wife '11 be there to cheer him up a bit, to find her off, and +niver know nought of t' reason why.' + +'I'm glad enough I've getten a baby,' said Sylvia, 'but for aught +else I wish I'd niver been married, I do!' + +'Hush thee, lass!' said Hester, rising up indignant; 'now that is a +sin. Eh! if thou only knew the lot o' some folk. But let's talk no +more on that, that cannot be helped; go, take him his tea, for it's +a sad thing to think on him fasting all this time.' + +Hester's voice was raised by the simple fact of her change of +position; and the word fasting caught Mrs. Robson's ear, as she sate +at her knitting by the chimney-corner. + +'Fasting? he said thou didn't care if he were full or fasting. +Lassie! it's not right in thee, I say; go, take him his tea at +once.' + +Sylvia rose, and gave up the baby, which she had been suckling, to +Nancy, who having done her washing, had come for her charge, to put +it to bed. Sylvia kissed it fondly, making a little moan of sad, +passionate tenderness as she did so. Then she took the cup of tea; +but she said, rather defiantly, to Hester,-- + +'I'll go to him with it, because mother bids me, and it'll ease her +mind.' + +Then louder to her mother, she added,-- + +'Mother, I'll take him his tea, though I couldn't help the being +out.' + +If the act itself was conciliatory, the spirit in which she was +going to do it was the reverse. Hester followed her slowly into the +ware-room, with intentional delay, thinking that her presence might +be an obstacle to their mutually understanding one another. Sylvia +held the cup and plate of bread and butter out to Philip, but +avoided meeting his eye, and said not a word of explanation, or +regret, or self-justification. If she had spoken, though ever so +crossly, Philip would have been relieved, and would have preferred +it to her silence. He wanted to provoke her to speech, but did not +know how to begin. + +'Thou's been out again wandering on that sea-shore!' said he. She +did not answer him. 'I cannot think what's always taking thee there, +when one would ha' thought a walk up to Esdale would be far more +sheltered, both for thee and baby in such weather as this. Thou'll +be having that baby ill some of these days.' + +At this, she looked up at him, and her lips moved as though she were +going to say something. Oh, how he wished she would, that they might +come to a wholesome quarrel, and a making friends again, and a +tender kissing, in which he might whisper penitence for all his +hasty words, or unreasonable vexation. But she had come resolved not +to speak, for fear of showing too much passion, too much emotion. +Only as she was going away she turned and said,-- + +'Philip, mother hasn't many more years to live; dunnot grieve her, +and set her again' me by finding fault wi' me afore her. Our being +wed were a great mistake; but before t' poor old widow woman let us +make as if we were happy.' + +'Sylvie! Sylvie!' he called after her. She must have heard, but she +did not turn. He went after her, and seized her by the arm rather +roughly; she had stung him to the heart with her calm words, which +seemed to reveal a long-formed conviction. + +'Sylvie!' said he, almost fiercely, 'what do yo' mean by what you've +said? Speak! I will have an answer.' + +He almost shook her: she was half frightened by his vehemence of +behaviour, which she took for pure anger, while it was the outburst +of agonized and unrequited love. + +'Let me go! Oh, Philip, yo' hurt me!' + +Just at this moment Hester came up; Philip was ashamed of his +passionate ways in her serene presence, and loosened his grasp of +his wife, and she ran away; ran into her mother's empty room, as to +a solitary place, and there burst into that sobbing, miserable +crying which we instinctively know is too surely lessening the +length of our days on earth to be indulged in often. + +When she had exhausted that first burst and lay weak and quiet for a +time, she listened in dreading expectation of the sound of his +footstep coming in search of her to make friends. But he was +detained below on business, and never came. Instead, her mother came +clambering up the stairs; she was now in the habit of going to bed +between seven and eight, and to-night she was retiring at even an +earlier hour. + +Sylvia sprang up and drew down the window-blind, and made her face +and manner as composed as possible, in order to soothe and comfort +her mother's last waking hours. She helped her to bed with gentle +patience; the restraint imposed upon her by her tender filial love +was good for her, though all the time she was longing to be alone to +have another wild outburst. When her mother was going off to sleep, +Sylvia went to look at her baby, also in a soft sleep. Then she +gazed out at the evening sky, high above the tiled roofs of the +opposite houses, and the longing to be out under the peaceful +heavens took possession of her once more. + +'It's my only comfort,' said she to herself; 'and there's no earthly +harm in it. I would ha' been at home to his tea, if I could; but +when he doesn't want me, and mother doesn't want me, and baby is +either in my arms or asleep; why, I'll go any cry my fill out under +yon great quiet sky. I cannot stay in t' house to be choked up wi' +my tears, nor yet to have him coming about me either for scolding or +peace-making.' + +So she put on her things and went out again; this time along the +High Street, and up the long flights of steps towards the parish +church, and there she stood and thought that here she had first met +Kinraid, at Darley's burying, and she tried to recall the very look +of all the sad, earnest faces round the open grave--the whole scene, +in fact; and let herself give way to the miserable regrets she had +so often tried to control. Then she walked on, crying bitterly, +almost unawares to herself; on through the high, bleak fields at the +summit of the cliffs; fields bounded by loose stone fences, and far +from all sight of the habitation of man. But, below, the sea rose +and raged; it was high water at the highest tide, and the wind blew +gustily from the land, vainly combating the great waves that came +invincibly up with a roar and an impotent furious dash against the +base of the cliffs below. + +Sylvia heard the sound of the passionate rush and rebound of many +waters, like the shock of mighty guns, whenever the other sound of +the blustering gusty wind was lulled for an instant. She was more +quieted by this tempest of the elements than she would have been had +all nature seemed as still as she had imagined it to be while she +was yet in-doors and only saw a part of the serene sky. + +She fixed on a certain point, in her own mind, which she would +reach, and then turn back again. It was where the outline of the +land curved inwards, dipping into a little bay. Here the field-path +she had hitherto followed descended somewhat abruptly to a cluster +of fishermen's cottages, hardly large enough to be called a village; +and then the narrow roadway wound up the rising ground till it again +reached the summit of the cliffs that stretched along the coast for +many and many a mile. + +Sylvia said to herself that she would turn homewards when she +came within sight of this cove,--Headlington Cove, they called +it. All the way along she had met no one since she had left the +town, but just as she had got over the last stile, or ladder of +stepping-stones, into the field from which the path descended, she +came upon a number of people--quite a crowd, in fact; men moving +forward in a steady line, hauling at a rope, a chain, or something +of that kind; boys, children, and women holding babies in their +arms, as if all were fain to come out and partake in some general +interest. + +They kept within a certain distance from the edge of the cliff, and +Sylvia, advancing a little, now saw the reason why. The great cable +the men held was attached to some part of a smack, which could now +be seen by her in the waters below, half dismantled, and all but a +wreck, yet with her deck covered with living men, as far as the +waning light would allow her to see. The vessel strained to get free +of the strong guiding cable; the tide was turning, the wind was +blowing off shore, and Sylvia knew without being told, that almost +parallel to this was a line of sunken rocks that had been fatal to +many a ship before now, if she had tried to take the inner channel +instead of keeping out to sea for miles, and then steering in +straight for Monkshaven port. And the ships that had been thus lost +had been in good plight and order compared to this vessel, which +seemed nothing but a hull without mast or sail. + +By this time, the crowd--the fishermen from the hamlet down below, +with their wives and children--all had come but the bedridden--had +reached the place where Sylvia stood. The women, in a state of wild +excitement, rushed on, encouraging their husbands and sons by words, +even while they hindered them by actions; and, from time to time, +one of them would run to the edge of the cliff and shout out some +brave words of hope in her shrill voice to the crew on the deck +below. Whether these latter heard it or not, no one could tell; but +it seemed as if all human voice must be lost in the tempestuous stun +and tumult of wind and wave. It was generally a woman with a child +in her arms who so employed herself. As the strain upon the cable +became greater, and the ground on which they strove more uneven, +every hand was needed to hold and push, and all those women who were +unencumbered held by the dear rope on which so many lives were +depending. On they came, a long line of human beings, black against +the ruddy sunset sky. As they came near Sylvia, a woman cried out,-- + +'Dunnot stand idle, lass, but houd on wi' us; there's many a bonny +life at stake, and many a mother's heart a-hangin' on this bit o' +hemp. Tak' houd, lass, and give a firm grip, and God remember thee +i' thy need.' + +Sylvia needed no second word; a place was made for her, and in an +instant more the rope was pulling against her hands till it seemed +as though she was holding fire in her bare palms. Never a one of +them thought of letting go for an instant, though when all was over +many of their hands were raw and bleeding. Some strong, experienced +fishermen passed a word along the line from time to time, giving +directions as to how it should be held according to varying +occasions; but few among the rest had breath or strength enough to +speak. The women and children that accompanied them ran on before, +breaking down the loose stone fences, so as to obviate delay or +hindrance; they talked continually, exhorting, encouraging, +explaining. From their many words and fragmentary sentences, Sylvia +learnt that the vessel was supposed to be a Newcastle smack sailing +from London, that had taken the dangerous inner channel to save +time, and had been caught in the storm, which she was too crazy to +withstand; and that if by some daring contrivance of the fishermen +who had first seen her the cable had not been got ashore, she would +have been cast upon the rocks before this, and 'all on board +perished'. + +'It were dayleet then,' quoth one woman; 'a could see their faces, +they were so near. They were as pale as dead men, an' one was +prayin' down on his knees. There was a king's officer aboard, for I +saw t' gowd about him.' + +'He'd maybe come from these hom'ard parts, and be comin' to see his +own folk; else it's no common for king's officers to sail in aught +but king's ships.' + +'Eh! but it's gettin' dark! See there's t' leeghts in t' houses in +t' New Town! T' grass is crispin' wi' t' white frost under out feet. +It'll be a hard tug round t' point, and then she'll be gettin' into +still waters.' + +One more great push and mighty strain, and the danger was past; the +vessel--or what remained of her--was in the harbour, among the +lights and cheerful sounds of safety. The fishermen sprang down the +cliff to the quay-side, anxious to see the men whose lives they had +saved; the women, weary and over-excited, began to cry. Not Sylvia, +however; her fount of tears had been exhausted earlier in the day: +her principal feeling was of gladness and high rejoicing that they +were saved who had been so near to death not half an hour before. + +She would have liked to have seen the men, and shaken hands with +them all round. But instead she must go home, and well would it be +with her if she was in time for her husband's supper, and escaped +any notice of her absence. So she separated herself from the groups +of women who sate on the grass in the churchyard, awaiting the +return of such of their husbands as could resist the fascinations of +the Monkshaven public houses. As Sylvia went down the church steps, +she came upon one of the fishermen who had helped to tow the vessel +into port. + +'There was seventeen men and boys aboard her, and a navy-lieutenant +as had comed as passenger. It were a good job as we could manage +her. Good-neet to thee, thou'll sleep all t' sounder for havin' lent +a hand.' + +The street air felt hot and close after the sharp keen atmosphere of +the heights above; the decent shops and houses had all their +shutters put up, and were preparing for their early bed-time. +Already lights shone here and there in the upper chambers, and +Sylvia scarcely met any one. + +She went round up the passage from the quay-side, and in by the +private door. All was still; the basins of bread and milk that she +and her husband were in the habit of having for supper stood in the +fender before the fire, each with a plate upon them. Nancy had gone +to bed, Phoebe dozed in the kitchen; Philip was still in the +ware-room, arranging goods and taking stock along with Coulson, for +Hester had gone home to her mother. + +Sylvia was not willing to go and seek out Philip, after the manner +in which they had parted. All the despondency of her life became +present to her again as she sate down within her home. She had +forgotten it in her interest and excitement, but now it came back +again. + +Still she was hungry, and youthful, and tired. She took her basin +up, and was eating her supper when she heard a cry of her baby +upstairs, and ran away to attend to it. When it had been fed and +hushed away to sleep, she went in to see her mother, attracted by +some unusual noise in her room. + +She found Mrs. Robson awake, and restless, and ailing; dwelling much +on what Philip had said in his anger against Sylvia. It was really +necessary for her daughter to remain with her; so Sylvia stole out, +and went quickly down-stairs to Philip--now sitting tired and worn +out, and eating his supper with little or no appetite--and told him +she meant to pass the night with her mother. + +His answer of acquiescence was so short and careless, or so it +seemed to her, that she did not tell him any more of what she had +done or seen that evening, or even dwell upon any details of her +mother's indisposition. + +As soon as she had left the room, Philip set down his half-finished +basin of bread and milk, and sate long, his face hidden in his +folded arms. The wick of the candle grew long and black, and fell, +and sputtered, and guttered; he sate on, unheeding either it or the +pale gray fire that was dying out--dead at last. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +AN APPARITION + + + + + +Mrs. Robson was very poorly all night long. Uneasy thoughts seemed +to haunt and perplex her brain, and she neither slept nor woke, but +was restless and uneasy in her talk and movements. + +Sylvia lay down by her, but got so little sleep, that at length she +preferred sitting in the easy-chair by the bedside. Here she dropped +off to slumber in spite of herself; the scene of the evening before +seemed to be repeated; the cries of the many people, the heavy roar +and dash of the threatening waves, were repeated in her ears; and +something was said to her through all the conflicting noises,--what +it was she could not catch, though she strained to hear the hoarse +murmur that, in her dream, she believed to convey a meaning of the +utmost importance to her. + +This dream, that mysterious, only half-intelligible sound, +recurred whenever she dozed, and her inability to hear the words +uttered distressed her so much, that at length she sate bolt +upright, resolved to sleep no more. Her mother was talking in a +half-conscious way; Philip's speech of the evening before was +evidently running in her mind. + +'Sylvie, if thou're not a good wife to him, it'll just break my +heart outright. A woman should obey her husband, and not go her own +gait. I never leave the house wi'out telling father, and getting his +leave.' + +And then she began to cry pitifully, and to say unconnected things, +till Sylvia, to soothe her, took her hand, and promised never to +leave the house without asking her husband's permission, though in +making this promise, she felt as if she were sacrificing her last +pleasure to her mother's wish; for she knew well enough that Philip +would always raise objections to the rambles which reminded her of +her old free open-air life. + +But to comfort and cherish her mother she would have done anything; +yet this very morning that was dawning, she must go and ask his +permission for a simple errand, or break her word. + +She knew from experience that nothing quieted her mother so well as +balm-tea; it might be that the herb really possessed some sedative +power; it might be only early faith, and often repeated experience, +but it had always had a tranquillizing effect; and more than once, +during the restless hours of the night, Mrs. Robson had asked for it; +but Sylvia's stock of last year's dead leaves was exhausted. Still +she knew where a plant of balm grew in the sheltered corner of +Haytersbank Farm garden; she knew that the tenants who had succeeded +them in the occupation of the farm had had to leave it in +consequence of a death, and that the place was unoccupied; and in +the darkness she had planned that if she could leave her mother +after the dawn came, and she had attended to her baby, she would +walk quickly to the old garden, and gather the tender sprigs which +she was sure to find there. + +Now she must go and ask Philip; and till she held her baby to her +breast, she bitterly wished that she were free from the duties and +chains of matrimony. But the touch of its waxen fingers, the hold of +its little mouth, made her relax into docility and gentleness. She +gave it back to Nancy to be dressed, and softly opened the door of +Philip's bed-room. + +'Philip!' said she, gently. 'Philip!' + +He started up from dreams of her; of her, angry. He saw her there, +rather pale with her night's watch and anxiety, but looking meek, +and a little beseeching. + +'Mother has had such a bad night! she fancied once as some balm-tea +would do her good--it allays used to: but my dried balm is all gone, +and I thought there'd be sure to be some in t' old garden at +Haytersbank. Feyther planted a bush just for mother, wheere it +allays came up early, nigh t' old elder-tree; and if yo'd not mind, +I could run theere while she sleeps, and be back again in an hour, +and it's not seven now.' + +'Thou's not wear thyself out with running, Sylvie,' said Philip, +eagerly; 'I'll get up and go myself, or, perhaps,' continued he, +catching the shadow that was coming over her face, 'thou'd rather go +thyself: it's only that I'm so afraid of thy tiring thyself.' + +'It'll not tire me,' said Sylvia. 'Afore I was married, I was out +often far farther than that, afield to fetch up t' kine, before my +breakfast.' + +'Well, go if thou will,' said Philip. 'But get somewhat to eat +first, and don't hurry; there's no need for that.' + +She had got her hat and shawl, and was off before he had finished +his last words. + +The long High Street was almost empty of people at that early hour; +one side was entirely covered by the cool morning shadow which lay +on the pavement, and crept up the opposite houses till only the +topmost story caught the rosy sunlight. Up the hill-road, through +the gap in the stone wall, across the dewy fields, Sylvia went by +the very shortest path she knew. + +She had only once been at Haytersbank since her wedding-day. On that +occasion the place had seemed strangely and dissonantly changed by +the numerous children who were diverting themselves before the open +door, and whose playthings and clothes strewed the house-place, and +made it one busy scene of confusion and untidiness, more like the +Corneys' kitchen in former times, than her mother's orderly and +quiet abode. Those little children were fatherless now; and the +house was shut up, awaiting the entry of some new tenant. There were +no shutters to shut; the long low window was blinking in the rays of +the morning sun; the house and cow-house doors were closed, and no +poultry wandered about the field in search of stray grains of corn, +or early worms. It was a strange and unfamiliar silence, and struck +solemnly on Sylvia's mind. Only a thrush in the old orchard down in +the hollow, out of sight, whistled and gurgled with continual shrill +melody. + +Sylvia went slowly past the house and down the path leading to the +wild, deserted bit of garden. She saw that the last tenants had had +a pump sunk for them, and resented the innovation, as though the +well she was passing could feel the insult. Over it grew two +hawthorn trees; on the bent trunk of one of them she used to sit, +long ago: the charm of the position being enhanced by the possible +danger of falling into the well and being drowned. The rusty unused +chain was wound round the windlass; the bucket was falling to pieces +from dryness. A lean cat came from some outhouse, and mewed +pitifully with hunger; accompanying Sylvia to the garden, as if glad +of some human companionship, yet refusing to allow itself to be +touched. Primroses grew in the sheltered places, just as they +formerly did; and made the uncultivated ground seem less deserted +than the garden, where the last year's weeds were rotting away, and +cumbering the ground. + +Sylvia forced her way through the berry bushes to the herb-plot, and +plucked the tender leaves she had come to seek; sighing a little all +the time. Then she retraced her steps; paused softly before the +house-door, and entered the porch and kissed the senseless wood. + +She tried to tempt the poor gaunt cat into her arms, meaning to +carry it home and befriend it; but it was scared by her endeavour +and ran back to its home in the outhouse, making a green path across +the white dew of the meadow. Then Sylvia began to hasten home, +thinking, and remembering--at the stile that led into the road she +was brought short up. + +Some one stood in the lane just on the other side of the gap; his +back was to the morning sun; all she saw at first was the uniform of +a naval officer, so well known in Monkshaven in those days. + +Sylvia went hurrying past him, not looking again, although her +clothes almost brushed his, as he stood there still. She had not +gone a yard--no, not half a yard--when her heart leaped up and fell +again dead within her, as if she had been shot. + +'Sylvia!' he said, in a voice tremulous with joy and passionate +love. 'Sylvia!' + +She looked round; he had turned a little, so that the light fell +straight on his face. It was bronzed, and the lines were +strengthened; but it was the same face she had last seen in +Haytersbank Gully three long years ago, and had never thought to see +in life again. + +He was close to her and held out his fond arms; she went fluttering +towards their embrace, as if drawn by the old fascination; but when +she felt them close round her, she started away, and cried out with +a great pitiful shriek, and put her hands up to her forehead as if +trying to clear away some bewildering mist. + +Then she looked at him once more, a terrible story in her eyes, if +he could but have read it. + +Twice she opened her stiff lips to speak, and twice the words were +overwhelmed by the surges of her misery, which bore them back into +the depths of her heart. + +He thought that he had come upon her too suddenly, and he attempted +to soothe her with soft murmurs of love, and to woo her to his +outstretched hungry arms once more. But when she saw this motion of +his, she made a gesture as though pushing him away; and with an +inarticulate moan of agony she put her hands to her head once more, +and turning away began to run blindly towards the town for +protection. + +For a minute or so he was stunned with surprise at her behaviour; +and then he thought it accounted for by the shock of his accost, and +that she needed time to understand the unexpected joy. So he +followed her swiftly, ever keeping her in view, but not trying to +overtake her too speedily. + +'I have frightened my poor love,' he kept thinking. And by this +thought he tried to repress his impatience and check the speed he +longed to use; yet he was always so near behind that her quickened +sense heard his well-known footsteps following, and a mad notion +flashed across her brain that she would go to the wide full river, +and end the hopeless misery she felt enshrouding her. There was a +sure hiding-place from all human reproach and heavy mortal woe +beneath the rushing waters borne landwards by the morning tide. + +No one can tell what changed her course; perhaps the thought of her +sucking child; perhaps her mother; perhaps an angel of God; no one +on earth knows, but as she ran along the quay-side she all at once +turned up an entry, and through an open door. + +He, following all the time, came into a quiet dark parlour, with a +cloth and tea-things on the table ready for breakfast; the change +from the bright sunny air out of doors to the deep shadow of this +room made him think for the first moment that she had passed on, and +that no one was there, and he stood for an instant baffled, and +hearing no sound but the beating of his own heart; but an +irrepressible sobbing gasp made him look round, and there he saw her +cowered behind the door, her face covered tight up, and sharp +shudders going through her whole frame. + +'My love, my darling!' said he, going up to her, and trying to raise +her, and to loosen her hands away from her face. 'I've been too +sudden for thee: it was thoughtless in me; but I have so looked +forward to this time, and seeing thee come along the field, and go +past me, but I should ha' been more tender and careful of thee. Nay! +let me have another look of thy sweet face.' + +All this he whispered in the old tones of manoeuvring love, in that +voice she had yearned and hungered to hear in life, and had not +heard, for all her longing, save in her dreams. + +She tried to crouch more and more into the corner, into the hidden +shadow--to sink into the ground out of sight. + +Once more he spoke, beseeching her to lift up her face, to let him +hear her speak. + +But she only moaned. + +'Sylvia!' said he, thinking he could change his tactics, and pique +her into speaking, that he would make a pretence of suspicion and +offence. + +'Sylvia! one would think you weren't glad to see me back again at +length. I only came in late last night, and my first thought on +wakening was of you; it has been ever since I left you.' + +Sylvia took her hands away from her face; it was gray as the face of +death; her awful eyes were passionless in her despair. + +'Where have yo' been?' she asked, in slow, hoarse tones, as if her +voice were half strangled within her. + +'Been!' said he, a red light coming into his eyes, as he bent his +looks upon her; now, indeed, a true and not an assumed suspicion +entering his mind. + +'Been!' he repeated; then, coming a step nearer to her, and taking +her hand, not tenderly this time, but with a resolution to be +satisfied. + +'Did not your cousin--Hepburn, I mean--did not he tell you?--he saw +the press-gang seize me,--I gave him a message to you--I bade you +keep true to me as I would be to you.' + +Between every clause of this speech he paused and gasped for her +answer; but none came. Her eyes dilated and held his steady gaze +prisoner as with a magical charm--neither could look away from the +other's wild, searching gaze. When he had ended, she was silent for +a moment, then she cried out, shrill and fierce,-- + +'Philip!' No answer. + +Wilder and shriller still, 'Philip!' she cried. + +He was in the distant ware-room completing the last night's work +before the regular shop hours began; before breakfast, also, that +his wife might not find him waiting and impatient. + +He heard her cry; it cut through doors, and still air, and great +bales of woollen stuff; he thought that she had hurt herself, that +her mother was worse, that her baby was ill, and he hastened to the +spot whence the cry proceeded. + +On opening the door that separated the shop from the sitting-room, +he saw the back of a naval officer, and his wife on the ground, +huddled up in a heap; when she perceived him come in, she dragged +herself up by means of a chair, groping like a blind person, and +came and stood facing him. + +The officer turned fiercely round, and would have come towards +Philip, who was so bewildered by the scene that even yet he did not +understand who the stranger was, did not perceive for an instant +that he saw the realization of his greatest dread. + +But Sylvia laid her hand on Kinraid's arm, and assumed to herself +the right of speech. Philip did not know her voice, it was so +changed. + +'Philip,' she said, 'this is Kinraid come back again to wed me. He +is alive; he has niver been dead, only taken by t' press-gang. And +he says yo' saw it, and knew it all t' time. Speak, was it so?' + +Philip knew not what to say, whither to turn, under what refuge of +words or acts to shelter. + +Sylvia's influence was keeping Kinraid silent, but he was rapidly +passing beyond it. + +'Speak!' he cried, loosening himself from Sylvia's light grasp, and +coming towards Philip, with a threatening gesture. 'Did I not bid +you tell her how it was? Did I not bid you say how I would be +faithful to her, and she was to be faithful to me? Oh! you damned +scoundrel! have you kept it from her all that time, and let her +think me dead, or false? Take that!' + +His closed fist was up to strike the man, who hung his head with +bitterest shame and miserable self-reproach; but Sylvia came swift +between the blow and its victim. + +'Charley, thou shan't strike him,' she said. 'He is a damned +scoundrel' (this was said in the hardest, quietest tone) 'but he is +my husband.' + +'Oh! thou false heart!' exclaimed Kinraid, turning sharp on her. 'If +ever I trusted woman, I trusted you, Sylvia Robson.' + +He made as though throwing her from him, with a gesture of contempt +that stung her to life. + +'Oh, Charley!' she cried, springing to him, 'dunnot cut me to the +quick; have pity on me, though he had none. I did so love thee; it +was my very heart-strings as gave way when they told me thou was +drowned--feyther, and th' Corneys, and all, iverybody. Thy hat and +t' bit o' ribbon I gave thee were found drenched and dripping wi' +sea-water; and I went mourning for thee all the day long--dunnot +turn away from me; only hearken this once, and then kill me dead, +and I'll bless yo',--and have niver been mysel' since; niver ceased +to feel t' sun grow dark and th' air chill and dreary when I thought +on t' time when thou was alive. I did, my Charley, my own love! And +I thought thou was dead for iver, and I wished I were lying beside +thee. Oh, Charley! Philip, theere, where he stands, could tell yo' +this was true. Philip, wasn't it so?' + +'Would God I were dead!' moaned forth the unhappy, guilty man. But +she had turned to Kinraid, and was speaking again to him, and +neither of them heard or heeded him--they were drawing closer and +closer together--she, with her cheeks and eyes aflame, talking +eagerly. + +'And feyther was taken up, and all for setting some free as t' +press-gang had gotten by a foul trick; and he were put i' York +prison, and tried, and hung!--hung! Charley!--good kind feyther was +hung on a gallows; and mother lost her sense and grew silly in +grief, and we were like to be turned out on t' wide world, and poor +mother dateless--and I thought yo' were dead--oh! I thought yo' were +dead, I did--oh, Charley, Charley!' + +By this time they were in each other's arms, she with her head on +his shoulder, crying as if her heart would break. + +Philip came forwards and took hold of her to pull her away; but +Charley held her tight, mutely defying Philip. Unconsciously she was +Philip's protection, in that hour of danger, from a blow which might +have been his death if strong will could have aided it to kill. + +'Sylvie!' said he, grasping her tight. 'Listen to me. He didn't love +yo' as I did. He had loved other women. I, yo'--yo' alone. He loved +other girls before yo', and had left off loving 'em. I--I wish God +would free my heart from the pang; but it will go on till I die, +whether yo' love me or not. And then--where was I? Oh! that very +night that he was taken, I was a-thinking on yo' and on him; and I +might ha' given yo' his message, but I heard them speaking of him as +knew him well; talking of his false fickle ways. How was I to know +he would keep true to thee? It might be a sin in me, I cannot say; +my heart and my sense are gone dead within me. I know this, I've +loved yo' as no man but me ever loved before. Have some pity and +forgiveness on me, if it's only because I've been so tormented with +my love.' + +He looked at her with feverish eager wistfulness; it faded away into +despair as she made no sign of having even heard his words. He let +go his hold of her, and his arm fell loosely by his side. + +'I may die,' he said, 'for my life is ended!' + +'Sylvia!' spoke out Kinraid, bold and fervent, 'your marriage is no +marriage. You were tricked into it. You are my wife, not his. I am +your husband; we plighted each other our troth. See! here is my half +of the sixpence.' + +He pulled it out from his bosom, tied by a black ribbon round his +neck. + +'When they stripped me and searched me in th' French prison, I +managed to keep this. No lies can break the oath we swore to each +other. I can get your pretence of a marriage set aside. I'm in +favour with my admiral, and he'll do a deal for me, and back me out. +Come with me; your marriage shall be set aside, and we'll be married +again, all square and above-board. Come away. Leave that damned +fellow to repent of the trick he played an honest sailor; we'll be +true, whatever has come and gone. Come, Sylvia.' + +His arm was round her waist, and he was drawing her towards the +door, his face all crimson with eagerness and hope. Just then the +baby cried. + +'Hark!' said she, starting away from Kinraid, 'baby's crying for me. +His child--yes, it is his child--I'd forgotten that--forgotten all. +I'll make my vow now, lest I lose mysel' again. I'll never forgive +yon man, nor live with him as his wife again. All that's done and +ended. He's spoilt my life,--he's spoilt it for as long as iver I +live on this earth; but neither yo' nor him shall spoil my soul. It +goes hard wi' me, Charley, it does indeed. I'll just give yo' one +kiss--one little kiss--and then, so help me God, I'll niver see nor +hear till--no, not that, not that is needed--I'll niver see--sure +that's enough--I'll never see yo' again on this side heaven, so help +me God! I'm bound and tied, but I've sworn my oath to him as well as +yo': there's things I will do, and there's things I won't. Kiss me +once more. God help me, he's gone!' