Sylvia's Lovers

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.