Coulson immediately gave the promise.  Philip’s assent came lagging.  He had thought of Sylvia living, almost as much as of the dead mother, whose last words had been a committal of her child to the Father of the friendless; and now that a short delay was placed between the sight of the cup and his enjoyment of it, there was an impatient chafing in the mind of the composed and self-restrained Philip; and then repentance quick as lightning effaced the feeling, and he pledged himself to the secrecy which was enjoined.  Some few more details as to their mode of procedure—­of verifying the Fosters’ statements, which to the younger men seemed a perfectly unnecessary piece of business—­of probable journeys and introductions, and then farewell was bidden, and Hepburn and Coulson were in the passage donning their wraps, and rather to their indignation being assisted therein by Martha, who was accustomed to the office with her own master.  Suddenly they were recalled into the parlour.

John Foster was fumbling with the papers a little nervously:  Jeremiah spoke—­

’We have not thought it necessary to commend Hester Rose to you; if she had been a lad she would have had a third o’ the business along wi’ yo’.  Being a woman, it’s ill troubling her with a partnership; better give her a fixed salary till such time as she marries.’

He looked a little knowingly and curiously at the faces of the young men he addressed.  William Coulson seemed sheepish and uncomfortable, but said nothing, leaving it as usual to Philip to be spokesman.

‘If we hadn’t cared for Hester for hersel’, master, we should ha’ cared for her as being forespoken by yo’.  Yo’ and Master John shall fix what we ought t’ pay her; and I think I may make bold to say that, as our income rises, hers shall too—­eh, Coulson?’ (a sound of assent quite distinct enough); ’for we both look on her as a sister and on Alice like a mother, as I told her only this very day.’

END OF VOL.  I.