Sylvia's Lovers

About three weeks after the miserable date of Bell Robson's death

and Philip's disappearance, Hester Rose received a letter from him.

She knew the writing on the address well; and it made her tremble so

much that it was many minutes before she dared to open it, and make

herself acquainted with the facts it might disclose.

But she need not have feared; there were no facts told, unless the

vague date of 'London' might be something to learn. Even that much

might have been found out by the post-mark, only she had been too

much taken by surprise to examine it.

It ran as follows:-'DEAR HESTER,-'Tell those whom it may concern, that I have left Monkshaven for

ever. No one need trouble themselves about me; I am provided for.

Please to make my humble apologies to my kind friends, the Messrs

Foster, and to my partner, William Coulson. Please to accept of my

love, and to join the same to your mother. Please to give my

particular and respectful duty and kind love to my aunt Isabella

Robson. Her daughter Sylvia knows what I have always felt, and shall

always feel, for her better than I can ever put into language, so I

send her no message; God bless and keep my child. You must all look

on me as one dead; as I am to you, and maybe shall soon be in

reality.

'Your affectionate and obedient friend to command, 'PHILIP

HEPBURN. 'P.S.--Oh, Hester! for God's sake and mine, look

after ('my wife,' scratched out) Sylvia and my child. I think

Jeremiah Foster will help you to be a friend to them. This is the

last solemn request of P. H. She is but very young.' Hester read this letter again and again, till her heart caught the

echo of its hopelessness, and sank within her. She put it in her

pocket, and reflected upon it all the day long as she served in the

shop.

The customers found her as gentle, but far more inattentive than

usual. She thought that in the evening she would go across the

bridge, and consult with the two good old brothers Foster. But

something occurred to put off the fulfilment of this plan.

That same morning Sylvia had preceded her, with no one to consult,

because consultation would have required previous confidence, and

confidence would have necessitated such a confession about Kinraid

as it was most difficult for Sylvia to make. The poor young wife yet

felt that some step must be taken by her; and what it was to be she

could not imagine.

She had no home to go to; for as Philip was gone away, she remained

where she was only on sufferance; she did not know what means of

livelihood she had; she was willing to work, nay, would be thankful

to take up her old life of country labour; but with her baby, what

could she do?