unusually good temper; and, mingled with his real gladness at having his wife once more on the way to recovery, brought back some of the old charm of tenderness combined with light-heartedness, which had won the sober Isabella Preston long ago.  He sat by her side, holding her hand, and talking of old times to the young couple opposite; of his adventures and escapes, and how he had won his wife.  She, faintly smiling at the remembrance of those days, yet half-ashamed at having the little details of her courtship revealed, from time to time kept saying,—­

‘For shame wi’ thee, Dannel—­I never did,’ and faint denials of a similar kind.

’Niver believe her, Sylvie.  She were a woman, and there’s niver a woman but likes to have a sweetheart, and can tell when a chap’s castin’ sheep’s-eyes at her; ay, an’ afore he knows what he’s about hissen.  She were a pretty one then, was my old ‘ooman, an’ liked them as thought her so, though she did cock her head high, as bein’ a Preston, which were a family o’ standin’ and means i’ those parts aforetime.  There’s Philip there, I’ll warrant, is as proud o’ bein’ Preston by t’ mother’s side, for it runs i’ t’ blood, lass.  A can tell when a child of a Preston tak’s to being proud o’ their kin, by t’ cut o’ their nose.  Now Philip’s and my missus’s has a turn beyond common i’ their nostrils, as if they was sniffin’ at t’ rest of us world, an’ seein’ if we was good enough for ’em to consort wi’.  Thee an’ me, lass, is Robsons—­oat-cake folk, while they’s pie-crust.  Lord! how Bell used to speak to me, as short as though a wasn’t a Christian, an’ a’ t’ time she loved me as her very life, an’ well a knew it, tho’ a’d to mak’ as tho’ a didn’t.  Philip, when thou goes courtin’, come t’ me, and a’ll give thee many a wrinkle.  A’ve shown, too, as a know well how t’ choose a good wife by tokens an’ signs, hannot a, missus?  Come t’ me, my lad, and show me t’ lass, an’ a’ll just tak’ a squint at her, an’ tell yo’ if she’ll do or not; an’ if she’ll do, a’ll teach yo’ how to win her.’

‘They say another o’ yon Corney girls is going to be married,’ said Mrs. Robson, in her faint deliberate tones.

‘By gosh, an’ it’s well thou’st spoke on ’em; a was as clean forgettin’ it as iver could be.  A met Nanny Corney i’ Monkshaven last neet, and she axed me for t’ let our Sylvia come o’ New Year’s Eve, an’ see Molly an’ her man, that ’n as is wed beyond Newcassel, they’ll be over at her feyther’s, for t’ New Year, an’ there’s to be a merry-making.’

Sylvia’s colour came, her eyes brightened, she would have liked to go; but the thought of her mother came across her, and her features fell.  Her mother’s eye caught the look and the change, and knew what both meant as well as if Sylvia had spoken out.

‘Thursday se’nnight,’ said she.  ’I’ll be rare and strong by then, and Sylvie shall go play hersen; she’s been nurse-tending long enough.’

‘You’re but weakly yet,’ said Philip shortly; he did not intend to say it, but the words seemed to come out in spite of himself.