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +A RECKLESS RECRUIT + + + + + +She lay across a chair, her arms helplessly stretched out, her face +unseen. Every now and then a thrill ran through her body: she was +talking to herself all the time with incessant low incontinence of +words. + +Philip stood near her, motionless: he did not know whether she was +conscious of his presence; in fact, he knew nothing but that he and +she were sundered for ever; he could only take in that one idea, and +it numbed all other thought. + +Once more her baby cried for the comfort she alone could give. + +She rose to her feet, but staggered when she tried to walk; her +glazed eyes fell upon Philip as he instinctively made a step to hold +her steady. No light came into her eyes any more than if she had +looked upon a perfect stranger; not even was there the contraction +of dislike. Some other figure filled her mind, and she saw him no +more than she saw the inanimate table. That way of looking at him +withered him up more than any sign of aversion would have done. + +He watched her laboriously climb the stairs, and vanish out of +sight; and sat down with a sudden feeling of extreme bodily +weakness. + +The door of communication between the parlour and the shop was +opened. That was the first event of which Philip took note; but +Phoebe had come in unawares to him, with the intention of removing +the breakfast things on her return from market, and seeing them +unused, and knowing that Sylvia had sate up all night with her +mother, she had gone back to the kitchen. Philip had neither seen +nor heard her. + +Now Coulson came in, amazed at Hepburn's non-appearance in the shop. + +'Why! Philip, what's ado? How ill yo' look, man!' exclaimed he, +thoroughly alarmed by Philip's ghastly appearance. 'What's the +matter?' + +'I!' said Philip, slowly gathering his thoughts. 'Why should there +be anything the matter?' + +His instinct, quicker to act than his reason, made him shrink from +his misery being noticed, much more made any subject for explanation +or sympathy. + +'There may be nothing the matter wi' thee,' said Coulson, 'but +thou's the look of a corpse on thy face. I was afeared something was +wrong, for it's half-past nine, and thee so punctual!' + +He almost guarded Philip into the shop, and kept furtively watching +him, and perplexing himself with Philip's odd, strange ways. + +Hester, too, observed the heavy broken-down expression on Philip's +ashen face, and her heart ached for him; but after that first +glance, which told her so much, she avoided all appearance of +noticing or watching. Only a shadow brooded over her sweet, calm +face, and once or twice she sighed to herself. + +It was market-day, and people came in and out, bringing their store +of gossip from the country, or the town--from the farm or the +quay-side. + +Among the pieces of news, the rescue of the smack the night before +furnished a large topic; and by-and-by Philip heard a name that +startled him into attention. + +The landlady of a small public-house much frequented by sailors was +talking to Coulson. + +'There was a sailor aboard of her as knowed Kinraid by sight, in +Shields, years ago; and he called him by his name afore they were +well out o' t' river. And Kinraid was no ways set up, for all his +lieutenant's uniform (and eh! but they say he looks handsome in +it!); but he tells 'm all about it--how he was pressed aboard a +man-o'-war, an' for his good conduct were made a warrant officer, +boatswain, or something!' + +All the people in the shop were listening now; Philip alone seemed +engrossed in folding up a piece of cloth, so as to leave no possible +chance of creases in it; yet he lost not a syllable of the good +woman's narration. + +She, pleased with the enlarged audience her tale had attracted, went +on with fresh vigour. + +'An' there's a gallant captain, one Sir Sidney Smith, and he'd a +notion o' goin' smack into a French port, an' carryin' off a vessel +from right under their very noses; an' says he, "Which of yo' +British sailors 'll go along with me to death or glory?" So Kinraid +stands up like a man, an' "I'll go with yo', captain," he says. So +they, an' some others as brave, went off, an' did their work, an' +choose whativer it was, they did it famously; but they got caught by +them French, an' were clapped into prison i' France for iver so +long; but at last one Philip--Philip somethin' (he were a Frenchman, +I know)--helped 'em to escape, in a fishin'-boat. But they were +welcomed by th' whole British squadron as was i' t' Channel for t' +piece of daring they'd done i' cuttin' out t' ship from a French +port; an' Captain Sir Sidney Smith was made an admiral, an' him as +we used t' call Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, is made a +lieutenant, an' a commissioned officer i' t' King's service; and is +come to great glory, and slep in my house this very blessed night as +is just past!' + +A murmur of applause and interest and rejoicing buzzed all around +Philip. All this was publicly known about Kinraid,--and how much +more? All Monkshaven might hear tomorrow--nay, to-day--of Philip's +treachery to the hero of the hour; how he had concealed his fate, +and supplanted him in his love. + +Philip shrank from the burst of popular indignation which he knew +must follow. Any wrong done to one who stands on the pinnacle of the +people's favour is resented by each individual as a personal injury; +and among a primitive set of country-folk, who recognize the wild +passion in love, as it exists untamed by the trammels of reason and +self-restraint, any story of baulked affections, or treachery in +such matters, spreads like wildfire. + +Philip knew this quite well; his doom of disgrace lay plain before +him, if only Kinraid spoke the word. His head was bent down while he +thus listened and reflected. He half resolved on doing something; he +lifted up his head, caught the reflection of his face in the little +strip of glass on the opposite side, in which the women might look +at themselves in their contemplated purchases, and quite resolved. + +The sight he saw in the mirror was his own long, sad, pale face, +made plainer and grayer by the heavy pressure of the morning's +events. He saw his stooping figure, his rounded shoulders, with +something like a feeling of disgust at his personal appearance as he +remembered the square, upright build of Kinraid; his fine uniform, +with epaulette and sword-belt; his handsome brown face; his dark +eyes, splendid with the fire of passion and indignation; his white +teeth, gleaming out with the terrible smile of scorn. + +The comparison drove Philip from passive hopelessness to active +despair. + +He went abruptly from the crowded shop into the empty parlour, and +on into the kitchen, where he took up a piece of bread, and heedless +of Phoebe's look and words, began to eat it before he even left the +place; for he needed the strength that food would give; he needed it +to carry him out of the sight and the knowledge of all who might +hear what he had done, and point their fingers at him. + +He paused a moment in the parlour, and then, setting his teeth tight +together, he went upstairs. + +First of all he went into the bit of a room opening out of theirs, +in which his baby slept. He dearly loved the child, and many a time +would run in and play a while with it; and in such gambols he and +Sylvia had passed their happiest moments of wedded life. + +The little Bella was having her morning slumber; Nancy used to tell +long afterwards how he knelt down by the side of her cot, and was so +strange she thought he must have prayed, for all it was nigh upon +eleven o'clock, and folk in their senses only said their prayers +when they got up, and when they went to bed. + +Then he rose, and stooped over, and gave the child a long, +lingering, soft, fond kiss. And on tip-toe he passed away into the +room where his aunt lay; his aunt who had been so true a friend to +him! He was thankful to know that in her present state she was safe +from the knowledge of what was past, safe from the sound of the +shame to come. + +He had not meant to see Sylvia again; he dreaded the look of her +hatred, her scorn, but there, outside her mother's bed, she lay, +apparently asleep. Mrs. Robson, too, was sleeping, her face towards +the wall. Philip could not help it; he went to have one last look at +his wife. She was turned towards her mother, her face averted from +him; he could see the tear-stains, the swollen eyelids, the lips yet +quivering: he stooped down, and bent to kiss the little hand that +lay listless by her side. As his hot breath neared that hand it was +twitched away, and a shiver ran through the whole prostrate body. +And then he knew that she was not asleep, only worn out by her +misery,--misery that he had caused. + +He sighed heavily; but he went away, down-stairs, and away for ever. +Only as he entered the parlour his eyes caught on two silhouettes, +one of himself, one of Sylvia, done in the first month of their +marriage, by some wandering artist, if so he could be called. They +were hanging against the wall in little oval wooden frames; black +profiles, with the lights done in gold; about as poor semblances of +humanity as could be conceived; but Philip went up, and after +looking for a minute or so at Sylvia's, he took it down, and +buttoned his waistcoat over it. + +It was the only thing he took away from his home. + +He went down the entry on to the quay. The river was there, and +waters, they say, have a luring power, and a weird promise of rest +in their perpetual monotony of sound. But many people were there, if +such a temptation presented itself to Philip's mind; the sight of +his fellow-townsmen, perhaps of his acquaintances, drove him up +another entry--the town is burrowed with such--back into the High +Street, which he straightway crossed into a well-known court, out of +which rough steps led to the summit of the hill, and on to the fells +and moors beyond. + +He plunged and panted up this rough ascent. From the top he could +look down on the whole town lying below, severed by the bright +shining river into two parts. To the right lay the sea, shimmering +and heaving; there were the cluster of masts rising out of the +little port; the irregular roofs of the houses; which of them, +thought he, as he carried his eye along the quay-side to the +market-place, which of them was his? and he singled it out in its +unfamiliar aspect, and saw the thin blue smoke rising from the +kitchen chimney, where even now Phoebe was cooking the household +meal that he never more must share. + +Up at that thought and away, he knew not nor cared not whither. He +went through the ploughed fields where the corn was newly springing; +he came down upon the vast sunny sea, and turned his back upon it +with loathing; he made his way inland to the high green pastures; +the short upland turf above which the larks hung poised 'at heaven's +gate'. He strode along, so straight and heedless of briar and bush, +that the wild black cattle ceased from grazing, and looked after him +with their great blank puzzled eyes. + +He had passed all enclosures and stone fences now, and was fairly on +the desolate brown moors; through the withered last year's ling and +fern, through the prickly gorse, he tramped, crushing down the +tender shoots of this year's growth, and heedless of the startled +plover's cry, goaded by the furies. His only relief from thought, +from the remembrance of Sylvia's looks and words, was in violent +bodily action. + +So he went on till evening shadows and ruddy evening lights came out +upon the wild fells. + +He had crossed roads and lanes, with a bitter avoidance of men's +tracks; but now the strong instinct of self-preservation came out, +and his aching limbs, his weary heart, giving great pants and beats +for a time, and then ceasing altogether till a mist swam and +quivered before his aching eyes, warned him that he must find some +shelter and food, or lie down to die. He fell down now, often; +stumbling over the slightest obstacle. He had passed the cattle +pastures; he was among the black-faced sheep; and they, too, ceased +nibbling, and looked after him, and somehow, in his poor wandering +imagination, their silly faces turned to likenesses of Monkshaven +people--people who ought to be far, far away. + +'Thou'll be belated on these fells, if thou doesn't tak' heed,' +shouted some one. + +Philip looked abroad to see whence the voice proceeded. + +An old stiff-legged shepherd, in a smock-frock, was within a couple +of hundred yards. Philip did not answer, but staggered and stumbled +towards him. + +'Good lork!' said the man, 'wheere hast ta been? Thou's seen Oud +Harry, I think, thou looks so scared.' + +Philip rallied himself, and tried to speak up to the old standard of +respectability; but the effort was pitiful to see, had any one been +by, who could have understood the pain it caused to restrain cries +of bodily and mental agony. + +'I've lost my way, that's all.' + +''Twould ha' been enough, too, I'm thinkin', if I hadn't come out +after t' ewes. There's t' Three Griffins near at hand: a sup o' +Hollands 'll set thee to reeghts.' + +Philip followed faintly. He could not see before him, and was guided +by the sound of footsteps rather than by the sight of the figure +moving onwards. He kept stumbling; and he knew that the old shepherd +swore at him; but he also knew such curses proceeded from no +ill-will, only from annoyance at the delay in going and 'seem' after +t' ewes.' But had the man's words conveyed the utmost expression of +hatred, Philip would neither have wondered at them, nor resented +them. + +They came into a wild mountain road, unfenced from the fells. A +hundred yards off, and there was a small public-house, with a broad +ruddy oblong of firelight shining across the tract. + +'Theere!' said the old man. 'Thee cannot well miss that. A dunno +tho', thee bees sich a gawby.' + +So he went on, and delivered Philip safely up to the landlord. + +'Here's a felly as a fund on t' fell side, just as one as if he were +drunk; but he's sober enough, a reckon, only summat's wrong i' his +head, a'm thinkin'.' + +'No!' said Philip, sitting down on the first chair he came to. 'I'm +right enough; just fairly wearied out: lost my way,' and he fainted. + +There was a recruiting sergeant of marines sitting in the +house-place, drinking. He, too, like Philip, had lost his way; but +was turning his blunder to account by telling all manner of +wonderful stories to two or three rustics who had come in ready to +drink on any pretence; especially if they could get good liquor +without paying for it. + +The sergeant rose as Philip fell back, and brought up his own mug of +beer, into which a noggin of gin had been put (called in Yorkshire +'dog's-nose'). He partly poured and partly spilt some of this +beverage on Philip's face; some drops went through the pale and +parted lips, and with a start the worn-out man revived. + +'Bring him some victual, landlord,' called out the recruiting +sergeant. 'I'll stand shot.' + +They brought some cold bacon and coarse oat-cake. The sergeant asked +for pepper and salt; minced the food fine and made it savoury, and +kept administering it by teaspoonfuls; urging Philip to drink from +time to time from his own cup of dog's-nose. + +A burning thirst, which needed no stimulant from either pepper or +salt, took possession of Philip, and he drank freely, scarcely +recognizing what he drank. It took effect on one so habitually +sober; and he was soon in that state when the imagination works +wildly and freely. + +He saw the sergeant before him, handsome, and bright, and active, in +his gay red uniform, without a care, as it seemed to Philip, taking +life lightly; admired and respected everywhere because of his cloth. + +If Philip were gay, and brisk, well-dressed like him, returning with +martial glory to Monkshaven, would not Sylvia love him once more? +Could not he win her heart? He was brave by nature, and the prospect +of danger did not daunt him, if ever it presented itself to his +imagination. + +He thought he was cautious in entering on the subject of enlistment +with his new friend, the sergeant; but the latter was twenty times +as cunning as he, and knew by experience how to bait his hook. + +Philip was older by some years than the regulation age; but, at that +time of great demand for men, the question of age was lightly +entertained. The sergeant was profuse in statements of the +advantages presented to a man of education in his branch of the +service; how such a one was sure to rise; in fact, it would have +seemed from the sergeant's account, as though the difficulty +consisted in remaining in the ranks. + +Philip's dizzy head thought the subject over and over again, each +time with failing power of reason. + +At length, almost, as it would seem, by some sleight of hand, he +found the fatal shilling in his palm, and had promised to go before +the nearest magistrate to be sworn in as one of his Majesty's +marines the next morning. And after that he remembered nothing more. + +He wakened up in a little truckle-bed in the same room as the +sergeant, who lay sleeping the sleep of full contentment; while +gradually, drop by drop, the bitter recollections of the day before +came, filling up Philip's cup of agony. + +He knew that he had received the bounty-money; and though he was +aware that he had been partly tricked into it, and had no hope, no +care, indeed, for any of the advantages so liberally promised him +the night before, yet he was resigned, with utterly despondent +passiveness, to the fate to which he had pledged himself. Anything +was welcome that severed him from his former life, that could make +him forget it, if that were possible; and also welcome anything +which increased the chances of death without the sinfulness of his +own participation in the act. He found in the dark recess of his +mind the dead body of his fancy of the previous night; that he might +come home, handsome and glorious, to win the love that had never +been his. + +But he only sighed over it, and put it aside out of his sight--so +full of despair was he. He could eat no breakfast, though the +sergeant ordered of the best. The latter kept watching his new +recruit out of the corner of his eye, expecting a remonstrance, or +dreading a sudden bolt. + +But Philip walked with him the two or three miles in the most +submissive silence, never uttering a syllable of regret or +repentance; and before Justice Cholmley, of Holm-Fell Hall, he was +sworn into his Majesty's service, under the name of Stephen Freeman. +With a new name, he began a new life. Alas! the old life lives for +ever! + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THINGS UNUTTERABLE + + + + + +After Philip had passed out of the room, Sylvia lay perfectly still, +from very exhaustion. Her mother slept on, happily unconscious of +all the turmoil that had taken place; yes, happily, though the heavy +sleep was to end in death. But of this her daughter knew nothing, +imagining that it was refreshing slumber, instead of an ebbing of +life. Both mother and daughter lay motionless till Phoebe entered +the room to tell Sylvia that dinner was on the table. + +Then Sylvia sate up, and put back her hair, bewildered and uncertain +as to what was to be done next; how she should meet the husband to +whom she had discarded all allegiance, repudiated the solemn promise +of love and obedience which she had vowed. + +Phoebe came into the room, with natural interest in the invalid, +scarcely older than herself. + +'How is t' old lady?' asked she, in a low voice. + +Sylvia turned her head round to look; her mother had never moved, +but was breathing in a loud uncomfortable manner, that made her +stoop over her to see the averted face more nearly. + +'Phoebe!' she cried, 'come here! She looks strange and odd; her eyes +are open, but don't see me. Phoebe! Phoebe!' + +'Sure enough, she's in a bad way!' said Phoebe, climbing stiffly on +to the bed to have a nearer view. 'Hold her head a little up t' ease +her breathin' while I go for master; he'll be for sendin' for t' +doctor, I'll be bound.' + +Sylvia took her mother's head and laid it fondly on her breast, +speaking to her and trying to rouse her; but it was of no avail: the +hard, stertorous breathing grew worse and worse. + +Sylvia cried out for help; Nancy came, the baby in her arms. They +had been in several times before that morning; and the child came +smiling and crowing at its mother, who was supporting her own dying +parent. + +'Oh, Nancy!' said Sylvia; 'what is the matter with mother? yo' can +see her face; tell me quick!' + +Nancy set the baby on the bed for all reply, and ran out of the +room, crying out, + +'Master! master! Come quick! T' old missus is a-dying!' + +This appeared to be no news to Sylvia, and yet the words came on her +with a great shock, but for all that she could not cry; she was +surprised herself at her own deadness of feeling. + +Her baby crawled to her, and she had to hold and guard both her +mother and her child. It seemed a long, long time before any one +came, and then she heard muffled voices, and a heavy tramp: it was +Phoebe leading the doctor upstairs, and Nancy creeping in behind to +hear his opinion. + +He did not ask many questions, and Phoebe replied more frequently to +his inquiries than did Sylvia, who looked into his face with a +blank, tearless, speechless despair, that gave him more pain than +the sight of her dying mother. + +The long decay of Mrs. Robson's faculties and health, of which he was +well aware, had in a certain manner prepared him for some such +sudden termination of the life whose duration was hardly desirable, +although he gave several directions as to her treatment; but the +white, pinched face, the great dilated eye, the slow comprehension +of the younger woman, struck him with alarm; and he went on asking +for various particulars, more with a view of rousing Sylvia, if even +it were to tears, than for any other purpose that the information +thus obtained could answer. + +'You had best have pillows propped up behind her--it will not be +for long; she does not know that you are holding her, and it is only +tiring you to no purpose!' + +Sylvia's terrible stare continued: he put his advice into action, +and gently tried to loosen her clasp, and tender hold. This she +resisted; laying her cheek against her poor mother's unconscious +face. + +'Where is Hepburn?' said he. 'He ought to be here!' + +Phoebe looked at Nancy, Nancy at Phoebe. It was the latter who +replied, + +'He's neither i' t' house nor i' t' shop. A seed him go past t' +kitchen window better nor an hour ago; but neither William Coulson +or Hester Rose knows where he's gone to. + +Dr Morgan's lips were puckered up into a whistle, but he made no +sound. + +'Give me baby!' he said, suddenly. Nancy had taken her up off the +bed where she had been sitting, encircled by her mother's arm. The +nursemaid gave her to the doctor. He watched the mother's eye, it +followed her child, and he was rejoiced. He gave a little pinch to +the baby's soft flesh, and she cried out piteously; again the same +action, the same result. Sylvia laid her mother down, and stretched +out her arms for her child, hushing it, and moaning over it. + +'So far so good!' said Dr Morgan to himself. 'But where is the +husband? He ought to be here.' He went down-stairs to make inquiry +for Philip; that poor young creature, about whose health he had +never felt thoroughly satisfied since the fever after her +confinement, was in an anxious condition, and with an inevitable +shock awaiting her. Her husband ought to be with her, and supporting +her to bear it. + +Dr Morgan went into the shop. Hester alone was there. Coulson had +gone to his comfortable dinner at his well-ordered house, with his +common-place wife. If he had felt anxious about Philip's looks and +strange disappearance, he had also managed to account for them in +some indifferent way. + +Hester was alone with the shop-boy; few people came in during the +universal Monkshaven dinner-hour. She was resting her head on her +hand, and puzzled and distressed about many things--all that was +implied by the proceedings of the evening before between Philip and +Sylvia; and that was confirmed by Philip's miserable looks and +strange abstracted ways to-day. Oh! how easy Hester would have found +it to make him happy! not merely how easy, but what happiness it +would have been to her to merge her every wish into the one great +object of fulfiling his will. To her, an on-looker, the course of +married life, which should lead to perfect happiness, seemed to +plain! Alas! it is often so! and the resisting forces which make all +such harmony and delight impossible are not recognized by the +bystanders, hardly by the actors. But if these resisting forces are +only superficial, or constitutional, they are but the necessary +discipline here, and do not radically affect the love which will +make all things right in heaven. + +Some glimmering of this latter comforting truth shed its light on +Hester's troubled thoughts from time to time. But again, how easy +would it have been to her to tread the maze that led to Philip's +happiness; and how difficult it seemed to the wife he had chosen! + +She was aroused by Dr Morgan's voice. + +'So both Coulson and Hepburn have left the shop to your care, +Hester. I want Hepburn, though; his wife is in a very anxious state. +Where is he? can you tell me?' + +'Sylvia in an anxious state! I've not seen her to-day, but last +night she looked as well as could be.' + +'Ay, ay; but many a thing happens in four-and-twenty hours. Her +mother is dying, may be dead by this time; and her husband should be +there with her. Can't you send for him?' + +'I don't know where he is,' said Hester. 'He went off from here all +on a sudden, when there was all the market-folks in t' shop; I +thought he'd maybe gone to John Foster's about th' money, for they +was paying a deal in. I'll send there and inquire.' + +No! the messenger brought back word that he had not been seen at +their bank all morning. Further inquiries were made by the anxious +Hester, by the doctor, by Coulson; all they could learn was that +Phoebe had seen him pass the kitchen window about eleven o'clock, +when she was peeling the potatoes for dinner; and two lads playing +on the quay-side thought they had seen him among a group of sailors; +but these latter, as far as they could be identified, had no +knowledge of his appearance among them. + +Before night the whole town was excited about his disappearance. +Before night Bell Robson had gone to her long home. And Sylvia still +lay quiet and tearless, apparently more unmoved than any other +creature by the events of the day, and the strange vanishing of her +husband. + +The only thing she seemed to care for was her baby; she held it +tight in her arms, and Dr Morgan bade them leave it there, its touch +might draw the desired tears into her weary, sleepless eyes, and +charm the aching pain out of them. + +They were afraid lest she should inquire for her husband, whose +non-appearance at such a time of sorrow to his wife must (they +thought) seem strange to her. And night drew on while they were all +in this state. She had gone back to her own room without a word when +they had desired her to do so; caressing her child in her arms, and +sitting down on the first chair she came to, with a heavy sigh, as +if even this slight bodily exertion had been too much for her. They +saw her eyes turn towards the door every time it was opened, and +they thought it was with anxious expectation of one who could not be +found, though many were seeking for him in all probable places. + +When night came some one had to tell her of her husband's +disappearance; and Dr Morgan was the person who undertook this. + +He came into her room about nine o'clock; her baby was sleeping in +her arms; she herself pale as death, still silent and tearless, +though strangely watchful of gestures and sounds, and probably +cognizant of more than they imagined. + +'Well, Mrs. Hepburn,' said he, as cheerfully as he could, 'I should +advise your going to bed early; for I fancy your husband won't come +home to-night. Some journey or other, that perhaps Coulson can +explain better than I can, will most likely keep him away till +to-morrow. It's very unfortunate that he should be away at such a +sad time as this, as I'm sure he'll feel when he returns; but we +must make the best of it.' + +He watched her to see the effect of his words. + +She sighed, that was all. He still remained a little while. She +lifted her head up a little and asked, + +'How long do yo' think she was unconscious, doctor? Could she hear +things, think yo', afore she fell into that strange kind o' +slumber?' + +'I cannot tell,' said he, shaking his head. 'Was she breathing in +that hard snoring kind of way when you left her this morning?' + +'Yes, I think so; I cannot tell, so much has happened.' + +'When you came back to her, after your breakfast, I think you said +she was in much the same position?' + +'Yes, and yet I may be telling yo' lies; if I could but think: but +it's my head as is aching so; doctor, I wish yo'd go, for I need +being alone, I'm so mazed.' + +'Good-night, then, for you're a wise woman, I see, and mean to go to +bed, and have a good night with baby there.' + +But he went down to Phoebe, and told her to go in from time to time, +and see how her mistress was. + +He found Hester Rose and the old servant together; both had been +crying, both were evidently in great trouble about the death and the +mystery of the day. + +Hester asked if she might go up and see Sylvia, and the doctor gave +his leave, talking meanwhile with Phoebe over the kitchen fire. +Hester came down again without seeing Sylvia. The door of the room +was bolted, and everything quiet inside. + +'Does she know where her husband is, think you?' asked the doctor at +this account of Hester's. 'She's not anxious about him at any rate: +or else the shock of her mother's death has been too much for her. +We must hope for some change in the morning; a good fit of crying, +or a fidget about her husband, would be more natural. Good-night to +you both,' and off he went. + +Phoebe and Hester avoided looking at each other at these words. Both +were conscious of the probability of something having gone seriously +wrong between the husband and wife. Hester had the recollection of +the previous night, Phoebe the untasted breakfast of to-day to go +upon. + +She spoke first. + +'A just wish he'd come home to still folks' tongues. It need niver +ha' been known if t' old lady hadn't died this day of all others. +It's such a thing for t' shop t' have one o' t' partners missin', +an' no one for t' know what's comed on him. It niver happened i' +Fosters' days, that's a' I know.' + +'He'll maybe come back yet,' said Hester. 'It's not so very late.' + +'It were market day, and a',' continued Phoebe, 'just as if +iverything mun go wrong together; an' a' t' country customers'll go +back wi' fine tale i' their mouths, as Measter Hepburn was strayed +an' missin' just like a beast o' some kind.' + +'Hark! isn't that a step?' said Hester suddenly, as a footfall +sounded in the now quiet street; but it passed the door, and the +hope that had arisen on its approach fell as the sound died away. + +'He'll noane come to-night,' said Phoebe, who had been as eager a +listener as Hester, however. 'Thou'd best go thy ways home; a shall +stay up, for it's not seemly for us a' t' go to our beds, an' a +corpse in t' house; an' Nancy, as might ha' watched, is gone to her +bed this hour past, like a lazy boots as she is. A can hear, too, if +t' measter does come home; tho' a'll be bound he wunnot; choose +wheere he is, he'll be i' bed by now, for it's well on to eleven. +I'll let thee out by t' shop-door, and stand by it till thou's close +at home, for it's ill for a young woman to be i' t' street so late.' + +So she held the door open, and shaded the candle from the flickering +outer air, while Hester went to her home with a heavy heart. + +Heavily and hopelessly did they all meet in the morning. No news of +Philip, no change in Sylvia; an unceasing flow of angling and +conjecture and gossip radiating from the shop into the town. + +Hester could have entreated Coulson on her knees to cease from +repeating the details of a story of which every word touched on a +raw place in her sensitive heart; moreover, when they talked +together so eagerly, she could not hear the coming footsteps on the +pavement without. + +Once some one hit very near the truth in a chance remark. + +'It seems strange,' she said, 'how as one man turns up, another just +disappears. Why, it were but upo' Tuesday as Kinraid come back, as +all his own folk had thought to be dead; and next day here's Measter +Hepburn as is gone no one knows wheere!' + +'That's t' way i' this world,' replied Coulson, a little +sententiously. 'This life is full o' changes o' one kind or another; +them that's dead is alive; and as for poor Philip, though he was +alive, he looked fitter to be dead when he came into t' shop o' +Wednesday morning.' + +'And how does she take it?' nodding to where Sylvia was supposed to +be. + +'Oh! she's not herself, so to say. She were just stunned by finding +her mother was dying in her very arms when she thought as she were +only sleeping; yet she's never been able to cry a drop; so that t' +sorrow's gone inwards on her brain, and from all I can hear, she +doesn't rightly understand as her husband is missing. T' doctor says +if she could but cry, she'd come to a juster comprehension of +things.' + +'And what do John and Jeremiah Foster say to it all?' + +'They're down here many a time in t' day to ask if he's come back, +or how she is; for they made a deal on 'em both. They're going t' +attend t' funeral to-morrow, and have given orders as t' shop is to +be shut up in t' morning.' + +To the surprise of every one, Sylvia, who had never left her room +since the night of her mother's death, and was supposed to be almost +unconscious of all that was going on in the house, declared her +intention of following her mother to the grave. No one could do more +than remonstrate: no one had sufficient authority to interfere with +her. Dr Morgan even thought that she might possibly be roused to +tears by the occasion; only he begged Hester to go with her, that +she might have the solace of some woman's company. + +She went through the greater part of the ceremony in the same hard, +unmoved manner in which she had received everything for days past. + +But on looking up once, as they formed round the open grave, she saw +Kester, in his Sunday clothes, with a bit of new crape round his +hat, crying as if his heart would break over the coffin of his good, +kind mistress. + +His evident distress, the unexpected sight, suddenly loosed the +fountain of Sylvia's tears, and her sobs grew so terrible that +Hester feared she would not be able to remain until the end of the +funeral. But she struggled hard to stay till the last, and then she +made an effort to go round by the place where Kester stood. + +'Come and see me,' was all she could say for crying: and Kester only +nodded his head--he could not speak a word. