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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.
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.
'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.
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.
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.
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.
'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.
And now Kester's words came to call up echoes in the poor girl's heart.
'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.
'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.
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