Sylvia came forwards, ruddy as any rose, and in a moment Kinraid recognized her as the pretty little girl he had seen crying so bitterly over Darley’s grave.  He rose up out of true sailor’s gallantry, as she shyly approached and stood by her father’s side, scarcely daring to lift her great soft eyes, to have one fair gaze at his face.  He had to support himself by one hand rested on the dresser, but she saw he was looking far better—­younger, less haggard—­than he had seemed to her before.  His face was short and expressive; his complexion had been weatherbeaten and bronzed, though now he looked so pale; his eyes and hair were dark,—­the former quick, deep-set, and penetrating; the latter curly, and almost in ringlets.  His teeth gleamed white as he smiled at her, a pleasant friendly smile of recognition; but she only blushed the deeper, and hung her head.

’I’ll come, sir, and be thankful.  I daresay a turn’ll do me good, if the weather holds up, an’ th’ frost keeps on.’

‘That’s right, my lad,’ said Robson, shaking him by the hand, and then Kinraid’s hand was held out to Sylvia, and she could not avoid the same friendly action.

Molly Corney followed her to the door, and when they were fairly outside, she held Sylvia back for an instant to say,—­

‘Is na’ he a fine likely man?  I’m so glad as yo’ve seen him, for he’s to be off next week to Newcastle and that neighbourhood.’

‘But he said he’d come to us some night?’ asked Sylvia, half in a fright.

‘Ay, I’ll see as he does; never fear.  For I should like yo’ for to know him a bit.  He’s a rare talker.  I’ll mind him o’ coming to yo’.’

Somehow, Sylvia felt as if this repeated promise of reminding Kinraid of his promise to come and see her father took away part of the pleasure she had anticipated from his visit.  Yet what could be more natural than that Molly Corney should wish her friend to be acquainted with the man whom Sylvia believed to be all but Molly’s engaged lover?

Pondering these thoughts, the walk home was as silent as that going to Moss Brow had been.  The only change seemed to be that now they faced the brilliant northern lights flashing up the sky, and that either this appearance or some of the whaling narrations of Kinraid had stirred up Daniel Robson’s recollections of a sea ditty, which he kept singing to himself in a low, unmusical voice, the burden of which was, ‘for I loves the tossin’ say!’ Bell met them at the door.

’Well, and here ye are at home again! and Philip has been, Sylvie, to give thee thy ciphering lesson; and he stayed awhile, thinking thou’d be coming back.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ said Sylvia, more out of deference to her mother’s tone of annoyance, than because she herself cared either for her lesson or her cousin’s disappointment.

’He’ll come again to-morrow night, he says.  But thou must take care, and mind the nights he says he’ll come, for it’s a long way to come for nought.’