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +MYSTERIOUS TIDINGS + + + + + +That very evening Kester came, humbly knocking at the kitchen-door. +Phoebe opened it. He asked to see Sylvia. + +'A know not if she'll see thee,' said Phoebe. 'There's no makin' her +out; sometimes she's for one thing, sometimes she's for another.' + +'She bid me come and see her,' said Kester. 'Only this mornin', at +missus' buryin', she telled me to come.' + +So Phoebe went off to inform Sylvia that Kester was there; and +returned with the desire that he would walk into the parlour. An +instant after he was gone, Phoebe heard him return, and carefully +shut the two doors of communication between the kitchen and +sitting-room. + +Sylvia was in the latter when Kester came in, holding her baby close +to her; indeed, she seldom let it go now-a-days to any one else, +making Nancy's place quite a sinecure, much to Phoebe's indignation. + +Sylvia's face was shrunk, and white, and thin; her lovely eyes alone +retained the youthful, almost childlike, expression. She went up to +Kester, and shook his horny hand, she herself trembling all over. + +'Don't talk to me of her,' she said hastily. 'I cannot stand it. +It's a blessing for her to be gone, but, oh----' + +She began to cry, and then cheered herself up, and swallowed down +her sobs. + +'Kester,' she went on, hastily, 'Charley Kinraid isn't dead; dost ta +know? He's alive, and he were here o' Tuesday--no, Monday, was it? I +cannot tell--but he were here!' + +'A knowed as he weren't dead. Every one is a-speaking on it. But a +didn't know as thee'd ha' seen him. A took comfort i' thinkin' as +thou'd ha' been wi' thy mother a' t' time as he were i' t' place.' + +'Then he's gone?' said Sylvia. + +'Gone; ay, days past. As far as a know, he but stopped a' neet. A +thought to mysel' (but yo' may be sure a said nought to nobody), +he's heerd as our Sylvia were married, and has put it in his pipe, +and ta'en hissel' off to smoke it.' + +'Kester!' said Sylvia, leaning forwards, and whispering. 'I saw him. +He was here. Philip saw him. Philip had known as he wasn't dead a' +this time!' + +Kester stood up suddenly. + +'By goom, that chap has a deal t' answer for.' + +A bright red spot was on each of Sylvia's white cheeks; and for a +minute or so neither of them spoke. + +Then she went on, still whispering out her words. + +'Kester, I'm more afeared than I dare tell any one: can they ha' +met, think yo'? T' very thought turns me sick. I told Philip my +mind, and took a vow again' him--but it would be awful to think on +harm happening to him through Kinraid. Yet he went out that morning, +and has niver been seen or heard on sin'; and Kinraid were just fell +again' him, and as for that matter, so was I; but----' + +The red spot vanished as she faced her own imagination. + +Kester spoke. + +'It's a thing as can be easy looked into. What day an' time were it +when Philip left this house?' + +'Tuesday--the day she died. I saw him in her room that morning +between breakfast and dinner; I could a'most swear to it's being +close after eleven. I mind counting t' clock. It was that very morn +as Kinraid were here.' + +'A'll go an' have a pint o' beer at t' King's Arms, down on t' +quay-side; it were theere he put up at. An' a'm pretty sure as he +only stopped one night, and left i' t' morning betimes. But a'll go +see.' + +'Do,' said Sylvia, 'and go out through t' shop; they're all watching +and watching me to see how I take things; and daren't let on about +t' fire as is burning up my heart. Coulson is i' t' shop, but he'll +not notice thee like Phoebe.' + +By-and-by Kester came back. It seemed as though Sylvia had never +stirred; she looked eagerly at him, but did not speak. + +'He went away i' Rob Mason's mail-cart, him as tak's t' letters to +Hartlepool. T' lieutenant (as they ca' him down at t' King's Arms; +they're as proud on his uniform as if it had been a new-painted sign +to swing o'er their doors), t' lieutenant had reckoned upo' stayin' +longer wi' 'em; but he went out betimes o' Tuesday morn', an' came +back a' ruffled up, an paid his bill--paid for his breakfast, though +he touched noane on it--an' went off i' Rob postman's mail-cart, as +starts reg'lar at ten o'clock. Corneys has been theere askin' for +him, an' makin' a piece o' work, as he niver went near em; and they +bees cousins. Niver a one among 'em knows as he were here as far as +a could mak' out.' + +'Thank yo', Kester,' said Sylvia, falling back in her chair, as if +all the energy that had kept her stiff and upright was gone now that +her anxiety was relieved. + +She was silent for a long time; her eyes shut, her cheek laid on her +child's head. Kester spoke next. + +'A think it's pretty clear as they'n niver met. But it's a' t' more +wonder where thy husband's gone to. Thee and him had words about it, +and thou telled him thy mind, thou said?' + +'Yes,' said Sylvia, not moving. 'I'm afeared lest mother knows what +I said to him, there, where she's gone to--I am-' the tears filled +her shut eyes, and came softly overflowing down her cheeks; 'and yet +it were true, what I said, I cannot forgive him; he's just spoilt my +life, and I'm not one-and-twenty yet, and he knowed how wretched, +how very wretched, I were. A word fra' him would ha' mended it a'; +and Charley had bid him speak the word, and give me his faithful +love, and Philip saw my heart ache day after day, and niver let on +as him I was mourning for was alive, and had sent me word as he'd +keep true to me, as I were to do to him.' + +'A wish a'd been theere; a'd ha' felled him to t' ground,' said +Kester, clenching his stiff, hard hand with indignation. + +Sylvia was silent again: pale and weary she sate, her eyes still +shut. + +Then she said, + +'Yet he were so good to mother; and mother loved him so. Oh, +Kester!' lifting herself up, opening her great wistful eyes, 'it's +well for folks as can die; they're spared a deal o' misery.' + +'Ay!' said he. 'But there's folk as one 'ud like to keep fra' +shirkin' their misery. Think yo' now as Philip is livin'?' + +Sylvia shivered all over, and hesitated before she replied. + +'I dunnot know. I said such things; he deserved 'em all----' + +'Well, well, lass!' said Kester, sorry that he had asked the +question which was producing so much emotion of one kind or another. +'Neither thee nor me can tell; we can neither help nor hinder, +seein' as he's ta'en hissel' off out on our sight, we'd best not +think on him. A'll try an' tell thee some news, if a can think on it +wi' my mind so full. Thou knows Haytersbank folk ha' flitted, and t' +oud place is empty?' + +'Yes!' said Sylvia, with the indifference of one wearied out with +feeling. + +'A only telled yo' t' account like for me bein' at a loose end i' +Monkshaven. My sister, her as lived at Dale End an' is a widow, has +comed int' town to live; an' a'm lodging wi' her, an' jobbin' about. +A'm gettin' pretty well to do, an' a'm noane far t' seek, an' a'm +going now: only first a just wanted for t' say as a'm thy oldest +friend, a reckon, and if a can do a turn for thee, or go an errand, +like as a've done to-day, or if it's any comfort to talk a bit to +one who's known thy life from a babby, why yo've only t' send for +me, an' a'd come if it were twenty mile. A'm lodgin' at Peggy +Dawson's, t' lath and plaster cottage at t' right hand o' t' bridge, +a' among t' new houses, as they're thinkin' o' buildin' near t' sea: +no one can miss it.' + +He stood up and shook hands with her. As he did so, he looked at her +sleeping baby. + +'She's liker yo' than him. A think a'll say, God bless her.' + +With the heavy sound of his out-going footsteps, baby awoke. She +ought before this time to have been asleep in her bed, and the +disturbance made her cry fretfully. + +'Hush thee, darling, hush thee!' murmured her mother; 'there's no +one left to love me but thee, and I cannot stand thy weeping, my +pretty one. Hush thee, my babe, hush thee!' + +She whispered soft in the little one's ear as she took her upstairs +to bed. + +About three weeks after the miserable date of Bell Robson's death +and Philip's disappearance, Hester Rose received a letter from him. +She knew the writing on the address well; and it made her tremble so +much that it was many minutes before she dared to open it, and make +herself acquainted with the facts it might disclose. + +But she need not have feared; there were no facts told, unless the +vague date of 'London' might be something to learn. Even that much +might have been found out by the post-mark, only she had been too +much taken by surprise to examine it. + +It ran as follows:-- + +'DEAR HESTER,-- + +'Tell those whom it may concern, that I have left Monkshaven for +ever. No one need trouble themselves about me; I am provided for. +Please to make my humble apologies to my kind friends, the Messrs +Foster, and to my partner, William Coulson. Please to accept of my +love, and to join the same to your mother. Please to give my +particular and respectful duty and kind love to my aunt Isabella +Robson. Her daughter Sylvia knows what I have always felt, and shall +always feel, for her better than I can ever put into language, so I +send her no message; God bless and keep my child. You must all look +on me as one dead; as I am to you, and maybe shall soon be in +reality. + +'Your affectionate and obedient friend to command, 'PHILIP +HEPBURN. 'P.S.--Oh, Hester! for God's sake and mine, look +after ('my wife,' scratched out) Sylvia and my child. I think +Jeremiah Foster will help you to be a friend to them. This is the +last solemn request of P. H. She is but very young.' + +Hester read this letter again and again, till her heart caught the +echo of its hopelessness, and sank within her. She put it in her +pocket, and reflected upon it all the day long as she served in the +shop. + +The customers found her as gentle, but far more inattentive than +usual. She thought that in the evening she would go across the +bridge, and consult with the two good old brothers Foster. But +something occurred to put off the fulfilment of this plan. + +That same morning Sylvia had preceded her, with no one to consult, +because consultation would have required previous confidence, and +confidence would have necessitated such a confession about Kinraid +as it was most difficult for Sylvia to make. The poor young wife yet +felt that some step must be taken by her; and what it was to be she +could not imagine. + +She had no home to go to; for as Philip was gone away, she remained +where she was only on sufferance; she did not know what means of +livelihood she had; she was willing to work, nay, would be thankful +to take up her old life of country labour; but with her baby, what +could she do? + +In this dilemma, the recollection of the old man's kindly speech and +offer of assistance, made, it is true, half in joke, at the end of +her wedding visit, came into her mind; and she resolved to go and +ask for some of the friendly counsel and assistance then offered. + +It would be the first time of her going out since her mother's +funeral, and she dreaded the effort on that account. More even than +on that account did she shrink from going into the streets again. +She could not get over the impression that Kinraid must be lingering +near; and she distrusted herself so much that it was a positive +terror to think of meeting him again. She felt as though, if she but +caught a sight of him, the glitter of his uniform, or heard his +well-known voice in only a distant syllable of talk, her heart would +stop, and she should die from very fright of what would come next. +Or rather so she felt, and so she thought before she took her baby +in her arms, as Nancy gave it to her after putting on its +out-of-door attire. + +With it in her arms she was protected, and the whole current of her +thoughts was changed. The infant was wailing and suffering with its +teething, and the mother's heart was so occupied in soothing and +consoling her moaning child, that the dangerous quay-side and the +bridge were passed almost before she was aware; nor did she notice +the eager curiosity and respectful attention of those she met who +recognized her even through the heavy veil which formed part of the +draping mourning provided for her by Hester and Coulson, in the +first unconscious days after her mother's death. + +Though public opinion as yet reserved its verdict upon Philip's +disappearance--warned possibly by Kinraid's story against hasty +decisions and judgments in such times as those of war and general +disturbance--yet every one agreed that no more pitiful fate could +have befallen Philip's wife. + +Marked out by her striking beauty as an object of admiring interest +even in those days when she sate in girlhood's smiling peace by her +mother at the Market Cross--her father had lost his life in a +popular cause, and ignominious as the manner of his death might be, +he was looked upon as a martyr to his zeal in avenging the wrongs of +his townsmen; Sylvia had married amongst them too, and her quiet +daily life was well known to them; and now her husband had been +carried off from her side just on the very day when she needed his +comfort most. + +For the general opinion was that Philip had been 'carried off'--in +seaport towns such occurrences were not uncommon in those +days--either by land-crimps or water-crimps. + +So Sylvia was treated with silent reverence, as one sorely +afflicted, by all the unheeded people she met in her faltering walk +to Jeremiah Foster's. + +She had calculated her time so as to fall in with him at his dinner +hour, even though it obliged her to go to his own house rather than +to the bank where he and his brother spent all the business hours of +the day. + +Sylvia was so nearly exhausted by the length of her walk and the +weight of her baby, that all she could do when the door was opened +was to totter into the nearest seat, sit down, and begin to cry. + +In an instant kind hands were about her, loosening her heavy cloak, +offering to relieve her of her child, who clung to her all the more +firmly, and some one was pressing a glass of wine against her lips. + +'No, sir, I cannot take it! wine allays gives me th' headache; if I +might have just a drink o' water. Thank you, ma'am' (to the +respectable-looking old servant), 'I'm well enough now; and perhaps, +sir, I might speak a word with yo', for it's that I've come for.' + +'It's a pity, Sylvia Hepburn, as thee didst not come to me at the +bank, for it's been a long toil for thee all this way in the heat, +with thy child. But if there's aught I can do or say for thee, thou +hast but to name it, I am sure. Martha! wilt thou relieve her of her +child while she comes with me into the parlour?' + +But the wilful little Bella stoutly refused to go to any one, and +Sylvia was not willing to part with her, tired though she was. + +So the baby was carried into the parlour, and much of her after-life +depended on this trivial fact. + +Once installed in the easy-chair, and face to face with Jeremiah, +Sylvia did not know how to begin. + +Jeremiah saw this, and kindly gave her time to recover herself, by +pulling out his great gold watch, and letting the seal dangle before +the child's eyes, almost within reach of the child's eager little +fingers. + +'She favours you a deal,' said he, at last. 'More than her father,' +he went on, purposely introducing Philip's name, so as to break the +ice; for he rightly conjectured she had come to speak to him about +something connected with her husband. + +Still Sylvia said nothing; she was choking down tears and shyness, +and unwillingness to take as confidant a man of whom she knew so +little, on such slight ground (as she now felt it to be) as the +little kindly speech with which she had been dismissed from that +house the last time that she entered it. + +'It's no use keeping yo', sir,' she broke out at last. 'It's about +Philip as I comed to speak. Do yo' know any thing whatsomever about +him? He niver had a chance o' saying anything, I know; but maybe +he's written?' + +'Not a line, my poor young woman!' said Jeremiah, hastily putting an +end to that vain idea. + +'Then he's either dead or gone away for iver,' she whispered. 'I mun +be both feyther and mother to my child.' + +'Oh! thee must not give it up,' replied he. 'Many a one is carried +off to the wars, or to the tenders o' men-o'-war; and then they turn +out to be unfit for service, and are sent home. Philip 'll come back +before the year's out; thee'll see that.' + +'No; he'll niver come back. And I'm not sure as I should iver wish +him t' come back, if I could but know what was gone wi' him. Yo' +see, sir, though I were sore set again' him, I shouldn't like harm +to happen him.' + +'There is something behind all this that I do not understand. Can +thee tell me what it is?' + +'I must, sir, if yo're to help me wi' your counsel; and I came up +here to ask for it.' + +Another long pause, during which Jeremiah made a feint of playing +with the child, who danced and shouted with tantalized impatience at +not being able to obtain possession of the seal, and at length +stretched out her soft round little arms to go to the owner of the +coveted possession. Surprise at this action roused Sylvia, and she +made some comment upon it. + +'I niver knew her t' go to any one afore. I hope she'll not be +troublesome to yo', sir?' + +The old man, who had often longed for a child of his own in days +gone by, was highly pleased by this mark of baby's confidence, and +almost forgot, in trying to strengthen her regard by all the winning +wiles in his power, how her poor mother was still lingering over +some painful story which she could not bring herself to tell. + +'I'm afeared of speaking wrong again' any one, sir. And mother were +so fond o' Philip; but he kept something from me as would ha' made +me a different woman, and some one else, happen, a different man. I +were troth-plighted wi' Kinraid the specksioneer, him as was cousin +to th' Corneys o' Moss Brow, and comed back lieutenant i' t' navy +last Tuesday three weeks, after ivery one had thought him dead and +gone these three years.' + +She paused. + +'Well?' said Jeremiah, with interest; although his attention +appeared to be divided between the mother's story and the eager +playfulness of the baby on his knee. + +'Philip knew he were alive; he'd seen him taken by t' press-gang, +and Charley had sent a message to me by Philip.' + +Her white face was reddening, her eyes flashing at this point of her +story. + +'And he niver told me a word on it, not when he saw me like to break +my heart in thinking as Kinraid were dead; he kept it a' to hissel'; +and watched me cry, and niver said a word to comfort me wi' t' +truth. It would ha' been a great comfort, sir, only t' have had his +message if I'd niver ha' been to see him again. But Philip niver let +on to any one, as I iver heared on, that he'd seen Charley that +morning as t' press-gang took him. Yo' know about feyther's death, +and how friendless mother and me was left? and so I married him; for +he were a good friend to us then, and I were dazed like wi' sorrow, +and could see naught else to do for mother. He were allays very +tender and good to her, for sure.' + +Again a long pause of silent recollection, broken by one or two deep +sighs. + +'If I go on, sir, now, I mun ask yo' to promise as yo'll niver tell. +I do so need some one to tell me what I ought to do, and I were led +here, like, else I would ha' died wi' it all within my teeth. Yo'll +promise, sir?' + +Jeremiah Foster looked in her face, and seeing the wistful, eager +look, he was touched almost against his judgment into giving the +promise required; she went on. + +'Upon a Tuesday morning, three weeks ago, I think, tho' for t' +matter o' time it might ha' been three years, Kinraid come home; +come back for t' claim me as his wife, and I were wed to Philip! I +met him i' t' road at first; and I couldn't tell him theere. He +followed me into t' house--Philip's house, sir, behind t' shop--and +somehow I told him all, how I were a wedded wife to another. Then he +up and said I'd a false heart--me false, sir, as had eaten my daily +bread in bitterness, and had wept t' nights through, all for sorrow +and mourning for his death! Then he said as Philip knowed all t' +time he were alive and coming back for me; and I couldn't believe +it, and I called Philip, and he come, and a' that Charley had said +were true; and yet I were Philip's wife! So I took a mighty oath, +and I said as I'd niver hold Philip to be my lawful husband again, +nor iver forgive him for t' evil he'd wrought us, but hold him as a +stranger and one as had done me a heavy wrong.' + +She stopped speaking; her story seemed to her to end there. But her +listener said, after a pause, + +'It were a cruel wrong, I grant thee that; but thy oath were a sin, +and thy words were evil, my poor lass. What happened next?' + +'I don't justly remember,' she said, wearily. 'Kinraid went away, +and mother cried out; and I went to her. She were asleep, I thought, +so I lay down by her, to wish I were dead, and to think on what +would come on my child if I died; and Philip came in softly, and I +made as if I were asleep; and that's t' very last as I've iver seen +or heared of him.' + +Jeremiah Foster groaned as she ended her story. Then he pulled +himself up, and said, in a cheerful tone of voice, + +'He'll come back, Sylvia Hepburn. He'll think better of it: never +fear!' + +'I fear his coming back!' said she. 'That's what I'm feared on; I +would wish as I knew on his well-doing i' some other place; but him +and me can niver live together again.' + +'Nay,' pleaded Jeremiah. 'Thee art sorry what thee said; thee were +sore put about, or thee wouldn't have said it.' + +He was trying to be a peace-maker, and to heal over conjugal +differences; but he did not go deep enough. + +'I'm not sorry,' said she, slowly. 'I were too deeply wronged to be +"put about"; that would go off wi' a night's sleep. It's only the +thought of mother (she's dead and happy, and knows nought of all +this, I trust) that comes between me and hating Philip. I'm not +sorry for what I said.' + +Jeremiah had never met with any one so frank and undisguised in +expressions of wrong feeling, and he scarcely knew what to say. + +He looked extremely grieved, and not a little shocked. So pretty and +delicate a young creature to use such strong relentless language! + +She seemed to read his thoughts, for she made answer to them. + +'I dare say you think I'm very wicked, sir, not to be sorry. Perhaps +I am. I can't think o' that for remembering how I've suffered; and +he knew how miserable I was, and might ha' cleared my misery away +wi' a word; and he held his peace, and now it's too late! I'm sick +o' men and their cruel, deceitful ways. I wish I were dead.' + +She was crying before she had ended this speech, and seeing her +tears, the child began to cry too, stretching out its little arms to +go back to its mother. The hard stony look on her face melted away +into the softest, tenderest love as she clasped the little one to +her, and tried to soothe its frightened sobs. + +A bright thought came into the old man's mind. + +He had been taking a complete dislike to her till her pretty way +with her baby showed him that she had a heart of flesh within her. + +'Poor little one!' said he, 'thy mother had need love thee, for +she's deprived thee of thy father's love. Thou'rt half-way to being +an orphan; yet I cannot call thee one of the fatherless to whom God +will be a father. Thou'rt a desolate babe, thou may'st well cry; +thine earthly parents have forsaken thee, and I know not if the Lord +will take thee up.' + +Sylvia looked up at him affrighted; holding her baby tighter to her, +she exclaimed. + +'Don't speak so, sir! it's cursing, sir! I haven't forsaken her! Oh, +sir! those are awful sayings.' + +'Thee hast sworn never to forgive thy husband, nor to live with him +again. Dost thee know that by the law of the land, he may claim his +child; and then thou wilt have to forsake it, or to be forsworn? +Poor little maiden!' continued he, once more luring the baby to him +with the temptation of the watch and chain. + +Sylvia thought for a while before speaking. Then she said, + +'I cannot tell what ways to take. Whiles I think my head is crazed. +It were a cruel turn he did me!' + +'It was. I couldn't have thought him guilty of such baseness.' + +This acquiescence, which was perfectly honest on Jeremiah's part, +almost took Sylvia by surprise. Why might she not hate one who had +been both cruel and base in his treatment of her? And yet she +recoiled from the application of such hard terms by another to +Philip, by a cool-judging and indifferent person, as she esteemed +Jeremiah to be. From some inscrutable turn in her thoughts, she +began to defend him, or at least to palliate the harsh judgment +which she herself had been the first to pronounce. + +'He were so tender to mother; she were dearly fond on him; he niver +spared aught he could do for her, else I would niver ha' married +him.' + +'He was a good and kind-hearted lad from the time he was fifteen. +And I never found him out in any falsehood, no more did my brother.' + +'But it were all the same as a lie,' said Sylvia, swiftly changing +her ground, 'to leave me to think as Charley were dead, when he +knowed all t' time he were alive.' + +'It was. It was a self-seeking lie; putting thee to pain to get his +own ends. And the end of it has been that he is driven forth like +Cain.' + +'I niver told him to go, sir.' + +'But thy words sent him forth, Sylvia.' + +'I cannot unsay them, sir; and I believe as I should say them +again.' + +But she said this as one who rather hopes for a contradiction. + +All Jeremiah replied, however, was, 'Poor wee child!' in a pitiful +tone, addressed to the baby. + +Sylvia's eyes filled with tears. + +'Oh, sir, I'll do anything as iver yo' can tell me for her. That's +what I came for t' ask yo'. I know I mun not stay theere, and Philip +gone away; and I dunnot know what to do: and I'll do aught, only I +must keep her wi' me. Whativer can I do, sir?' + +Jeremiah thought it over for a minute or two. Then he replied, + +'I must have time to think. I must talk it over with brother John.' + +'But you've given me yo'r word, sir!' exclaimed she. + +'I have given thee my word never to tell any one of what has passed +between thee and thy husband, but I must take counsel with my +brother as to what is to be done with thee and thy child, now that +thy husband has left the shop.' + +This was said so gravely as almost to be a reproach, and he got up, +as a sign that the interview was ended. + +He gave the baby back to its mother; but not without a solemn +blessing, so solemn that, to Sylvia's superstitious and excited +mind, it undid the terrors of what she had esteemed to be a curse. + +'The Lord bless thee and keep thee! The Lord make His face to shine +upon thee!' + +All the way down the hill-side, Sylvia kept kissing the child, and +whispering to its unconscious ears,-- + +'I'll love thee for both, my treasure, I will. I'll hap thee round +wi' my love, so as thou shall niver need a feyther's.' + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +BEREAVEMENT + + + + + +Hester had been prevented by her mother's indisposition from taking +Philip's letter to the Fosters, to hold a consultation with them +over its contents. + +Alice Rose was slowly failing, and the long days which she had to +spend alone told much upon her spirits, and consequently upon her +health. + +All this came out in the conversation which ensued after reading +Hepburn's letter in the little parlour at the bank on the day after +Sylvia had had her confidential interview with Jeremiah Foster. + +He was a true man of honour, and never so much as alluded to her +visit to him; but what she had then told him influenced him very +much in the formation of the project which he proposed to his +brother and Hester. + +He recommended her remaining where she was, living still in the +house behind the shop; for he thought within himself that she might +have exaggerated the effect of her words upon Philip; that, after +all, it might have been some cause totally disconnected with them, +which had blotted out her husband's place among the men of +Monkshaven; and that it would be so much easier for both to resume +their natural relations, both towards each other and towards the +world, if Sylvia remained where her husband had left her--in an +expectant attitude, so to speak. + +Jeremiah Foster questioned Hester straitly about her letter: whether +she had made known its contents to any one. No, not to any one. +Neither to her mother nor to William Coulson? No, to neither. + +She looked at him as she replied to his inquiries, and he looked at +her, each wondering if the other could be in the least aware that a +conjugal quarrel might be at the root of the dilemma in which they +were placed by Hepburn's disappearance. + +But neither Hester, who had witnessed the misunderstanding between +the husband and wife on the evening, before the morning on which +Philip went away, nor Jeremiah Foster, who had learnt from Sylvia +the true reason of her husband's disappearance, gave the slightest +reason to the other to think that they each supposed they had a clue +to the reason of Hepburn's sudden departure. + +What Jeremiah Foster, after a night's consideration, had to propose +was this; that Hester and her mother should come and occupy the +house in the market-place, conjointly with Sylvia and her child. +Hester's interest in the shop was by this time acknowledged. +Jeremiah had made over to her so much of his share in the business, +that she had a right to be considered as a kind of partner; and she +had long been the superintendent of that department of goods which +were exclusively devoted to women. So her daily presence was +requisite for more reasons than one. + +Yet her mother's health and spirits were such as to render it +unadvisable that the old woman should be too much left alone; and +Sylvia's devotion to her own mother seemed to point her out as the +very person who could be a gentle and tender companion to Alice Rose +during those hours when her own daughter would necessarily be +engaged in the shop. + +Many desirable objects seemed to be gained by this removal of Alice: +an occupation was provided for Sylvia, which would detain her in the +place where her husband had left her, and where (Jeremiah Foster +fairly expected in spite of his letter) he was likely to come back +to find her; and Alice Rose, the early love of one of the brothers, +the old friend of the other, would be well cared for, and under her +daughter's immediate supervision during the whole of the time that +she was occupied in the shop. + +Philip's share of the business, augmented by the money which he had +put in from the legacy of his old Cumberland uncle, would bring in +profits enough to support Sylvia and her child in ease and comfort +until that time, which they all anticipated, when he should return +from his mysterious wandering--mysterious, whether his going forth +had been voluntary or involuntary. + +Thus far was settled; and Jeremiah Foster went to tell Sylvia of the +plan. + +She was too much a child, too entirely unaccustomed to any +independence of action, to do anything but leave herself in his +hands. Her very confession, made to him the day before, when she +sought his counsel, seemed to place her at his disposal. Otherwise, +she had had notions of the possibility of a free country life once +more--how provided for and arranged she hardly knew; but Haytersbank +was to let, and Kester disengaged, and it had just seemed possible +that she might have to return to her early home, and to her old +life. She knew that it would take much money to stock the farm +again, and that her hands were tied from much useful activity by the +love and care she owed to her baby. But still, somehow, she hoped +and she fancied, till Jeremiah Foster's measured words and +carefully-arranged plan made her silently relinquish her green, +breezy vision. + +Hester, too, had her own private rebellion--hushed into submission +by her gentle piety. If Sylvia had been able to make Philip happy, +Hester could have felt lovingly and almost gratefully towards her; +but Sylvia had failed in this. + +Philip had been made unhappy, and was driven forth a wanderer into +the wide world--never to come back! And his last words to Hester, +the postscript of his letter, containing the very pith of it, was to +ask her to take charge and care of the wife whose want of love +towards him had uprooted him from the place where he was valued and +honoured. + +It cost Hester many a struggle and many a self-reproach before she +could make herself feel what she saw all along--that in everything +Philip treated her like a sister. But even a sister might well be +indignant if she saw her brother's love disregarded and slighted, +and his life embittered by the thoughtless conduct of a wife! Still +Hester fought against herself, and for Philip's sake she sought to +see the good in Sylvia, and she strove to love her as well as to +take care of her. + +With the baby, of course, the case was different. Without thought or +struggle, or reason, every one loved the little girl. Coulson and +his buxom wife, who were childless, were never weary of making much +of her. Hester's happiest hours were spent with that little child. +Jeremiah Foster almost looked upon her as his own from the day when +she honoured him by yielding to the temptation of the chain and +seal, and coming to his knee; not a customer to the shop but knew +the smiling child's sad history, and many a country-woman would save +a rosy-cheeked apple from out her store that autumn to bring it on +next market-day for 'Philip Hepburn's baby, as had lost its father, +bless it.' + +Even stern Alice Rose was graciously inclined towards the little +Bella; and though her idea of the number of the elect was growing +narrower and narrower every day, she would have been loth to exclude +the innocent little child, that stroked her wrinkled cheeks so +softly every night in return for her blessing, from the few that +should be saved. Nay, for the child's sake, she relented towards the +mother; and strove to have Sylvia rescued from the many castaways +with fervent prayer, or, as she phrased it, 'wrestling with the +Lord'. + +Alice had a sort of instinct that the little child, so tenderly +loved by, so fondly loving, the mother whose ewe-lamb she was, could +not be even in heaven without yearning for the creature she had +loved best on earth; and the old woman believed that this was the +principal reason for her prayers for Sylvia; but unconsciously to +herself, Alice Rose was touched by the filial attentions she +constantly received from the young mother, whom she believed to be +foredoomed to condemnation. + +Sylvia rarely went to church or chapel, nor did she read her Bible; +for though she spoke little of her ignorance, and would fain, for +her child's sake, have remedied it now it was too late, she had lost +what little fluency of reading she had ever had, and could only make +out her words with much spelling and difficulty. So the taking her +Bible in hand would have been a mere form; though of this Alice Rose +knew nothing. + +No one knew much of what was passing in Sylvia; she did not know +herself. Sometimes in the nights she would waken, crying, with a +terrible sense of desolation; every one who loved her, or whom she +had loved, had vanished out of her life; every one but her child, +who lay in her arms, warm and soft. + +But then Jeremiah Foster's words came upon her; words that she had +taken for cursing at the time; and she would so gladly have had some +clue by which to penetrate the darkness of the unknown region from +whence both blessing and cursing came, and to know if she had indeed +done something which should cause her sin to be visited on that +soft, sweet, innocent darling. + +If any one would teach her to read! If any one would explain to her +the hard words she heard in church or chapel, so that she might find +out the meaning of sin and godliness!