Sylvia's Lovers

Meanwhile Hester came and went as usual; in so quiet and methodical

a way, with so even and undisturbed a temper, that she was almost

forgotten when everything went well in the shop or household. She

was a star, the brightness of which was only recognized in times of

darkness. She herself was almost surprised at her own increasing

regard for Sylvia. She had not thought she should ever be able to

love the woman who had been such a laggard in acknowledging Philip's

merits; and from all she had ever heard of Sylvia before she came to

know her, from the angry words with which Sylvia had received her

when she had first gone to Haytersbank Farm, Hester had intended to

remain on friendly terms, but to avoid intimacy. But her kindness to

Bell Robson had won both the mother's and daughter's hearts; and in

spite of herself, certainly against her own mother's advice, she had

become the familiar friend and welcome guest of the household.

Now the very change in Sylvia's whole manner and ways, which grieved

and vexed Philip, made his wife the more attractive to Hester.

Brought up among Quakers, although not one herself, she admired and

respected the staidness and outward peacefulness common amongst the

young women of that sect. Sylvia, whom she had expected to find

volatile, talkative, vain, and wilful, was quiet and still, as if

she had been born a Friend: she seemed to have no will of her own;

she served her mother and child for love; she obeyed her husband in

all things, and never appeared to pine after gaiety or pleasure. And

yet at times Hester thought, or rather a flash came across her mind,

as if all things were not as right as they seemed. Philip looked

older, more care-worn; nay, even Hester was obliged to allow to

herself that she had heard him speak to his wife in sharp, aggrieved

tones. Innocent Hester! she could not understand how the very

qualities she so admired in Sylvia were just what were so foreign to

her nature that the husband, who had known her from a child, felt

what an unnatural restraint she was putting upon herself, and would

have hailed petulant words or wilful actions with an unspeakable

thankfulness for relief.

One day--it was in the spring of 1798--Hester was engaged to stay to

tea with the Hepburns, in order that after that early meal she might

set to again in helping Philip and Coulson to pack away the winter

cloths and flannels, for which there was no longer any use. The

tea-time was half-past four; about four o'clock a heavy April shower

came on, the hail pattering against the window-panes so as to awaken

Mrs. Robson from her afternoon's nap. She came down the corkscrew

stairs, and found Phoebe in the parlour arranging the tea-things.