Sylvia's Lovers

'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.