--words that had only passed +over the surface of her mind till now! For her child's sake she +should like to do the will of God, if she only knew what that was, +and how to be worked out in her daily life. + +But there was no one she dared confess her ignorance to and ask +information from. Jeremiah Foster had spoken as if her child, sweet +little merry Bella, with a loving word and a kiss for every one, was +to suffer heavily for the just and true words her wronged and +indignant mother had spoken. Alice always spoke as if there were no +hope for her; and blamed her, nevertheless, for not using the means +of grace that it was not in her power to avail herself of. + +And Hester, that Sylvia would fain have loved for her uniform +gentleness and patience with all around her, seemed so cold in her +unruffled and undemonstrative behaviour; and moreover, Sylvia felt +that Hester blamed her perpetual silence regarding Philip's absence +without knowing how bitter a cause Sylvia had for casting him off. + +The only person who seemed to have pity upon her was Kester; and his +pity was shown in looks rather than words; for when he came to see +her, which he did from time to time, by a kind of mutual tacit +consent, they spoke but little of former days. + +He was still lodging with his sister, widow Dobson, working at odd +jobs, some of which took him into the country for weeks at a time. +But on his returns to Monkshaven he was sure to come and see her and +the little Bella; indeed, when his employment was in the immediate +neighbourhood of the town, he never allowed a week to pass away +without a visit. + +There was not much conversation between him and Sylvia at such +times. They skimmed over the surface of the small events in which +both took an interest; only now and then a sudden glance, a checked +speech, told each that there were deeps not forgotten, although they +were never mentioned. + +Twice Sylvia--below her breath--had asked Kester, just as she was +holding the door open for his departure, if anything had ever been +heard of Kinraid since his one night's visit to Monkshaven: each +time (and there was an interval of some months between the +inquiries) the answer had been simply, no. + +To no one else would Sylvia ever have named his name. But indeed she +had not the chance, had she wished it ever so much, of asking any +questions about him from any one likely to know. The Corneys had +left Moss Brow at Martinmas, and gone many miles away towards +Horncastle. Bessy Corney, it is true was married and left behind in +the neighbourhood; but with her Sylvia had never been intimate; and +what girlish friendship there might have been between them had +cooled very much at the time of Kinraid's supposed death three years +before. + +One day before Christmas in this year, 1798, Sylvia was called into +the shop by Coulson, who, with his assistant, was busy undoing the +bales of winter goods supplied to them from the West Riding, and +other places. He was looking at a fine Irish poplin dress-piece when +Sylvia answered to his call. + +'Here! do you know this again?' asked he, in the cheerful tone of +one sure of giving pleasure. + +'No! have I iver seen it afore?' + +'Not this, but one for all t' world like it.' + +She did not rouse up to much interest, but looked at it as if trying +to recollect where she could have seen its like. + +'My missus had one on at th' party at John Foster's last March, and +yo' admired it a deal. And Philip, he thought o' nothing but how he +could get yo' just such another, and he set a vast o' folk agait for +to meet wi' its marrow; and what he did just the very day afore he +went away so mysterious was to write through Dawson Brothers, o' +Wakefield, to Dublin, and order that one should be woven for yo'. +Jemima had to cut a bit off hers for to give him t' exact colour.' + +Sylvia did not say anything but that it was very pretty, in a low +voice, and then she quickly left the shop, much to Coulson's +displeasure. + +All the afternoon she was unusually quiet and depressed. + +Alice Rose, sitting helpless in her chair, watched her with keen +eyes. + +At length, after one of Sylvia's deep, unconscious sighs, the old +woman spoke: + +'It's religion as must comfort thee, child, as it's done many a one +afore thee.' + +'How?' said Sylvia, looking up, startled to find herself an object +of notice. + +'How?' (The answer was not quite so ready as the precept had been.) +'Read thy Bible, and thou wilt learn.' + +'But I cannot read,' said Sylvia, too desperate any longer to +conceal her ignorance. + +'Not read! and thee Philip's wife as was such a great scholar! Of a +surety the ways o' this life are crooked! There was our Hester, as +can read as well as any minister, and Philip passes over her to go +and choose a young lass as cannot read her Bible.' + +'Was Philip and Hester----' + +Sylvia paused, for though a new curiosity had dawned upon her, she +did not know how to word her question. + +'Many a time and oft have I seen Hester take comfort in her Bible +when Philip was following after thee. She knew where to go for +consolation.' + +'I'd fain read,' said Sylvia, humbly, 'if anybody would learn me; +for perhaps it might do me good; I'm noane so happy.' + +Her eyes, as she looked up at Alice's stern countenance, were full +of tears. + +The old woman saw it, and was touched, although she did not +immediately show her sympathy. But she took her own time, and made +no reply. + +The next day, however, she bade Sylvia come to her, and then and +there, as if her pupil had been a little child, she began to teach +Sylvia to read the first chapter of Genesis; for all other reading +but the Scriptures was as vanity to her, and she would not +condescend to the weakness of other books. Sylvia was now, as ever, +slow at book-learning; but she was meek and desirous to be taught, +and her willingness in this respect pleased Alice, and drew her +singularly towards one who, from being a pupil, might become a +convert. + +All this time Sylvia never lost the curiosity that had been excited +by the few words Alice had let drop about Hester and Philip, and by +degrees she approached the subject again, and had the idea then +started confirmed by Alice, who had no scruple in using the past +experience of her own, of her daughter's, or of any one's life, as +an instrument to prove the vanity of setting the heart on anything +earthly. + +This knowledge, unsuspected before, sank deep into Sylvia's +thoughts, and gave her a strange interest in Hester--poor Hester, +whose life she had so crossed and blighted, even by the very +blighting of her own. She gave Hester her own former passionate +feelings for Kinraid, and wondered how she herself should have felt +towards any one who had come between her and him, and wiled his love +away. When she remembered Hester's unfailing sweetness and kindness +towards herself from the very first, she could better bear the +comparative coldness of her present behaviour. + +She tried, indeed, hard to win back the favour she had lost; but the +very means she took were blunders, and only made it seem to her as +if she could never again do right in Hester's eyes. + +For instance, she begged her to accept and wear the pretty poplin +gown which had been Philip's especial choice; feeling within herself +as if she should never wish to put it on, and as if the best thing +she could do with it was to offer it to Hester. But Hester rejected +the proffered gift with as much hardness of manner as she was +capable of assuming; and Sylvia had to carry it upstairs and lay it +by for the little daughter, who, Hester said, might perhaps learn to +value things that her father had given especial thought to. + +Yet Sylvia went on trying to win Hester to like her once more; it +was one of her great labours, and learning to read from Hester's +mother was another. + +Alice, indeed, in her solemn way, was becoming quite fond of Sylvia; +if she could not read or write, she had a deftness and gentleness of +motion, a capacity for the household matters which fell into her +department, that had a great effect on the old woman, and for her +dear mother's sake Sylvia had a stock of patient love ready in her +heart for all the aged and infirm that fell in her way. She never +thought of seeking them out, as she knew that Hester did; but then +she looked up to Hester as some one very remarkable for her +goodness. If only she could have liked her! + +Hester tried to do all she could for Sylvia; Philip had told her to +take care of his wife and child; but she had the conviction that +Sylvia had so materially failed in her duties as to have made her +husband an exile from his home--a penniless wanderer, wifeless and +childless, in some strange country, whose very aspect was +friendless, while the cause of all lived on in the comfortable home +where he had placed her, wanting for nothing--an object of interest +and regard to many friends--with a lovely little child to give her +joy for the present, and hope for the future; while he, the poor +outcast, might even lie dead by the wayside. How could Hester love +Sylvia? + +Yet they were frequent companions that ensuing spring. Hester was +not well; and the doctors said that the constant occupation in the +shop was too much for her, and that she must, for a time at least, +take daily walks into the country. + +Sylvia used to beg to accompany her; she and the little girl often +went with Hester up the valley of the river to some of the nestling +farms that were hidden in the more sheltered nooks--for Hester was +bidden to drink milk warm from the cow; and to go into the familiar +haunts about a farm was one of the few things in which Sylvia seemed +to take much pleasure. She would let little Bella toddle about while +Hester sate and rested: and she herself would beg to milk the cow +destined to give the invalid her draught. + +One May evening the three had been out on some such expedition; the +country side still looked gray and bare, though the leaves were +showing on the willow and blackthorn and sloe, and by the tinkling +runnels, making hidden music along the copse side, the pale delicate +primrose buds were showing amid their fresh, green, crinkled leaves. +The larks had been singing all the afternoon, but were now dropping +down into their nests in the pasture fields; the air had just the +sharpness in it which goes along with a cloudless evening sky at +that time of the year. + +But Hester walked homewards slowly and languidly, speaking no word. +Sylvia noticed this at first without venturing to speak, for Hester +was one who disliked having her ailments noticed. But after a while +Hester stood still in a sort of weary dreamy abstraction; and Sylvia +said to her, + +'I'm afeared yo're sadly tired. Maybe we've been too far.' + +Hester almost started. + +'No!' said she, 'it's only my headache which is worse to-night. It +has been bad all day; but since I came out it has felt just as if +there were great guns booming, till I could almost pray 'em to be +quiet. I am so weary o' th' sound.' + +She stepped out quickly towards home after she had said this, as if +she wished for neither pity nor comment on what she had said. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE RECOGNITION + + + + + +Far away, over sea and land, over sunny sea again, great guns were +booming on that 7th of May, 1799. + +The Mediterranean came up with a long roar on a beach glittering +white with snowy sand, and the fragments of innumerable sea-shells, +delicate and shining as porcelain. Looking at that shore from the +sea, a long ridge of upland ground, beginning from an inland depth, +stretched far away into the ocean on the right, till it ended in a +great mountainous bluff, crowned with the white buildings of a +convent sloping rapidly down into the blue water at its base. + +In the clear eastern air, the different characters of the foliage +that clothed the sides of that sea-washed mountain might be +discerned from a long distance by the naked eye; the silver gray of +the olive-trees near its summit; the heavy green and bossy forms of +the sycamores lower down; broken here and there by a solitary +terebinth or ilex tree, of a deeper green and a wider spread; till +the eye fell below on the maritime plain, edged with the white +seaboard and the sandy hillocks; with here and there feathery +palm-trees, either isolated or in groups--motionless and distinct +against the hot purple air. + +Look again; a little to the left on the sea-shore there are the +white walls of a fortified town, glittering in sunlight, or black in +shadow. + +The fortifications themselves run out into the sea, forming a port +and a haven against the wild Levantine storms; and a lighthouse +rises out of the waves to guide mariners into safety. + +Beyond this walled city, and far away to the left still, there is +the same wide plain shut in by the distant rising ground, till the +upland circuit comes closing in to the north, and the great white +rocks meet the deep tideless ocean with its intensity of blue +colour. + +Above, the sky is literally purple with heat; and the pitiless light +smites the gazer's weary eye as it comes back from the white shore. +Nor does the plain country in that land offer the refuge and rest of +our own soft green. The limestone rock underlies the vegetation, and +gives a glittering, ashen hue to all the bare patches, and even to +the cultivated parts which are burnt up early in the year. In +spring-time alone does the country look rich and fruitful; then the +corn-fields of the plain show their capability of bearing, 'some +fifty, some an hundred fold'; down by the brook Kishon, flowing not +far from the base of the mountainous promontory to the south, there +grow the broad green fig-trees, cool and fresh to look upon; the +orchards are full of glossy-leaved cherry-trees; the tall amaryllis +puts forth crimson and yellow glories in the fields, rivalling the +pomp of King Solomon; the daisies and the hyacinths spread their +myriad flowers; the anemones, scarlet as blood, run hither and +thither over the ground like dazzling flames of fire. + +A spicy odour lingers in the heated air; it comes from the multitude +of aromatic flowers that blossom in the early spring. Later on they +will have withered and faded, and the corn will have been gathered, +and the deep green of the eastern foliage will have assumed a kind +of gray-bleached tint. + +Even now in May, the hot sparkle of the everlasting sea, the +terribly clear outline of all objects, whether near or distant, the +fierce sun right overhead, the dazzling air around, were +inexpressibly wearying to the English eyes that kept their skilled +watch, day and night, on the strongly-fortified coast-town that lay +out a little to the northward of where the British ships were +anchored. + +They had kept up a flanking fire for many days in aid of those +besieged in St Jean d'Acre; and at intervals had listened, +impatient, to the sound of the heavy siege guns, or the sharper +rattle of the French musketry. + +In the morning, on the 7th of May, a man at the masthead of the +_Tigre_ sang out that he saw ships in the offing; and in reply to +the signal that was hastily run up, he saw the distant vessels hoist +friendly flags. That May morning was a busy time. The besieged Turks +took heart of grace; the French outside, under the command of their +great general, made hasty preparations for a more vigorous assault +than all many, both vigorous and bloody, that had gone before (for +the siege was now at its fifty-first day), in hopes of carrying the +town by storm before the reinforcement coming by sea could arrive; +and Sir Sidney Smith, aware of Buonaparte's desperate intention, +ordered all the men, both sailors and marines, that could be spared +from the necessity of keeping up a continual flanking fire from the +ships upon the French, to land, and assist the Turks and the British +forces already there in the defence of the old historic city. + +Lieutenant Kinraid, who had shared his captain's daring adventure +off the coast of France three years before, who had been a prisoner +with him and Westley Wright, in the Temple at Paris, and had escaped +with them, and, through Sir Sidney's earnest recommendation, been +promoted from being a warrant officer to the rank of lieutenant, +received on this day the honour from his admiral of being appointed +to an especial post of danger. His heart was like a war-horse, and +said, Ha, ha! as the boat bounded over the waves that were to land +him under the ancient machicolated walls where the Crusaders made +their last stand in the Holy Land. Not that Kinraid knew or cared +one jot about those gallant knights of old: all he knew was, that +the French, under Boney, were trying to take the town from the +Turks, and that his admiral said they must not, and so they should +not. + +He and his men landed on that sandy shore, and entered the town by +the water-port gate; he was singing to himself his own country +song,-- + +Weel may the keel row, the keel row, &C. + +and his men, with sailors' aptitude for music, caught up the air, +and joined in the burden with inarticulate sounds. + +So, with merry hearts, they threaded the narrow streets of Acre, +hemmed in on either side by the white walls of Turkish houses, with +small grated openings high up, above all chance of peeping +intrusion. + +Here and there they met an ample-robed and turbaned Turk going along +with as much haste as his stately self-possession would allow. But +the majority of the male inhabitants were gathered together to +defend the breach, where the French guns thundered out far above the +heads of the sailors. + +They went along none the less merrily for the sound to Djezzar +Pacha's garden, where the old Turk sate on his carpet, beneath the +shade of a great terebinth tree, listening to the interpreter, who +made known to him the meaning of the eager speeches of Sir Sidney +Smith and the colonel of the marines. + +As soon as the admiral saw the gallant sailors of H.M.S. _Tigre_, he +interrupted the council of war without much ceremony, and going to +Kinraid, he despatched them, as before arranged, to the North +Ravelin, showing them the way with rapid, clear directions. + +Out of respect to him, they had kept silent while in the strange, +desolate garden; but once more in the streets, the old Newcastle +song rose up again till the men were, perforce, silenced by the +haste with which they went to the post of danger. + +It was three o'clock in the afternoon. For many a day these very men +had been swearing at the terrific heat at this hour--even when at +sea, fanned by the soft breeze; but now, in the midst of hot smoke, +with former carnage tainting the air, and with the rush and whizz of +death perpetually whistling in their ears, they were uncomplaining +and light-hearted. Many an old joke, and some new ones, came brave +and hearty, on their cheerful voices, even though the speaker was +veiled from sight in great clouds of smoke, cloven only by the +bright flames of death. + +A sudden message came; as many of the crew of the _Tigre_ as were +under Lieutenant Kinraid's command were to go down to the Mole, to +assist the new reinforcements (seen by the sailor from the masthead +at day-dawn), under command of Hassan Bey, to land at the Mole, +where Sir Sidney then was. + +Off they went, almost as bright and thoughtless as before, though +two of their number lay silent for ever at the North Ravelin-- +silenced in that one little half-hour. And one went along with +the rest, swearing lustily at his ill-luck in having his right +arm broken, but ready to do good business with his left. + +They helped the Turkish troops to land more with good-will than +tenderness; and then, led by Sir Sidney, they went under the shelter +of English guns to the fatal breach, so often assailed, so gallantly +defended, but never so fiercely contested as on this burning +afternoon. The ruins of the massive wall that here had been broken +down by the French, were used by them as stepping stones to get on a +level with the besieged, and so to escape the heavy stones which the +latter hurled down; nay, even the dead bodies of the morning's +comrades were made into ghastly stairs. + +When Djezzar Pacha heard that the British sailors were defending the +breach, headed by Sir Sidney Smith, he left his station in the +palace garden, gathered up his robes in haste, and hurried to the +breach; where, with his own hands, and with right hearty good-will, +he pulled the sailors down from the post of danger, saying that if +he lost his English friends he lost all! + +But little recked the crew of the _Tigre_ of the one old man--Pacha +or otherwise--who tried to hold them back from the fight; they were +up and at the French assailants clambering over the breach in an +instant; and so they went on, as if it were some game at play +instead of a deadly combat, until Kinraid and his men were called +off by Sir Sidney, as the reinforcement of Turkish troops under +Hassan Bey were now sufficient for the defence of that old breach in +the walls, which was no longer the principal object of the French +attack; for the besiegers had made a new and more formidable breach +by their incessant fire, knocking down whole streets of the city +walls. + +'Fight your best Kinraid!' said Sir Sidney; 'for there's Boney on +yonder hill looking at you.' + +And sure enough, on a rising ground, called Richard Coeur de Lion's +Mount, there was a half-circle of French generals, on horseback, all +deferentially attending to the motions, and apparently to the words, +of a little man in their centre; at whose bidding the aide-de-camp +galloped swift with messages to the more distant French camp. + +The two ravelins which Kinraid and his men had to occupy, for the +purpose of sending a flanking fire upon the enemy, were not ten +yards from that enemy's van. + +But at length there was a sudden rush of the French to that part of +the wall where they imagined they could enter unopposed. + +Surprised at this movement, Kinraid ventured out of the shelter of +the ravelin to ascertain the cause; he, safe and untouched during +that long afternoon of carnage, fell now, under a stray musket-shot, +and lay helpless and exposed upon the ground undiscerned by his men, +who were recalled to help in the hot reception which had been +planned for the French; who, descending the city walls into the +Pacha's garden, were attacked with sabre and dagger, and lay +headless corpses under the flowering rose-bushes, and by the +fountain side. + +Kinraid lay beyond the ravelins, many yards outside the city walls. + +He was utterly helpless, for the shot had broken his leg. Dead +bodies of Frenchmen lay strewn around him; no Englishman had +ventured out so far. + +All the wounded men that he could see were French; and many of +these, furious with pain, gnashed their teeth at him, and cursed him +aloud, till he thought that his best course was to assume the +semblance of death; for some among these men were still capable of +dragging themselves up to him, and by concentrating all their +failing energies into one blow, put him to a speedy end. + +The outlying pickets of the French army were within easy rifle shot; +and his uniform, although less conspicuous in colour than that of +the marines, by whose sides he had been fighting, would make him a +sure mark if he so much as moved his arm. Yet how he longed to turn, +if ever so slightly, so that the cruel slanting sun might not beat +full into his aching eyes. Fever, too, was coming upon him; the pain +in his leg was every moment growing more severe; the terrible thirst +of the wounded, added to the heat and fatigue of the day, made his +lips and tongue feel baked and dry, and his whole throat seemed +parched and wooden. Thoughts of other days, of cool Greenland seas, +where ice abounded, of grassy English homes, began to make the past +more real than the present. + +With a great effort he brought his wandering senses back; he knew +where he was now, and could weigh the chances of his life, which +were but small; the unwonted tears came to his eyes as he thought of +the newly-made wife in her English home, who might never know how he +died thinking of her. + +Suddenly he saw a party of English marines advance, under shelter of +the ravelin, to pick up the wounded, and bear them within the walls +for surgical help. They were so near he could see their faces, could +hear them speak; yet he durst not make any sign to them when he lay +within range of the French picket's fire. + +For one moment he could not resist raising his head, to give himself +a chance for life; before the unclean creatures that infest a camp +came round in the darkness of the night to strip and insult the dead +bodies, and to put to death such as had yet the breath of life +within them. But the setting sun came full into his face, and he saw +nothing of what he longed to see. + +He fell back in despair; he lay there to die. + +That strong clear sunbeam had wrought his salvation. + +He had been recognized as men are recognized when they stand in the +red glare of a house on fire; the same despair of help, of hopeless +farewell to life, stamped on their faces in blood-red light. + +One man left his fellows, and came running forwards, forwards in +among the enemy's wounded, within range of their guns; he bent down +over Kinraid; he seemed to understand without a word; he lifted him +up, carrying him like a child; and with the vehement energy that is +more from the force of will than the strength of body, he bore him +back to within the shelter of the ravelin--not without many shots +being aimed at them, one of which hit Kinraid in the fleshy part of +his arm. + +Kinraid was racked with agony from his dangling broken leg, and his +very life seemed leaving him; yet he remembered afterwards how the +marine recalled his fellows, and how, in the pause before they +returned, his face became like one formerly known to the sick senses +of Kinraid; yet it was too like a dream, too utterly improbable to +be real. + +Yet the few words this man said, as he stood breathless and alone by +the fainting Kinraid, fitted in well with the belief conjured up by +his personal appearance. He panted out,-- + +'I niver thought you'd ha' kept true to her!' + +And then the others came up; and while they were making a sling of +their belts, Kinraid fainted utterly away, and the next time that he +was fully conscious, he was lying in his berth in the _Tigre_, with +the ship surgeon setting his leg. After that he was too feverish for +several days to collect his senses. When he could first remember, +and form a judgment upon his recollections, he called the man +especially charged to attend upon him, and bade him go and make +inquiry in every possible manner for a marine named Philip Hepburn, +and, when he was found, to entreat him to come and see Kinraid. + +The sailor was away the greater part of the day, and returned +unsuccessful in his search; he had been from ship to ship, hither +and thither; he had questioned all the marines he had met with, no +one knew anything of any Philip Hepburn. + +Kinraid passed a miserably feverish night, and when the doctor +exclaimed the next morning at his retrogression, he told him, with +some irritation, of the ill-success of his servant; he accused the +man of stupidity, and wished fervently that he were able to go +himself. + +Partly to soothe him, the doctor promised that he would undertake +the search for Hepburn, and he engaged faithfully to follow all +Kinraid's eager directions; not to be satisfied with men's careless +words, but to look over muster-rolls and ships' books. + +He, too, brought the same answer, however unwillingly given. + +He had set out upon the search so confident of success, that he felt +doubly discomfited by failure. However, he had persuaded himself +that the lieutenant had been partially delirious from the effects of +his wound, and the power of the sun shining down just where he lay. +There had, indeed, been slight symptoms of Kinraid's having received +a sun-stroke; and the doctor dwelt largely on these in his endeavour +to persuade his patient that it was his imagination which had endued +a stranger with the lineaments of some former friend. + +Kinraid threw his arms out of bed with impatience at all this +plausible talk, which was even more irritating than the fact that +Hepburn was still undiscovered. + +'The man was no friend of mine; I was like to have killed him when +last I saw him. He was a shopkeeper in a country town in England. I +had seen little enough of him; but enough to make me able to swear +to him anywhere, even in a marine's uniform, and in this sweltering +country.' + +'Faces once seen, especially in excitement, are apt to return upon +the memory in cases of fever,' quoth the doctor, sententiously. + +The attendant sailor, reinstalled to some complacency by the failure +of another in the search in which he himself had been unsuccessful, +now put in his explanation. + +'Maybe it was a spirit. It's not th' first time as I've heared of a +spirit coming upon earth to save a man's life i' time o' need. My +father had an uncle, a west-country grazier. He was a-coming over +Dartmoor in Devonshire one moonlight night with a power o' money as +he'd got for his sheep at t' fair. It were stowed i' leather bags +under th' seat o' th' gig. It were a rough kind o' road, both as a +road and in character, for there'd been many robberies there of +late, and th' great rocks stood convenient for hiding-places. All at +once father's uncle feels as if some one were sitting beside him on +th' empty seat; and he turns his head and looks, and there he sees +his brother sitting--his brother as had been dead twelve year and +more. So he turns his head back again, eyes right, and never say a +word, but wonders what it all means. All of a sudden two fellows +come out upo' th' white road from some black shadow, and they +looked, and they let th' gig go past, father's uncle driving hard, +I'll warrant him. But for all that he heard one say to t' other, +"By----, there's _two_ on 'em!" Straight on he drove faster than +ever, till he saw th' far lights of some town or other. I forget its +name, though I've heared it many a time; and then he drew a long +breath, and turned his head to look at his brother, and ask him how +he'd managed to come out of his grave i' Barum churchyard, and th' +seat was as empty as it had been when he set out; and then he knew +that it were a spirit come to help him against th' men who thought +to rob him, and would likely enough ha' murdered him.' + +Kinraid had kept quiet through this story. But when the sailor began +to draw the moral, and to say, 'And I think I may make bold to say, +sir, as th' marine who carried you out o' th' Frenchy's gun-shot was +just a spirit come to help you,' he exclaimed impatiently, swearing +a great oath as he did so, 'It was no spirit, I tell you; and I was +in my full senses. It was a man named Philip Hepburn. He said words +to me, or over me, as none but himself would have said. Yet we hated +each other like poison; and I can't make out why he should be there +and putting himself in danger to save me. But so it was; and as you +can't find him, let me hear no more of your nonsense. It was him, +and not my fancy, doctor. It was flesh and blood, and not a spirit, +Jack. So get along with you, and leave me quiet.' + +All this time Stephen Freeman lay friendless, sick, and shattered, +on board the _Thesus_. + +He had been about his duty close to some shells that were placed on +her deck; a gay young midshipman was thoughtlessly striving to get +the fusee out of one of these by a mallet and spike-nail that lay +close at hand; and a fearful explosion ensued, in which the poor +marine, cleaning his bayonet near, was shockingly burnt and +disfigured, the very skin of all the lower part of his face being +utterly destroyed by gunpowder. They said it was a mercy that his +eyes were spared; but he could hardly feel anything to be a mercy, +as he lay tossing in agony, burnt by the explosion, wounded by +splinters, and feeling that he was disabled for life, if life itself +were preserved. Of all that suffered by that fearful accident (and +they were many) none was so forsaken, so hopeless, so desolate, as +the Philip Hepburn about whom such anxious inquiries were being made +at that very time. