'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.




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