Sylvia's Lovers

But Sylvia ran after him, and brought him back from the door.

'To think of thy going away, Kester, without either bit or drink;

nay, come back wi' thee, and taste wine and cake.' Kester stood at the door, half shy, half pleased, while Sylvia, in

all the glow and hurry of a young housekeeper's hospitality, sought

for the decanter of wine, and a wine-glass in the corner cupboard,

and hastily cut an immense wedge of cake, which she crammed into his

hand in spite of his remonstrances; and then she poured him out an

overflowing glass of wine, which Kester would far rather have gone

without, as he knew manners too well to suppose that he might taste

it without having gone through the preliminary ceremony of wishing

the donor health and happiness. He stood red and half smiling, with

his cake in one hand, his wine in the other, and then began,-'Long may ye live,

Happy may ye he,

And blest with a num'rous

Pro-ge-ny.' 'Theere, that's po'try for yo' as I larnt i' my youth. But there's a

deal to be said as cannot be put int' po'try, an' yet a cannot say

it, somehow. It 'd tax a parson t' say a' as a've getten i' my mind.

It's like a heap o' woo' just after shearin' time; it's worth a

deal, but it tak's a vast o' combin', an' cardin', an' spinnin'

afore it can be made use on. If a were up to t' use o' words, a

could say a mighty deal; but somehow a'm tongue-teed when a come to

want my words most, so a'll only just mak' bold t' say as a think

yo've done pretty well for yo'rsel', getten a house-full o'

furniture' (looking around him as he said this), 'an' vittle an'

clothin' for t' axing, belike, an' a home for t' missus in her time

o' need; an' mebbe not such a bad husband as a once thought yon man

'ud mak'; a'm not above sayin' as he's, mebbe, better nor a took him

for;--so here's to ye both, and wishin' ye health and happiness, ay,

and money to buy yo' another, as country folk say.' Having ended his oration, much to his own satisfaction, Kester

tossed off his glass of wine, smacked his lips, wiped his mouth with

the back of his hand, pocketed his cake, and made off.

That night Sylvia spoke of his visit to her husband. Philip never

said how he himself had brought it to pass, nor did he name the fact

that he had heard the old man come in just as he himself had

intended going into the parlour for tea, but had kept away, as he

thought Sylvia and Kester would most enjoy their interview

undisturbed. And Sylvia felt as if her husband's silence was

unsympathizing, and shut up the feelings that were just beginning to

expand towards him. She sank again into the listless state of

indifference from which nothing but some reference to former days,

or present consideration for her mother, could rouse her.