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +CONFIDENCES + + + + + +It was a little later on in that same summer that Mrs. Brunton came +to visit her sister Bessy. + +Bessy was married to a tolerably well-to-do farmer who lived at an +almost equal distance between Monkshaven and Hartswell; but from old +habit and convenience the latter was regarded as the Dawsons' +market-town; so Bessy seldom or never saw her old friends in +Monkshaven. + +But Mrs. Brunton was far too flourishing a person not to speak out +her wishes, and have her own way. She had no notion, she said, of +coming such a long journey only to see Bessy and her husband, and +not to have a sight of her former acquaintances at Monkshaven. She +might have added, that her new bonnet and cloak would be as good as +lost if it was not displayed among those who, knowing her as Molly +Corney, and being less fortunate in matrimony than she was, would +look upon it with wondering admiration, if not with envy. + +So one day farmer Dawson's market-cart deposited Mrs. Brunton in all +her bravery at the shop in the market-place, over which Hepburn and +Coulson's names still flourished in joint partnership. + +After a few words of brisk recognition to Coulson and Hester, Mrs +Brunton passed on into the parlour and greeted Sylvia with +boisterous heartiness. + +It was now four years and more since the friends had met; and each +secretly wondered how they had ever come to be friends. Sylvia had a +country, raw, spiritless look to Mrs. Brunton's eye; Molly was loud +and talkative, and altogether distasteful to Sylvia, trained in +daily companionship with Hester to appreciate soft slow speech, and +grave thoughtful ways. + +However, they kept up the forms of their old friendship, though +their hearts had drifted far apart. They sat hand in hand while each +looked at the other with eyes inquisitive as to the changes which +time had made. Molly was the first to speak. + +'Well, to be sure! how thin and pale yo've grown, Sylvia! Matrimony +hasn't agreed wi' yo' as well as it's done wi me. Brunton is allays +saying (yo' know what a man he is for his joke) that if he'd ha' +known how many yards o' silk I should ha' ta'en for a gown, he'd ha' +thought twice afore he'd ha' married me. Why, I've gained a matter +o' thirty pound o' flesh sin' I were married!' + +'Yo' do look brave and hearty!' said Sylvia, putting her sense of +her companion's capacious size and high colour into the prettiest +words she could. + +'Eh! Sylvia! but I know what it is,' said Molly, shaking her head. +'It's just because o' that husband o' thine as has gone and left +thee; thou's pining after him, and he's not worth it. Brunton said, +when he heared on it--I mind he was smoking at t' time, and he took +his pipe out of his mouth, and shook out t' ashes as grave as any +judge--"The man," says he, "as can desert a wife like Sylvia Robson +as was, deserves hanging!" That's what he says! Eh! Sylvia, but +speakin' o' hanging I was so grieved for yo' when I heared of yo'r +poor feyther! Such an end for a decent man to come to! Many a one +come an' called on me o' purpose to hear all I could tell 'em about +him!' + +'Please don't speak on it!' said Sylvia, trembling all over. + +'Well, poor creature, I wunnot. It is hard on thee, I grant. But to +give t' devil his due, it were good i' Hepburn to marry thee, and so +soon after there was a' that talk about thy feyther. Many a man +would ha' drawn back, choose howiver far they'd gone. I'm noane so +sure about Charley Kinraid. Eh, Sylvia! only think on his being +alive after all. I doubt if our Bessy would ha' wed Frank Dawson if +she'd known as he wasn't drowned. But it's as well she did, for +Dawson's a man o' property, and has getten twelve cows in his +cow-house, beside three right down good horses; and Kinraid were +allays a fellow wi' two strings to his bow. I've allays said and do +maintain, that he went on pretty strong wi' yo', Sylvie; and I will +say I think he cared more for yo' than for our Bessy, though it were +only yesterday at e'en she were standing out that he liked her +better than yo'. Yo'll ha' heared on his grand marriage?' + +'No!' said Sylvia, with eager painful curiosity. + +'No! It was in all t' papers! I wonder as yo' didn't see it. Wait a +minute! I cut it out o' t' _Gentleman's Magazine_, as Brunton bought +o' purpose, and put it i' my pocket-book when I were a-coming here: +I know I've got it somewheere.' + +She took out her smart crimson pocket-book, and rummaged in the +pocket until she produced a little crumpled bit of printed paper, +from which she read aloud, + +'On January the third, at St Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, Charles +Kinraid, Esq., lieutenant Royal Navy, to Miss Clarinda Jackson, with +a fortune of 10,000_l_.' + +'Theere!' said she, triumphantly, 'it's something as Brunton says, +to be cousin to that.' + +'Would yo' let me see it?' said Sylvia, timidly. + +Mrs. Brunton graciously consented; and Sylvia brought her newly +acquired reading-knowledge, hitherto principally exercised on the +Old Testament, to bear on these words. + +There was nothing wonderful in them, nothing that she might not have +expected; and yet the surprise turned her giddy for a moment or two. +She never thought of seeing him again, never. But to think of his +caring for another woman as much as he had done for her, nay, +perhaps more! + +The idea was irresistibly forced upon her that Philip would not have +acted so; it would have taken long years before he could have been +induced to put another on the throne she had once occupied. For the +first time in her life she seemed to recognize the real nature of +Philip's love. + +But she said nothing but 'Thank yo',' when she gave the scrap of +paper back to Molly Brunton. And the latter continued giving her +information about Kinraid's marriage. + +'He were down in t' west, Plymouth or somewheere, when he met wi' +her. She's no feyther; he'd been in t' sugar-baking business; but +from what Kinraid wrote to old Turner, th' uncle as brought him up +at Cullercoats, she's had t' best of edications: can play on t' +instrument and dance t' shawl dance; and Kinraid had all her money +settled on her, though she said she'd rayther give it all to him, +which I must say, being his cousin, was very pretty on her. He's +left her now, having to go off in t' _Tigre_, as is his ship, to t' +Mediterranean seas; and she's written to offer to come and see old +Turner, and make friends with his relations, and Brunton is going to +gi'e me a crimson satin as soon as we know for certain when she's +coming, for we're sure to be asked out to Cullercoats.' + +'I wonder if she's very pretty?' asked Sylvia, faintly, in the first +pause in this torrent of talk. + +'Oh! she's a perfect beauty, as I understand. There was a traveller +as come to our shop as had been at York, and knew some of her +cousins theere that were in t' grocery line--her mother was a York +lady--and they said she was just a picture of a woman, and iver so +many gentlemen had been wantin' to marry her, but she just waited +for Charley Kinraid, yo' see!' + +'Well, I hope they'll be happy; I'm sure I do!' said Sylvia. + +'That's just luck. Some folks is happy i' marriage, and some isn't. +It's just luck, and there's no forecasting it. Men is such +unaccountable animals, there's no prophesyin' upon 'em. Who'd ha' +thought of yo'r husband, him as was so slow and sure--steady Philip, +as we lasses used to ca' him--makin' a moonlight flittin', and +leavin' yo' to be a widow bewitched?' + +'He didn't go at night,' said Sylvia, taking the words 'moonlight +flitting' in their literal sense. + +'No! Well, I only said "moonlight flittin'" just because it come +uppermost and I knowed no better. Tell me all about it, Sylvie, for +I can't mak' it out from what Bessy says. Had he and yo' had +words?--but in course yo' had.' + +At this moment Hester came into the room; and Sylvia joyfully +availed herself of the pretext for breaking off the conversation +that had reached this painful and awkward point. She detained Hester +in the room for fear lest Mrs. Brunton should repeat her inquiry as +to how it all happened that Philip had gone away; but the presence +of a third person seemed as though it would be but little restraint +upon the inquisitive Molly, who repeatedly bore down upon the same +questions till she nearly drove Sylvia distracted, between her +astonishment at the news of Kinraid's marriage; her wish to be alone +and quiet, so as to realize the full meaning of that piece of +intelligence; her desire to retain Hester in the conversation; her +efforts to prevent Molly's recurrence to the circumstances of +Philip's disappearance, and the longing--more vehement every +minute--for her visitor to go away and leave her in peace. She +became so disturbed with all these thoughts and feelings that she +hardly knew what she was saying, and assented or dissented to +speeches without there being either any reason or truth in her +words. + +Mrs. Brunton had arranged to remain with Sylvia while the horse +rested, and had no compunction about the length of her visit. She +expected to be asked to tea, as Sylvia found out at last, and this +she felt would be the worst of all, as Alice Rose was not one to +tolerate the coarse, careless talk of such a woman as Mrs. Brunton +without uplifting her voice in many a testimony against it. Sylvia +sate holding Hester's gown tight in order to prevent her leaving the +room, and trying to arrange her little plans so that too much +discordance should not arise to the surface. Just then the door +opened, and little Bella came in from the kitchen in all the pretty, +sturdy dignity of two years old, Alice following her with careful +steps, and protecting, outstretched arms, a slow smile softening the +sternness of her grave face; for the child was the unconscious +darling of the household, and all eyes softened into love as they +looked on her. She made straight for her mother with something +grasped in her little dimpled fist; but half-way across the room she +seemed to have become suddenly aware of the presence of a stranger, +and she stopped short, fixing her serious eyes full on Mrs. Brunton, +as if to take in her appearance, nay, as if to penetrate down into +her very real self, and then, stretching out her disengaged hand, +the baby spoke out the words that had been hovering about her +mother's lips for an hour past. + +'Do away!' said Bella, decisively. + +'What a perfect love!' said Mrs. Brunton, half in real admiration, +half in patronage. As she spoke, she got up and went towards the +child, as if to take her up. + +'Do away! do away!' cried Bella, in shrill affright at this +movement. + +'Dunnot,' said Sylvia; 'she's shy; she doesn't know strangers.' + +But Mrs. Brunton had grasped the struggling, kicking child by this +time, and her reward for this was a vehement little slap in the +face. + +'Yo' naughty little spoilt thing!' said she, setting Bella down in a +hurry. 'Yo' deserve a good whipping, yo' do, and if yo' were mine +yo' should have it.' + +Sylvia had no need to stand up for the baby who had run to her arms, +and was soothing herself with sobbing on her mother's breast; for +Alice took up the defence. + +'The child said, as plain as words could say, "go away," and if thou +wouldst follow thine own will instead of heeding her wish, thou mun +put up with the wilfulness of the old Adam, of which it seems to me +thee hast getten thy share at thirty as well as little Bella at +two.' + +'Thirty!' said Mrs. Brunton, now fairly affronted. 'Thirty! why, +Sylvia, yo' know I'm but two years older than yo'; speak to that +woman an' tell her as I'm only four-and-twenty. Thirty, indeed!' + +'Molly's but four-and-twenty,' said Sylvia, in a pacificatory tone. + +'Whether she be twenty, or thirty, or forty, is alike to me,' said +Alice. 'I meant no harm. I meant but for t' say as her angry words +to the child bespoke her to be one of the foolish. I know not who +she is, nor what her age may be.' + +'She's an old friend of mine,' said Sylvia. 'She's Mrs. Brunton now, +but when I knowed her she was Molly Corney.' + +'Ay! and yo' were Sylvia Robson, and as bonny and light-hearted a +lass as any in a' t' Riding, though now yo're a poor widow +bewitched, left wi' a child as I mustn't speak a word about, an' +living wi' folk as talk about t' old Adam as if he wasn't dead and +done wi' long ago! It's a change, Sylvia, as makes my heart ache for +yo', to think on them old days when yo' were so thought on yo' might +have had any man, as Brunton often says; it were a great mistake as +yo' iver took up wi' yon man as has run away. But seven year '11 +soon be past fro' t' time he went off, and yo'll only be +six-and-twenty then; and there'll be a chance of a better husband +for yo' after all, so keep up yo'r heart, Sylvia.' + +Molly Brunton had put as much venom as she knew how into this +speech, meaning it as a vengeful payment for the supposition of her +being thirty, even more than for the reproof for her angry words +about the child. She thought that Alice Rose must be either mother +or aunt to Philip, from the serious cast of countenance that was +remarkable in both; and she rather exulted in the allusion to a +happier second marriage for Sylvia, with which she had concluded her +speech. It roused Alice, however, as effectually as if she had been +really a blood relation to Philip; but for a different reason. She +was not slow to detect the intentional offensiveness to herself in +what had been said; she was indignant at Sylvia for suffering the +words spoken to pass unanswered; but in truth they were too much in +keeping with Molly Brunton's character to make as much impression on +Sylvia as they did on a stranger; and besides, she felt as if the +less reply Molly received, the less likely would it be that she +would go on in the same strain. So she coaxed and chattered to her +child and behaved like a little coward in trying to draw out of the +conversation, while at the same time listening attentively. + +'As for Sylvia Hepburn as was Sylvia Robson, she knows my mind,' +said Alice, in grim indignation. 'She's humbling herself now, I +trust and pray, but she was light-minded and full of vanity when +Philip married her, and it might ha' been a lift towards her +salvation in one way; but it pleased the Lord to work in a different +way, and she mun wear her sackcloth and ashes in patience. So I'll +say naught more about her. But for him as is absent, as thee hast +spoken on so lightly and reproachfully, I'd have thee to know he +were one of a different kind to any thee ever knew, I reckon. If he +were led away by a pretty face to slight one as was fitter for him, +and who had loved him as the apple of her eye, it's him as is +suffering for it, inasmuch as he's a wanderer from his home, and an +outcast from wife and child.' + +To the surprise of all, Molly's words of reply were cut short even +when they were on her lips, by Sylvia. Pale, fire-eyed, and excited, +with Philip's child on one arm, and the other stretched out, she +said,-- + +'Noane can tell--noane know. No one shall speak a judgment 'twixt +Philip and me. He acted cruel and wrong by me. But I've said my +words to him hissel', and I'm noane going to make any plaint to +others; only them as knows should judge. And it's not fitting, it's +not' (almost sobbing), 'to go on wi' talk like this afore me.' + +The two--for Hester, who was aware that her presence had only been +desired by Sylvia as a check to an unpleasant _tete-a-tete_ +conversation, had slipped back to her business as soon as her mother +came in--the two looked with surprise at Sylvia; her words, her +whole manner, belonged to a phase of her character which seldom came +uppermost, and which had not been perceived by either of them +before. + +Alice Rose, though astonished, rather approved of Sylvia's speech; +it showed that she had more serious thought and feeling on the +subject than the old woman had given her credit for; her general +silence respecting her husband's disappearance had led Alice to +think that she was too childish to have received any deep impression +from the event. Molly Brunton gave vent to her opinion on Sylvia's +speech in the following words:-- + +'Hoighty-toighty! That tells tales, lass. If yo' treated steady +Philip to many such looks an' speeches as yo'n given us now, it's +easy t' see why he took hisself off. Why, Sylvia, I niver saw it in +yo' when yo' was a girl; yo're grown into a regular little vixen, +theere wheere yo' stand!' + +Indeed she did look defiant, with the swift colour flushing her +cheeks to crimson on its return, and the fire in her eyes not yet +died away. But at Molly's jesting words she sank back into her usual +look and manner, only saying quietly,-- + +'It's for noane to say whether I'm vixen or not, as doesn't know th' +past things as is buried in my heart. But I cannot hold them as my +friends as go on talking on either my husband or me before my very +face. What he was, I know; and what I am, I reckon he knows. And now +I'll go hurry tea, for yo'll be needing it, Molly!' + +The last clause of this speech was meant to make peace; but Molly +was in twenty minds as to whether she should accept the olive-branch +or not. Her temper, however, was of that obtuse kind which is not +easily ruffled; her mind, stagnant in itself, enjoyed excitement +from without; and her appetite was invariably good, so she stayed, +in spite of the inevitable _tete-a-tete_ with Alice. The latter, +however, refused to be drawn into conversation again; replying to +Mrs. Brunton's speeches with a curt yes or no, when, indeed, she +replied at all. + +When all were gathered at tea, Sylvia was quite calm again; rather +paler than usual, and very attentive and subduced in her behaviour +to Alice; she would evidently fain have been silent, but as Molly +was her own especial guest, that could not be, so all her endeavours +went towards steering the conversation away from any awkward points. +But each of the four, let alone little Bella, was thankful when the +market-cart drew up at the shop door, that was to take Mrs. Brunton +back to her sister's house. + +When she was fairly off, Alice Rose opened her mouth in strong +condemnation; winding up with-- + +'And if aught in my words gave thee cause for offence, Sylvia, it +was because my heart rose within me at the kind of talk thee and she +had been having about Philip; and her evil and light-minded counsel +to thee about waiting seven years, and then wedding another.' + +Hard as these words may seem when repeated, there was something of a +nearer approach to an apology in Mrs. Rose's manner than Sylvia had +ever seen in it before. She was silent for a few moments, then she +said,-- + +'I ha' often thought of telling yo' and Hester, special-like, when +yo've been so kind to my little Bella, that Philip an' me could +niver come together again; no, not if he came home this very +night----' + +She would have gone on speaking, but Hester interrupted her with a +low cry of dismay. + +Alice said,-- + +'Hush thee, Hester. It's no business o' thine. Sylvia Hepburn, +thou'rt speaking like a silly child.' + +'No. I'm speaking like a woman; like a woman as finds out she's been +cheated by men as she trusted, and as has no help for it. I'm noane +going to say any more about it. It's me as has been wronged, and as +has to bear it: only I thought I'd tell yo' both this much, that yo' +might know somewhat why he went away, and how I said my last word +about it.' + +So indeed it seemed. To all questions and remonstrances from Alice, +Sylvia turned a deaf ear. She averted her face from Hester's sad, +wistful looks; only when they were parting for the night, at the top +of the little staircase, she turned, and putting her arms round +Hester's neck she laid her head on her neck, and whispered,-- + +'Poor Hester--poor, poor Hester! if yo' an' he had but been married +together, what a deal o' sorrow would ha' been spared to us all!' + +Hester pushed her away as she finished these words; looked +searchingly into her face, her eyes, and then followed Sylvia into +her room, where Bella lay sleeping, shut the door, and almost knelt +down at Sylvia's feet, clasping her, and hiding her face in the +folds of the other's gown. + +'Sylvia, Sylvia,' she murmured, 'some one has told you--I thought no +one knew--it's no sin--it's done away with now--indeed it is--it was +long ago--before yo' were married; but I cannot forget. It was a +shame, perhaps, to have thought on it iver, when he niver thought o' +me; but I niver believed as any one could ha' found it out. I'm just +fit to sink into t' ground, what wi' my sorrow and my shame.' + +Hester was stopped by her own rising sobs, immediately she was in +Sylvia's arms. Sylvia was sitting on the ground holding her, and +soothing her with caresses and broken words. + +'I'm allays saying t' wrong things,' said she. 'It seems as if I +were all upset to-day; and indeed I am;' she added, alluding to the +news of Kinraid's marriage she had yet to think upon. + +'But it wasn't yo', Hester: it were nothing yo' iver said, or did, +or looked, for that matter. It were yo'r mother as let it out.' + +'Oh, mother! mother!' wailed out Hester; 'I niver thought as any one +but God would ha' known that I had iver for a day thought on his +being more to me than a brother.' + +Sylvia made no reply, only went on stroking Hester's smooth brown +hair, off which her cap had fallen. Sylvia was thinking how strange +life was, and how love seemed to go all at cross purposes; and was +losing herself in bewilderment at the mystery of the world; she was +almost startled when Hester rose up, and taking Sylvia's hands in +both of hers, and looking solemnly at her, said,-- + +'Sylvia, yo' know what has been my trouble and my shame, and I'm +sure yo're sorry for me--for I will humble myself to yo', and own +that for many months before yo' were married, I felt my +disappointment like a heavy burden laid on me by day and by night; +but now I ask yo', if yo've any pity for me for what I went through, +or if yo've any love for me because of yo'r dead mother's love for +me, or because of any fellowship, or daily breadliness between us +two,--put the hard thoughts of Philip away from out yo'r heart; he +may ha' done yo' wrong, anyway yo' think that he has; I niver knew +him aught but kind and good; but if he comes back from wheriver in +th' wide world he's gone to (and there's not a night but I pray God +to keep him, and send him safe back), yo' put away the memory of +past injury, and forgive it all, and be, what yo' can be, Sylvia, if +you've a mind to, just the kind, good wife he ought to have.' + +'I cannot; yo' know nothing about it, Hester.' + +'Tell me, then,' pleaded Hester. + +'No!' said Sylvia, after a moment's hesitation; 'I'd do a deal for +yo', I would, but I daren't forgive Philip, even if I could; I took +a great oath again' him. Ay, yo' may look shocked at me, but it's +him as yo' ought for to be shocked at if yo' knew all. I said I'd +niver forgive him; I shall keep to my word.' + +'I think I'd better pray for his death, then,' said Hester, +hopelessly, and almost bitterly, loosing her hold of Sylvia's hands. + +'If it weren't for baby theere, I could think as it were my death as +'ud be best. Them as one thinks t' most on, forgets one soonest.' + +It was Kinraid to whom she was alluding; but Hester did not +understand her; and after standing for a moment in silence, she +kissed her, and left her for the night. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +AN UNEXPECTED MESSENGER + + + + + +After this agitation, and these partial confidences, no more was +said on the subject of Philip for many weeks. They avoided even the +slightest allusion to him; and none of them knew how seldom or how +often he might be present in the minds of the others. + +One day the little Bella was unusually fractious with some slight +childish indisposition, and Sylvia was obliged to have recourse to a +never-failing piece of amusement; namely, to take the child into the +shop, when the number of new, bright-coloured articles was sure to +beguile the little girl out of her fretfulness. She was walking +along the high terrace of the counter, kept steady by her mother's +hand, when Mr. Dawson's market-cart once more stopped before the +door. But it was not Mrs. Brunton who alighted now; it was a very +smartly-dressed, very pretty young lady, who put one dainty foot +before the other with care, as if descending from such a primitive +vehicle were a new occurrence in her life. Then she looked up at the +names above the shop-door, and after ascertaining that this was +indeed the place she desired to find, she came in blushing. + +'Is Mrs. Hepburn at home?' she asked of Hester, whose position in the +shop brought her forwards to receive the customers, while Sylvia +drew Bella out of sight behind some great bales of red flannel. + +'Can I see her?' the sweet, south-country voice went on, still +addressing Hester. Sylvia heard the inquiry, and came forwards, with +a little rustic awkwardness, feeling both shy and curious. + +'Will yo' please walk this way, ma'am?' said she, leading her +visitor back into her own dominion of the parlour, and leaving Bella +to Hester's willing care. + +'You don't know me!' said the pretty young lady, joyously. 'But I +think you knew my husband. I am Mrs. Kinraid!' + +A sob of surprise rose to Sylvia's lips--she choked it down, +however, and tried to conceal any emotion she might feel, in placing +a chair for her visitor, and trying to make her feel welcome, +although, if the truth must be told, Sylvia was wondering all the +time why her visitor came, and how soon she would go. + +'You knew Captain Kinraid, did you not?' said the young lady, with +innocent inquiry; to which Sylvia's lips formed the answer, 'Yes,' +but no clear sound issued therefrom. + +'But I know your husband knew the captain; is he at home yet? Can I +speak to him? I do so want to see him.' + +Sylvia was utterly bewildered; Mrs. Kinraid, this pretty, joyous, +prosperous little bird of a woman, Philip, Charley's wife, what +could they have in common? what could they know of each other? All +she could say in answer to Mrs. Kinraid's eager questions, and still +more eager looks, was, that her husband was from home, had been long +from home: she did not know where he was, she did not know when he +would come back. + +Mrs. Kinraid's face fell a little, partly from her own real +disappointment, partly out of sympathy with the hopeless, +indifferent tone of Sylvia's replies. + +'Mrs. Dawson told me he had gone away rather suddenly a year ago, but +I thought he might be come home by now. I am expecting the captain +early next month. Oh! how I should have liked to see Mr. Hepburn, and +to thank him for saving the captain's life!' + +'What do yo' mean?' asked Sylvia, stirred out of all assumed +indifference. 'The captain! is that' (not 'Charley', she could not +use that familiar name to the pretty young wife before her) 'yo'r +husband?' + +'Yes, you knew him, didn't you? when he used to be staying with Mr +Corney, his uncle?' + +'Yes, I knew him; but I don't understand. Will yo' please to tell me +all about it, ma'am?' said Sylvia, faintly. + +'I thought your husband would have told you all about it; I hardly +know where to begin. You know my husband is a sailor?' + +Sylvia nodded assent, listening greedily, her heart beating thick +all the time. + +'And he's now a Commander in the Royal Navy, all earned by his own +bravery! Oh! I am so proud of him!' + +So could Sylvia have been if she had been his wife; as it was, she +thought how often she had felt sure that he would be a great man +some day. + +'And he has been at the siege of Acre.' + +Sylvia looked perplexed at these strange words, and Mrs. Kinraid +caught the look. + +'St Jean d'Acre, you know--though it's fine saying "you know", when +I didn't know a bit about it myself till the captain's ship was +ordered there, though I was the head girl at Miss Dobbin's in the +geography class--Acre is a seaport town, not far from Jaffa, which +is the modern name for Joppa, where St Paul went to long ago; you've +read of that, I'm sure, and Mount Carmel, where the prophet Elijah +was once, all in Palestine, you know, only the Turks have got it +now?' + +'But I don't understand yet,' said Sylvia, plaintively; 'I daresay +it's all very true about St Paul, but please, ma'am, will yo' tell +me about yo'r husband and mine--have they met again?' + +'Yes, at Acre, I tell you,' said Mrs. Kinraid, with pretty petulance. +'The Turks held the town, and the French wanted to take it; and we, +that is the British Fleet, wouldn't let them. So Sir Sidney Smith, a +commodore and a great friend of the captain's, landed in order to +fight the French; and the captain and many of the sailors landed +with him; and it was burning hot; and the poor captain was wounded, +and lay a-dying of pain and thirst within the enemy's--that is the +French--fire; so that they were ready to shoot any one of his own +side who came near him. They thought he was dead himself, you see, +as he was very near; and would have been too, if your husband had +not come out of shelter, and taken him up in his arms or on his back +(I couldn't make out which), and carried him safe within the walls.' + +'It couldn't have been Philip,' said Sylvia, dubiously. + +'But it was. The captain says so; and he's not a man to be mistaken. +I thought I'd got his letter with me; and I would have read you a +part of it, but I left it at Mrs. Dawson's in my desk; and I can't +send it to you,' blushing as she remembered certain passages in +which 'the captain' wrote very much like a lover, 'or else I would. +But you may be quite sure it was your husband that ventured into all +that danger to save his old friend's life, or the captain would not +have said so.' + +'But they weren't--they weren't--not to call great friends.' + +'I wish I'd got the letter here; I can't think how I could be so +stupid; I think I can almost remember the very words, though--I've +read them over so often. He says, "Just as I gave up all hope, I saw +one Philip Hepburn, a man whom I had known at Monkshaven, and whom I +had some reason to remember well"--(I'm sure he says so--"remember +well"), "he saw me too, and came at the risk of his life to where I +lay. I fully expected he would be shot down; and I shut my eyes not +to see the end of my last chance. The shot rained about him, and I +think he was hit; but he took me up and carried me under cover." I'm +sure he says that, I've read it over so often; and he goes on and +says how he hunted for Mr. Hepburn all through the ships, as soon as +ever he could; but he could hear nothing of him, either alive or +dead. Don't go so white, for pity's sake!' said she, suddenly +startled by Sylvia's blanching colour. 'You see, because he couldn't +find him alive is no reason for giving him up as dead; because his +name wasn't to be found on any of the ships' books; so the captain +thinks he must have been known by a different name to his real one. +Only he says he should like to have seen him to have thanked him; +and he says he would give a deal to know what has become of him; and +as I was staying two days at Mrs. Dawson's, I told them I must come +over to Monkshaven, if only for five minutes, just to hear if your +good husband was come home, and to shake his hands, that helped to +save my own dear captain.' + +'I don't think it could have been Philip,' reiterated Sylvia. + +'Why not?' asked her visitor; 'you say you don't know where he is; +why mightn't he have been there where the captain says he was?' + +'But he wasn't a sailor, nor yet a soldier.' + +'Oh! but he was. I think somewhere the captain calls him a marine; +that's neither one nor the other, but a little of both. He'll be +coming home some day soon; and then you'll see!' + +Alice Rose came in at this minute, and Mrs. Kinraid jumped to the +conclusion that she was Sylvia's mother, and in her overflowing +gratitude and friendliness to all the family of him who had 'saved +the captain' she went forward, and shook the old woman's hand in +that pleasant confiding way that wins all hearts. + +'Here's your daughter, ma'am!' said she to the half-astonished, +half-pleased Alice. 'I'm Mrs. Kinraid, the wife of the captain that +used to be in these parts, and I'm come to bring her news of her +husband, and she don't half believe me, though it's all to his +credit, I'm sure.' + +Alice looked so perplexed that Sylvia felt herself bound to explain. + +'She says he's either a soldier or a sailor, and a long way off at +some place named in t' Bible.' + +'Philip Hepburn led away to be a soldier!' said she, 'who had once +been a Quaker?' + +'Yes, and a very brave one too, and one that it would do my heart +good to look upon,' exclaimed Mrs. Kinraid. 'He's been saving my +husband's life in the Holy Land, where Jerusalem is, you know.' + +'Nay!' said Alice, a little scornfully. 