of her instructor; but, in spite of it all, Philip went regularly on the appointed evenings to Haytersbank—­through keen black east wind, or driving snow, or slushing thaw; for he liked dearly to sit a little behind her, with his arm on the back of her chair, she stooping over the outspread map, with her eyes,—­could he have seen them,—­a good deal fixed on one spot in the map, not Northumberland, where Kinraid was spending the winter, but those wild northern seas about which he had told them such wonders.

One day towards spring, she saw Molly Corney coming towards the farm.  The companions had not met for many weeks, for Molly had been from home visiting her relations in the north.  Sylvia opened the door, and stood smiling and shivering on the threshold, glad to see her friend again.  Molly called out, when a few paces off,—­

’Why, Sylvia, is that thee!  Why, how thou’rt growed, to be sure!  What a bonny lass thou is!’

‘Dunnot talk nonsense to my lass,’ said Bell Robson, hospitably leaving her ironing and coming to the door; but though the mother tried to look as if she thought it nonsense, she could hardly keep down the smile that shone out of her eyes, as she put her hand on Sylvia’s shoulder, with a fond sense of proprietorship in what was being praised.

‘Oh! but she is,’ persisted Molly.  ‘She’s grown quite a beauty sin’ I saw her.  And if I don’t tell her so, the men will.’

‘Be quiet wi’ thee,’ said Sylvia, more than half offended, and turning away in a huff at the open barefaced admiration.

‘Ay; but they will,’ persevered Molly.  ’Yo’ll not keep her long, Mistress Robson.  And as mother says, yo’d feel it a deal more to have yer daughters left on hand.’

‘Thy mother has many, I have but this one,’ said Mrs. Robson, with severe sadness; for now Molly was getting to talk as she disliked.  But Molly’s purpose was to bring the conversation round to her own affairs, of which she was very full.

‘Yes!  I tell mother that wi’ so many as she has, she ought to be thankful to t’ one as gets off quickest.’

‘Who? which is it?’ asked Sylvia, a little eagerly, seeing that there was news of a wedding behind the talk.

‘Why! who should it be but me?’ said Molly, laughing a good deal, and reddening a little.  ‘I’ve not gone fra’ home for nought; I’se picked up a measter on my travels, leastways one as is to be.’

‘Charley Kinraid,’ said Sylvia smiling, as she found that now she might reveal Molly’s secret, which hitherto she had kept sacred.

‘Charley Kinraid be hung!’ said Molly, with a toss of her head.  ‘Whatten good’s a husband who’s at sea half t’ year?  Ha ha, my measter is a canny Newcassel shopkeeper, on t’ Side.  A reckon a’ve done pretty well for mysel’, and a’ll wish yo’ as good luck, Sylvia.  For yo’ see,’ (turning to Bell Robson, who, perhaps, she thought would more appreciate the substantial advantages of