Sylvia's Lovers

'And sin' the Lord has been comforting me, and talking to me many a

time when thou's thought I were asleep, things has seemed to redd

theirselves up, and if Daniel goes, I'm ready to follow. I could

niver stand living to hear folks say he'd been hung; it seems so

unnatural and shameful.' 'But, mother, he won't!--he shan't be hung!' said Sylvia, springing

to her feet. 'Philip says he won't.' Bell shook her head. They walked on, Sylvia both disheartened and

almost irritated at her mother's despondency. But before they went

to bed at night Bell said things which seemed as though the

morning's feelings had been but temporary, and as if she was

referring every decision to the period of her husband's return.

'When father comes home,' seemed a sort of burden at the beginning

or end of every sentence, and this reliance on his certain coming

back to them was almost as great a trial to Sylvia as the absence of

all hope had been in the morning. But that instinct told her that

her mother was becoming incapable of argument, she would have asked

her why her views were so essentially changed in so few hours. This

inability of reason in poor Bell made Sylvia feel very desolate.

Monday passed over--how, neither of them knew, for neither spoke of

what was filling the thoughts of both. Before it was light on

Tuesday morning, Bell was astir.

'It's very early, mother,' said weary, sleepy Sylvia, dreading

returning consciousness.

'Ay, lass!' said Bell, in a brisk, cheerful tone; 'but he'll, maybe,

be home to-night, and I'se bound to have all things ready for him.' 'Anyhow,' said Sylvia, sitting up in bed, 'he couldn't come home

to-night.' 'Tut, lass! thou doesn't know how quick a man comes home to wife and

child. I'll be a' ready at any rate.' She hurried about in a way which Sylvia wondered to see; till at

length she fancied that perhaps her mother did so to drive away

thought. Every place was cleaned; there was scarce time allowed for

breakfast; till at last, long before mid-day, all the work was done,

and the two sat down to their spinning-wheels. Sylvia's spirits sank

lower and lower at each speech of her mother's, from whose mind all

fear seemed to have disappeared, leaving only a strange restless

kind of excitement.

'It's time for t' potatoes,' said Bell, after her wool had snapped

many a time from her uneven tread.

'Mother,' said Sylvia, 'it's but just gone ten!' 'Put 'em on,' said Bell, without attending to the full meaning of

her daughter's words. 'It'll, maybe, hasten t' day on if we get

dinner done betimes.' 'But Kester is in t' Far Acre field, and he'll not be home till

noon.' This seemed to settle matters for a while; but then Bell pushed her

wheel away, and began searching for her hood and cloak. Sylvia found

them for her, and then asked sadly-'What does ta want 'em for, mother?' 'I'll go up t' brow and through t' field, and just have a look down

t' lane.' 'I'll go wi' thee,' said Sylvia, feeling all the time the

uselessness of any looking for intelligence from York so early in

the day. Very patiently did she wait by her mother's side during the

long half-hour which Bell spent in gazing down the road for those

who never came.