'I can forgive Sylvia for +not being over keen to credit thy news. Her man of peace becoming a +man of war; and suffered to enter Jerusalem, which is a heavenly and +a typical city at this time; while me, as is one of the elect, is +obliged to go on dwelling in Monkshaven, just like any other body.' + +'Nay, but,' said Mrs. Kinraid, gently, seeing she was touching on +delicate ground, 'I did not say he had gone to Jerusalem, but my +husband saw him in those parts, and he was doing his duty like a +brave, good man; ay, and more than his duty; and, you may take my +word for it, he'll be at home some day soon, and all I beg is that +you'll let the captain and me know, for I'm sure if we can, we'll +both come and pay our respects to him. And I'm very glad I've seen +you,' said she, rising to go, and putting out her hand to shake that +of Sylvia; 'for, besides being Hepburn's wife, I'm pretty sure I've +heard the captain speak of you; and if ever you come to Bristol I +hope you'll come and see us on Clifton Downs.' + +She went away, leaving Sylvia almost stunned by the new ideas +presented to her. Philip a soldier! Philip in a battle, risking his +life. Most strange of all, Charley and Philip once more meeting +together, not as rivals or as foes, but as saviour and saved! Add to +all this the conviction, strengthened by every word that happy, +loving wife had uttered, that Kinraid's old, passionate love for +herself had faded away and vanished utterly: its very existence +apparently blotted out of his memory. She had torn up her love for +him by the roots, but she felt as if she could never forget that it +had been. + +Hester brought back Bella to her mother. She had not liked to +interrupt the conversation with the strange lady before; and now she +found her mother in an obvious state of excitement; Sylvia quieter +than usual. + +'That was Kinraid's wife, Hester! Him that was th' specksioneer as +made such a noise about t' place at the time of Darley's death. He's +now a captain--a navy captain, according to what she says. And she'd +fain have us believe that Philip is abiding in all manner of +Scripture places; places as has been long done away with, but the +similitude whereof is in the heavens, where the elect shall one day +see them. And she says Philip is there, and a soldier, and that he +saved her husband's life, and is coming home soon. I wonder what +John and Jeremiah 'll say to his soldiering then? It'll noane be to +their taste, I'm thinking.' + +This was all very unintelligible to Hester, and she would dearly +have liked to question Sylvia; but Sylvia sate a little apart, with +Bella on her knee, her cheek resting on her child's golden curls, +and her eyes fixed and almost trance-like, as if she were seeing +things not present. + +So Hester had to be content with asking her mother as many +elucidatory questions as she could; and after all did not gain a +very clear idea of what had really been said by Mrs. Kinraid, as her +mother was more full of the apparent injustice of Philip's being +allowed the privilege of treading on holy ground--if, indeed, that +holy ground existed on this side heaven, which she was inclined to +dispute--than to confine herself to the repetition of words, or +narration of facts. + +Suddenly Sylvia roused herself to a sense of Hester's deep interest +and balked inquiries, and she went over the ground rapidly. + +'Yo'r mother says right--she is his wife. And he's away fighting; +and got too near t' French as was shooting and firing all round him; +and just then, according to her story, Philip saw him, and went +straight into t' midst o' t' shots, and fetched him out o' danger. +That's what she says, and upholds.' + +'And why should it not be?' asked Hester, her cheek flushing. + +But Sylvia only shook her head, and said, + +'I cannot tell. It may be so. But they'd little cause to be friends, +and it seems all so strange--Philip a soldier, and them meeting +theere after all!' + +Hester laid the story of Philip's bravery to her heart--she fully +believed in it. Sylvia pondered it more deeply still; the causes for +her disbelief, or, at any rate, for her wonder, were unknown to +Hester! Many a time she sank to sleep with the picture of the event +narrated by Mrs. Kinraid as present to her mind as her imagination or +experience could make it: first one figure prominent, then another. +Many a morning she wakened up, her heart beating wildly, why, she +knew not, till she shuddered at the remembrance of the scenes that +had passed in her dreams: scenes that might be acted in reality that +very day; for Philip might come back, and then? + +And where was Philip all this time, these many weeks, these heavily +passing months? + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +THE BEDESMAN OF ST SEPULCHRE + + + + + +Philip lay long ill on board the hospital ship. If his heart had +been light, he might have rallied sooner; but he was so depressed he +did not care to live. His shattered jaw-bone, his burnt and +blackened face, his many injuries of body, were torture to both his +physical frame, and his sick, weary heart. No more chance for him, +if indeed there ever had been any, of returning gay and gallant, and +thus regaining his wife's love. This had been his poor, foolish +vision in the first hour of his enlistment; and the vain dream had +recurred more than once in the feverish stage of excitement which +the new scenes into which he had been hurried as a recruit had +called forth. But that was all over now. He knew that it was the +most unlikely thing in the world to have come to pass; and yet those +were happy days when he could think of it as barely possible. Now +all he could look forward to was disfigurement, feebleness, and the +bare pittance that keeps pensioners from absolute want. + +Those around him were kind enough to him in their fashion, and +attended to his bodily requirements; but they had no notion of +listening to any revelations of unhappiness, if Philip had been the +man to make confidences of that kind. As it was, he lay very still +in his berth, seldom asking for anything, and always saying he was +better, when the ship-surgeon came round with his daily inquiries. +But he did not care to rally, and was rather sorry to find that his +case was considered so interesting in a surgical point of view, that +he was likely to receive a good deal more than the average amount of +attention. Perhaps it was owing to this that he recovered at all. +The doctors said it was the heat that made him languid, for that his +wounds and burns were all doing well at last; and by-and-by they +told him they had ordered him 'home'. His pulse sank under the +surgeon's finger at the mention of the word; but he did not say a +word. He was too indifferent to life and the world to have a will; +otherwise they might have kept their pet patient a little longer +where he was. + +Slowly passing from ship to ship as occasion served; resting here +and there in garrison hospitals, Philip at length reached Portsmouth +on the evening of a September day in 1799. The transport-ship in +which he was, was loaded with wounded and invalided soldiers and +sailors; all who could manage it in any way struggled on deck to +catch the first view of the white coasts of England. One man lifted +his arm, took off his cap, and feebly waved it aloft, crying, 'Old +England for ever!' in a faint shrill voice, and then burst into +tears and sobbed aloud. Others tried to pipe up 'Rule Britannia', +while more sate, weak and motionless, looking towards the shores +that once, not so long ago, they never thought to see again. Philip +was one of these; his place a little apart from the other men. He +was muffled up in a great military cloak that had been given him by +one of his officers; he felt the September breeze chill after his +sojourn in a warmer climate, and in his shattered state of health. + +As the ship came in sight of Portsmouth harbour, the signal flags +ran up the ropes; the beloved Union Jack floated triumphantly over +all. Return signals were made from the harbour; on board all became +bustle and preparation for landing; while on shore there was the +evident movement of expectation, and men in uniform were seen +pressing their way to the front, as if to them belonged the right of +reception. They were the men from the barrack hospital, that had +been signalled for, come down with ambulance litters and other marks +of forethought for the sick and wounded, who were returning to the +country for which they had fought and suffered. + +With a dash and a great rocking swing the vessel came up to her +appointed place, and was safely moored. Philip sat still, almost as +if he had no part in the cries of welcome, the bustling care, the +loud directions that cut the air around him, and pierced his nerves +through and through. But one in authority gave the order; and +Philip, disciplined to obedience, rose to find his knapsack and +leave the ship. Passive as he seemed to be, he had his likings for +particular comrades; there was one especially, a man as different +from Philip as well could be, to whom the latter had always attached +himself; a merry fellow from Somersetshire, who was almost always +cheerful and bright, though Philip had overheard the doctors say he +would never be the man he was before he had that shot through the +side. This marine would often sit making his fellows laugh, and +laughing himself at his own good-humoured jokes, till so terrible a +fit of coughing came on that those around him feared he would die in +the paroxysm. After one of these fits he had gasped out some words, +which led Philip to question him a little; and it turned out that in +the quiet little village of Potterne, far inland, nestled beneath +the high stretches of Salisbury Plain, he had a wife and a child, a +little girl, just the same age even to a week as Philip's own little +Bella. It was this that drew Philip towards the man; and this that +made Philip wait and go ashore along with the poor consumptive +marine. + +The litters had moved off towards the hospital, the sergeant in +charge had given his words of command to the remaining invalids, who +tried to obey them to the best of their power, falling into +something like military order for their march; but soon, very soon, +the weakest broke step, and lagged behind; and felt as if the rough +welcomes and rude expressions of sympathy from the crowd around were +almost too much for them. Philip and his companion were about +midway, when suddenly a young woman with a child in her arms forced +herself through the people, between the soldiers who kept pressing +on either side, and threw herself on the neck of Philip's friend. + +'Oh, Jem!' she sobbed, 'I've walked all the road from Potterne. I've +never stopped but for food and rest for Nelly, and now I've got you +once again, I've got you once again, bless God for it!' + +She did not seem to see the deadly change that had come over her +husband since she parted with him a ruddy young labourer; she had +got him once again, as she phrased it, and that was enough for her; +she kissed his face, his hands, his very coat, nor would she be +repulsed from walking beside him and holding his hand, while her +little girl ran along scared by the voices and the strange faces, +and clinging to her mammy's gown. + +Jem coughed, poor fellow! he coughed his churchyard cough; and +Philip bitterly envied him--envied his life, envied his approaching +death; for was he not wrapped round with that woman's tender love, +and is not such love stronger than death? Philip had felt as if his +own heart was grown numb, and as though it had changed to a cold +heavy stone. But at the contrast of this man's lot to his own, he +felt that he had yet the power of suffering left to him. + +The road they had to go was full of people, kept off in some measure +by the guard of soldiers. All sorts of kindly speeches, and many a +curious question, were addressed to the poor invalids as they walked +along. Philip's jaw, and the lower part of his face, were bandaged +up; his cap was slouched down; he held his cloak about him, and +shivered within its folds. + +They came to a standstill from some slight obstacle at the corner of +a street. Down the causeway of this street a naval officer with a +lady on his arm was walking briskly, with a step that told of health +and a light heart. He stayed his progress though, when he saw the +convoy of maimed and wounded men; he said something, of which Philip +only caught the words, 'same uniform,' 'for his sake,' to the young +lady, whose cheek blanched a little, but whose eyes kindled. Then +leaving her for an instant, he pressed forward; he was close to +Philip,--poor sad Philip absorbed in his own thoughts,--so absorbed +that he noticed nothing till he heard a voice at his ear, having the +Northumbrian burr, the Newcastle inflections which he knew of old, +and that were to him like the sick memory of a deadly illness; and +then he turned his muffled face to the speaker, though he knew well +enough who it was, and averted his eyes after one sight of the +handsome, happy man,--the man whose life he had saved once, and +would save again, at the risk of his own, but whom, for all that, he +prayed that he might never meet more on earth. + +'Here, my fine fellow, take this,' forcing a crown piece into +Philip's hand. 'I wish it were more; I'd give you a pound if I had +it with me.' + +Philip muttered something, and held out the coin to Captain Kinraid, +of course in vain; nor was there time to urge it back upon the +giver, for the obstacle to their progress was suddenly removed, the +crowd pressed upon the captain and his wife, the procession moved +on, and Philip along with it, holding the piece in his hand, and +longing to throw it far away. Indeed he was on the point of dropping +it, hoping to do so unperceived, when he bethought him of giving it +to Jem's wife, the footsore woman, limping happily along by her +husband's side. They thanked him, and spoke in his praise more than +he could well bear. It was no credit to him to give that away which +burned his fingers as long as he kept it. + +Philip knew that the injuries he had received in the explosion on +board the _Theseus_ would oblige him to leave the service. He also +believed that they would entitle him to a pension. But he had little +interest in his future life; he was without hope, and in a depressed +state of health. He remained for some little time stationary, and +then went through all the forms of dismissal on account of wounds +received in service, and was turned out loose upon the world, +uncertain where to go, indifferent as to what became of him. + +It was fine, warm October weather as he turned his back upon the +coast, and set off on his walk northwards. Green leaves were yet +upon the trees; the hedges were one flush of foliage and the wild +rough-flavoured fruits of different kinds; the fields were tawny +with the uncleared-off stubble, or emerald green with the growth of +the aftermath. The roadside cottage gardens were gay with hollyhocks +and Michaelmas daisies and marigolds, and the bright panes of the +windows glittered through a veil of China roses. + +The war was a popular one, and, as a natural consequence, soldiers +and sailors were heroes everywhere. Philip's long drooping form, his +arm hung in a sling, his face scarred and blackened, his jaw bound +up with a black silk handkerchief; these marks of active service +were reverenced by the rustic cottagers as though they had been +crowns and sceptres. Many a hard-handed labourer left his seat by +the chimney corner, and came to his door to have a look at one who +had been fighting the French, and pushed forward to have a grasp of +the stranger's hand as he gave back the empty cup into the good +wife's keeping, for the kind homely women were ever ready with milk +or homebrewed to slake the feverish traveller's thirst when he +stopped at their doors and asked for a drink of water. + +At the village public-house he had had a welcome of a more +interested character, for the landlord knew full well that his +circle of customers would be large that night, if it was only known +that he had within his doors a soldier or a sailor who had seen +service. The rustic politicians would gather round Philip, and smoke +and drink, and then question and discuss till they were drouthy +again; and in their sturdy obtuse minds they set down the extra +glass and the supernumerary pipe to the score of patriotism. + +Altogether human nature turned its sunny side out to Philip just +now; and not before he needed the warmth of brotherly kindness to +cheer his shivering soul. Day after day he drifted northwards, +making but the slow progress of a feeble man, and yet this short +daily walk tired him so much that he longed for rest--for the +morning to come when he needed not to feel that in the course of an +hour or two he must be up and away. + +He was toiling on with this longing at his heart when he saw that he +was drawing near a stately city, with a great old cathedral in the +centre keeping solemn guard. This place might be yet two or three +miles distant; he was on a rising ground looking down upon it. A +labouring man passing by, observed his pallid looks and his languid +attitude, and told him for his comfort, that if he turned down a +lane to the left a few steps farther on, he would find himself at +the Hospital of St Sepulchre, where bread and beer were given to all +comers, and where he might sit him down and rest awhile on the old +stone benches within the shadow of the gateway. Obeying these +directions, Philip came upon a building which dated from the time of +Henry the Fifth. Some knight who had fought in the French wars of +that time, and had survived his battles and come home to his old +halls, had been stirred up by his conscience, or by what was +equivalent in those days, his confessor, to build and endow a +hospital for twelve decayed soldiers, and a chapel wherein they were +to attend the daily masses he ordained to be said till the end of +all time (which eternity lasted rather more than a century, pretty +well for an eternity bespoken by a man), for his soul and the souls +of those whom he had slain. There was a large division of the +quadrangular building set apart for the priest who was to say these +masses; and to watch over the well-being of the bedesmen. In process +of years the origin and primary purpose of the hospital had been +forgotten by all excepting the local antiquaries; and the place +itself came to be regarded as a very pleasant quaint set of +almshouses; and the warden's office (he who should have said or sung +his daily masses was now called the warden, and read daily prayers +and preached a sermon on Sundays) an agreeable sinecure. + +Another legacy of old Sir Simon Bray was that of a small croft of +land, the rent or profits of which were to go towards giving to all +who asked for it a manchet of bread and a cup of good beer. This +beer was, so Sir Simon ordained, to be made after a certain receipt +which he left, in which ground ivy took the place of hops. But the +receipt, as well as the masses, was modernized according to the +progress of time. + +Philip stood under a great broad stone archway; the back-door into +the warden's house was on the right side; a kind of buttery-hatch +was placed by the porter's door on the opposite side. After some +consideration, Philip knocked at the closed shutter, and the signal +seemed to be well understood. He heard a movement within; the hatch +was drawn aside, and his bread and beer were handed to him by a +pleasant-looking old man, who proved himself not at all disinclined +for conversation. + +'You may sit down on yonder bench,' said he. 'Nay, man! sit i' the +sun, for it's a chilly place, this, and then you can look through +the grate and watch th' old fellows toddling about in th' quad.' + +Philip sat down where the warm October sun slanted upon him, and +looked through the iron railing at the peaceful sight. + +A great square of velvet lawn, intersected diagonally with broad +flag-paved walks, the same kind of walk going all round the +quadrangle; low two-storied brick houses, tinted gray and yellow by +age, and in many places almost covered with vines, Virginian +creepers, and monthly roses; before each house a little plot of +garden ground, bright with flowers, and evidently tended with the +utmost care; on the farther side the massive chapel; here and there +an old or infirm man sunning himself, or leisurely doing a bit of +gardening, or talking to one of his comrades--the place looked as if +care and want, and even sorrow, were locked out and excluded by the +ponderous gate through which Philip was gazing. + +'It's a nice enough place, bean't it?' said the porter, interpreting +Philip's looks pretty accurately. 'Leastways, for them as likes it. +I've got a bit weary on it myself; it's so far from th' world, as a +man may say; not a decent public within a mile and a half, where one +can hear a bit o' news of an evening.' + +'I think I could make myself very content here,' replied Philip. +'That's to say, if one were easy in one's mind.' + +'Ay, ay, my man. That's it everywhere. Why, I don't think that I +could enjoy myself--not even at th' White Hart, where they give you +as good a glass of ale for twopence as anywhere i' th' four +kingdoms--I couldn't, to say, flavour my ale even there, if my old +woman lay a-dying; which is a sign as it's the heart, and not the +ale, as makes the drink.' + +Just then the warden's back-door opened, and out came the warden +himself, dressed in full clerical costume. + +He was going into the neighbouring city, but he stopped to speak to +Philip, the wounded soldier; and all the more readily because his +old faded uniform told the warden's experienced eye that he had +belonged to the Marines. + +'I hope you enjoy the victual provided for you by the founder of St +Sepulchre,' said he, kindly. 'You look but poorly, my good fellow, +and as if a slice of good cold meat would help your bread down.' + +'Thank you, sir!' said Philip. 'I'm not hungry, only weary, and glad +of a draught of beer.' + +'You've been in the Marines, I see. Where have you been serving?' + +'I was at the siege of Acre, last May, sir.' + +'At Acre! Were you, indeed? Then perhaps you know my boy Harry? He +was in the----th.' + +'It was my company,' said Philip, warming up a little. Looking back +upon his soldier's life, it seemed to him to have many charms, +because it was so full of small daily interests. + +'Then, did you know my son, Lieutenant Pennington?' + +'It was he that gave me this cloak, sir, when they were sending me +back to England. I had been his servant for a short time before I +was wounded by the explosion on board the _Theseus_, and he said I +should feel the cold of the voyage. He's very kind; and I've heard +say he promises to be a first-rate officer.' + +'You shall have a slice of roast beef, whether you want it or not,' +said the warden, ringing the bell at his own back-door. 'I recognize +the cloak now--the young scamp! How soon he has made it shabby, +though,' he continued, taking up a corner where there was an immense +tear not too well botched up. 'And so you were on board the +_Theseus_ at the time of the explosion? Bring some cold meat here +for the good man--or stay! Come in with me, and then you can tell +Mrs. Pennington and the young ladies all you know about Harry,--and +the siege,--and the explosion.' + +So Philip was ushered into the warden's house and made to eat roast +beef almost against his will; and he was questioned and +cross-questioned by three eager ladies, all at the same time, as it +seemed to him. He had given all possible details on the subjects +about which they were curious; and was beginning to consider how he +could best make his retreat, when the younger Miss Pennington went +up to her father--who had all this time stood, with his hat on, +holding his coat-tails over his arms, with his back to the fire. He +bent his ear down a very little to hear some whispered suggestion of +his daughter's, nodded his head, and then went on questioning +Philip, with kindly inquisitiveness and patronage, as the rich do +question the poor. + +'And where are you going to now?' + +Philip did not answer directly. He wondered in his own mind where he +was going. At length he said, + +'Northwards, I believe. But perhaps I shall never reach there.' + +'Haven't you friends? Aren't you going to them?' + +There was again a pause; a cloud came over Philip's countenance. He +said, + +'No! I'm not going to my friends. I don't know that I've got any +left.' + +They interpreted his looks and this speech to mean that he had +either lost his friends by death, or offended them by enlisting. + +The warden went on, + +'I ask, because we've got a cottage vacant in the mead. Old Dobson, +who was with General Wolfe at the taking of Quebec, died a fortnight +ago. With such injuries as yours, I fear you'll never be able to +work again. But we require strict testimonials as to character,' he +added, with as penetrating a look as he could summon up at Philip. + +Philip looked unmoved, either by the offer of the cottage, or the +illusion to the possibility of his character not being satisfactory. +He was grateful enough in reality, but too heavy at heart to care +very much what became of him. + +The warden and his family, who were accustomed to consider a +settlement at St Sepulchre's as the sum of all good to a worn-out +soldier, were a little annoyed at Philip's cool way of receiving the +proposition. The warden went on to name the contingent advantages. + +'Besides the cottage, you would have a load of wood for firing on +All Saints', on Christmas, and on Candlemas days--a blue gown and +suit of clothes to match every Michaelmas, and a shilling a day to +keep yourself in all other things. Your dinner you would have with +the other men, in hall.' + +'The warden himself goes into hall every day, and sees that +everything is comfortable, and says grace,' added the warden's lady. + +'I know I seem stupid,' said Philip, almost humbly, 'not to be more +grateful, for it's far beyond what I iver expected or thought for +again, and it's a great temptation, for I'm just worn out with +fatigue. Several times I've thought I must lie down under a hedge, +and just die for very weariness. But once I had a wife and a child +up in the north,' he stopped. + +'And are they dead?' asked one of the young ladies in a soft +sympathizing tone. Her eyes met Philip's, full of dumb woe. He tried +to speak; he wanted to explain more fully, yet not to reveal the +truth. + +'Well!' said the warden, thinking he perceived the real state of +things, 'what I propose is this. You shall go into old Dobson's +house at once, as a kind of probationary bedesman. I'll write to +Harry, and get your character from him. Stephen Freeman I think you +said your name was? Before I can receive his reply you'll have been +able to tell how you'd like the kind of life; and at any rate you'll +have the rest you seem to require in the meantime. You see, I take +Harry's having given you that cloak as a kind of character,' added +he, smiling kindly. 'Of course you'll have to conform to rules just +like all the rest,--chapel at eight, dinner at twelve, lights out at +nine; but I'll tell you the remainder of our regulations as we walk +across quad to your new quarters.' + +And thus Philip, almost in spite of himself, became installed in a +bedesman's house at St Sepulchre. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +A FABLE AT FAULT + + + + + +Philip took possession of the two rooms which had belonged to the +dead Sergeant Dobson. They were furnished sufficiently for every +comfort by the trustees of the hospital. Some little fragments of +ornament, some small articles picked up in distant countries, a few +tattered books, remained in the rooms as legacies from their former +occupant. + +At first the repose of the life and the place was inexpressibly +grateful to Philip. He had always shrunk from encountering +strangers, and displaying his blackened and scarred countenance to +them, even where such disfigurement was most regarded as a mark of +honour. In St Sepulchre's he met none but the same set day after +day, and when he had once told the tale of how it happened and +submitted to their gaze, it was over for ever, if he so minded. The +slight employment his garden gave him--there was a kitchen-garden +behind each house, as well as the flower-plot in front--and the +daily arrangement of his parlour and chamber were, at the beginning +of his time of occupation, as much bodily labour as he could manage. +There was something stately and utterly removed from all Philip's +previous existence in the forms observed at every day's dinner, when +the twelve bedesmen met in the large quaint hall, and the warden +came in his college-cap and gown to say the long Latin grace which +wound up with something very like a prayer for the soul of Sir Simon +Bray. It took some time to get a reply to ship letters in those +times when no one could exactly say where the fleet might be found. + +And before Dr Pennington had received the excellent character of +Stephen Freeman, which his son gladly sent in answer to his father's +inquiries, Philip had become restless and uneasy in the midst of all +this peace and comfort. + +Sitting alone over his fire in the long winter evenings, the scenes +of his past life rose before him; his childhood; his aunt Robson's +care of him; his first going to Foster's shop in Monkshaven; +Haytersbank Farm, and the spelling lessons in the bright warm +kitchen there; Kinraid's appearance; the miserable night of the +Corneys' party; the farewell he had witnessed on Monkshaven sands; +the press-gang, and all the long consequences of that act of +concealment; poor Daniel Robson's trial and execution; his own +marriage; his child's birth; and then he came to that last day at +Monkshaven: and he went over and over again the torturing details, +the looks of contempt and anger, the words of loathing indignation, +till he almost brought himself, out of his extreme sympathy with +Sylvia, to believe that he was indeed the wretch she had considered +him to be. + +He forgot his own excuses for having acted as he had done; though +these excuses had at one time seemed to him to wear the garb of +reasons. After long thought and bitter memory came some wonder. What +was Sylvia doing now? Where was she? What was his child like--his +child as well as hers? And then he remembered the poor footsore wife +and the little girl she carried in her arms, that was just the age +of Bella; he wished he had noticed that child more, that a clear +vision of it might rise up when he wanted to picture Bella. + +One night he had gone round this mill-wheel circle of ideas till he +was weary to the very marrow of his bones. To shake off the +monotonous impression he rose to look for a book amongst the old +tattered volumes, hoping that he might find something that would +sufficiently lay hold of him to change the current of his thoughts. +There was an old volume of _Peregrine Pickle_; a book of sermons; +half an army list of 1774, and the _Seven Champions of Christendom_. +Philip took up this last, which he had never seen before. In it he +read how Sir Guy, Earl of Warwick, went to fight the Paynim in his +own country, and was away for seven long years; and when he came +back his own wife Phillis, the countess in her castle, did not know +the poor travel-worn hermit, who came daily to seek his dole of +bread at her hands along with many beggars and much poor. But at +last, when he lay a-dying in his cave in the rock, he sent for her +by a secret sign known but to them twain. And she came with great +speed, for she knew it was her lord who had sent for her; and they +had many sweet and holy words together before he gave up the ghost, +his head lying on her bosom. + +The old story known to most people from their childhood was all new +and fresh to Philip. He did not quite believe in the truth of it, +because the fictitious nature of the histories of some of the other +Champions of Christendom was too patent. But he could not help +thinking that this one might be true; and that Guy and Phillis might +have been as real flesh and blood, long, long ago, as he and Sylvia +had even been. The old room, the quiet moonlit quadrangle into which +the cross-barred casement looked, the quaint aspect of everything +that he had seen for weeks and weeks; all this predisposed Philip to +dwell upon the story he had just been reading as a faithful legend +of two lovers whose bones were long since dust. He thought that if +he could thus see Sylvia, himself unknown, unseen--could live at her +gates, so to speak, and gaze upon her and his child--some day too, +when he lay a-dying, he might send for her, and in soft words of +mutual forgiveness breathe his life away in her arms. Or perhaps +---and so he lost himself, and from thinking, passed on to dreaming. +All night long Guy and Phillis, Sylvia and his child, passed in and +out of his visions; it was impossible to make the fragments of his +dreams cohere; but the impression made upon him by them was not the +less strong for this. He felt as if he were called to Monkshaven, +wanted at Monkshaven, and to Monkshaven he resolved to go; although +when his reason overtook his feeling, he knew perfectly how unwise +it was to leave a home of peace and tranquillity and surrounding +friendliness, to go to a place where nothing but want and +wretchedness awaited him unless he made himself known; and if he +did, a deeper want, a more woeful wretchedness, would in all +probability be his portion. + +In the small oblong of looking-glass hung against the wall, Philip +caught the reflection of his own face, and laughed scornfully at the +sight. The thin hair lay upon his temples in the flakes that betoken +long ill-health; his eyes were the same as ever, and they had always +been considered the best feature in his face; but they were sunk in +their orbits, and looked hollow and gloomy. As for the lower part of +his face, blackened, contracted, drawn away from his teeth, the +outline entirely changed by the breakage of his jaw-bone, he was +indeed a fool if he thought himself fit to go forth to win back that +love which Sylvia had forsworn. As a hermit and a beggar, he must +return to Monkshaven, and fall perforce into the same position which +Guy of Warwick had only assumed. But still he should see his +Phillis, and might feast his sad hopeless eyes from time to time +with the sight of his child. His small pension of sixpence a day +would keep him from absolute want of necessaries. + +So that very day he went to the warden and told him he thought of +giving up his share in the bequest of Sir Simon Bray. Such a +relinquishment had never occurred before in all the warden's +experience; and he was very much inclined to be offended. + +'I must say that for a man not to be satisfied as a bedesman of St +Sepulchre's argues a very wrong state of mind, and a very ungrateful +heart.' + +'I'm sure, sir, it's not from any ingratitude, for I can hardly feel +thankful to you and to Sir Simon, and to madam, and the young +ladies, and all my comrades in the hospital, and I niver expect to +be either so comfortable or so peaceful again, but----' + +'But? What can you have to say against the place, then? Not but what +there are always plenty of applicants for every vacancy; only I +thought I was doing a kindness to a man out of Harry's company. And +you'll not see Harry either; he's got his leave in March!' + +'I'm very sorry. I should like to have seen the lieutenant again. +But I cannot rest any longer so far away from--people I once knew.' + +'Ten to one they're dead, or removed, or something or other by this +time; and it'll serve you right if they are. Mind! no one can be +chosen twice to be a bedesman of St Sepulchre's.' + +The warden turned away; and Philip, uneasy at staying, disheartened +at leaving, went to make his few preparations for setting out once +more on his journey northwards. He had to give notice of his change +of residence to the local distributor of pensions; and one or two +farewells had to be taken, with more than usual sadness at the +necessity; for Philip, under his name of Stephen Freeman, had +attached some of the older bedesmen a good deal to him, from his +unselfishness, his willingness to read to them, and to render them +many little services, and, perhaps, as much as anything, by his +habitual silence, which made him a convenient recipient of all their +garrulousness. So before the time for his departure came, he had the +opportunity of one more interview with the warden, of a more +friendly character than that in which he gave up his bedesmanship. +And so far it was well; and Philip turned his back upon St +Sepulchre's with his sore heart partly healed by his four months' +residence there. + +He was stronger, too, in body, more capable of the day-after-day +walks that were required of him. He had saved some money from his +allowance as bedesman and from his pension, and might occasionally +have taken an outside place on a coach, had it not been that he +shrank from the first look of every stranger upon his disfigured +face. Yet the gentle, wistful eyes, and the white and faultless +teeth always did away with the first impression as soon as people +became a little acquainted with his appearance. + +It was February when Philip left St Sepulchre's. It was the first +week in April when he began to recognize the familiar objects +between York and Monkshaven. And now he began to hang back, and to +question the wisdom of what he had done--just as the warden had +prophesied that he would. The last night of his two hundred mile +walk he slept at the little inn at which he had been enlisted nearly +two years before. It was by no intention of his that he rested at +that identical place. Night was drawing on; and, in making, as he +thought, a short cut, he had missed his way, and was fain to seek +shelter where he might find it. But it brought him very straight +face to face with his life at that time, and ever since. His mad, +wild hopes--half the result of intoxication, as he now knew--all +dead and gone; the career then freshly opening shut up against him +now; his youthful strength and health changed into premature +infirmity, and the home and the love that should have opened wide +its doors to console him for all, why in two years Death might have +been busy, and taken away from him his last feeble chance of the +faint happiness of seeing his beloved without being seen or known of +her. All that night and all the next day, the fear of Sylvia's +possible death overclouded his heart. It was strange that he had +hardly ever thought of this before; so strange, that now, when the +terror came, it took possession of him, and he could almost have +sworn that she must be lying dead in Monkshaven churchyard. Or was +it little Bella, that blooming, lovely babe, whom he was never to +see again? There was the tolling of mournful bells in the distant +air to his disturbed fancy, and the cry of the happy birds, the +plaintive bleating of the new-dropped lambs, were all omens of evil +import to him. + +As well as he could, he found his way back to Monkshaven, over the +wild heights and moors he had crossed on that black day of misery; +why he should have chosen that path he could not tell--it was as if +he were led, and had no free will of his own. + +The soft clear evening was drawing on, and his heart beat thick, and +then stopped, only to start again with fresh violence. There he was, +at the top of the long, steep lane that was in some parts a literal +staircase leading down from the hill-top into the High Street, +through the very entry up which he had passed when he shrank away +from his former and his then present life. There he stood, looking +down once more at the numerous irregular roofs, the many stacks of +chimneys below him, seeking out that which had once been his own +dwelling--who dwelt there now? + +The yellower gleams grew narrower; the evening shadows broader, and +Philip crept down the lane a weary, woeful man. At every gap in the +close-packed buildings he heard the merry music of a band, the +cheerful sound of excited voices. Still he descended slowly, +scarcely wondering what it could be, for it was not associated in +his mind with the one pervading thought of Sylvia. + +When he came to the angle of junction between the lane and the High +Street, he seemed plunged all at once into the very centre of the +bustle, and he drew himself up into a corner of deep shadow, from +whence he could look out upon the street. + +A circus was making its grand entry into Monkshaven, with all the +pomp of colour and of noise that it could muster. Trumpeters in +parti-coloured clothes rode first, blaring out triumphant discord. +Next came a gold-and-scarlet chariot drawn by six piebald horses, +and the windings of this team through the tortuous narrow street +were pretty enough to look upon. In the chariot sate kings and +queens, heroes and heroines, or what were meant for such; all the +little boys and girls running alongside of the chariot envied them; +but they themselves were very much tired, and shivering with cold in +their heroic pomp of classic clothing. All this Philip might have +seen; did see, in fact; but heeded not one jot. Almost opposite to +him, not ten yards apart, standing on the raised step at the +well-known shop door, was Sylvia, holding a child, a merry dancing +child, up in her arms to see the show. She too, Sylvia, was laughing +for pleasure, and for sympathy with pleasure. She held the little +Bella aloft that the child might see the gaudy procession the better +and the longer, looking at it herself with red lips apart and white +teeth glancing through; then she turned to speak to some one behind +her--Coulson, as Philip saw the moment afterwards; his answer made +her laugh once again. Philip saw it all; her bonny careless looks, +her pretty matronly form, her evident ease of mind and prosperous +outward circumstances. The years that he had spent in gloomy sorrow, +amongst wild scenes, on land or by sea, his life in frequent peril +of a bloody end, had gone by with her like sunny days; all the more +sunny because he was not there. So bitterly thought the poor +disabled marine, as, weary and despairing, he stood in the cold +shadow and looked upon the home that should have been his haven, the +wife that should have welcomed him, the child that should have been +his comfort. He had banished himself from his home; his wife had +forsworn him; his child was blossoming into intelligence unwitting +of any father. Wife, and child, and home, were all doing well +without him; what madness had tempted him thither? an hour ago, like +a fanciful fool, he had thought she might be dead--dead with sad +penitence for her cruel words at her heart--with mournful wonder at +the unaccounted-for absence of her child's father preying on her +spirits, and in some measure causing the death he had apprehended. +But to look at her there where she stood, it did not seem as if she +had had an hour's painful thought in all her blooming life. + +Ay! go in to the warm hearth, mother and child, now the gay +cavalcade has gone out of sight, and the chill of night has +succeeded to the sun's setting. Husband and father, steal out into +the cold dark street, and seek some poor cheap lodging where you may +rest your weary bones, and cheat your more weary heart into +forgetfulness in sleep. The pretty story of the Countess Phillis, +who mourned for her husband's absence so long, is a fable of old +times; or rather say Earl Guy never wedded his wife, knowing that +one she loved better than him was alive all the time she had +believed him to be dead. