Sylvia's Lovers

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.