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +THE UNKNOWN + + + + + +A few days before that on which Philip arrived at Monkshaven, Kester +had come to pay Sylvia a visit. As the earliest friend she had, and +also as one who knew the real secrets of her life, Sylvia always +gave him the warm welcome, the cordial words, and the sweet looks in +which the old man delighted. He had a sort of delicacy of his own +which kept him from going to see her too often, even when he was +stationary at Monkshaven; but he looked forward to the times when he +allowed himself this pleasure as a child at school looks forward to +its holidays. The time of his service at Haytersbank had, on the +whole, been the happiest in all his long monotonous years of daily +labour. Sylvia's father had always treated him with the rough +kindness of fellowship; Sylvia's mother had never stinted him in his +meat or grudged him his share of the best that was going; and once, +when he was ill for a few days in the loft above the cow-house, she +had made him possets, and nursed him with the same tenderness which +he remembered his mother showing to him when he was a little child, +but which he had never experienced since then. He had known Sylvia +herself, as bud, and sweet promise of blossom; and just as she was +opening into the full-blown rose, and, if she had been happy and +prosperous, might have passed out of the narrow circle of Kester's +interests, one sorrow after another came down upon her pretty +innocent head, and Kester's period of service to Daniel Robson, her +father, was tragically cut short. All this made Sylvia the great +centre of the faithful herdsman's affection; and Bella, who reminded +him of what Sylvia was when first Kester knew her, only occupied the +second place in his heart, although to the child he was much more +demonstrative of his regard than to the mother. + +He had dressed himself in his Sunday best, and although it was only +Thursday, had forestalled his Saturday's shaving; he had provided +himself with a paper of humbugs for the child--'humbugs' being the +north-country term for certain lumps of toffy, well-flavoured with +peppermint--and now he sat in the accustomed chair, as near to the +door as might be, in Sylvia's presence, coaxing the little one, who +was not quite sure of his identity, to come to him, by opening the +paper parcel, and letting its sweet contents be seen. + +'She's like thee--and yet she favours her feyther,' said he; and the +moment he had uttered the incautious words he looked up to see how +Sylvia had taken the unpremeditated, unusual reference to her +husband. His stealthy glance did not meet her eye; but though he +thought she had coloured a little, she did not seem offended as he +had feared. It was true that Bella had her father's grave, +thoughtful, dark eyes, instead of her mother's gray ones, out of +which the childlike expression of wonder would never entirely pass +away. And as Bella slowly and half distrustfully made her way +towards the temptation offered her, she looked at Kester with just +her father's look. + +Sylvia said nothing in direct reply; Kester almost thought she could +not have heard him. But, by-and-by, she said,-- + +'Yo'll have heared how Kinraid--who's a captain now, and a grand +officer--has gone and got married.' + +'Nay!' said Kester, in genuine surprise. 'He niver has, for sure!' + +'Ay, but he has,' said Sylvia. 'And I'm sure I dunnot see why he +shouldn't.' + +'Well, well!' said Kester, not looking up at her, for he caught the +inflections in the tones of her voice. 'He were a fine stirrin' +chap, yon; an' he were allays for doin' summut; an' when he fund as +he couldn't ha' one thing as he'd set his mind on, a reckon he +thought he mun put up wi' another.' + +'It 'ud be no "putting up,"' said Sylvia. 'She were staying at Bessy +Dawson's, and she come here to see me--she's as pretty a young lady +as yo'd see on a summer's day; and a real lady, too, wi' a fortune. +She didn't speak two words wi'out bringing in her husband's +name,--"the captain", as she called him.' + +'An' she come to see thee?' said Kester, cocking his eye at Sylvia +with the old shrewd look. 'That were summut queer, weren't it?' + +Sylvia reddened a good deal. + +'He's too fause to have spoken to her on me, in t' old way,--as he +used for t' speak to me. I were nought to her but Philip's wife.' + +'An' what t' dickins had she to do wi' Philip?' asked Kester, in +intense surprise; and so absorbed in curiosity that he let the +humbugs all fall out of the paper upon the floor, and the little +Bella sat down, plump, in the midst of treasures as great as those +fabled to exist on Tom Tiddler's ground. + +Sylvia was again silent; but Kester, knowing her well, was sure that +she was struggling to speak, and bided his time without repeating +his question. + +'She said--and I think her tale were true, though I cannot get to t' +rights on it, think on it as I will--as Philip saved her husband's +life somewheere nearabouts to Jerusalem. She would have it that t' +captain--for I think I'll niver ca' him Kinraid again--was in a +great battle, and were near upon being shot by t' French, when +Philip--our Philip--come up and went right into t' fire o' t' guns, +and saved her husband's life. And she spoke as if both she and t' +captain were more beholden to Philip than words could tell. And she +come to see me, to try and get news on him. + +'It's a queer kind o' story,' said Kester, meditatively. 'A should +ha' thought as Philip were more likely to ha' gi'en him a shove into +t' thick on it, than t' help him out o' t' scrape.' + +'Nay!' said Sylvia, suddenly looking straight at Kester; 'yo're out +theere. Philip had a deal o' good in him. And I dunnot think as he'd +ha' gone and married another woman so soon, if he'd been i' +Kinraid's place.' + +'An' yo've niver heared on Philip sin' he left?' asked Kester, after +a while. + +'Niver; nought but what she told me. And she said that t' captain +made inquiry for him right and left, as soon after that happened as +might be, and could hear niver a word about him. No one had seen +him, or knowed his name.' + +'Yo' niver heared of his goin' for t' be a soldier?' persevered +Kester. + +'Niver. I've told yo' once. It were unlike Philip to think o' such a +thing.' + +'But thou mun ha' been thinkin' on him at times i' a' these years. +Bad as he'd behaved hissel', he were t' feyther o' thy little un. +What did ta think he had been agait on when he left here?' + +'I didn't know. I were noane so keen a-thinking on him at first. I +tried to put him out o' my thoughts a'together, for it made me like +mad to think how he'd stood between me and--that other. But I'd +begun to wonder and to wonder about him, and to think I should like +to hear as he were doing well. I reckon I thought he were i' London, +wheere he'd been that time afore, yo' know, and had allays spoke as +if he'd enjoyed hissel' tolerable; and then Molly Brunton told me on +t' other one's marriage; and, somehow, it gave me a shake in my +heart, and I began for to wish I hadn't said all them words i' my +passion; and then that fine young lady come wi' her story--and I've +thought a deal on it since,--and my mind has come out clear. +Philip's dead, and it were his spirit as come to t' other's help in +his time o' need. I've heard feyther say as spirits cannot rest i' +their graves for trying to undo t' wrongs they've done i' their +bodies.' + +'Them's my conclusions,' said Kester, solemnly. 'A was fain for to +hear what were yo'r judgments first; but them's the conclusions I +comed to as soon as I heard t' tale.' + +'Let alone that one thing,' said Sylvia, 'he were a kind, good man.' + +'It were a big deal on a "one thing", though,' said Kester. 'It just +spoilt yo'r life, my poor lass; an' might ha' gone near to spoilin' +Charley Kinraid's too.' + +'Men takes a deal more nor women to spoil their lives,' said Sylvia, +bitterly. + +'Not a' mak' o' men. I reckon, lass, Philip's life were pretty well +on for bein' spoilt at after he left here; and it were, mebbe, a +good thing he got rid on it so soon.' + +'I wish I'd just had a few kind words wi' him, I do,' said Sylvia, +almost on the point of crying. + +'Come, lass, it's as ill moanin' after what's past as it 'ud be for +me t' fill my eyes wi' weepin' after t' humbugs as this little wench +o' thine has grubbed up whilst we'n been talkin'. Why, there's not +one on 'em left!' + +'She's a sad spoilt little puss!' said Sylvia, holding out her arms +to the child, who ran into them, and began patting her mother's +cheeks, and pulling at the soft brown curls tucked away beneath the +matronly cap. 'Mammy spoils her, and Hester spoils her----' + +'Granny Rose doesn't spoil me,' said the child, with quick, +intelligent discrimination, interrupting her mother's list. + +'No; but Jeremiah Foster does above a bit. He'll come in fro' t' +Bank, Kester, and ask for her, a'most ivery day. And he'll bring her +things in his pocket; and she's so fause, she allays goes straight +to peep in, and then he shifts t' apple or t' toy into another. Eh! +but she's a little fause one,'--half devouring the child with her +kisses. 'And he comes and takes her a walk oftentimes, and he goes +as slow as if he were quite an old man, to keep pace wi' Bella's +steps. I often run upstairs and watch 'em out o' t' window; he +doesn't care to have me with 'em, he's so fain t' have t' child all +to hisself.' + +'She's a bonny un, for sure,' said Kester; 'but not so pretty as +thou was, Sylvie. A've niver tell'd thee what a come for tho', and +it's about time for me t' be goin'. A'm off to t' Cheviots to-morrow +morn t' fetch home some sheep as Jonas Blundell has purchased. It'll +be a job o' better nor two months a reckon.' + +'It'll be a nice time o' year,' said Sylvia, a little surprised at +Kester's evident discouragement at the prospect of the journey or +absence; he had often been away from Monkshaven for a longer time +without seeming to care so much about it. + +'Well, yo' see it's a bit hard upon me for t' leave my sister--she +as is t' widow-woman, wheere a put up when a'm at home. Things is +main an' dear; four-pound loaves is at sixteenpence; an' there's a +deal o' talk on a famine i' t' land; an' whaten a paid for my +victual an' t' bed i' t' lean-to helped t' oud woman a bit,--an' +she's sadly down i' t' mouth, for she cannot hear on a lodger for t' +tak' my place, for a' she's moved o'er to t' other side o' t' bridge +for t' be nearer t' new buildings, an' t' grand new walk they're +makin' round t' cliffs, thinkin' she'd be likelier t' pick up a +labourer as would be glad on a bed near his work. A'd ha' liked to +ha' set her agait wi' a 'sponsible lodger afore a'd ha' left, for +she's just so soft-hearted, any scamp may put upon her if he nobbut +gets houd on her blind side.' + +'Can I help her?' said Sylvia, in her eager way. 'I should be so +glad; and I've a deal of money by me---' + +'Nay, my lass,' said Kester, 'thou munnot go off so fast; it were +just what I were feared on i' tellin' thee. I've left her a bit o' +money, and I'll mak' shift to send her more; it's just a kind word, +t' keep up her heart when I'm gone, as I want. If thou'd step in and +see her fra' time to time, and cheer her up a bit wi' talkin' to her +on me, I'd tak' it very kind, and I'd go off wi' a lighter heart.' + +'Then I'm sure I'll do it for yo', Kester. I niver justly feel like +mysel' when yo're away, for I'm lonesome enough at times. She and I +will talk a' t' better about yo' for both on us grieving after yo'.' + +So Kester took his leave, his mind set at ease by Sylvia's promise +to go and see his sister pretty often during his absence in the +North. + +But Sylvia's habits were changed since she, as a girl at +Haytersbank, liked to spend half her time in the open air, running +out perpetually without anything on to scatter crumbs to the +poultry, or to take a piece of bread to the old cart-horse, to go up +to the garden for a handful of herbs, or to clamber to the highest +point around to blow the horn which summoned her father and Kester +home to dinner. Living in a town where it was necessary to put on +hat and cloak before going out into the street, and then to walk in +a steady and decorous fashion, she had only cared to escape down to +the freedom of the sea-shore until Philip went away; and after that +time she had learnt so to fear observation as a deserted wife, that +nothing but Bella's health would have been a sufficient motive to +take her out of doors. And, as she had told Kester, the necessity of +giving the little girl a daily walk was very much lightened by the +great love and affection which Jeremiah Foster now bore to the +child. Ever since the day when the baby had come to his knee, +allured by the temptation of his watch, he had apparently considered +her as in some sort belonging to him; and now he had almost come to +think that he had a right to claim her as his companion in his walk +back from the Bank to his early dinner, where a high chair was +always placed ready for the chance of her coming to share his meal. +On these occasions he generally brought her back to the shop-door +when he returned to his afternoon's work at the Bank. Sometimes, +however, he would leave word that she was to be sent for from his +house in the New Town, as his business at the Bank for that day was +ended. Then Sylvia was compelled to put on her things, and fetch +back her darling; and excepting for this errand she seldom went out +at all on week-days. + +About a fortnight after Kester's farewell call, this need for her +visit to Jeremiah Foster's arose; and it seemed to Sylvia that there +could not be a better opportunity of fulfilling her promise and +going to see the widow Dobson, whose cottage was on the other side +of the river, low down on the cliff-side, just at the bend and rush +of the full stream into the open sea. She set off pretty early in +order to go there first. She found the widow with her house-place +tidied up after the midday meal, and busy knitting at the open +door--not looking at her rapid-clicking needles, but gazing at the +rush and recession of the waves before her; yet not seeing them +either,--rather seeing days long past. + +She started into active civility as soon as she recognized Sylvia, +who was to her as a great lady, never having known Sylvia Robson in +her wild childish days. Widow Dobson was always a little scandalized +at her brother Christopher's familiarity with Mrs. Hepburn. + +She dusted a chair which needed no dusting, and placed it for +Sylvia, sitting down herself on a three-legged stool to mark her +sense of the difference in their conditions, for there was another +chair or two in the humble dwelling; and then the two fell into +talk--first about Kester, whom his sister would persist in calling +Christopher, as if his dignity as her elder brother was compromised +by any familiar abbreviation; and by-and-by she opened her heart a +little more. + +'A could wish as a'd learned write-of-hand,' said she; 'for a've +that for to tell Christopher as might set his mind at ease. But yo' +see, if a wrote him a letter he couldn't read it; so a just comfort +mysel' wi' thinkin' nobody need learn writin' unless they'n got +friends as can read. But a reckon he'd ha' been glad to hear as a've +getten a lodger.' Here she nodded her head in the direction of the +door opening out of the house-place into the 'lean-to', which Sylvia +had observed on drawing near the cottage, and the recollection of +the mention of which by Kester had enabled her to identify widow +Dobson's dwelling. 'He's a-bed yonder,' the latter continued, +dropping her voice. 'He's a queer-lookin' tyke, but a don't think as +he's a bad un.' + +'When did he come?' said Sylvia, remembering Kester's account of his +sister's character, and feeling as though it behoved her, as +Kester's confidante on this head, to give cautious and prudent +advice. + +'Eh! a matter of a s'ennight ago. A'm noane good at mindin' time; +he's paid me his rent twice, but then he were keen to pay aforehand. +He'd comed in one night, an' sate him down afore he could speak, he +were so done up; he'd been on tramp this many a day, a reckon. "Can +yo' give me a bed?" says he, panting like, after a bit. "A chap as a +met near here says as yo've a lodging for t' let." "Ay," says a, "a +ha' that; but yo' mun pay me a shilling a week for 't." Then my mind +misgive me, for a thought he hadn't a shilling i' t' world, an' yet +if he hadn't, a should just ha' gi'en him t' bed a' t' same: a'm not +one as can turn a dog out if he comes t' me wearied o' his life. So +he outs wi' a shillin', an' lays it down on t' table, 'bout a word. +"A'll not trouble yo' long," says he. "A'm one as is best out o' t' +world," he says. Then a thought as a'd been a bit hard upon him. An' +says I, "A'm a widow-woman, and one as has getten but few friends:" +for yo' see a were low about our Christopher's goin' away north; "so +a'm forced-like to speak hard to folk; but a've made mysel' some +stirabout for my supper; and if yo'd like t' share an' share about +wi' me, it's but puttin' a sup more watter to 't, and God's blessing +'ll be on 't, just as same as if 't were meal." So he ups wi' his +hand afore his e'en, and says not a word. At last he says, "Missus," +says he, "can God's blessing be shared by a sinner--one o' t' +devil's children?" says he. "For the Scriptur' says he's t' father +o' lies." So a were puzzled-like; an' at length a says, "Thou mun +ask t' parson that; a'm but a poor faint-hearted widow-woman; but +a've allays had God's blessing somehow, now a bethink me, an' a'll +share it wi' thee as far as my will goes." So he raxes his hand +across t' table, an' mutters summat, as he grips mine. A thought it +were Scriptur' as he said, but a'd needed a' my strength just then +for t' lift t' pot off t' fire--it were t' first vittle a'd tasted +sin' morn, for t' famine comes down like stones on t' head o' us +poor folk: an' a' a said were just "Coom along, chap, an' fa' to; +an' God's blessing be on him as eats most." An' sin' that day him +and me's been as thick as thieves, only he's niver telled me nought +of who he is, or wheere he comes fra'. But a think he's one o' them +poor colliers, as has getten brunt i' t' coal-pits; for, t' be sure, +his face is a' black wi' fire-marks; an' o' late days he's ta'en t' +his bed, an' just lies there sighing,--for one can hear him plain as +dayleet thro' t' bit partition wa'.' + +As a proof of this, a sigh--almost a groan--startled the two women +at this very moment. + +'Poor fellow!' said Sylvia, in a soft whisper. 'There's more sore +hearts i' t' world than one reckons for!' But after a while, she +bethought her again of Kester's account of his sister's 'softness'; +and she thought that it behoved her to give some good advice. So she +added, in a sterner, harder tone--'Still, yo' say yo' know nought +about him; and tramps is tramps a' t' world over; and yo're a widow, +and it behoves yo' to be careful. I think I'd just send him off as +soon as he's a bit rested. Yo' say he's plenty o' money?' + +'Nay! A never said that. A know nought about it. He pays me +aforehand; an' he pays me down for whativer a've getten for him; but +that's but little; he's noane up t' his vittle, though a've made him +some broth as good as a could make 'em.' + +'I wouldn't send him away till he was well again, if I were yo; but +I think yo'd be better rid on him,' said Sylvia. 'It would be +different if yo'r brother were in Monkshaven.' As she spoke she rose +to go. + +Widow Dobson held her hand in hers for a minute, then the humble +woman said,-- + +'Yo'll noane be vexed wi' me, missus, if a cannot find i' my heart +t' turn him out till he wants to go hissel'? For a wouldn't like to +vex yo', for Christopher's sake; but a know what it is for t' feel +for friendless folk, an' choose what may come on it, I cannot send +him away.' + +'No!' said Sylvia. 'Why should I be vexed? it's no business o' mine. +Only I should send him away if I was yo'. He might go lodge wheere +there was men-folk, who know t' ways o' tramps, and are up to them.' + +Into the sunshine went Sylvia. In the cold shadow the miserable +tramp lay sighing. She did not know that she had been so near to him +towards whom her heart was softening, day by day. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +FIRST WORDS + + + + + +It was the spring of 1800. Old people yet can tell of the hard +famine of that year. The harvest of the autumn before had failed; +the war and the corn laws had brought the price of corn up to a +famine rate; and much of what came into the market was unsound, and +consequently unfit for food, yet hungry creatures bought it eagerly, +and tried to cheat disease by mixing the damp, sweet, clammy flour +with rice or potato meal. Rich families denied themselves pastry and +all unnecessary and luxurious uses of wheat in any shape; the duty +on hair-powder was increased; and all these palliatives were but as +drops in the ocean of the great want of the people. + +Philip, in spite of himself, recovered and grew stronger; and as he +grew stronger hunger took the place of loathing dislike to food. But +his money was all spent; and what was his poor pension of sixpence a +day in that terrible year of famine? Many a summer's night he walked +for hours and hours round the house which once was his, which might +be his now, with all its homely, blessed comforts, could he but go +and assert his right to it. But to go with authority, and in his +poor, maimed guise assert that right, he had need be other than +Philip Hepburn. So he stood in the old shelter of the steep, crooked +lane opening on to the hill out of the market-place, and watched the +soft fading of the summer's eve into night; the closing of the once +familiar shop; the exit of good, comfortable William Coulson, going +to his own home, his own wife, his comfortable, plentiful supper. +Then Philip--there were no police in those days, and scarcely an old +watchman in that primitive little town--would go round on the shady +sides of streets, and, quickly glancing about him, cross the bridge, +looking on the quiet, rippling stream, the gray shimmer foretelling +the coming dawn over the sea, the black masts and rigging of the +still vessels against the sky; he could see with his wistful, eager +eyes the shape of the windows--the window of the very room in which +his wife and child slept, unheeding of him, the hungry, +broken-hearted outcast. He would go back to his lodging, and softly +lift the latch of the door; still more softly, but never without an +unspoken, grateful prayer, pass by the poor sleeping woman who had +given him a shelter and her share of God's blessing--she who, like +him, knew not the feeling of satisfied hunger; and then he laid him +down on the narrow pallet in the lean-to, and again gave Sylvia +happy lessons in the kitchen at Haytersbank, and the dead were +alive; and Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, had never come to +trouble the hopeful, gentle peace. + +For widow Dobson had never taken Sylvia's advice. The tramp known to +her by the name of Freeman--that in which he received his +pension--lodged with her still, and paid his meagre shilling in +advance, weekly. A shilling was meagre in those hard days of +scarcity. A hungry man might easily eat the produce of a shilling in +a day. + +Widow Dobson pleaded this to Sylvia as an excuse for keeping her +lodger on; to a more calculating head it might have seemed a reason +for sending him away. + +'Yo' see, missus,' said she, apologetically, to Sylvia, one evening, +as the latter called upon the poor widow before going to fetch +little Bella (it was now too hot for the child to cross the bridge +in the full heat of the summer sun, and Jeremiah would take her up +to her supper instead)--'Yo' see, missus, there's not a many as 'ud +take him in for a shillin' when it goes so little way; or if they +did, they'd take it out on him some other way, an' he's not getten +much else, a reckon. He ca's me granny, but a'm vast mista'en if +he's ten year younger nor me; but he's getten a fine appetite of his +own, choose how young he may be; an' a can see as he could eat a +deal more nor he's getten money to buy, an' it's few as can mak' +victual go farther nor me. Eh, missus, but yo' may trust me a'll +send him off when times is better; but just now it would be sendin' +him to his death; for a ha' plenty and to spare, thanks be to God +an' yo'r bonny face.' + +So Sylvia had to be content with the knowledge that the money she +gladly gave to Kester's sister went partly to feed the lodger who +was neither labourer nor neighbour, but only just a tramp, who, she +feared, was preying on the good old woman. Still the cruel famine +cut sharp enough to penetrate all hearts; and Sylvia, an hour after +the conversation recorded above, was much touched, on her return +from Jeremiah Foster's with the little merry, chattering Bella, at +seeing the feeble steps of one, whom she knew by description must be +widow Dobson's lodger, turn up from the newly-cut road which was to +lead to the terrace walk around the North Cliff, a road which led to +no dwelling but widow Dobson's. Tramp, and vagrant, he might he in +the eyes of the law; but, whatever his character, Sylvia could see +him before her in the soft dusk, creeping along, over the bridge, +often stopping to rest and hold by some support, and then going on +again towards the town, to which she and happy little Bella were +wending. + +A thought came over her: she had always fancied that this unknown +man was some fierce vagabond, and had dreaded lest in the lonely bit +of road between widow Dobson's cottage and the peopled highway, he +should fall upon her and rob her if he learnt that she had money +with her; and several times she had gone away without leaving the +little gift she had intended, because she imagined that she had seen +the door of the small chamber in the 'lean-to' open softly while she +was there, as if the occupant (whom widow Dobson spoke of as never +leaving the house before dusk, excepting once a week) were listening +for the chink of the coin in her little leathern purse. Now that she +saw him walking before her with heavy languid steps, this fear gave +place to pity; she remembered her mother's gentle superstition which +had prevented her from ever sending the hungry empty away, for fear +lest she herself should come to need bread. + +'Lassie,' said she to little Bella, who held a cake which Jeremiah's +housekeeper had given her tight in her hand, 'yon poor man theere is +hungry; will Bella give him her cake, and mother will make her +another to-morrow twice as big?' + +For this consideration, and with the feeling of satisfaction which a +good supper not an hour ago gives even to the hungry stomach of a +child of three years old, Bella, after some thought, graciously +assented to the sacrifice. + +Sylvia stopped, the cake in her hand, and turned her back to the +town, and to the slow wayfarer in front. Under the cover of her +shawl she slipped a half-crown deep into the crumb of the cake, and +then restoring it to little Bella, she gave her her directions. + +'Mammy will carry Bella; and when Bella goes past the poor man, she +shall give him the cake over mammy's shoulder. Poor man is so +hungry; and Bella and mammy have plenty to eat, and to spare.' + +The child's heart was touched by the idea of hunger, and her little +arm was outstretched ready for the moment her mother's hurried steps +took her brushing past the startled, trembling Philip. + +'Poor man, eat this; Bella not hungry.' + +They were the first words he had ever heard his child utter. The +echoes of them rang in his ears as he stood endeavouring to hide his +disfigured face by looking over the parapet of the bridge down upon +the stream running away towards the ocean, into which his hot tears +slowly fell, unheeded by the weeper. Then he changed the intention +with which he had set out upon his nightly walk, and turned back to +his lodging. + +Of course the case was different with Sylvia; she would have +forgotten the whole affair very speedily, if it had not been for +little Bella's frequent recurrence to the story of the hungry man, +which had touched her small sympathies with the sense of an +intelligible misfortune. She liked to act the dropping of the bun +into the poor man's hand as she went past him, and would take up any +article near her in order to illustrate the gesture she had used. +One day she got hold of Hester's watch for this purpose, as being of +the same round shape as the cake; and though Hester, for whose +benefit the child was repeating the story in her broken language for +the third or fourth time, tried to catch the watch as it was +intended that she should (she being the representative of the +'hungry man' for the time being), it went to the ground with a smash +that frightened the little girl, and she began to cry at the +mischief she had done. + +'Don't cry, Bella,' said Hester. 'Niver play with watches again. I +didn't see thee at mine, or I'd ha' stopped thee in time. But I'll +take it to old Darley's on th' quay-side, and maybe he'll soon set +it to rights again. Only Bella must niver play with watches again.' + +'Niver no more!' promised the little sobbing child. And that evening +Hester took her watch down to old Darley's. + +This William Darley was the brother of the gardener at the rectory; +the uncle to the sailor who had been shot by the press-gang years +before, and to his bed-ridden sister. He was a clever mechanician, +and his skill as a repairer of watches and chronometers was great +among the sailors, with whom he did a very irregular sort of +traffic, conducted, often without much use of money, but rather on +the principle of barter, they bringing him foreign coins and odd +curiosities picked up on their travels in exchange for his services +to their nautical instruments or their watches. If he had ever had +capital to extend his business, he might have been a rich man; but +it is to be doubted whether he would have been as happy as he was +now in his queer little habitation of two rooms, the front one being +both shop and workshop, the other serving the double purpose of +bedroom and museum. + +The skill of this odd-tempered, shabby old man was sometimes sought +by the jeweller who kept the more ostentatious shop in the High +Street; but before Darley would undertake any 'tickle' piece of +delicate workmanship for the other, he sneered at his ignorance, and +taunted and abused him well. Yet he had soft places in his heart, +and Hester Rose had found her way to one by her patient, enduring +kindness to his bed-ridden niece. He never snarled at her as he did +at too many; and on the few occasions when she had asked him to do +anything for her, he had seemed as if she were conferring the favour +on him, not he on her, and only made the smallest possible charge. + +She found him now sitting where he could catch the most light for +his work, spectacles on nose, and microscope in hand. + +He took her watch, and examined it carefully without a word in reply +to her. Then he began to open it and take it to pieces, in order to +ascertain the nature of the mischief. + +Suddenly he heard her catch her breath with a checked sound of +surprise. He looked at her from above his spectacles; she was +holding a watch in her hand which she had just taken up off the +counter. + +'What's amiss wi' thee now?' said Darley. 'Hast ta niver seen a +watch o' that mak' afore? or is it them letters on t' back, as is so +wonderful?' + +Yes, it was those letters--that interlaced, old-fashioned cipher. +That Z. H. that she knew of old stood for Zachary Hepburn, Philip's +father. She knew how Philip valued this watch. She remembered having +seen it in his hands the very day before his disappearance, when he +was looking at the time in his annoyance at Sylvia's detention in +her walk with baby. Hester had no doubt that he had taken this watch +as a matter of course away with him. She felt sure that he would not +part with this relic of his dead father on any slight necessity. +Where, then, was Philip?--by what chance of life or death had this, +his valued property, found its way once more to Monkshaven? + +'Where did yo' get this?' she asked, in as quiet a manner as she +could assume, sick with eagerness as she was. + +To no one else would Darley have answered such a question. He made a +mystery of most of his dealings; not that he had anything to +conceal, but simply because he delighted in concealment. He took it +out of her hands, looked at the number marked inside, and the +maker's name--'Natteau Gent, York'--and then replied,-- + +'A man brought it me yesterday, at nightfall, for t' sell it. It's a +matter o' forty years old. Natteau Gent has been dead and in his +grave pretty nigh as long as that. But he did his work well when he +were alive; and so I gave him as brought it for t' sell about as +much as it were worth, i' good coin. A tried him first i' t' +bartering line, but he wouldn't bite; like enough he wanted +food,--many a one does now-a-days.' + +'Who was he?' gasped Hester. + +'Bless t' woman! how should I know?' + +'What was he like?--how old?--tell me.' + +'My lass, a've summut else to do wi' my eyes than go peering into +men's faces i' t' dusk light.' + +'But yo' must have had light for t' judge about the watch.' + +'Eh! how sharp we are! A'd a candle close to my nose. But a didn't +tak' it up for to gaze int' his face. That wouldn't be manners, to +my thinking.' + +Hester was silent. Then Darley's heart relented. + +'If yo're so set upo' knowing who t' fellow was, a could, mebbe, put +yo' on his tracks.' + +'How?' said Hester, eagerly. 'I do want to know. I want to know very +much, and for a good reason.' + +'Well, then, a'll tell yo'. He's a queer tyke, that one is. A'll be +bound he were sore pressed for t' brass; yet he out's wi' a good +half-crown, all wrapped up i' paper, and he axes me t' make a hole +in it. Says I, "It's marring good king's coin, at after a've made a +hole in't, it'll never pass current again." So he mumbles, and +mumbles, but for a' that it must needs be done; and he's left it +here, and is t' call for 't to-morrow at e'en.' + +'Oh, William Darley!' said Hester, clasping her hands tight +together. 'Find out who he is, where he is--anything--everything +about him--and I will so bless yo'.' + +Darley looked at her sharply, but with some signs of sympathy on his +grave face. 'My woman,' he said 'a could ha' wished as you'd niver +seen t' watch. It's poor, thankless work thinking too much on one o' +God's creatures. But a'll do thy bidding,' he continued, in a +lighter and different tone. 'A'm a 'cute old badger when need be. +Come for thy watch in a couple o' days, and a'll tell yo' all as +a've learnt.' + +So Hester went away, her heart beating with the promise of knowing +something about Philip,--how much, how little, in these first +moments, she dared not say even to herself. Some sailor newly landed +from distant seas might have become possessed of Philip's watch in +far-off latitudes; in which case, Philip would be dead. That might +be. She tried to think that this was the most probable way of +accounting for the watch. She could be certain as to the positive +identity of the watch--being in William Darley's possession. Again, +it might be that Philip himself was near at hand--was here in this +very place--starving, as too many were, for insufficiency of means +to buy the high-priced food. And then her heart burnt within her as +she thought of the succulent, comfortable meals which Sylvia +provided every day--nay, three times a day--for the household in the +market-place, at the head of which Philip ought to have been; but +his place knew him not. For Sylvia had inherited her mother's talent +for housekeeping, and on her, in Alice's decrepitude and Hester's +other occupations in the shop, devolved the cares of due provision +for the somewhat heterogeneous family. + +And Sylvia! Hester groaned in heart over the remembrance of Sylvia's +words, 'I can niver forgive him the wrong he did to me,' that night +when Hester had come, and clung to her, making the sad, shameful +confession of her unreturned love. + +What could ever bring these two together again? Could Hester +herself--ignorant of the strange mystery of Sylvia's heart, as those +who are guided solely by obedience to principle must ever be of the +clue to the actions of those who are led by the passionate ebb and +flow of impulse? Could Hester herself? Oh! how should she speak, how +should she act, if Philip were near--if Philip were sad and in +miserable estate? Her own misery at this contemplation of the case +was too great to bear; and she sought her usual refuge in the +thought of some text, some promise of Scripture, which should +strengthen her faith. + +'With God all things are possible,' said she, repeating the words as +though to lull her anxiety to rest. + +Yes; with God all things are possible. But ofttimes He does his work +with awful instruments. There is a peacemaker whose name is Death. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +SAVED AND LOST + + + + + +Hester went out on the evening of the day after that on which the +unknown owner of the half-crown had appointed to call for it again +at William Darley's. She had schooled herself to believe that time +and patience would serve her best. Her plan was to obtain all the +knowledge about Philip that she could in the first instance; and +then, if circumstances allowed it, as in all probability they would, +to let drop by drop of healing, peacemaking words and thoughts fall +on Sylvia's obdurate, unforgiving heart. So Hester put on her +things, and went out down towards the old quay-side on that evening +after the shop was closed. + +Poor little Sylvia! She was unforgiving, but not obdurate to the full +extent of what Hester believed. Many a time since Philip went away +had she unconsciously missed his protecting love; when folks spoke +shortly to her, when Alice scolded her as one of the non-elect, when +Hester's gentle gravity had something of severity in it; when her +own heart failed her as to whether her mother would have judged that +she had done well, could that mother have known all, as possibly she +did by this time. Philip had never spoken otherwise than tenderly to +her during the eighteen months of their married life, except on the +two occasions before recorded: once when she referred to her dream +of Kinraid's possible return, and once again on the evening of the +day before her discovery of his concealment of the secret of +Kinraid's involuntary disappearance. + +After she had learnt that Kinraid was married, her heart had still +more strongly turned to Philip; she thought that he had judged +rightly in what he had given as the excuse for his double dealing; +she was even more indignant at Kinraid's fickleness than she had any +reason to be; and she began to learn the value of such enduring love +as Philip's had been--lasting ever since the days when she first +began to fancy what a man's love for a woman should be, when she had +first shrunk from the tone of tenderness he put into his especial +term for her, a girl of twelve--'Little lassie,' as he was wont to +call her. + +But across all this relenting came the shadow of her vow--like the +chill of a great cloud passing over a sunny plain. How should she +decide? what would be her duty, if he came again, and once more +called her 'wife'? She shrank from such a possibility with all the +weakness and superstition of her nature; and this it was which made +her strengthen herself with the re-utterance of unforgiving words; +and shun all recurrence to the subject on the rare occasion when +Hester had tried to bring it back, with a hope of softening the +heart which to her appeared altogether hardened on this one point. + +Now, on this bright summer evening, while Hester had gone down to +the quay-side, Sylvia stood with her out-of-door things on in the +parlour, rather impatiently watching the sky, full of hurrying +clouds, and flushing with the warm tints of the approaching sunset. +She could not leave Alice: the old woman had grown so infirm that +she was never left by her daughter and Sylvia at the same time; yet +Sylvia had to fetch her little girl from the New Town, where she had +been to her supper at Jeremiah Foster's. Hester had said that she +should not be away more than a quarter of an hour; and Hester was +generally so punctual that any failure of hers, in this respect, +appeared almost in the light of an injury on those who had learnt to +rely upon her. Sylvia wanted to go and see widow Dobson, and learn +when Kester might be expected home. His two months were long past; +and Sylvia had heard through the Fosters of some suitable and +profitable employment for him, of which she thought he would be glad +to know as soon as possible. It was now some time since she had been +able to get so far as across the bridge; and, for aught she knew, +Kester might already be come back from his expedition to the +Cheviots. Kester was come back. Scarce five minutes had elapsed +after these thoughts had passed through her mind before his hasty +hand lifted the latch of the kitchen-door, his hurried steps brought +him face to face with her. The smile of greeting was arrested on her +lips by one look at him: his eyes staring wide, the expression on +his face wild, and yet pitiful. + +'That's reet,' said he, seeing that her things were already on. +'Thou're wanted sore. Come along.' + +'Oh! dear God! my child!' cried Sylvia, clutching at the chair near +her; but recovering her eddying senses with the strong fact before +her that whatever the terror was, she was needed to combat it. + +'Ay; thy child!' said Kester, taking her almost roughly by the arm, +and drawing her away with him out through the open doors on to the +quay-side. + +'Tell me!' said Sylvia, faintly, 'is she dead?' + +'She's safe now,' said Kester. 'It's not her--it's him as saved her +as needs yo', if iver husband needed a wife.' + +'He?--who? O Philip! Philip! is it yo' at last?' + +Unheeding what spectators might see her movements, she threw up her +arms and staggered against the parapet of the bridge they were then +crossing. + +'He!--Philip!--saved Bella? Bella, our little Bella, as got her +dinner by my side, and went out wi' Jeremiah, as well as could be. I +cannot take it in; tell me, Kester.' She kept trembling so much in +voice and in body, that he saw she could not stir without danger of +falling until she was calmed; as it was, her eyes became filmy from +time to time, and she drew her breath in great heavy pants, leaning +all the while against the wall of the bridge. + +'It were no illness,' Kester began. 'T' little un had gone for a +walk wi' Jeremiah Foster, an' he were drawn for to go round t' edge +o' t' cliff, wheere they's makin' t' new walk reet o'er t' sea. But +it's but a bit on a pathway now; an' t' one was too oud, an' t' +other too young for t' see t' water comin' along wi' great leaps; +it's allays for comin' high up again' t' cliff, an' this spring-tide +it's comin' in i' terrible big waves. Some one said as they passed +t' man a-sittin' on a bit on a rock up above--a dunnot know, a only +know as a heared a great fearful screech i' t' air. A were just +a-restin' me at after a'd comed in, not half an hour i' t' place. +A've walked better nor a dozen mile to-day; an' a ran out, an' a +looked, an' just on t' walk, at t' turn, was t' swish of a wave +runnin' back as quick as t' mischief int' t' sea, an' oud Jeremiah +standin' like one crazy, lookin' o'er int' t' watter; an' like a +stroke o' leeghtnin' comes a man, an' int' t' very midst o' t' great +waves like a shot; an' then a knowed summut were in t' watter as +were nearer death than life; an' a seemed to misdoubt me that it +were our Bella; an' a shouts an' a cries for help, an' a goes mysel' +to t' very edge o' t' cliff, an' a bids oud Jeremiah, as was like +one beside hissel', houd tight on me, for he were good for nought +else; an' a bides my time, an' when a sees two arms houdin' out a +little drippin' streamin' child, a clutches her by her waist-band, +an' hauls her to land. She's noane t' worse for her bath, a'll be +bound.' + +'I mun go--let me,' said Sylvia, struggling with his detaining hand, +which he had laid upon her in the fear that she would slip down to +the ground in a faint, so ashen-gray was her face. 'Let me,--Bella, +I mun go see her.' + +He let go, and she stood still, suddenly feeling herself too weak to +stir. + +'Now, if you'll try a bit to be quiet, a'll lead yo' along; but yo' +mun be a steady and brave lass.' + +'I'll be aught if yo' only let me see Bella,' said Sylvia, humbly. + +'An' yo' niver ax at after him as saved her,' said Kester, +reproachfully. + +'I know it's Philip,' she whispered, 'and yo' said he wanted me; so +I know he's safe; and, Kester, I think I'm 'feared on him, and I'd +like to gather courage afore seeing him, and a look at Bella would +give me courage. It were a terrible time when I saw him last, and I +did say--' + +'Niver think on what thou did say; think on what thou will say to +him now, for he lies a-dyin'! He were dashed again t' cliff an' +bruised sore in his innards afore t' men as come wi' a boat could +pick him up.' + +She did not speak; she did not even tremble now; she set her teeth +together, and, holding tight by Kester, she urged him on; but when +they came to the end of the bridge, she seemed uncertain which way +to turn. + +'This way,' said Kester. 'He's been lodgin' wi' Sally this nine +week, an' niver a one about t' place as knowed him; he's been i' t' +wars an' getten his face brunt.' + +'And he was short o' food,' moaned Sylvia, 'and we had plenty, and I +tried to make yo'r sister turn him out, and send him away. Oh! will +God iver forgive me?' + +Muttering to herself, breaking her mutterings with sharp cries of +pain, Sylvia, with Kester's help, reached widow Dobson's house. It +was no longer a quiet, lonely dwelling. Several sailors stood about +the door, awaiting, in silent anxiety, for the verdict of the +doctor, who was even now examining Philip's injuries. Two or three +women stood talking eagerly, in low voices, in the doorway. + +But when Sylvia drew near the men fell back; and the women moved +aside as though to allow her to pass, all looking upon her with a +certain amount of sympathy, but perhaps with rather more of +antagonistic wonder as to how she was taking it--she who had been +living in ease and comfort while her husband's shelter was little +better than a hovel, her husband's daily life a struggle with +starvation; for so much of the lodger at widow Dobson's was +popularly known; and any distrust of him as a stranger and a tramp +was quite forgotten now. + +Sylvia felt the hardness of their looks, the hardness of their +silence; but it was as nothing to her. If such things could have +touched her at this moment, she would not have stood still right in +the midst of their averted hearts, and murmured something to Kester. +He could not hear the words uttered by that hoarse choked voice, +until he had stooped down and brought his ear to the level of her +mouth. + +'We'd better wait for t' doctors to come out,' she said again. She +stood by the door, shivering all over, almost facing the people in +the road, but with her face turned a little to the right, so that +they thought she was looking at the pathway on the cliff-side, a +hundred yards or so distant, below which the hungry waves still +lashed themselves into high ascending spray; while nearer to the +cottage, where their force was broken by the bar at the entrance to +the river, they came softly lapping up the shelving shore. + +Sylvia saw nothing of all this, though it was straight before her +eyes. She only saw a blurred mist; she heard no sound of waters, +though it filled the ears of those around. Instead she heard low +whispers pronouncing Philip's earthly doom. + +For the doctors were both agreed; his internal injury was of a +mortal kind, although, as the spine was severely injured above the +seat of the fatal bruise, he had no pain in the lower half of his +body. + +They had spoken in so low a tone that John Foster, standing only a +foot or so away, had not been able to hear their words. But Sylvia +heard each syllable there where she stood outside, shivering all +over in the sultry summer evening. She turned round to Kester. + +'I mun go to him, Kester; thou'll see that noane come in to us, when +t' doctors come out.' + +She spoke in a soft, calm voice; and he, not knowing what she had +heard, made some easy conditional promise. Then those opposite to +the cottage door fell back, for they could see the grave doctors +coming out, and John Foster, graver, sadder still, following them. +Without a word to them,--without a word even of inquiry--which many +outside thought and spoke of as strange--white-faced, dry-eyed +Sylvia slipped into the house out of their sight. + +And the waves kept lapping on the shelving shore. + +The room inside was dark, all except the little halo or circle of +light made by a dip candle. Widow Dobson had her back to the +bed--her bed--on to which Philip had been borne in the hurry of +terror as to whether he was alive or whether he was dead. She was +crying--crying quietly, but the tears down-falling fast, as, with +her back to the lowly bed, she was gathering up the dripping clothes +cut off from the poor maimed body by the doctors' orders. She only +shook her head as she saw Sylvia, spirit-like, steal in--white, +noiseless, and upborne from earth. + +But noiseless as her step might be, he heard, he recognized, and +with a sigh he turned his poor disfigured face to the wall, hiding +it in the shadow. + +He knew that she was by him; that she had knelt down by his bed; +that she was kissing his hand, over which the languor of approaching +death was stealing. But no one spoke. + +At length he said, his face still averted, speaking with an effort. + +'Little lassie, forgive me now! I cannot live to see the morn!' + +There was no answer, only a long miserable sigh, and he felt her +soft cheek laid upon his hand, and the quiver that ran through her +whole body. + +'I did thee a cruel wrong,' he said, at length. 'I see it now. But +I'm a dying man. I think that God will forgive me--and I've sinned +against Him; try, lassie--try, my Sylvie--will not thou forgive me?' + +He listened intently for a moment. He heard through the open window +the waves lapping on the shelving shore. But there came no word from +her; only that same long shivering, miserable sigh broke from her +lips at length. + +'Child,' said he, once more. 'I ha' made thee my idol; and if I +could live my life o'er again I would love my God more, and thee +less; and then I shouldn't ha' sinned this sin against thee. But +speak one word of love to me--one little word, that I may know I +have thy pardon.' + +'Oh, Philip! Philip!' she moaned, thus adjured. + +Then she lifted her head, and said, + +'Them were wicked, wicked words, as I said; and a wicked vow as I +vowed; and Lord God Almighty has ta'en me at my word. I'm sorely +punished, Philip, I am indeed.' + +He pressed her hand, he stroked her cheek. But he asked for yet +another word. + +'I did thee a wrong. In my lying heart I forgot to do to thee as I +would have had thee to do to me. And I judged Kinraid in my heart.' + +'Thou thought as he was faithless and fickle,' she answered quickly; +'and so he were. He were married to another woman not so many weeks +at after thou went away. Oh, Philip, Philip! and now I have thee +back, and--' + +'Dying' was the word she would have said, but first the dread of +telling him what she believed he did not know, and next her +passionate sobs, choked her. + +'I know,' said he, once more stroking her cheek, and soothing her +with gentle, caressing hand. 'Little lassie!' he said, after a while +when she was quiet from very exhaustion, 'I niver thought to be so +happy again. God is very merciful.' + +She lifted up her head, and asked wildly, 'Will He iver forgive me, +think yo'? I drove yo' out fra' yo'r home, and sent yo' away to t' +wars, wheere yo' might ha' getten yo'r death; and when yo' come +back, poor and lone, and weary, I told her for t' turn yo' out, for +a' I knew yo' must be starving in these famine times. I think I +shall go about among them as gnash their teeth for iver, while yo' +are wheere all tears are wiped away.' + +'No!' said Philip, turning round his face, forgetful of himself in +his desire to comfort her. 'God pities us as a father pities his +poor wandering children; the nearer I come to death the clearer I +see Him. But you and me have done wrong to each other; yet we can +see now how we were led to it; we can pity and forgive one another. +I'm getting low and faint, lassie; but thou must remember this: God +knows more, and is more forgiving than either you to me, or me to +you. I think and do believe as we shall meet together before His +face; but then I shall ha' learnt to love thee second to Him; not +first, as I have done here upon the earth.' + +Then he was silent--very still. Sylvia knew--widow Dobson had +brought it in--that there was some kind of medicine, sent by the +hopeless doctors, lying upon the table hard by, and she softly rose +and poured it out and dropped it into the half-open mouth. Then she +knelt down again, holding the hand feebly stretched out to her, and +watching the faint light in the wistful loving eyes. And in the +stillness she heard the ceaseless waves lapping against the shelving +shore. + +Something like an hour before this time, which was the deepest +midnight of the summer's night, Hester Rose had come hurrying up the +road to where Kester and his sister sate outside the open door, +keeping their watch under the star-lit sky, all others having gone +away, one by one, even John and Jeremiah Foster having returned to +their own house, where the little Bella lay, sleeping a sound and +healthy slumber after her perilous adventure. + +Hester had heard but little from William Darley as to the owner of +the watch and the half-crown; but he was chagrined at the failure of +all his skilful interrogations to elicit the truth, and promised her +further information in a few days, with all the more vehemence +because he was unaccustomed to be baffled. And Hester had again +whispered to herself 'Patience! Patience!' and had slowly returned +back to her home to find that Sylvia had left it, why she did not at +once discover. But, growing uneasy as the advancing hours neither +brought Sylvia nor little Bella to their home, she had set out for +Jeremiah Foster's as soon as she had seen her mother comfortably +asleep in her bed; and then she had learnt the whole story, bit by +bit, as each person who spoke broke in upon the previous narration +with some new particular. But from no one did she clearly learn +whether Sylvia was with her husband, or not; and so she came +speeding along the road, breathless, to where Kester sate in +wakeful, mournful silence, his sister's sleeping head lying on his +shoulder, the cottage door open, both for air and that there might +be help within call if needed; and the dim slanting oblong of the +interior light lying across the road. + +Hester came panting up, too agitated and breathless to ask how much +was truth of the fatal, hopeless tale which she had heard. Kester +looked at her without a word. Through this solemn momentary silence +the lapping of the ceaseless waves was heard, as they came up close +on the shelving shore. + +'He? Philip?' said she. Kester shook his head sadly. + +'And his wife--Sylvia?' said Hester. + +'In there with him, alone,' whispered Kester. + +Hester turned away, and wrung her hands together. + +'Oh, Lord God Almighty!' said she, 'was I not even worthy to bring +them together at last?' And she went away slowly and heavily back to +the side of her sleeping mother. But 'Thy will be done' was on her +quivering lips before she lay down to her rest. + +The soft gray dawn lightens the darkness of a midsummer night soon +after two o'clock. Philip watched it come, knowing that it was his +last sight of day,--as we reckon days on earth. + +He had been often near death as a soldier; once or twice, as when he +rushed into fire to save Kinraid, his chances of life had been as +one to a hundred; but yet he had had a chance. But now there was the +new feeling--the last new feeling which we shall any of us +experience in this world--that death was not only close at hand, +but inevitable. + +He felt its numbness stealing up him--stealing up him. But the head +was clear, the brain more than commonly active in producing vivid +impressions. + +It seemed but yesterday since he was a little boy at his mother's +knee, wishing with all the earnestness of his childish heart to be +like Abraham, who was called the friend of God, or David, who was +said to be the man after God's own heart, or St John, who was called +'the Beloved.' As very present seemed the day on which he made +resolutions of trying to be like them; it was in the spring, and +some one had brought in cowslips; and the scent of those flowers was +in his nostrils now, as he lay a-dying--his life ended, his battles +fought, his time for 'being good' over and gone--the opportunity, +once given in all eternity, past. + +All the temptations that had beset him rose clearly before him; the +scenes themselves stood up in their solid materialism--he could have +touched the places; the people, the thoughts, the arguments that +Satan had urged in behalf of sin, were reproduced with the vividness +of a present time. And he knew that the thoughts were illusions, the +arguments false and hollow; for in that hour came the perfect vision +of the perfect truth: he saw the 'way to escape' which had come +along with the temptation; now, the strong resolve of an ardent +boyhood, with all a life before it to show the world 'what a +Christian might be'; and then the swift, terrible now, when his +naked, guilty soul shrank into the shadow of God's mercy-seat, out +of the blaze of His anger against all those who act a lie. + +His mind was wandering, and he plucked it back. Was this death in +very deed? He tried to grasp at the present, the earthly present, +fading quick away. He lay there on the bed--on Sally Dobson's bed in +the house-place, not on his accustomed pallet in the lean-to. He +knew that much. And the door was open into the still, dusk night; +and through the open casement he could hear the lapping of the waves +on the shelving shore, could see the soft gray dawn over the sea--he +knew it was over the sea--he saw what lay unseen behind the poor +walls of the cottage. And it was Sylvia who held his hand tight in +her warm, living grasp; it was his wife whose arm was thrown around +him, whose sobbing sighs shook his numbed frame from time to time. + +'God bless and comfort my darling,' he said to himself. 'She knows +me now. All will be right in heaven--in the light of God's mercy.' + +And then he tried to remember all that he had ever read about, God, +and all that the blessed Christ--that bringeth glad tidings of great +joy unto all people, had said of the Father, from whom He came. +Those sayings dropped like balm down upon his troubled heart and +brain. He remembered his mother, and how she had loved him; and he +was going to a love wiser, tenderer, deeper than hers. + +As he thought this, he moved his hands as if to pray; but Sylvia +clenched her hold, and he lay still, praying all the same for her, +for his child, and for himself. Then he saw the sky redden with the +first flush of dawn; he heard Kester's long-drawn sigh of weariness +outside the open door. + +He had seen widow Dobson pass through long before to keep the +remainder of her watch on the bed in the lean-to, which had been his +for many and many a sleepless and tearful night. Those nights were +over--he should never see that poor chamber again, though it was +scarce two feet distant. He began to lose all sense of the +comparative duration of time: it seemed as long since kind Sally +Dobson had bent over him with soft, lingering look, before going +into the humble sleeping-room--as long as it was since his boyhood, +when he stood by his mother dreaming of the life that should be his, +with the scent of the cowslips tempting him to be off to the +woodlands where they grew. Then there came a rush and an eddying +through his brain--his soul trying her wings for the long flight. +Again he was in the present: he heard the waves lapping against the +shelving shore once again. + +And now his thoughts came back to Sylvia. Once more he spoke aloud, +in a strange and terrible voice, which was not his. Every sound came +with efforts that were new to him. + +'My wife! Sylvie! Once more--forgive me all.' + +She sprang up, she kissed his poor burnt lips; she held him in her +arms, she moaned, and said, + +'Oh, wicked me! forgive me--me--Philip!' + +Then he spoke, and said, 'Lord, forgive us our trespasses as we +forgive each other!' And after that the power of speech was +conquered by the coming death. He lay very still, his consciousness +fast fading away, yet coming back in throbs, so that he knew it was +Sylvia who touched his lips with cordial, and that it was Sylvia who +murmured words of love in his ear. He seemed to sleep at last, and +so he did--a kind of sleep, but the light of the red morning sun +fell on his eyes, and with one strong effort he rose up, and turned +so as once more to see his wife's pale face of misery. + +'In heaven,' he cried, and a bright smile came on his face, as he +fell back on his pillow. + +Not long after Hester came, the little Bella scarce awake in her +arms, with the purpose of bringing his child to see him ere yet he +passed away. Hester had watched and prayed through the livelong +night. And now she found him dead, and Sylvia, tearless and almost +unconscious, lying by him, her hand holding his, her other thrown +around him. + +Kester, poor old man, was sobbing bitterly; but she not at all. + +Then Hester bore her child to her, and Sylvia opened wide her +miserable eyes, and only stared, as if all sense was gone from her. +But Bella suddenly rousing up at the sight of the poor, scarred, +peaceful face, cried out,-- + +'Poor man who was so hungry. Is he not hungry now?' + +'No,' said Hester, softly. 'The former things are passed away--and +he is gone where there is no more sorrow, and no more pain.' + +But then she broke down into weeping and crying. Sylvia sat up and +looked at her. + +'Why do yo' cry, Hester?' she said. 'Yo' niver said that yo' +wouldn't forgive him as long as yo' lived. Yo' niver broke the heart +of him that loved yo', and let him almost starve at yo'r very door. +Oh, Philip! my Philip, tender and true.' + +Then Hester came round and closed the sad half-open eyes; kissing +the calm brow with a long farewell kiss. As she did so, her eye fell +on a black ribbon round his neck. She partly lifted it out; to it +was hung a half-crown piece. + +'This is the piece he left at William Darley's to be bored,' said +she, 'not many days ago.' + +Bella had crept to her mother's arms as a known haven in this +strange place; and the touch of his child loosened the fountains of +her tears. She stretched out her hand for the black ribbon, put it +round her own neck; after a while she said, + +'If I live very long, and try hard to be very good all that time, do +yo' think, Hester, as God will let me to him where he is?' + +* * * * * * * + +Monkshaven is altered now into a rising bathing place. Yet, standing +near the site of widow Dobson's house on a summer's night, at the +ebb of a spring-tide, you may hear the waves come lapping up the +shelving shore with the same ceaseless, ever-recurrent sound as that +which Philip listened to in the pauses between life and death. + +And so it will be until 'there shall be no more sea'. + +But the memory of man fades away. A few old people can still tell +you the tradition of the man who died in a cottage somewhere about +this spot,--died of starvation while his wife lived in hard-hearted +plenty not two good stone-throws away. This is the form into which +popular feeling, and ignorance of the real facts, have moulded the +story. Not long since a lady went to the 'Public Baths', a handsome +stone building erected on the very site of widow Dobson's cottage, +and finding all the rooms engaged she sat down and had some talk +with the bathing woman; and, as it chanced, the conversation fell on +Philip Hepburn and the legend of his fate. + +'I knew an old man when I was a girl,' said the bathing woman, 'as +could niver abide to hear t' wife blamed. He would say nothing +again' th' husband; he used to say as it were not fit for men to be +judging; that she had had her sore trial, as well as Hepburn +hisself.' + +The lady asked, 'What became of the wife?' + +'She was a pale, sad woman, allays dressed in black. I can just +remember her when I was a little child, but she died before her +daughter was well grown up; and Miss Rose took t' lassie, as had +always been like her own.' + +'Miss Rose?' + +'Hester Rose! have yo' niver heared of Hester Rose, she as founded +t' alms-houses for poor disabled sailors and soldiers on t' +Horncastle road? There's a piece o' stone in front to say that "This +building is erected in memory of P. H."--and some folk will have it +P. H. stands for t' name o' th' man as was starved to death.' + +'And the daughter?' + +'One o' th' Fosters, them as founded t' Old Bank, left her a vast o' +money; and she were married to distant cousin of theirs, and went +off to settle in America many and many a year ago.' + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SYLVIA'S LOVERS *** + +This file should be named slvlv10.txt or slvlv10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, slvlv11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, slvlv10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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